Chapter One

Rachel

I tried to ignore the blended aroma of sweat, dirty feet, and bleach as I paced back and forth in the girl's locker room in our high school gymnasium. Alone for the moment, I recited my valedictorian speech for the fifth time — in the past hour! I had memorized each sentence, each phrase, each hand gesture. The words were ringing in my ears. Should I replace the first sentence with a different metaphor? Was the ending punchy enough?

My heart stopped at the thought of noticing someone yawning in the crowd — what would I do at that point? Talk louder, clear my throat, make a dramatic gesture with my arms? And...oh, my God, what about Daddy!

I swallowed hard at the thought of seeing my father sitting in the front row on the bleachers, staring at me with a grin pasted on his face. There was a knot drawing up in my stomach — what if I embarrassed my father? What if I tripped over my royal blue gown going up the stairs to the podium, or my mortarboard cap fell over my face? I was starting to sweat, so I took a deep breath to calm myself, but it wasn't working.

At eighteen I was graduating at the top of my class as valedictorian and was proud of my achievements. I was also painfully aware that I was lucky; school and studying had come easy for me. There had been times I was called a nerd or a bookworm by some of my classmates and friends, who had struggled just to pass a class with the grade of a C — or lower.

So I worked on my speech for weeks, trying my best to reflect not only my high school journey but theirs, too. My words were heartfelt and carefully selected to honor our last day together at Cody High School before we moved on toward our individual goals and dreams.

I had arrived two hours early, driving the new Ford F-150 pick-up truck Daddy had bought me as a graduation present. I remember how he looked down at me with his brown eyes underneath his bushy gray brows, and said, "Rachel, I know you have plans to go off to college, but until you do, in my heart you're still a cowgirl, and every Wyoming cowgirl I know drives a good truck!"

He had offered to drive me, but I wanted to drive my new truck to graduation. I loved it, and I wanted Daddy to know how special his gift was to me. Besides, he would have made me late. I loved my father with all my heart, but pulling him from his work wasn’t easy, especially since Mama died.

For a moment or two, I felt my eyes start to flood, and my mind was distracted from my speech. I thought about my mother looking down from above with a proud smile on her face. All of a sudden my jittery nerves started to calm, and my breathing returned to normal. Then I started worrying about my appearance.

I was never the kind who carried a compact mirror around; I was lucky if I had a comb. My book bag was filled with books, spiral bound notebooks, a laptop, and headphones — not for listening to music — and maybe some Chapstick. But it was graduation day, and for the first time in my life, I was concerned about my makeup and hair.

So I unzipped my mother's leather clutch, the one I could remember her carrying to church, and opened my compact, powdered away the shine on my nose and then slipped it into the pocket of my gown. Before I hid my purse in my old gym locker, I pulled out at a tissue and checked to make sure my mascara wasn't running. I wanted my classmates and my father to remember me as an attractive young woman, instead of just a nerd who aced every test. And who was I fooling? Certainly not myself. I wanted to look especially lovely because I knew Kent Walker was going to be attending.

Kent and I used to be friends, back at the start of our senior year, when he was still attending all the classes. I missed him and heard he was busy team roping on the rodeo circuit. My heart would skip when I ran into him in the hall or saw him in the school parking lot, but we had drifted apart because I was always studying and Kent spent more and more time out of town doing the rodeo thing. I was surprised when I heard he had enough credits to graduate! I knew Kent had always been smart. He was smarter than me when he applied himself, but his attendance was a problem. I was happy for him, though what honestly excited me the most was the thought of him seeing me up at the podium giving my speech.

Tucking the pages to my speech into a black binder, I placed it under my arm before I pulled the compact out of my pocket. I snapped it open and peered into it to make sure everything was in place. My auburn hair neatly parted in the middle — check. All errant locks tucked behind my ear — check. Lip gloss still moist and shiny — check. Eyes bright and ready to face my future — check.

Slipping the mirror back into my pocket, I started pacing again. We had forty-five minutes to go before the ceremony started. Already a few other seniors were milling around, waiting for Mr. Henry, our principle, to tell them to line up in the order we practiced the day before. Truth be known, I was glad for the time alone to review my speech one more time. I whispered to myself, "The door at the back…no, the door you see behind you…” I nodded, that sounded better.

I started reciting it again, feeling my confidence on the rise. This time I envisioned Daddy watching with his chest poked out — proud of me. Of course, he would be, I was the daughter of Sam Turlington, a successful rancher from Cody, Wyoming. I had grown up surrounded by cattle and horses and enjoyed being outdoors, living in the valley near Yellowstone National Park. My mother had passed away with breast cancer when I was twelve, and I had no siblings to turn to for companionship or support, so I had learned to fend for myself. I held my chin high and felt my chest swell with pride. I was graduating at the top of my class, with several college and university acceptance letters at home atop my desk.

I jumped when I heard a knocking on the metal locker room door, even though it was open. Initially, I wondered why a person would knock on an open door in a public building — oh, that’s right; I was in the girl’s locker room.

When I turned to see who it was, Kent was standing there with his hands stuck deep into the pockets of his Wrangler jeans. He had on a white t-shirt under his rumpled graduation gown. It looked like he had taken it out of the box and hadn’t bothered to have it ironed or a least hung it up to let it smooth out before putting it on. It was unzipped and hung loosely around his broad shoulders, like a flannel bathrobe. I had to bite my lip to suppress a giggle; I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. It was evident to me by the way he looked down and shuffled his feet, he wanted to attend graduation about as much as catching the plague.

“Hi, Kent,” I said, in a high-pitched squeaky voice, giving my anxiety away. Don't get me wrong, I was glad to see him, but he had caught me off guard by his unexpected visit.

"From what I heard before coming in, you were practicing your speech," Kent said in that deep, smooth-as-velvet cowboy voice. Even at eighteen, he sounded like a disc jockey. Some might say he even looked the part, with his dirty blond hair with sun-bleached ends that fell into his sparkling, green eyes. Kent was definitely cute, but a poet — not! The thought of Kent Walker reciting classical poetry sent a shiver down my spine and also made me smile to myself. Kent and poetry were not exactly words you would put in the same sentence unless the poem was about bull riding, calf roping, or barrel racing.

Feeling the heat rising in my cheeks, I said, “Yeah, just going over the final touches." Since I hadn’t seen Kent in several weeks, I was surprised to hear from some of the guys that he was graduating. So even though I was prepared to see him, I didn't expect him to come walking inside the locker room. Saying that I had a crush on Kent was a major understatement, and I had hoped to keep my feelings for him to myself — it’s nobody's business!

He sauntered over toward me with the heels of his cowboy boots sounding on the concrete floor closing the distance between us. Then Kent looked at me with his bright eyes, and said, “You’ll be great up there. I’m sure your speech is brilliant, too, no doubt about it.”

Back in our junior year, when we were getting to know one another, I realized I had a crush on Kent. When he came around my desk or passed me in the hall, my heartbeat quickened and my breath came in small gulps. But after a month or so I began to relax and enjoy being around him. We would take rides up to the Dairy Queen, and when I was at the rodeo with Daddy, I would go hang out with Kent. One time we went kayaking on the Shoshone River just to get away and enjoy the local scenery.

In the last year, though, things between us changed. I noticed the less I saw Kent, the more I began to fantasize about being with him. I missed him, but he was busy rodeoing and I was busy studying.

I glanced at the clock over the door and realized we only had thirty minutes before it was time to line up for the ceremony, so I smiled, and said, “Thanks, Kent. Fingers crossed that I don’t trip over my gown.” When he grinned my breath hitched, and I couldn’t help but drool over his sexy looks — his sharp, chiseled jaw, and his teeth so white behind those kissable lips. I figured Kent was purposely trying to distract me.

“Can we go for a quick walk? I promise I’ll have you back here in ten minutes,” Kent said. I blinked a few times in silence and surprise, but there was no point in thinking about it.

“Okay, but we have to hurry,” I said, as I blew the golden tassel dangling from my cap out of my face.

Chapter Two

Kent

As we stepped outside the side door of the gym, I let my breath out slowly, excited that Rachel had agreed to go on a walk with me. I tried to watch her out of the corner of my eye without appearing to stare as we kept in step with each other. The gentle evening breeze caused her gown to billow, and she giggled as she placed one hand on that stupid hat with the square board to keep it from blowing off her frigging head.

Rachel was nothing like the other girls in school who fell all over guys like me who were rodeo champions. In fact, she was like nobody else I knew — at all — in appearance or attitude! Rachel was petite and sweet, with beautiful, soft auburn hair that fell like a picture frame around her face. Her bright, brown eyes drove me crazy, to say the least. I heard someone say once that Rachel had a button nose, and I guess I agree with that observation — whatever! To me her nose was cute. But one thing I was fucking sure of was everything about Rachel Turlington blew my mind. And I figured she knew that was how I felt about her.

Rachel had that black folder with her speech inside tucked under her arm as we walked together. In fairness, I hadn’t exactly told her that I had a speech of my own I had prepared for the occasion. So she was oblivious to the fact that I was trying to gather the balls to make my own graduation presentation. I could see she was nervous about getting up on stage, so I allowed her to gab about nothing important for a while. I figured she would eventually have to stop for a breather, and that’s when I would make my speech.

When we stepped off the sidewalk into the parking lot, she was still rambling on and on about her frigging speech. “…and I don’t want it to sound too preachy…” Then she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her face flushed with excitement, and her small hands were waving dramatically in the air like a choir director. “...but I don’t want it to sound too friendly or be full of high school lingo, either,” she continued and continued. My only contribution was to nod my head up and down like a bobber on a fishing line.

I didn’t mind hearing her talk; in fact, I loved it. Rachel was the only person I knew who had the unique capability of not boring me, even though she was way smarter and spoke about stuff I had no clue about. The truth was, just to see her happy and excited like that made me happy and excited, too.

No matter what, she kept talking, and I still hadn't found the courage to butt in. When she turned to face me, still holding on to her hat, I stopped walking and bent over laughing when Rachel said, “… I don't want to sound like a know-it-all. Or like I'm flipping off the teachers by mentioning controversial issues that I don't agree with…” Then her hand flew up to her mouth, and she blushed like she was horrified at her remark about flipping off a stupid teacher. So she asked, "What are you laughing about, Kent?"

