"This time," Cougar said, spreading his legs, his hard body a solid wall behind her, "let's just do it all the way, no matter what. You drop hard on that one side, bring the knife around."

"Okay."

"And try to picture someone hurting Tidbit while you're at it."

She did, but as always she pulled back, tapping his knee, rolling when she hit the ground to lightly hit the back of his ankles. He grabbed her skirt. Remembering what he'd told her, she brought the stick down on his hand, closing her eyes as she did so, missing. He sighed as she scooted back.

Cougar got to his feet holding his hand out to her.She bit her lip as he helped her up.

"Maybe I'll do better if it's the real thing."

"Maybe." He didn't sound any more convinced than she, and his "Let's try it again" had a resigned note she didn't find comforting. Brushing off her skirt, she stepped into his arm, and vowed to do better.* * * * *

An hour later her leg was aching, she had bruises on her hips, and she still hadn't mastered the art of being vicious. It was a relief when the sound of a fast approaching horse interrupted yet another attempt.

"That, I expect, will be Clint," Cougar said as he walked to the entry, left open for light. He glanced out then back at her. "You left word where you were, didn't you?"

"I told Gray." She pushed the tumble of her hair out of her face, grimacing as a piece of hay stabbed her palm.

"Hmm."

That was not a comforting "Hmmm".

Twisting her hair into a braid behind her head, she walked to the door. Sunlight poured over her, unnaturally bright after the dimness of the barn. She blinked against the sting, and the sight of Clint tearing into the yard atop his big buckskin, Danny close behind.

The way he leaned over the horse's neck, urging it to more speed, sent her heart into her throat. Something must he wrong.

"Clint!" She let go of her hair and started runningtoward him. Her leg gave out on the second step. She went down, only to be snapped back up again as Cougar snagged her arm. Clint's head whipped around, and as if horse and rider were one, the big buckskin pivoted and without a break in stride, came charging at her.

"You okay?" Cougar asked.

"Yes," She didn't have time to say more. Four strides and the horse was on them, so close she could see the pink in the flare of his nostrils. So close she flinched, expecting to be run over, but in another of those moves that was more like poetry than riding, the horse sat back on its haunches and slid to a halt while Clint, in a graceful flow of muscle, launched out of the saddle, hitting the ground on a run. His eyes black as pitch, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," he growled as he s.n.a.t.c.hed her out of Cougar's grip and up against his hard chest. "I'm going to beat you black and blue." A hard squeeze nearly cracked her ribs, and then he held her away. His lips thinned to a flat line as his gaze paused at her hair, her dirty skirt, and the smudges on her cheeks. "What in h.e.l.l happened to you?"

"I was practicing."

"What?"

"Fighting."

He blinked. His fingers on her arms tightened. "Youweren't hurt?"

"No."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h." His lips slammed down on hers, his hand in her hair pulling her head back further as his mouth opened over hers. His tongue filled her mouth along with his groan.

She didn't know what to do, what was wrong, so she dug her nails into the hard muscle of his arms and hung on, while he f.u.c.ked her mouth with brutal intensity, hunting for a response that she didn't know how to give.

Twisting her head to the right as if he wanted to permanently mate their mouths, their breath, their souls.

"You might want to take that into the barn." The amused drawl from the right was like a dash of cold water.

Against her, Clint froze. His black eyes unreadable, he stared at her. With a brief nod and a curt "I think I might" he bent and put his shoulder to her stomach. In the next instant she was upside down, Cougar's moccasins swinging in and out of view with the swish of her hair across the ground.

"I'll cool Ornery down while you're occupied."

"I'd appreciate it if you could keep Danny with you, too."

Cougar grunted a "You owe me" before his moccasins faded from view.Clint's first step drove the air from her lungs. His second a protest. The third a scream as the flat of his hand came down on her sore rear.

"Quiet, Jenna."

Sunlight changed to shadow as they entered the barn.

Shadow turned to darkness as the barn door creaked closed. She groaned as he set her on her feet and pain shot up her leg. His "Don't try to get around me with a play for sympathy" was as mean as a snakebite, but his hands were gentle as they probed her thigh, and became tender as he felt the spasming muscle.

"Well h.e.l.l." He lifted her and then sat. His thighs were hard beneath her hips. "How am I supposed to beat you when you're hurting?"

If he didn't know, she wasn't going to tell him. Try as she might she couldn't see his expression in the gloom.

"Why do you have to beat me at all?"

"You scared the s.h.i.t out of me woman." His callused palm slid up her thigh beneath her skirt.

"It's not that far over here."

"One foot beyond the porch is too far." He began to knead the tight muscle. "Especially when I didn't know where you were going."

"I told Gray."

"Must be he thought I'd hurt you when I found youbecause all he did was shrug when I asked."

Or maybe he was trying to start trouble. The unwelcome thought slipped through the pain to prod Jenna.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with him," she whispered, the last syllable coming out high as another spasm wrenched her leg.

"Give him some room to sort things out and he'll be fine," Clint countered.

"Will he sort it out?" She felt his nod in the brush of his hair against her cheek. "Good."

"Leg still hurt?"

She bit her lip and nodded, unable to do anything else as the muscle contorted excruciatingly. At her whimper, Clint cupped her cheek and pulled her head against his chest. "Shh, baby. Just relax into me and let me take care of this."

