Debra Cowan - Whirlwind Cowboy

He struggled to dismiss not just the horror he had seen in Deborah’s eyes minutes ago after the nightmare, but also the feel of her satiny skin beneath his hand, the sight of yet another bruise on that ivory flesh.

The sheer terror in her face had rattled him, enough that he had been ambushed by a gut-twisting urge to hold her. Kiss her.

But he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t.

After the incessant shriek of the wind, the lack of sound was stark, disorienting. Like looking into Deborah’s eyes and realizing she didn’t recognize him. That had sliced right through Bram.

Did she really not remember? Part of him still resisted the notion.

Once they were under way, he wouldn’t have to look at her. Or even talk to her if he didn’t choose. Itching to get on the trail, he opened the barn door, breathing more easily now that he was away from her.

He was relieved to see Scout looked none the worse for wear aside from the blanket of dust coating his yellow-tan body and black-tipped ears. After saddling the dun gelding and steering him outside, Bram made his way to the back of the barn.

Cosgrove’s black mare was covered in dirt. If it hadn’t been for the whites of her panicked eyes, she would’ve blended into the shadows.

The sight of him had her shifting jerkily as if she might bolt. Bram spoke softly to the skittish animal, easing closer. She tossed her head and stepped back, her rump hitting the barn wall. He laid a comforting hand on her neck and stroked until she settled, then he coaxed her into the wedge of light at the front of the barn.

She was limping. With a frown, he stooped to examine her legs and discovered her right front fetlock was swollen. Likely sprained. She had been fine when he’d left his own mount in here last night.

The mare must have become distressed during the dust storm and tried to rush the door or kick down the wall. At least the injury wasn’t more serious. Still, Deborah wouldn’t be riding this horse today. Nobody would.

Bram cursed under his breath. Scowling, he tugged off the bandanna he had dampened and used to wipe the most recent layer of grit from his face, then knelt and wrapped the horse’s lower joint. He saddled and bridled her, then led both mounts to the porch where Deborah stood with his and Cosgrove’s saddlebags.

In her bloodstained dress, she looked small, fragile. The cut at her temple stood out in stark relief against her fair skin.

Her uncertain gaze sought his. That infernal protectiveness rose inside him again. Jaw tight, Bram gestured at the black mare.

“Cosgrove’s mare is injured, so you can’t ride her.”

Alarm flitted across her delicate features. “Did I ride her when I shouldn’t have? I was so focused on getting away that I didn’t notice she might be hurt.”

“If she’d been hurt while carrying you, you would’ve known. I think she got spooked in the barn during the storm.”

Deborah stepped to the side as Bram bent to pick up Cosgrove’s saddlebags and drape them over Scout’s withers in front of the saddle horn. He settled his own bags on Cosgrove’s mare behind her saddle.

Deborah frowned. “If she’s hurt, you shouldn’t be riding her either, should you?”

“I won’t be. I’ll be riding Scout.”

“Then how—”

“You’ll have to ride with me.”

“With you?” she squeaked, her spine going rigid.

“Behind me.” He sure as hell wasn’t having her sit in his lap all the way back to her house.

She licked her lips. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

No, he did not. “I can walk.”

“No. I don’t want that.” She shot a look at the outlaw’s saddlebags on Bram’s mount. “I guess you don’t want to let that money out of your sight?”

“That’s part of it. If we run into a threat, the lame horse won’t have the burden.”

Concern flashed across her face. “Run into a threat? Do you expect trouble?”

“Thanks to the dust storm erasing any tracks, I have no way of knowing Cosgrove’s whereabouts.”

She paled, her eyes vivid blue in her ashen face. “He could be over the next rise.”

“Yes.” Bram didn’t particularly like scaring her, but she needed to be prepared. “If something happens to me, you ride like hell for help.”

She looked stricken.

“Deborah?”

At his sharp tone, she nodded. “Yes, all right.”

“Keep the sun in front of you and ride until you come to the Circle R.”

“All right.”

After checking the cinch on Cosgrove’s black mare, Bram mounted Scout and held his hand out to Deborah. “Ready?”

She hesitated.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, impatient to get going.

“I assume I’ll have to ride astride.”

“Yes.”

She bit her lip, looking uncertain. “My skirts …”

He gave a heavy sigh. “Did you ride astride on your way here?”

“Yes, but I was alone. And I tried to make sure no one saw me.”

Bram bit off the reminder that last night he’d seen a damn sight more than her stockings or petticoats. The memory of her full breasts and slender thighs revealed by the lamplight shining through the thin cloth of her chemise was seared on his brain.

“You’ll be behind me, so I won’t see anything. Besides, you wouldn’t last two minutes if you tried to ride sitting to the side.”

After a moment she stepped to the edge of the porch. He gripped her forearm and swung her up behind him. She didn’t weigh anything.

She shifted, tugging her skirts down on one side then the other. Every time she moved, her soft full breasts brushed his back. He couldn’t stand much of that.

Jaw tight, he pressed the mare’s reins into Deborah’s hand. “You lead Cosgrove’s horse.”

“All right.”

From the corner of his eye he caught a flash of a white stocking and the hem of her pale blue floral dress. He glanced over his shoulder, her silky hair tickling his neck.

“Ready?” he asked gruffly.

When she said yes, he urged his horse into motion. Deborah fell full against him, her oomph of breath burning through his shirt.

“Oh!” She jerked away, startling Scout, who gave a backward hop to keep his balance. Deborah bounced against Bram.

“Be still,” he ordered.

“Sorry.” She sat stiffly, quietly at his back, holding herself away from him.

Fine with him. All he had to do was get her home and deliver her to her family. He wouldn’t let her get to him.

Scout started down a steep hill and Deborah pitched to one side, yelping.

Bram grabbed for her, his hand clamping down on whatever limb he could reach because of her odd angle behind him. He steadied her at his back, registering a froth of skirts over his arm and a thin layer of fabric under his fingers. Fabric like … undergarments. Drawers.

He froze. So did she.

He realized then that his hand was up her skirts, high on her thigh. Beneath his touch, he felt a whisper of muscle. His grip tightened almost imperceptibly, but it was enough to have Deborah making a sound deep in her throat.

A kind of sighing moan that made Bram’s body go hard.

He jerked his hand back, batting away the yards of fabric.

“Hang on to … something,” he growled, irritated at the low throb in his blood.

She steadied herself behind him, her hands curling over the cantle.

“Where are we?”

“On Circle R land.” He looked out over the rippling prairie, a mix of green and gold with patches of orange and red and yellow wildflowers sprinkled throughout. The tall grass made a swishing noise as their horses moved.

“All of this is yours?” Her breath tickled his nape and he caught a faint whiff of her scent.

He nodded.

“Have I ever been here before?” Her voice was small.