All of a sudden we heard the screech of tires. We had walked right in front of a truck pulling into the gym parking lot. Then someone rolled down the window on the driver's side and hollered, "Watch what the hell you're doing!" I grabbed Rachel's hand and pulled her out of the way. We had been off in a world of our own. Back up on the sidewalk as if nothing had happened, she went on talking about her father, graduation, her speech — the girl wouldn’t shut up and give me a chance to get a word in edgewise.

About a week before, I was lying in bed thinking and had decided that on our graduation day I would confess my true feelings to Rachel. Sure, I wasn’t exactly her type — I was no bookworm. In fact, I didn't even want to go to college. But I had grown up on a ranch just like she had and learned the business from my father. So I figured if being a rancher was good enough for her father, it had to be good enough for me too, right?

I was even willing to go so far as to promise Rachel a comfortable life; she knew me enough to know I was a hard worker and she could trust me. The truth was, the girls I'd dated — ya, I had fucked a few rodeo queens in the back of my pick-up truck — they couldn't hold a candle to Rachel. I knew in my heart she would make the perfect wife and partner, and I wanted her for my own.

Out of the blue, Rachel gasped, then gripped my arm, trying to look at my watch with wide eyes. "What time is it? Look, the parking lot is almost full."

It was now or never, so I swallowed hard, and said, "Oh, we have fifteen minutes." Then I took a breath, and continued. “Rachel, I have something important to tell you. I —”

She looked up at me, bright-eyed, as if she hadn't heard a word I said, and asked, "What are your plans after graduation, Kent?”

I shook my head. “I dunno. Hit the town with the guys, I guess.” Then I cleared my throat, and reached over and took her hand. Rachel laughed, so I jerked my head around to see what she thought was funny.

“Not tonight, silly. I mean, your long-term plans, after we graduate, you know.” I clenched my jaw. This was my moment, my opportunity to tell her exactly what my plans were and how much I wanted her to be a part of them. But she kept right on with her monolog. “I’m planning on going to New York City,” she said.

My feet froze on the spot. Rachel stopped, too, and turned to face me. Her hair was blowing in the breeze and falling across her face. “What are you going to New York for?” I whispered.

Unaware that the breath was rushing out of me, she smiled, and said, “I got accepted into a few colleges around the country, but I haven’t decided which one I want to go to yet. But either way, the plan is that I’ll defer my admission by a year and go to New York City, instead—just to see the Big Apple. Unlike you, I've never been out of the state — not even to Montana.”

I felt a wave of nausea welling up inside like someone had just punched me in the gut. “You’re going to college away from Cody? Why not go to the community college here?”

“Yes, as I said, I will go off to college, but only after I've spent some time in New York City. I want to live a little. You know, go to the theater, the opera, and visit all the museums,” she said while nodding cheerily, expecting me to match that sweet smile on her face.

I could feel the back of my neck burning as my rage started to flare up inside me. What the fuck was Rachel talking about? Didn't she realize we were meant for each other? I guess not, since I had just learned she was planning to move out of the state!

Rachel must have noticed I was glaring at her, my anger building up to a heady ball of fire, because her smile slowly began to droop and she let go of my hand. Then I turned toward her, and I couldn't help myself when my hands shot out from my sides. I grabbed her by the waist. I pulled her to my chest so fast I thought I heard a thud. Then before I lost my nerve, I did something I had only fantasized about in my room.

Rachel gasped when I lowered my lips to hers. Then her hand flew up to her hat. The black notebook fell wide open on the ground. She tasted sweet, and her lips were soft when I parted them with my tongue — without any fucking resistance!

Rachel was clinging to my chest, bunching up my t-shirt with her fists. We were both breathing hard as I moved my hands along the length of her body. Rachel moaned as she was pressing herself against me, melting into my arms. Then I pulled away from her with a jerk, and Rachel gasped. “Kent…” her voice was soft, and I could see that she was in a daze by the faraway look in her eyes.

My mind was whirling with anger and desire, as I started backing away. Rachel’s shoulders were heaving, as she reached down to gather the pages of her speech that were beginning to blow away. I felt how her lip gloss was sticky on my lips and wondered what was becoming of us.

The last thing I remember about our fucking graduation was turning from her and running back to my truck. I pumped my fist in the air and yelled out loud, "Fuck graduation! Fuck this town! Fuck every mother-fucking thing!” At the moment I wanted to put as much distance between Cody, Wyoming and me as possible — and I eventually did.

Chapter Three

Eight Years Later

Rachel

The summer sun was slipping behind the mountains, bathing the evening in a warm glow, and the fireflies were just beginning to put on their show. Nights like this were my favorite times of the year. After I had finished my chores and dinner was over, it was time to relax. Daddy was sitting on the swing with one foot propped on the seat, while I was brushing Georgie-B's tail. Daddy never bothered naming any of our horses; he always left their names up to me. Georgie's registered name was Georgie-Be-Mine. He was a champion barrel racer back when Daddy was still able to compete.

That was eight years ago before my father got sick. Since then I had used Georgie only for trail riding. He was beautiful. Of course, he should be for the price Daddy had paid for him. He was a sorrel gelding with a shiny coat, short, clipped mane and one hoof with a white stripe. We had several other horses that were used mostly for breeding, but Georgie-B was my favorite.

****

One day, soon after my high school graduation, when I had finished packing my suitcase for my trip to New York City, I went outside looking for Daddy, but I couldn’t find him. I had hollered and ran around the house looking everywhere. Breathless and crying, I was about to dial 911 from the phone in the stable when I heard a moaning sound coming from Georgie-B's stall.

When I looked inside, Daddy was lying on the floor. Georgie was peering down at him, still with his bridle and saddle on, nuzzling Daddy's arm and breathing over his face. I knew in my heart Georgie was trying to revive him — and probably did! I was afraid he had suffered a heart attack and at first, so had the doctors. I knew he had pushed himself to finish the fence around the pasture because he was expecting a new load of calves. But after spending several days in a Cheyenne hospital, the diagnosis the doctors had finally decided on was chronic fatigue disorder.

When I asked the doctor what that meant, he glanced over at Daddy first, and when my father had nodded, the doctor peered at me over his glasses, and said, "Rachel — that's your name, right?" I nodded in agreement. Then the corners of his lips turned up into a practiced smile, but it was his sad eyes that were telling me the truth. "Rachel, what this means is your father is going to need some help for a while. His body is fighting with him, stealing all of his energy."

As the weeks turned into months, it became painfully clear that Daddy could barely work at all. His uncontrollable fatigue slowly took over his life. For several months he never mentioned how his back ached, and his daily chores were becoming harder and harder to finish. One day I heard him pull up on the four-wheeler and I ran outside to meet him to see how his day was going. When I rushed around the corner, I gasped at what I saw. Daddy was standing beside the fence, bending over, holding on to a post with one hand, and the other one was on his knee. I ran up to him, and asked, "Daddy, what happened...what's the matter?"

He shook his head. "Rachel, my legs feel so tired, like my feet are buried in concrete up to my ankles. It takes a lot of effort just to move them." I had helped him inside and onto the couch, where he stayed for the rest of the day. That night he could barely make it up the stairs to go to bed. It was two weeks before he came out of his room. We had to hire Sally, a nurse, just to help him in and out of the bathroom and to give him a bed bath. But after a while, with the aid of a physical therapist, he regained some of his strength, at least enough to get around and to take care of himself.

He felt better for a few months, but I knew that sooner or later I would have to make some important decisions. I’d saved my allowance, and with Dad’s help, I had a ticket to New York City that was still safely tucked under the books on my bedside table, and that was where it stayed. I had decided not to leave despite Daddy’s passionate protests — what else could I do? I loved my father and didn’t want to leave him in his condition. I had decided to give it a year to see how well Daddy recovered, and since I had my deferment from college, all I was really giving up was my trip to New York City.

But a year came and went, and I soon realized my father was suffering from an incurable degenerative disease, which left him taking a plethora of drugs just to manage the pain — he would never fully recover. The doctors finally confessed the only prescription that would help him was a complete change of lifestyle. They recommended no heavy lifting, no driving, no walking at a pace that would elevate his heartbeat over one hundred beats per minute. He had a specially designed recliner and a mattress made from the foam — like the astronauts used — to keep his weight equally distributed, allowing him to sleep comfortably. What it had all boiled down to, with domestic help, I was put in charge of running the ranch. I had no choice; it was the source of our livelihood.

Year after year, I worked on the ranch, following Daddy’s orders. I tried to run things the same way he did, but I was physically incapable. Thankfully, we had friends in the community, who for a while would come by when I needed an extra hand with mending the fence or bailing hay. Daddy was so apologetic, and often said, “Rachel, sweetie, I feel so sorry about all the added responsibility my condition has caused you. I’m going to put an ad in the paper for a ranch hand. You need to go on to college.”

We had hired a few ranch hands, but they never stayed around very long. When the winter winds started to blow snow and sleet sideways, they all had quit in search of a warmer climate or found a job that didn’t require working outside in the freezing cold. After all, what was the point? There was no way that I would leave Daddy by himself, to make do on his own. Deep inside I knew that my dreams of graduating from college were the ultimate sacrifice for our financial survival.

****

During all those years, I have always tried to give Georgie-B extra attention. Daddy was sitting there on the swing, watching what I was doing — smiling and nodding his head.

After I had finished brushing Georgie, Daddy was ready for help back inside the house. When I was sure he was resting in his recliner, I headed outside to put Georgie back inside his stall. As I opened the door and turned to remove his halter, my thoughts drifted back to the time when I had found Daddy lying there on the floor. I paused for a moment, then I kissed Georgie's velvety nose and gave him a pat on his neck.

When I started walking toward the house, I noticed how the stars were beginning to shine, and I thought of my valedictorian speech. I could still remember the punch line. Just to hear the words again, I spoke them out loud, "This isn’t goodbye, my friends; it’s au revoir — adios — until we will meet again."

As I slid the patio door open, I felt my eyes began to flood. I had been a high school senior so full of hope and naïveté, dreaming about my future. That day was supposed to be the first day of realizing my dream — and the day Kent Walker had kissed me. I remembered how shocked I was, and I wanted to hear what he had come to tell me. But he disappeared, and in time my dreams had vanished with him.