She did, turning her face into his neck, breathing deeply of his scent, riding the soothing notes of his baritone as he reprimanded her for riding, for scaring him, for hurting herself, for tricking Jackson. By the time he got the muscle to relax and the pain to a manageable ache, he was pretty much condemning her for getting up in the morning.

"It wasn't that bad."His finger tipped her chin up. She could barely make out the whites of his eyes as he corrected her.

"It's as bad as it gets, and if you don't believe me, imagine coming downstairs a year from now and not being able to find Bri. Not knowing if she was taken or if she just walked out the door and into trouble. And while you're looking for her, you just keep imagining all the trouble she can get into, knowing d.a.m.ned well exactly what can happen."

Nausea mixed with pain. She'd die if that ever happened.

"Exactly." His finger touched her cheek. She'd forgotten he could see where she couldn't. His hand scooted up her thigh, not flinching as his fingers. .h.i.t the dips and ridges of the scars. "You scared the s.h.i.t out of me. Again."

His palm came to rest on the bulge of her hipbone, his fingers dangling in the crease of her thigh, the thin cotton of her pantaloons doing nothing to diminish the searing heat of his touch. Deep inside, her body sprang to life. She turned deeper into his embrace.

"I'm sorry I worried you."

"You're going to be." The hard edge to his voice sent a shiver of worry sneaking through her.

"When?"

"Just as soon as you're up to it.""I don't think you should beat me." She'd never be up to it. She tested the give in his biceps. There was none. She opened her fingers measuring their depth. She couldn't even get her hands around the upper curve.

"Tough." He set her on her feet, the rustle of his denims and the shift of his grip telling her that he stood also. "When you married me you took the good with the bad."

Chapter Twenty-One.

She had to take the good with the bad. The thought plagued Jenna as she rode behind Clint, her arms wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed against his broad back. His coat kept her from feeling the heat of his body, but if she closed her eyes she could imagine it.

How warm he always was. How caring.

She had to take the good with the bad. She pressed a little closer, the back of the saddle pressing into her stomach, the scent of his cigarette drifting over his shoulder. There wasn't an ounce of bad in the man. She'd bet on that when she'd joined this marriage, and she hadn't seen a thing to change her mind since.

The saddle creaked as he half-turned, "Something wrong?"

"My hands are cold."

"If you'd asked before leaving, I would have made sure you had the right clothes." He flicked the half finished cigarette to the ground.

Again that reference to the fact that she needed looking after, as though she were a child. She slid herhands up under his coat and rested them against his belly, just above the waistband of his denims. He jerked.

He was clearly still angry. She needed to do something about that.

She gently stroked his stomach through his shirt. The muscles under her fingers knotted on the upstroke. On the downstroke her knuckle slid beneath the waistband of his denims. His flesh burned hotter there. Her fingers lingered. His breathing grew rapid. The gap between material and flesh widened.

"Clint?" she asked softly, her daring rising to conquer her modesty.

"What?" His drawl was a growl.

"If you don't want me to touch you, you need to tell me now."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h!"

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"This isn't going to change my feelings, Jenna."

"I know. You're going to beat me when I'm up to it."

She kissed his back through his coat. He leaned back, giving her better access.

"d.a.m.ned straight."

"But can I touch you now the way I want?" She worked his shirt up, sighing as her fingers reached the heat of his flesh. His stomach muscles leapt under hertouch.

"How do you want?" His hand caught hers.

"Intimately." She wanted to touch him with the same generosity with which he always touched her, releasing his fear and tension into a storm of pa.s.sion that carried him away.

"Yes." His fingers jerked on hers and then opened, freeing her.

"Good." She smiled against his back. Who did he think he was fooling with his snapping? She could feel the excited jump of his breathing against her palms as she snuggled closer.

She tried to unb.u.t.ton his pants with one hand while stroking his stomach with the other, dipping her finger into his navel while she tugged at the stubborn flap.

When her nail bent back she acknowledged the truth.

This was going to be a two-handed job. She got the fly of his pants open before running into another problem.

"I want to touch you," she whispered.

"Who's stopping you?"

She stroked the thick length of his c.o.c.k through his denims, pressing her forehead against his back as the heat of embarra.s.sment washed her face.

"I can't get to you."

"That, Sunshine, I can fix." He stood in the saddle,raising his hips and straightening the line from thigh to hip. She reached into the open fly of his denims, very carefully cupping his hard flesh, easing him up. The head caught and she had to stop. Just when she thought he was stuck forever, he pushed the waistband down. On a soft sigh, she lifted him into her grasp.

She couldn't see him, but she didn't need to. The sheer weight was impressive. His c.o.c.k rested on her hands, jerking and twitching with need. Every inch of his heavy shaft burned into her memory. The roping of veins under the silky smooth flesh. The hardness covered with velvet, ending in the flared head with its cushiony resistance. She ran a fingertip around that intriguing softness. He pulsed with life and promise. And if he was to be believed, only for her.

"You feel good in my hands."

"Sunshine, I can't begin to describe how good your soft little hands feel on me." His laugh was choked.

"Do you like it when I do this?" "This" was a gentle pumping motion. His hips bucked, giving her a little more to play with.

"Yes."

"Then I'll do it again."

"What happened to my shy little sunbeam?" He asked over his shoulder, strands of his hair brushing her face."She's coming out of her sh.e.l.l."