Always Dakota

“Really?” Her eyebrows arched with the question. “What about me?” She squirmed in his lap, effectively reminding him of all she had to offer … and her willingness to do so. Setting aside her drink, she cupped his face between her hands and directed his mouth to hers.

This was a woman who knew how to bring a man to a full state of arousal—fast. Without the beer and the whiskey, he might have been able to break off the kiss and hold his ground, but his resolve was already weakening.

“I didn’t say this was a hard-and-fast decision,” he whispered huskily, his eyes closed.

“Good answer.” She kissed him again, employing the full range of her talents.

By the time she’d finished kissing him, Matt was putty in her hands.

“I’ve missed you, cowboy,” she said, leading him to the bedroom. “More than you know.”

Matt doubted it, but he didn’t care, not at that moment. There seemed little excuse to deny himself what he wanted most, and just then it was Sheryl.

The following morning, Matt woke with a hell of a headache. His entire head throbbed. The whiskey bottle, now empty, stood on the bedside table; one of the glasses lay on the floor. The other glass held several cigarette butts, floating in half an inch of melted ice. The sight disgusted him. So did Sheryl, naked beside him. Most of all, he disgusted himself.

Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling, and silently cursed himself for being so damn weak. He’d never meant for this to happen. He’d never meant to become this involved with Sheryl. But a man had needs—needs Sheryl was always happy to satisfy. What they shared was a mutually pleasurable sexual relationship; that was the extent of it. The more he got to know her, the less he liked her. He worked long, hard hours on his ranch, but every now and then he needed to let loose, indulge himself. Sheryl was always obliging.

“You awake?” Sheryl asked, rolling over and clinging to his side. Her fingers plucked annoyingly at his nipples.

Matt brushed her hand away.

“What are you thinking about?”

He didn’t want to talk, and wished now that he’d showered and left before she woke.

“Nothing,” he muttered and tried to get up, but she’d wrapped her leg around his and held him tightly in place.

“We need to talk about Margaret.”

“She’s off-limits,” he said in no uncertain terms. His voice was cold, and loud enough to make his head pound even more. He tossed aside the sheet and despite her effort to hold him, Matt scurried out of bed and reached for his jeans.

“You like her, don’t you?” Sheryl asked, sitting up and clutching the sheet to her breasts.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel for Margaret.”

Sheryl was suspiciously silent. “You don’t have to marry her, if you don’t want to,” she said now. “It was just an idea.”

“A stupid one.”

Sheryl looked repentant. “All right, it was a stupid idea, but I was honestly thinking of her.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you were.”

“I was,” she cried, sounding hurt that he didn’t believe her. “This is a difficult time in Margaret’s life. She’s alone, and that’s scary. She needs someone like you.”

“I’m the last person she needs.” He fastened his denim shirt, closing the snaps with more force than necessary. When he got to the bottom, he realized he had one snap too many.

“Oh, Matt, don’t be in such a hurry to leave me,” Sheryl said, smiling softly. Scrambling off the bed, she stood nude before him and unfastened his shirt, then refastened it correctly.

“I have to go.”

“When will I see you again?” she pleaded. Pulling on her flimsy housecoat, she followed him to the front door.

“I don’t know.” That was what he told her, but he’d made his decision. He and Sheryl were finished. He didn’t like the way she schemed to bring down another woman. It bothered him that she was so willing to hurt and humiliate Margaret on the patently false pretext of helping her. Sheryl was a user, and he’d been a fool to get involved with her.

The first thing Matt did when he arrived back at his ranch was take a long hot shower. He scrubbed hard to eradicate the scent of Sheryl’s heavy perfume. By the time he stepped out of the shower, his skin was red and stung from the scouring.

The phone rang just as he was about to walk out the door. If it was Sheryl he’d tell her not to phone again. Their relationship was over. Finished. No more.

It wasn’t Sheryl, though.

“Margaret.” He couldn’t hide his surprise. Ready to vent his anger at Sheryl, he was caught off guard by his neighbor’s voice.

“I can call back if need be,” she said.

“This is as good a time as any,” he responded, wondering at the call. They’d been neighbors four years and she’d never phoned him before.

She waited a moment. “You doing anything Thanksgiving?”

The holiday was the following week. Matt wasn’t someone who received a lot of invitations. “No.”

“Do you want to come to my place for dinner?”

The truth of what Sheryl had said hit home. Without her father, Margaret was alone for the first time in her life. Sure, there were the housekeeper and the ranch hands, but they had their own families. Matt knew what it was to spend holidays alone. It wasn’t a good feeling. “You cooking the turkey?” he asked.

“I’d be willing to give it a try, if you’re willing to come.”

Matt thought about the other ranchers he knew. They all had families to share the holiday with or someplace to go and someone special to see. Matt didn’t, and apparently Margaret didn’t, either.

“I can bring the cranberries,” he offered.

“Does this mean you’ll come?” Her voice rose with unmistakable pleasure.

People generally didn’t get excited about cooking him a meal. “I guess it does.”

“I was serious about cooking the turkey, you know.”

“I’m serious, too,” he told her, grinning. He seemed to be doing a lot of that around Margaret. He’d come to know her a little, and every exposure left him feeling good, a sharp contrast to the way he’d been with Sheryl. “I’ll bring a bottle of wine and we can talk.”

“Talk?” This seemed to fluster her. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Do we have to decide that now?”

She hesitated, as though measuring her words. “We could discuss those kisses … that is, if you want?”

“All right,” he returned. It was easy to forget how direct Margaret could be.

“You know what I think?”