When I got inside, I noticed Sally helping Daddy to his room — his old office that we had remodeled into his downstairs bedroom. I kissed him on the cheek and mustered a wide smile, but inside I wanted to cry.

I sighed as I headed up the stairs, and when I entered my bedroom, I sunk into my chair. Then I glanced at my bookcase and plucked Gone with the Wind off the shelf. It was time to relax alone for a moment before I took my shower. I switched on the pole lamp that stood beside my chair, opened the book and started to read about the party Scarlet O'Hara was attending. Recently, I had begun taking an online course on American literary classics and Gone with the Wind was on the assigned book list — but my mind started drifting.

I began thinking about how I didn't socialize much because it just wasn't my nature. I loved my books and taking online courses on subjects of interest. I had dated two guys back a few years ago; the introductions were arranged by some of my high school friends. I had even had sex with one of them a few times and had definitely enjoyed the experience. But as time went on, and Daddy's health deteriorated — I guess he just lost interest because I was always busy with the ranch. Oh well, his loss; he was beginning to bore me anyway.

Anyway, I had Daddy, Sally, the animals, my books and studies; that was company enough. But on evenings when I felt particularly sad, I would think about how different my life might have been if I had married Kent. On graduation day, I had felt a spark, like the energy of the entire universe was exploding on our lips. I wondered what else he wanted with me?

Looking back I realized I had always secretly wanted Kent to be the man to take my virginity, but I was too young and naïve back then to understand my feelings. I had heard through the grapevine that Kent had joined the military, and then a few years ago his picture was in the newspaper. He was the first person from Cody to become a Navy SEAL.

I shook my head and laid the book down; I wasn't concentrating on it anyway. I headed for the shower, and as the warm water flowed over my shoulders and down my back, I resigned myself to the fact that I was only building air castles when I started dreaming of how things could have been different if I had married Kent Walker.

Chapter Four

Kent

I flipped on the turn signal before I pulled up to the Silver Dollar Saloon. It was Friday night, just before the rodeo started, and the parking lot was almost full. Hoping to grab a few brews before I returned to my old stomping ground — Cody’s Stampede Stadium, I jumped out of my red truck and shook my head at the sound of the door squeaking shut. But as I sauntered up to the sidewalk I figured for a ten-year-old Dodge pickup I had gotten a pretty good deal — five hundred down and fifteen hundred dollars spread over the next three months — my disability check was enough to cover the payment.

When I pulled open the door of the saloon, I was taken aback. In eight years, only two fucking things were different. Blake Shelton was singing “Every Time I Hear That Song” over the sound system instead of Carrie Underwood’s “Cowboy Casanova.” I walked over to the bar and sat down on the stool covered with the same red faux leather. I winced a bit, still sore from getting another tattoo — a bucking bronco on my bicep. I had the same artist create it that had done the cobra down my right arm a week before. Cobra was Marcus' code name.

The bartender had his back to me, reaching for a Jack Daniels bottle. So I glanced around the room, scoping out the chicks, and there were a few hot ones. Then I heard the bartender ask, "What can I get you this evening?" When I turned, I did a double take. It was Chad Peterson, one of my high school friends, but I almost didn’t recognize him. He had gained at least thirty pounds and had grown a scruffy beard just like mine.

"I'll take a Coors — on tap," I said and waited a moment to see if Chad would recognize me, but he only grunted and walked away. Back in our high school days Chad and I had been team-roping partners. The last time I had seen him was just after graduation. He was on the way to the Championship Rodeo in Greeley, Colorado with Matt, his new roping partner.

I figured he must have given up rodeoing by the way he looked, out of shape with a big beer belly. He must have decided to settle down and go to work with his old man — the owner of the Silver Dollar Saloon. I didn’t blame him. After all, it was a thriving business for tourists coming to see the Cody Stampede or on their way up to visit Yellowstone.

Moments later he came back and sat my mug of beer in front of me. Then he paused a second, looked up and squinted his eyes. "Kent? Is that you, Kent Walker?"

“Chad,” I said, giving him a half-grin that quickly dissipated, preferring he hadn’t recognized me. I had no energy for smiles and politeness anymore and didn’t want to be placed in a situation where I had to put on an act.

“Kent!” Chad bellowed, thrusting out his palm. “How the hell are ya?" He shook my hand and laughed, peering hard into my eyes. “Look at you, man! Where've you been? I read in the newspaper that after you left here and joined the Navy, you had become a SEAL. Is that true?"

I took a sip of beer and licked the foam off my upper lip before I nodded my head, and replied, "Yep, it's true."

"Wow, man, tell me about it." Chad reached behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of Crown Royal and set it down in front of us. Then he picked up two shot glasses and filled them to the brim. I figured if he was expecting to have a private welcome home Kent Walker party, he was mistaken. "Were you over there in Syria with the SEAL Team…uh — 4?”

“SEAL Team 5,” I informed him.

“Whoa! That’s so exciting!”

"If you say so." I picked up the shot that Chad had so graciously poured for me. Throwing my head back, I downed it in one quick gulp. Chad ran his palms through his hair and was looking at me with wide eyes, like a kid that had just seen their favorite rodeo star. He seemed oblivious to my lack of desire to continue our conversation. But I had to admit, I felt a pang of guilt at my dismissiveness when he smiled, and said, "I want to thank you for your service!"

I could tell by the kind expression on his face he was sincerely glad to see me. After all, we had spent many days together growing up on his grandfather's ranch, practicing our calf roping and fishing in their pond for trout and bluegill — and whatever else we could catch. We had even doubled dated a few times, but that was a long time ago. Chad had stayed in Cody where life didn’t change much, but my story was different.

After picking up a few empty beer bottles and setting my mug in the sink, with a gleam in his eye, Chad continued. “So…you’re back!”

I nodded my head. "Yep, I'm back," I said, as I slid my shot glass over for him to refill. The Crown was going down smooth and also loosening my tongue. "I came back to Cody — well Meeteetse, really."

Chad's head whipped back like I had taken a punch at him. "Meeteetse, that's thirty or forty miles away."

"Bought a used fifth wheel camper...staying in a campground over on the Greybull River where it’s nice and peaceful,” I said, rolling the shot glass around in my fingers.

Chad looked over at a customer who was trying to get his eye. Then before he walked over to take the man's order, he faced me and nodded. "That's right. Your family doesn’t live here anymore. Now I remember.”

I looked down at the bar and shook my head and waited for Chad to come back before I explained what had happened. "Soon after I left to join the Navy, my folks divorced, and my Mom and her boyfriend moved to Cheyenne and Dad moved back to Dallas — in with my grandmother.” Then I rolled my eyes. “What a fucking disaster! I don’t talk to either of them much anymore, but I do call Granny now and then.”

About the time I was ready to make my retreat, Chad refilled my shot glass again. So I hung around and continued our conversation.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Then Chad shook his head, and his voice cracked. “Dad is gone now. He died five years ago from a sudden heart attack. And, well, I was already helping out here at the saloon. So I stayed and helped Mother with the business. She was a nervous wreck trying to keep up with the ordering, the cooks, and the waitress schedule, so I took over.” Chad paused a moment and chuckled. “Now all she does is come in to close-out the cash register each day. I think she likes to count the money.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your father,” I said, hoping the tone of my voice sounded sincere enough. After being around the carnage of war, and seeing friends die right before my eyes, I had become callous to death, even though it's icy fingers still gripped my heart at times. No matter what I did — drinking, drugs, women, or meditation — I still had that gnawing, cold ball of despair hidden inside of me somewhere.

“Things aren’t the same anymore, man,” Chad said, as he took the towel off his shoulder and began wiping the bar. Then he looked up at me with a gleam in his eyes and changed the subject. “Remember Sheila Doherty? She broke her back last summer. Fell off a horse or something,” Chad said. “And Paul…” Chad pantomimed like he was slinging a newspaper into someone's front yard. “…the guy who used to do the paper routes. He ran away with Nina Browning five days after she had married Mike Bledsoe.”

Chad went on. I nodded with no expression and glanced around the room. But when he asked, “Do you remember Samuel Turlington?” Chad suddenly had my full attention. I looked up and watched him serve drinks to the couple sitting next to me and rubbed my arm. Then Chad returned, throwing the rag over his shoulder. “You remember him, right? Rachel Turlington’s old man. They live out by the —“

“Yes, I remember them. What about Sam Turlington?”

“He’s real sick ... some kind of disease that makes him tired all the time. Folks around here never heard of it." Chad squinted his eyes, leaned closer over the bar toward me, and added, "Mother says he's just putting it on...his selfish way of keeping his daughter home on the ranch. The way I understand it she had several college opportunities.”

“What do you mean, Chad?” I asked him, trying to keep my voice even.

“I don’t know. I’ve forgotten the exact name of the disease. Rachel had to drive him to Cheyenne for weeks to the doctor — poor girl.”

I crossed my arms over the bar and looked around, like I was afraid someone would hear what I was about to ask. “Not the disease, Chad. What do you mean she didn't go to college?”

Chad opened his hand's palms up and shrugged his shoulders. “I mean that she’s still here, man. She didn't go anywhere. She's running the Pitchfork Ranch all by herself."

"Oh, I see." I swallowed hard and stood up, reaching into my jean’s pocket for my wallet. After hearing Rachel was still in town, my breath began to come in hitches, and I rubbed the back of my neck. I could feel my PTSD kicking in. I couldn't help but think I had made a mistake, returning to Wyoming to try and forget about the last eight years. I had assumed Rachel had gone on with her plans. So I whispered to myself, “I need to get out of this place. Fuck going to the rodeo!”

As I fumbled to take out my credit card, Chad looked over at me. “Are you okay? You look pale!”

I nodded my head but didn’t answer, when he said, “It's on me. It’s nice to see ya.” I didn't even thank him; I just turned and took off out the door.

Out in the parking lot, I yanked open the door to my truck and started the engine. As I pulled into the street and stomped the gas, I was impressed that the old truck still had enough in it to lay rubber for at least twenty feet down Sheridan Avenue. As I glanced up into the rearview mirror and put Cody behind me, I felt relieved, at least for the moment. But I knew come Monday morning I’d be paying Sam Turlington and the Pitchfork Ranch a visit.

