The Cowboy Claims His Lady Read Online Free PDF

losing her train of thought beneath that dark stare.
    â€œAnd second, I never wanted to do this to her.”
    His arms tightened. He crushed her against his chest. Slowly his hard lips descended upon hers. The heat of his mouth shocked her. The delicious contrast of her cold lips and his warm tongue made her release an involuntary moan.
    His kiss deepened and she could taste the whiskey on his breath and smell the male scent of him. Against her will, she found her mouth opening to him, as if she was thirsty for him and all she wanted to do was drink. His broad warm chest coaxed like a blanket in the snow. It was all too much to resist, and she felt herself folding into it as if she couldcrawl inside the fortress of it and be safe and warm forever—
    His tongue ran down the slick wet skin of her neck giving her chills that had nothing to do with the Montana night air. Instinctively she crushed her breasts against his chest, her nipples, puckered with cold, brushed erotically against the wet fabric of her bra and the hard warmth of his pectorals.
    Her hand slid down his back and pressed his buttock. Groaning, he slid her fingers to his groin, enticing her to feel his arousal. But she knew he was hard and ready without having to verify it. He pressed himself against her, his maleness like a police baton.
    She pulled back, suddenly knowing she was in over her head.
    The weariness in her eyes seemed to stop him too. His warmth was suddenly gone. She seemed to awaken from a dream, and found herself in the arms of a snowman. He pulled away from her, the eyes still staring, but this time with accusation and censure.
    â€œWe’ve got to go,” he said abruptly, pulling her out of the water as if she were nothing but a rag doll.
    â€œWhy?” she gasped, disoriented by his moods and the lash of stinging cold air on her wet body.
    â€œDo what’s good for you, girl. Get your clothes on,” he answered gruffly.
    She looked at him. Every tight line of his buttocks was visible in the sheer wet cotton of his boxers.
    He turned around to scowl at her. She held her breath. If what she saw between his legs was the result of cold shrinkage, she doubted she could handle it, even then.
    â€œYou want some now?” he demanded.
    She gasped and shook her head.
    â€œThen, get your clothes on.” He turned to scoop up his jeans and shirt.
    She fumbled for her jeans. Sodden and shivering, she could hardly pull them on.
    â€œYou can put your boots on in the truck.” He led her by the elbow to the pickup and helped her into the cab.
    Seated next to her, he flipped the switch for the diesel and started the engine.
    â€œW-w-was it something I did?” she stammered.
    He glanced at her, his face a stone mask in the dashboard light.
    â€œI thought we were having fun—”
    He stopped her. “Know what a grizzly feels like when it wakes up?”
    She shook her head, her eyes wide.
    â€œHe’s hungry,” he growled. “So hungry he can’t think of anything but what it is that he wants.”
    â€œAnd what do you want?” Her words came out in a frightened whisper.
    He took one hard look at her. He didn’t have to speak.
    Even she heard the word in the silence, the long, echoing word, damning her and praising her in a monosyllabic curse.
    You.

Three
    â€œA dead varmint. Yep. That’s what she looks like.” Hazel’s words penetrated the fog in Lyndie’s mind.
    â€œIt’s awake! It’s awake! Hallelujah!” Ebby, Hazel’s longtime cook, a tall raw-boned woman who’d ranched a hundred head of cattle and five sons all on a widow’s pension, stood over the bed.
    Hazel peered over Ebby’s silver tray of coffee and toast. “Yep. There’s life in her still. I see her glaring at me.”
    Lyndie sat up in bed. Her head pounded. She winced.
    â€œHave a good stomp at the mill, did we?” Ebby tsked while she set down the breakfast