Chapter Five

Rachel

Every Monday morning, soon after the sun came up, it was a ritual that I would fix chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. Daddy liked a stack of four, with lots of syrup and three strips of bacon. After breakfast was over it was time for me to get started mowing hay in the field not far from the house. I didn’t mind sitting there inside the air-conditioned cab of the tractor, pulling the sickle mower, but it was hard for me to hitch it up without help — the tongue on the mower was heavy.

After placing the dirty dishes in the sink, I helped Daddy to the porch and set a bottle of water on the table beside his rocking chair. In an hour or so Sally would be arriving to help him with his morning bath and give him his pain shot. She would fix our lunch and dinner and do light housework, but her primary job was to look after Daddy and keep him company and administer his medication.

I bend down to kiss him on the cheek. "Now this morning I'm going to get the mowing done. Just like we talked about last night. Then after lunch, I’ll saddle up Georgie-B and ride up to the east pasture to check on the mares and make sure the new valve on the automatic watering trough is still working. I have my two-way radio clipped to my belt and should be back before eleven o'clock."

I felt the corners of my mouth turn down when Daddy looked away without saying one word to me. Over the last few months, his personality had changed, and his medication for depression wasn't working. Sometimes he had a dark, haunting expression on his face, and on other days his moods were up and down like a yo-yo. One minute he would be talkative and laugh some, the next silent and uninterested in what either Sally or I had to say. I never knew what to expect from him, and not knowing how he would be from moment to moment made me anxious. I didn't blame him though; it was not his fault that he had come down with a debilitating disease.

Just as I was headed back inside to fill a canteen with water Daddy tugged on my arm to get my attention. "Look over yonder." Then he pointed down the lane with a shaky finger. "By the size of that dust cloud, I'd say that was a truck headed up our way and not Sally's car."

I turned to see what he was talking about just as an old beat up red pickup came into view. I was standing there with my hand on my hip and Daddy was rocked forward in his chair. We were both curious about our unexpected visitor.

The first thing I saw was a pair of dusty boots step to the ground and noticed the man who exited the truck was wearing a tan Stetson that had a dark stain from sweat and oil around the hat band. His light hair was cut just below his ears, and he had a scruffy beard. The dark aviator sunglasses covering his eyes made him appear mysterious and distant. When he peered at us without saying a word before he started up the sidewalk toward the porch, I noticed his features were familiar.

All of a sudden a warm feeling inside me began to stir, a primal kind of instinct. It started at the base of my spine and moved like a slow wave sweeping the breath out of me. By the time that wave reached my mouth the man was coming up the steps. I swallowed hard trying to find the words to at least ask who he was, but in my heart, I knew it was Kent Walker. My suspicion was confirmed when I heard him say, "Good morning, Sam." I was shocked, though, when he turned to me and didn’t at least offer a simple greeting. Instead, he stared right through me as if I never existed.

“Who's that?” I heard Daddy mumble. I tried to answer but my jaw was slack, and my lips were unable to form a word — or a syllable. I felt that same surprise and hurt that I did when I was collecting the pages of my valedictorian speech off the ground on graduation day.

"Sam," he said. "You knew me when I was in high school." Daddy was gazing at him, trying to figure out who he was talking to, but I was looking at Kent's body. I almost hadn't recognized him; he seemed so different. It was his walk that gave him away. His demeanor was harder and more calloused — even aloof. But he had his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans, just like he used to. He was wearing a thin cotton t-shirt that stuck to his torso and clung to his well-defined abs. His head was turned to Daddy, ignoring me. What was he doing here? I thought he was still overseas somewhere.

"I'm sorry, but I don't recognize you. What is your name?" Daddy asked, looked up at Kent, confused and somewhat annoyed.

“Kent!” I blurted out. I felt my cheeks flush from the frustration of being ignored.

“Walker?” Daddy asked, his confusion turning to surprise and wonder. Instead of speaking, Kent pulled off his sunglasses so Daddy could see him more clearly. I had to catch my breath. Even though he wasn’t looking straight at me, I could see those same sexy sparkling green eyes.

“How are you, Sam?” Kent asked, with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice. I couldn’t even remember the last time he had spoken to my dad. It must have been in our junior year — back when Kent was still coming around to see me.

Daddy had chuckled a bit before he answered Kent's awkward question. “As you can see, I'm more or less a cripple." He paused a moment waiting for Kent to reply, but he didn't, so Daddy continued, "Where have you been, son?”

“Syria, sir." Kent turned to face me for a moment, then looked away as though I was a stranger. My mind was racing, trying to figure things out. If Kent didn't want to see me, why had he come? He must have known I was here — no, maybe he didn't. After all, the last time I had seen Kent I had just told him I was going to New York City and then to college.

Daddy's eyes got wide when he said, "Oh, that's right, you're a SEAL."

Kent nodded his head, "Yes, sir, that's correct. Served on SEAL Team 5.”

“SEAL Team 5! My Lord, son. I remember seeing on the news all about how your team rescued that diplomate and his wife who were being held captive by ISIS." Daddy paused a moment, then looked up and raised his arms for me to pull him to a standing position. Then he turned to Kent. "Since you're here, why don't you come inside and sit and tell me about your experiences."

Kent nodded and held open the screen door, and Daddy hooked his arm around my elbow and we started inside. My mind was in a state of confusion, wondering why Kent had shown up out of the blue and then chose to ignore me, and that wasn’t all that was happening.

My cheeks felt warm, and there was a ringing in my ears. And that spot between my thighs that had been ignored for so long was starting to dampen. The stirring I was experiencing was not one of a simple schoolgirl's crush. Kent had developed into a rugged man, with bulging muscles and had a sexy tattoo of a snake running down his arm. As Kent walked in front of us toward Daddy's recliner, I couldn't help but notice his firm ass was and how much wider his shoulders had gotten.

He stepped back as I eased Daddy into his chair and when I stood up, he asked, "Rachel, how are you?" I was expecting him to smile, but instead, his lips stayed in a straight line.

I felt my eyelashes flutter unexpectedly. At first, I looked away, then back at him before I replied. "I'm pretty good, Kent, how about you?" I was surprised at the sound of my voice. It was high pitched from anxiety, and I could tell I grinned too much in hopes he would respond with a gesture of kindness. Instead, he turned his attention back toward Daddy, who, I surmised, had no clue what was transpiring between us.

After listening to us, Daddy smiled, and said, "I got a curious question. Why the hell did a young cowboy from Cody, Wyoming — not known for developing champion swimmers — make a decision to become a Navy SEAL?"

Kent smiled and tipped his hat back. "I believed in the SEAL motto, sir."

"What's that, son?"

"Only easy day was yesterday. And it pays to be a winner."

Daddy looked out the window for a moment, then he smiled, and asked, "You were a champion rodeo roper if I remember right, weren't ya?”

"Yes, sir..."

Daddy turned back to face Kent and looked at him square in the eyes. “I’ve got a feeling you've come out here looking for a job. Am I right?”

"Yes, sir. I was raised on a ranch by a rancher…it’s in my blood," Kent said, and the two men grinned at each other.

I had kept quiet longer than I thought possible and finally interjected, “Where’ve you been living since you came back from Syria?”

Kent’s grin faded when he glanced over at me. I could tell by the way his eyes became two slits, he didn’t intend to respond to my question. Instead, he turned back to Daddy. “I'd like to speak to you alone, Sam.”

Daddy furrowed his brows at first. Then he looked up at me. "Rachel, why don't you excuse us and go out and check the mares.”

I shook my head in confusion and turned to Daddy. “I thought we discussed earlier that it was time to mow the hay first and check on the horses later.”

Daddy glanced up at me, and I thought I saw a gleam in his eye. “Why don't you take a nice ride on Georgie-B this morning? He could use the exercise."

“But Daddy, what about the hay? It needs to dry out so I can bale it,” I argued. “We’ll be needing more bales in a week or two. We only have five of the round ones left.”

Daddy cleared his voice. “You heard me, Rachel. Go on now and be on your way.”

I wanted to put my hands up over my face and cry, but instead, I smiled, and said, "Nice to see you, Kent." Then I turned to Daddy. "I see Sally is pulling up into the carport." I didn't look back at the men as I walked out of the room and closed the double doors behind me.

I started to walk outside but could see out the window that Sally was taking her time getting out of the car. So I put my ear up to the door and listened for a moment. I heard Daddy say, "So, you must have heard I need help, huh?”

"Yes, I heard it from Chad at the Silver Dollar Saloon."

By that time Sally was getting out of her car with a bag from Walgreen’s on her arm. I slipped out the front door and headed for the stable. I couldn't believe what was happening — Daddy was about to hire Kent Walker!

I ran all the way to the stable, pulled open the door to the tack room and sank onto the wooden floor. I wanted to scream; then I wanted to cry. I couldn’t control the hurricane of emotions whirling around in my head. I never expected Kent to show up out of nowhere — with no warning, with no time to prepare myself. I looked down at my tattered blue jeans and my stained t-shirt. If I had known Kent was coming to visit, or apply for a job, I would have least put on something more attractive.

I leaned back and sat for a few minutes, trying to figure why Kent had been so distant. I had to wonder if he was holding a grudge. Maybe he was still upset that I didn't respond the way he expected me to on graduation day. But that was eight years ago, and he had been to Syria; surely, he was more mature than to still be mad at me after all he must have gone through as a SEAL.

I saddled up Georgie and we headed out, with Frank, our dog following behind. Georgie picked his way along the rocky trail. We took a shortcut instead of following the dirt road. I felt better just being there with the animals, out in the summer breeze. Then I began to wonder how I was going to handle Kent's coldness toward me since it was evident Daddy was going to hire him.

All of a sudden a white-tailed deer ran out in front of us. I gasped and gripped the saddle horn as Georgie bolted and reared up. “Whoa, boy…easy now.” Moments later I let out a sigh of relief as Georgie lowered his head and continued up the trail. I patted his neck. “Good boy! Good boy! That buck scared the bejesus outta me, too!”

After realizing how that dangerous situation could have turned into a tragedy if I had fallen and hurt myself, I knew Daddy was right. The truth was we needed a full-time ranch hand, and maybe Kent would be the one to stick around since he was from Cody and knew what to expect. I had to wonder, though, how I was going to control my desire for him and protect myself from getting hurt by his coldness.

As I rocked back and forth in the saddle, I felt a sexual arousal that I hadn’t experienced in a quite a while. The problem was I knew Kent was the only one who could quench my growing desire — now that I had seen him again. So I bit my lip and shook my head. I figured working together as a team was going to be tedious and possibly a recipe for disaster!

Chapter Six

Kent

After Rachel had left the room, I felt I could breathe easier because she was having a serious effect on me. I had to hide my boner by keeping my hands in my pockets. She was so fucking sexy and beautiful! Her hair was much longer and hung in a long braid down her back and swished back and forth over her pert ass with each step.

I had taken a quick peek as she walked out of the room, hoping it would go unnoticed. Her Booty Up Wrangler jeans made it seem like her legs went on for miles and miles. And her tits — well, let’s just say they were fuller than when she was eighteen and looked squeezable as hell. I could tell under her pink, worn out t-shirt that she was wearing a sports bra that pressed them tightly against her body. I couldn’t help but wonder what her cleavage would look like if she wore a black lace push-up bra — or for that matter, nothing at all.

I had no problem fantasizing what I would like to do with her, but I was standing right in front of her father. Sam gestured for me to sit in the leather armchair next to him, in a room full of rodeo memorabilia. “All right, what is it you didn't want to say in front of my daughter?” Sam asked, raising his bushy eyebrows.

I swallowed hard, wondering if Sam had seen how I was looking at Rachel, trying not to look at her at all. I had been around enough men to know each one of us had a second sense that alerted us when there was sexual energy in the air. After taking a moment to compose myself, I took my hat off and laid it in my lap. "I just wanted to speak man-to-man with you about working here on the ranch."

I glanced up into Sam's eyes, hoping he wouldn't misunderstand and be offended that I preferred not to talk business in front of his daughter. It wasn't that I was a prick who thought women were beneath me, but I didn't want him to sense how I felt about Rachel. Then he definitely wouldn't hire me! So, my answer was simple. “I need a job!”

Sam leaned in closer, listening, ready to detect a bullshit answer to his next question. "Why did you choose the Pitchfork Ranch? The paper is full of openings for experienced ranch hands. What's so special about working for me?" Then he paused a moment and his eyes seemed to become wider as he searched mine. "Have you applied anywhere else?"

Holy shit! I wasn't expecting those questions. I cleared my throat as I rubbed the back of my neck and hoped he would believe my half-true story. So here’s what I said: “Earlier, I told you that Chad had suggested you were looking for help, remember?" I paused for a moment, and Sam shook his head, so I continued, "But he also told me you had been sick and were depending on your daughter to help you. Being from Cody, I know keeping a good ranch hand isn't easy — they come and go. But Cody is my hometown, so I know how cold it can get here in the winter." Then I recalled Sam was a horse breeder, so I threw in a bigger load of bullshit. "And I remember how almost no one could beat your horses in barrel racing and calf roping. Someday I would like to get back to rodeoing and was hoping you might be my sponsor — allow me to showcase one of your horses.”

By the way Sam grinned and nodded his head, I could tell I had hit the right notes. He pointed up to one of many trophies, ribbons and belt buckles he had displayed on a shelf stretching across the wall. "See that one over yonder — the big one with the stars on it?” I shook my head acknowledging I did. “That's the last one I won before this god-damned disease robbed me of my strength and I had to quit competing." I was surprised when the corners of Sam's lips turned up as he continued, "But I'm still raising several winners. I got a quarter horse stud that Rachel named Licorice. Right now he’s scheduled a year in advance, breeding two mares a month, and his stud fees are one of the highest in the business."

My eyes got wide; I had no idea that Sam was that successful. "So do the mares come here, or are you talking about artificial insemination?"

Sam laughed and slapped his leg when he said, "No son. Nowadays reputable breeders don't ship their mares around the country to get bred. The vet comes every two weeks or so to collect his sperm sample and sends it to the veterinarian of the stable where the mare is. Most of them are in Texas and Colorado. They pay us fifty percent down and the other half when the mare gives birth and the foal is standing. And of course, I sell several yearlings that are born and bred here at Pitchfork Ranch.”

"Wow, that is very interesting," I told Sam, and I meant it. We sat around talking about horses, one of my favorite subjects — other than Rachel of course, but that was my secret. Then a nurse came in to give him some medicine, and after she had left, he made me an offer.

"Look Kent, as you know I need the help, and I'm willing to pay a good wage, but there is one major stipulation. I hope you understand. You must be able to work alongside my daughter. She's the one that will be showing you the ropes and overseeing your work.” Then Sam paused for a moment, and I saw a gleam in his eye, when he continued, “But I'm the one who signs your paycheck."

I nodded my head and wondered what I had gotten myself into, knowing it was too late to back out. The truth was, deep inside I wanted to try to overcome my PTSD and the anxiety and depression it caused. Sometimes the smallest thing could set me off, and I would start shaking or have a fit of anger, not to mention the flashbacks of Marcus dying in my arms with bullets zinging all around me.

As far as my situation with Rachel was concerned, I would love to start over again — give us a second chance — but I wasn’t sure if my PTSD would let me. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings or be made to look like a coward or a fool by freaking out either. So I figured the best way to handle the situation was to hide my desire for Rachel. I would respect her as my boss and coworker and pretend we didn’t have a past.

After I had agreed to Sam's offer, we sat, and he told me about each one of his horses. He had six mares, one stallion, the gelding Rachel was riding and one more for the ranch hand. We must have talked for a half hour, and I was grateful he had no more questions about my military service or why a Navy SEAL would be discharged after only eight years of service. After all, most who were good enough to make it as a SEAL made the military their career or had a deal working as a government contractor. Sam had glanced down a couple of times at my cobra tattoo, slithering down my bicep onto my forearm. I had made my mind up, though, if he asked about it, I would tell him a limited version of the truth. I didn’t want him to pity or judge me. Thank God, the subject never came up!

When we heard the grandfather clock strike nine-thirty, Sam looked up at me, and said, "Why don't you go on out to the machine barn and hitch up the mower. If you will hand me my cane and follow me out to the back porch, I'll show you where I want you to mow."

I followed Sam as he hobbled along, wincing with each step, but he had a smile on his face when he got there. He held up his cane and used it as a pointer to direct me. "Now, you see that metal gate over yonder, not far from that stand of pines?”

"Affirmative, sir,” I reported. For a moment I had a flashback of our survival training up in Washington State. Something about those tall ponderosa pines brought back a memory of the time I was placed in a covered pit and left there in the cold for two days with bugs crawling all over me. When I peered up, all I could see was pine trees. So I had concentrated on how they were rustling in the breeze to keep me from screaming in terror. Then I swallowed hard and brought my thoughts back to the present, and said, "Yes, sir. I see the gate you're talking about."

"Why don't you go over to the machine barn. It’s that one right there.” He turned and poked his cane in the air at a white metal building. "Now, I figure you know this, but I'm going to go over it anyway. Don't use the bush hog, use the sickle mower and watch your turning radius. That there sickle on the side can be a problem when it comes to turning and backing up."

I shook my head, and said, "Thanks for telling me. It's been a while since I mowed a field of hay."

Sam smiled and clapped me on the back. "Go on now and get the mowing done because this afternoon I want you and Rachel to clean out the stable."

I went down the steps and started walking in the general direction of the barn when I heard Sam holler. "The key to the tractor is hanging on a nail over the workbench there in the shop. You can't miss it. Oh, and lunch will be ready around twelve thirty."

My breath hitched. Did that mean I would have to eat lunch with Rachel? It took less than two seconds for me to turn and face Sam, catching him before he went back inside. I told him, “Thanks for the offer to have lunch but I packed my own — it’s in the truck with my chaps and spurs.” Sam nodded and waved, and I went on about doing what I was told. But just knowing I would have to work around Rachel later in the day, I could already feel the anxiety rising in my chest.

I hitched up the mower to the big green John Deere and wondered how the hell Rachel could muster the strength to do all this by herself. By the time I had backed the tractor out and headed toward the hay field, I saw Rachel off in the distance, riding back toward the house. I could see she was looking straight at me; she even raised her hand and waved. But I lowered my head like I didn’t see her and pushed the throttle on the tractor up a notch or two. As the tractor and mower cleared the area between the fence post and open gate I was trying to convince myself she was just my boss and I should forget about our past — for the good of both of us.

Chapter Seven

Rachel

After seeing how he paid me no attention, I vowed to myself Kent Walker was going to notice me! So after finishing lunch with Daddy and Sally, I decided to exchange my baggy t-shirt for something more alluring. Before I started upstairs, I kissed Daddy on the cheek, and said, "Cleaning the stable is a hot job, so I think I'll put on a tube top and maybe I'll get some sun on my shoulders." Daddy nodded, more interested in the news on the TV about the damage done by a severe thunderstorm. But Sally glanced over with a sideways smile, and I figured she knew what I was thinking. I ran upstairs and peered out my bedroom window. I could see Kent below outside of the barn pushing a wheelbarrow of wood chips.

Noticing how his muscles rippled under his tight t-shirt and how his back tapered toward his slim waist making a perfect v-shape, I pulled on a sports bra and my old pink t-shirt over my head. The cool breeze from the ceiling fan had stimulated my sensitive nipples, and I could feel that warm, electrical sensation building at the base of my spine. There was no doubt in my mind I wanted Kent inside me, but I knew that in the long run just having sex would not be good enough. He and I had been soulmates one summer before our senior year, and I wanted to have that same relationship again — but this time as mature adults.

By that time, Kent had dumped the wood chips in a pile behind the stable and was heading back inside. I peered wantonly at his body, and my eyes were fixed on how his tight jeans fit around the bulge under his belt buckle. One thing I had learned soon after high school even though I was known to be a bookworm, was that a sexual climax felt good and it relieved tension. So I had learned how to pleasure myself by reading and experimenting with my body.

I had to admit while I was standing there watching Kent, I got caught up in my desire and began massaging my breasts. At first, it tickled a bit as I ran my fingertips around my large brown areolae, but moments later I started tugging at my hard nipples, and a moan escaped my parted lips. I was about to orgasm just stimulating my nipples and fantasizing about how it would feel to have Kent's hard cock inside me.

My hands fluttered down to my belt buckle, and I unfastened it. The need to quench my desire was rising, and my breaths started to come in hitches. My hands couldn't move fast enough to unzip my jeans and reach inside my white panties. As I slipped my hand under the elastic band and ran my fingers through the dark curls over my mound, my hips started rocking. My clit was begging for my attention. Just as I started parting my swollen lips, I heard Daddy's voice at the bottom of the stairs. "You okay up there?"

I swallowed hard, cleared my throat, and said, "Yes, Daddy. I was just in the bathroom. I'll be down in a minute." I zipped up my jeans and pulled on my red tube top and blew a lock of hair out of my face. I didn't want to alert Daddy to what my plan was, so I slipped a flannel shirt over my shoulders.

When I got down to the stable, I walked over to Kent and placed one hand on my hip. I thrust out my chest, knowing my nipples were still hard, and let my flannel shirt fall open before I said, "Looks like you’re doing a great job Kent, let me get the water hose and help ya."

Kent let go of the handles on the wheelbarrow and gazed over at me. He didn't try to hide how he was looking me up and down. I was sure I saw a glimmer of desire in his eyes when he shifted his weight and adjusted his cowboy hat. Then with a bored tone in his voice, he said, "I'm finished with all five stalls on this side." He gestured inside the stable to where he had been working, then pushed the full wheelbarrow away.

I stared at his back for a moment then walked toward the water spigot and picked up the hose. While I brushed and squirted the floors, I could hear Kent walking behind me making trip after trip with the wheelbarrow. I couldn't help but feel hurt, and I wondered what had happened to the Kent Walker I used to know. I figured he must have found someone else and had lost interest in me.

Moments later as I unraveled the hose so I could pull it further inside the stable, I head Daddy holler at me from the back porch. "How are things going out there?" I smiled and waved, and Kent must have heard him too because he gave him the thumbs-up signal.

I wasn't sure how much Kent had told Daddy and wondered if he knew more about what was going on with Kent than I did, but I didn't want to raise suspicions by asking. I could see the two of them were getting along and seemed to be developing a healthy working relationship.

After we had finished cleaning out the stable and Georgie-B had returned to his clean stall, Kent turned to me. "I'm going to feed the horses and start cleaning the tack," he said.

I nodded in agreement, glad that Kent was proactive without me have to test his responsiveness to my role as his boss. But I was curious, so before he got too far away, I asked, “Kent where are you living now that your folks have moved away?”

He turned, scowling, and asked, “How did you know about my parents?”

I almost laughed but was afraid I would hurt his feelings. “I heard about it from Sally. She knew your mother, and it came out in conversation a long time ago.”

“Oh,” Kent said, as he turned to go about his business. Then over his shoulder, he finally answered my question. “I live in a campground in Meeteetse.”

“It’s quiet…” I didn’t say another word because he was walking out of earshot.

My arms ached from all the work I had been doing. So I sat down on the trunk in the tack room — the one Daddy had used when he was still rodeoing. I picked up the copy of Gone with the Wind I had left there from the day before. I often read when I took a break. So I leaned back against the wooden wall, pulled my knees up to my chest and opened the book. Since my assignment to write an essay on Margret Mitchell’s themes for my online course was due in a week, I needed to finish the last few chapters.

I had barely started before I heard footfalls and Kent appeared at the door carrying Georgie's show saddle, the can of saddle soap stuffed inside his pocket. Daddy had asked Kent to clean the tack covered with silver plating. I wondered why all the sudden he was concerned about polishing tack no one used. All Georgie's rodeo show items had been carefully stored for years in the trunk and looked as good as new.

Kent stopped in his tracks when he saw me, and I thought I noticed a moment of panic in his eyes. Then he walked over and placed the saddle on a stand and began rubbing the soap into the leather. I couldn't help but stare at him and noticed a musky masculine scent was filling the room. His voice was deep when he asked, "You still read?"

"I haven't been able to kick the habit," I replied, feeling my cheeks flush — hope rising. Were we about to break through our icy awkwardness, I wondered? "I'm taking an online course —”

"Still the same bookworm, just like back in high school," Kent said with no inflection in his voice. I could feel the corners of my mouth draw down. Did he believe my yearning for knowledge was a useless habit I hadn't outgrown?

I could feel my anger building. "I'm sorry my thirst for knowledge offends you, Kent." As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted it. I wanted to help not feed his anger with my frustration. Kent turned and fixed his sparkling green eyes on me. I stared back at him as the heat rose in my cheeks.

“I have no reason to be offended by you, Rachel. I was just making an observation.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry,” I was quick to reply, in a soft pleading voice. I felt my eyes begin to sting as Kent turned back to his work.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he said in a voice that was soft — almost a whisper.

I sat holding my book as he polished the saddle horn until I could see Kent's reflection in it while the silence between us continued. He glanced over at me then away again as though he was begging me to say something. So I swallowed hard, and asked, "What happened to you, Kent?"

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied wiping his hands on the towel.

I asserted myself this time when I exclaimed, “You do know what I mean. You aren’t the same guy anymore!”

I watched him as he clenched his jaw. “It has been eight years, Rachel” he said. You can’t expect things to be the same."

I stood up and put my palm on my forehead as Gone with the Wind fell to the floor. “Of course we’ve grown up. But that’s not what I'm talking about. You’ve been avoiding me, and you’re acting like we are strangers.” All my pent up emotions were beginning to boil over. I started to cry.

Unmoved by my tears, he glanced down at the floor and shook his head. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about, Rachel. I prefer to keep my problems to myself.”

For a moment I felt sorry for Kent, but that sorrow soon morphed into indignation. So I dried my tears on the sleeve of my shirt. Then I shrugged my shoulders, and said, “We used to be friends, Kent...close friends. I know we haven’t seen each other in years. But please don't be afraid to tell me why you have put up a wall between us. Was it the military, another woman, or something else? I’m willing to listen!”

He slung the towel over his shoulder then turning to face me. Placing both hands on his hips, he said, “You had your chance, Rachel — eight years ago.”

I sat on top of the wooden trunk with a ‘thud’ as if his harsh words had pushed me down. He was clenching his jaw, and his eyes were two slits. Then he paused for a moment and gazed down at my heaving chest. He licked his lips before he threw the towel on the stand, and announced, “It’s quitting time!” and disappeared around the corner.

Moments later I heard the door of his truck slam and listened while the sound of its motor diminished into silence. I bent over and picked up my book and clutched it to my chest. By the time I got back inside the house, I was heartbroken. I knew I had been wrong to assume Kent had outgrown his teenage anger at me. Was it possible to find that fun, carefree guy I once knew, or should I give up trying?

Chapter Eight

Kent

My heart felt like a tom-tom drumming inside my chest. I figured Rachel knew she was driving me crazy sitting there on that trunk in the tack room reading, trying to look innocent and then tearful. She didn’t know it, of course, but my frustration over her was pushing me into my 'buzz zone' — that's what I called it when my anxiety level would rise to the point that I was in danger of having one of my PTSD fits.

I had to get away from Rachel before I made a move on her. She was so fucking sexy I wanted to throw that stupid book across the room and yank down the red tube top designed to drive me nuts so I could suck her hard nipples. Her tight jeans accented her legs, spread just enough for me to see that sweet 'v' in between them. And if I was a betting man, and I was sometimes, I would wager her pussy was hot and sticky, ready for me to give her what she wanted.

But the truth was, my feelings for her ran deeper than just sex — even if I didn’t like admitting it to myself. I wanted to show her she was still the love of my life by taking her right then and there. On a second thought, though, I didn't want our first time to be hard and fast — leaving the wrong impression. And the reality was, hard and fast was all I knew! But, I dunno? Maybe that was what she deserved for pushing me away in the first place.

As I turned the truck around and headed away from Pitchfork Ranch my attention was turned to my hard cock that had been impatiently waiting for a release all afternoon. The air-conditioner in the truck didn't work, so the windows were rolled all the way down.

I flipped on the radio, and 'Small Town Boy Like Me' was playing when I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my fly. Then I cranked up the volume, gripped the wheel with one hand and my throbbing dick with the other. I didn't want to cum, even though with a few quick strokes of my wrist I could have. I wanted the feeling of excitement to last for a while. So I kept slow stroking and listening to Dustin Lynch. He was telling me what it was like for a small town boy to have the woman of his dreams — and I believed him.

"Yeah, she likes my t-shirt..." I was still singing when I pulled up at the stoplight at the junction of Greybull and Highway 120. The chick driving the semi next to me looked over, and her jaw fell slack when she noticed how I scooted down in the seat a bit — singing and giving myself a hand job. She started craning her neck, trying to get a better look. So I grinned and raised my hips up off the seat so she could see what she was missing.

By the time the light turned green, she was grinning ear to ear. After she slipped the diesel into gear and revved up the motor, she blew me a kiss and dramatically licked her lips. If I hadn’t found Rachel, I would have tried to get her to pull over for a few minutes of fun in her sleeper with a horny cowboy. Instead, I tipped my hat and drove past her. Zipping up my jeans, I headed toward the campground in Meeteetse.

I pulled up to my camper parked in the slip nearest the river and away from the families on their way up to Yellowstone. After snatching a beer out of my fridge, I popped the top. Then I headed out to the woods nearby and picked up a few sticks and dead limbs. After carrying them to the fire pit, I squirted them with a little charcoal lighter. Within moments a few tiny flames built into a raging bonfire.

I sat back in my lawn chair, kicked off my boots and chugged down another beer. Wyoming was known for its steaming hot summer days. But by the time the sun slipped behind the distant mountains, the temperature had usually dropped at least thirty degrees, rendering the evenings cool or chilly.

The fire felt warm as I peered into the fire and watched how the flames licked the charred timbers. By that time I had roasted a few hot dogs and lost count of the beer cans I had emptied. Something about the fire and the smoke caused a flurry of emotions to start rising to the surface, and I was transported back in time and dropped off in the Syrian Desert.

****

The moon was full, shining like a tawny dinner plate over the sand. Not the best time for night maneuvers, but we had no choice — the situation was critical! We were inching closer and closer on our bellies to the walled compound, a recently identified hideout for terrorist leaders who were holding two US citizens hostage. Marcus was on my right side and Dave on my left and the others were fanned out, waiting for Cap's signal.

Our team was only fifty yards out when I felt the force of helicopter blades cutting through the air behind us. By the time I heard the sound of the chopper’s motor, a spray of bullets struck the ground. The first spray missed, but the second one hit Marcus in his back.

Moments later I heard the report of a hand-held missile. I saw the chopper explode into flames. The acrid odor of the smoke around the missile launcher made my skin prickle. Pieces of the blazing plane — falling individual orbs of light — left us exposed and visible to the men on the wall around the compound. The others opened fire. I pulled Marcus up into my arms to assess his wound. All I felt was a sticky warm liquid spilling out over my hands and arms. I heaved and threw up inches from his head and started gasping for air. I was glad it was nearly dark so I couldn't fully see his face. But I will never forget the sound of his voice when he whispered, "Just remember, the only easy day was yesterday. And it pays…I love you, man…Thanks for everything…”

****

As the tears ran down my face, I thought about the good times I had with Marcus back during BUD/s training, our first mission to Afghanistan, and tag-teaming a couple of Army nurses in the back of our Humvee. I looked down and rubbed my hand over my cobra tattoo, and the strangest sensation came over me.

Still gazing into the campfire, I began to notice how in the middle of the dying purple flame I saw Rachel’s brown eyes, kind and warm, peering back at me. Then as the smoke rose up over the embers, it seemed as though it was covering her body like a gray robe. Moments later the smoky robe began to vanish, and I could see her nude breasts.

I noticed how her long dark hair nestled around her neck and hung in curls just above her beautiful nipples. I was sober enough to realize, if I was going to do what I wanted to, I needed to glance around to ensure no one could see me. Then, just like earlier in the day, I opened my fly, but this time I slid my jeans down over my hips.

My cock didn't need any encouragement. I spat in my hands then moaned as I reached down and ran my thumb gently over my cock head then started pumping my fist slowly at first, peering back into the fire. I tried to make my fantasy as real as possible with the limited knowledge I had of Rachel's body. So, since she was dark complected, I envisioned her luscious breasts topped with brown areolae and large, hard nipples. I licked my lips as if I were about to take one of Rachel’s luscious buds inside my mouth.

I pumped harder, getting closer to where I wanted to go, imagining how it would feel to rub her nipple around between my fingers. Suddenly I could see more of her body materialize, and her hips began to sway like the belly dancers Marcus and I watched when we were on R and R in Morocco. Right then and there I knew Marcus must be watching over me. I was just drunk enough to believe his spirit was present as I thought about Rachel and brought pleasure and relief to myself.

As I was about to continue my fantasy trip below her belly button, a cone of light swung around and rested directly on my back — a car had turned into the campground. I sat still for a moment until the car's lights went out and the driver entered his camper. By that time the fire was almost extinguished, but my cock was leaking cream, ready for a release. So I imagined how it would feel pressing open Rachel's pussy lips with one quick thrust. I reacted with a groan as cream spilled over my cock head onto my fist.

Later that night before I fell asleep I figured Marcus was trying to break through to send me a message about Rachel. But I wasn't sure how to process what it was. So I pulled up the covers and prayed I wouldn’t have another terrifying nightmare about losing another person I loved.

Chapter Nine

Rachel

The next morning when I heard Kent's truck pull up, I had conflicting emotions. A part of me was glad to see him — a flicker of hope was still alive. But after his dark, distant behavior the day before I wanted to protect my heart from further bruising.

Daddy had a doctor's appointment in Cheyenne and Sally was driving him. So before they left, he had instructed us to ride up to the east pasture to round up the mares. Many were due to give birth in a few weeks, and he wanted them back in their stalls. Three years ago we had waited too late, and one of our prize colts was killed by a pack of hungry coyotes.

While we saddled up the horses, Kent spoke few words in a matter-of-fact tone as we discussed our plan to move the mares. That’s when I noticed he was a natural horseman and how being around the horses seemed to relax him. As I led Georgie-B out of the stall, Kent informed me he had decided to see how Licorice would behave around the others.

I watched him put on his chaps and tried to ignore how they framed the bulge between his thighs and felt a familiar tingle in my core. Then I noticed he was fastening spurs to his boots and I whispered to myself, “Oh, no, spurs and Licorice — dangerous combination.” But I didn’t dare share my opinion with Kent.

He held Licorice back and stayed behind me on our ride up to the pasture. But I could hear him talking to the stallion as he put Licorice through his paces. I was surprised how well he handled the horse, being he wasn't ridden much anymore. By the time we got there it was nearly ten o'clock, and already a brisk wind was coming down off the mountains.

After Kent had stopped to open the gate beside the cattle gap, he galloped up toward two mares that were the furthermost away. I knew he planned to turn them toward me and my job was to herd them through the gate, out to the dirt road. Then he and I would follow along behind and make our way back to the stable.

At every opportunity, I glanced at him and was saddened to find he was paying me no mind. I wanted my old friend back. The one who would happily listen to me chattering away about anything I had to say. The fact that I wanted his attention reflected a deeper yearning in my heart that had never been fulfilled by another man.

It wasn’t until I heard the crack of lightning in the distance that I noticed that dark, inky clouds were starting to billow above the nearby mountains. Daddy had taught me a long time before how to judge the color and shape of the clouds as a means to predict the weather. There was no question a dangerous thunderstorm was building. From experience, I knew that during the wind and rain the horses often became unmanageable. They either stood unmovable with their rumps facing the wind or run amuck out of fear of the lightning and thunder. Feeling a few fat drops of rain fall on my head, I knew time was of the essence. "Kent!" I yelled, but I didn't think he heard me. So I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled so loud Georgie-B jumped, "Kent, we have to hurry, that storm is building fast!"

He looked up at the sky behind him then turned and gave me a firm nod. As he raised his arms trying to shoo the horses toward the gate, the two mares started off in a trot. Then Kent and Licorice zigzagged — steering them in the right direction. But just as we herded TiaMaria, the last horse, through the gate, it started to pour, and the wind began to blow in gusts. We moved on; when he went right, I went left, as we reined our mounts in a crisscrossed pattern, moving them down the road.

All of a sudden there was a loud clap of thunder, and lightning sizzled into the ground behind us. I knew I had to keep a close watch on TiaMaria. She was terrified of storms. Sure enough, she turned back and started running toward Kent and me. Since we hadn't stopped during the storm to close the gate, Tia ran back to the pasture and headed straight toward a stand of pine trees for protection.

I sunk my heels into Georgie’s side, giving him his head. God, I love that horse so much! He knew just what to do and spun around passing Kent and Licorice in a full gallop throwing clods of mud in the air. I screamed out, "TiaMaria, easy girl!" But she continued ahead of us with her tail waving in the air like a wet flag. Just as Georgie was shifting into the high gear — that spurt of speed quarter horses were famous for — we started closing in on Tia. Seconds later Kent and Licorice charged past us. I had never seen Licorice in a full gallop with someone on his back before, and even in the pounding rainstorm, it was impressive the way Kent was handling him.

I reined Georgie in, and he slowed to trot. Then I watched how with one swift move Licorice cut ahead of Tia and turned her back in the right direction. Just after she trotted by, Kent rode past and glanced over at me. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and in a commanding voice he said, "Let's go." But I had to wonder if he was more concerned about the horses than he was for me.

The rain stung my face as the thunder grew louder. I could sense a change in the atmospheric pressure. All of a sudden the rain stopped and an eerie silence swept over us. I wondered if we were experiencing, literally, the calm before the storm. I pressed my heels into Georgie's side, and I could feel my heart quicken as a gnawing fear balled up in the pit of my stomach. Just as the ranch came into view, another ominous clap of thunder rolled past us. Georgie bolted, then struggled to regain his footing on the slippery mud road. We rushed on until finally, TiaMaria followed the others through the open gate into the paddock.

Inside the stable, I was breathless and heady with adrenaline as I watched Kent jump off Licorice and hand me his reins. Then he ran and closed the paddock gate behind him. I bit my lip when he approached Tia, trying to place a rope around her neck. But she held still and listened as Kent led her to her stall. Fancy and MayLady and the others followed Tia’s lead, and at last, Kent shut the stall gates behind them.

There were a few neighs and the sound of restless hooves stomping. The horses were unusually anxious, and so was I, standing there frozen in the center aisle of the stable, holding the reins of two horses. What if I had been alone? Daddy and Sally were gone. What if Kent had been late? Yet, Kent was there! He had been more courageous and helpful than I could’ve imagined.

I turned to Georgie and Licorice and peered at those two wet horses in amazement, realizing how brave they had been, too. Licorice, the skittish stallion, had become a black knight under Kent's hands and may have saved Tia from being struck by lightning. And Georgie-B was as reliable as ever.

My head was spinning, and my feet were unsteady. I felt lost in that surreal moment, but I managed to slip the bridle off of Georgie and slide his halter over his ears. I took a deep breath and glanced over at Kent before I unbridled Licorice, too. I marveled at how he had calmed the horses and was now scooping oats into their feed boxes.

Finally, I gathered my wits and managed to unsaddle our mounts and lead them into their stalls just as a gust of wind blew a large branch by the stable door. When I heard the whistling wind build into a roar, I turned to Kent and hollered, “Do you hear that?” He nodded and ran ahead of me.

Kent's voice quivered when he pointed off in the distance, and yelled back at me, "Twister." I ran up beside him, and together we tugged on the heavy wooden door, rolling it shut. Then we turned and ran to the other end of the stable. Both of our shoulders were heaving, but the door didn’t budge. Kent looked up, and yelled, “The motherfucker is off the track!”

After we nudged the door back in place, we noticed the tornado was nearing the hay field. For a second we both stood awestruck, watching. The twister appeared like a giant elephant's trunk lazily swinging back and forth along the ground, picking up trees and demolishing the wooden fence.

Kent’s voice echoed in my ears when he ordered, “We have to close it and head for the tack room — now!” Then with one joint effort, the stable door closed with a ‘clang.’ A split second later, Kent grabbed my hand, and we ran inside the tack room. "Get inside the trunk," he commanded holding the lid open for me. I wondered what good a trunk would be if a tornado hit us, but I obeyed. When he slammed the lip closed it was dark! My breath came in hitches and a wave of nausea swept over me.

When the roar got louder, I shrieked, "Kent, where are you!" But there was no answer, so I pushed open the trunk. He was over in the corner hunkered down, with his hands on top of his head, trembling. I rushed over and sat down beside him. Kent reached out for my hand. I was shaking and shivering as we huddled together until the roar of the storm diminished.

After we were sure the storm was over, Kent stood up, and then he pulled me up, too. Without speaking a word, we ran to the stable door facing the house and tugged it open. "It's gone. The house is safe, and so are we,” I heard him whisper.

Chapter Ten

Kent

Even after seeing things were safe, Rachel was still trembling. So I pulled her into my arms and kissed the top of her head. As I felt her warm body through our wet clothes, something fucking crazy came over me that I had no control over. It seemed as though I had slipped into someone else’s body. I was warm and happy. Rachel was sweet and delicate in my arms, and I wanted to hold her forever. Just as she nestled her head close to my chest, that warm glow turned to pure desire. I lowered my face closer to hers. Grabbing a handful of her hair, I pulled her head back, pressing my mouth over her parted lips. I wanted to possess her, even if it was just for a moment before she slipped away again — and this time nothing was going to stop me!

When my tongue glided into her mouth, I felt her press her lower body against me. My hand slid down her neck and back until I was caressing her pert ass. I turned her around and pinned her against the stable door. As her fingers sifted through my hair, I felt the heat began to radiate off her. When I gazed down, I noticed her lids were heavy, and her lips were pink and swollen.

With my hands holding her luscious melons I lifted her up. Then Rachel wrapped her legs around my waist. When her warm pussy pressed against my crotch, that was all the encouragement I needed. If I could have figured a way to get her jeans off without an objection I would have taken her right there, but I wasn’t sure what her reaction would be to me forcing myself on her. So I carried her toward the tack room. Using my back to push open the door I laid her down on a pile of empty burlap sacks.

Then hovering over her, I gripped the lapels of her western shirt and in one swift move unsnapped it, laying bare her heaving breasts, covered by a white bra. I heard her say, “Don’t stop, Kent. I want you.” Then she groaned and arched her back as she reached down and squeezed my manhood. I ran my tongue down between her cleavage. My throbbing cock ached and strained against my jeans as I reached up and yanked down one side of her bra, exposing a hard, brown nipple that was ready for more attention. Not satisfied seeing only one lonely nipple, I moved her bra up for full exposure.

As soon as I laid my eyes on her beautiful breasts, I couldn’t help but stop to stare at her for a few moments. She had a fucking gorgeous body, just as I’d always imagined it — only better. I cupped her breasts in each hand. Her nipples were so irresistible. I bent down and ran my tongue around one and sucked it for a moment before I took it between my teeth. I nipped and tugged on her bud until Rachel moaned with pleasure. I could tell by the way she squirmed under me that I had found one of her hot buttons.

All of a sudden I realized it was never my intention to take Rachel this way, but I was a fucking selfish man, and Rachel was irresistible — giving in to my wishes. Her lips parted; we were both panting, as she looked up at me from under her heavy eyelids. I could see she wanted to be taken hard by the devilish grin on her lips. We were both caught up in a vortex of desire and were spinning out of control, just like the tornado.

In a sudden fury, I felt the need to dominate her. So I grabbed her shirt and bra and slid them up over her head. I used her bra to bind her wrists and her shirt to tie her arms to a nearby water pipe running to the outside spigot. Rachel gasped when she sensed what I was doing, then licked her lips, and whispered, “How big is your cock Kent? I’ve been fantasizing for a long time about this moment.” Then with a devilish grin, she whispered, “Come on, show me. I want to see what I’ve been missing.” I chuckled to myself. She was enjoying our little game as much as I was.

Eyeing her pebbled nipples, my mouth was watering at the thought of sucking those perfect mounds again — I was a tit man! Rachel moved her hips again, arching herself up to meet me. She was trying to tell me what she wanted, and it was exactly what I was going to give her.

“Kent…please…I want you now,” Rachel’s soft plea rang like a bell in my ears. Every shred of control that I might have had before that moment was now gone — no returning.

I gazed down at her half-naked body, lying stretched with her hands bound above her head, while I unbuckled my chaps and took off my boots. She could have quickly pulled her hands free since they were loosely tied. Instead, when she noticed my eyes move down her body and fall between her legs, she moaned and raised her hips up wanting me to undress her. I knelt back down and unbuttoned her jeans. I could smell her sweet, hot pussy, so I ran my hand across her sex and felt her wetness. "Please, Kent I want you to fuck me. See how wet I am?” she asked, with her eyes half closed.

I took a deep breath; my cock was aching in a way that I knew I was about to explode, and I didn't want that to happen without first being inside Rachel. I removed her boots and jeans then paused a moment before she raised her hips one more time for me to slid off her white panties exposing her curly pubes covering her mound. Her folds were plump, and her slit glistened as she followed my every move with her eyes.

My eyes were glued on her sex as I unbuckled my belt, sliding it swiftly off my waist through the loops. When I glanced up at her face, I watched as she bit down on her swollen lower lip. Her brown-as-chocolate eyes were heavy with desire. My jeans fell away, and then I slid down my boxers. Rachel’s eyes lit up as she drank in my manhood. It was rock hard and erect, pointing directly at her. Rachel’s lips fell open, then she nodded, and said, “Your cock is just as big as I had imagined.”

She spread her legs for me, giving me the first good look at the pussy of my dreams. When I knelt down, I spread them farther apart, and she didn’t seem shy, as though we had been doing this for years. The flesh of her thighs was soft as my fingers slid closer and closer to her needy core.

“Kent…” she breathed my name again, even more softly this time, and I could feel electric waves running down my spine, ending at the tip of my cock head. I had waited for this moment for so long. I lowered my face to her flat belly. Tracing my tongue below her ribs, I circled her belly button. Rachel was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I wanted every inch of her.

I reached up and grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Then I untied Rachel’s hands. I wanted to feel her arms around me when I lowered my body over her. She arched her back upwards, pressing her body into my torso, and I felt the wetness of her pussy against my thigh. Rachel was trying to tell me she was just as desperate as I was. Then she wrapped her arms around me and dug her fingernails into my back, pulling me in closer to her.

I grabbed her wrists violently, forcing her arms down by her sides, and then I kissed her lips again. She gasped and moaned into my mouth as our bare bodies touched for the first time. Then I let go of her wrists, pushed her knees upwards and parted her legs further. My cock was pressing on her belly, and I felt her squirm, wanting me inside her. Rachel’s lips fell open as I stared at her beautiful face. How many times had I jacked off dreaming of fucking Rachel? Since we were fourteen or fifteen? Now I was finally going to have her.

She gasped as I pushed through her folds and thrust inside her. Every inch of her body was exposed. I didn’t appear to be hurting her, though; it was obvious Rachel was no virgin. A flash of anger came over me as I wondered who had been her first — that should have been my job.

“Kent! Oh my God, Kent...please...more!” she was screaming. Then I knew she was enjoying getting a good fucking as much as I was enjoying giving it to her. I was teetering on the edge of an orgasm, unable to hold back much longer. When I quickened my pace, I gripped one of her delicious nipples and tugged at it, heightening her pleasure.

“Kent…I’m going to cum!” she moaned, and I reached for her clit, fingering it so that she wouldn’t be able to control herself much longer. I knew it was working because her cheeks flushed and she pressed her eyelids tightly closed. I could feel her coming — juices seeping out as she moaned and shook under me, but I kept driving into her until I felt my orgasm building.

Just when her breathing began to subside, I pulled out and tilted my head back and wanted to howl as I directed my seed flooding out of me like a river onto her belly. Rachel moved her hips under me and watched as I stroked my cock, milking it of every last drop. I clenched my jaws as a wave of excitement flowed over me. Rachel had moved up on one elbow making no effort to close her legs. She was purposely still exposing her puffy wet pussy. So I figured she wanted some more of me.

She smiled when I thrust two fingers inside her wetness and rubbed her clit with my thumb. I wanted her to remember how Kent Walker could make her cum. I could see her face was flushed red with desire and knew she was about to have another orgasm.

A flash of resentment washed over me. So I pressed down on her clit one last time and said with a devious smile, “Rachel, now I know you like to be fucked as much as you like to read!”

When I withdrew my hand, I saw a look of confusion come over her face. “Kent… please, baby, I need just a little bit more.”

“No… now you know what you’ve been missing. You’ll have to beg me to get it again.”

Her gaze burned into my eyes as she watched me slip on my boxers. Then she licked her forefinger, and said, “Well, then I guess I will have to do it myself.” She smiled a sideways smile and started rubbing her clit. Just as I pulled my jeans up over my cock — that was getting harder and harder by the second. She slipped two fingers into her wet pussy and started rocking her hips and moaning. I stood there a moment and watched. I had to admit I never watched while a woman pleasured herself without my involvement. After she got off, she gazed over at me and gasped. "Kent."

It took every ounce of control I had, but I was driven to even the score with her. So I said, “The storm is over, and so is my work day.” When I saw how Rachel dropped her head in shame, for a moment I felt vindicated for the hurt she had caused me. I grabbed my shirt off the floor and was out the door before I had managed to zip up my fly. As I rounded the corner headed for my truck, I said to myself, "I don't know what I was thinking when I decided to come back to this fucking town!"

Chapter Eleven

Rachel

The next morning when I got up my sheets were rumpled, and my comforter was in a ball on the floor. I had spent the night cursing myself, tossing and turning, thinking about how my desire for Kent had ended in humiliation. Brushing my teeth, I gazed in the mirror and wasn’t pleased with what I saw. My eyelids were puffy, and the flesh underneath looked like two dark thunderclouds. I splashed water on my face and pulled back my hair into a ponytail. After finishing my English muffin spread with peanut butter, I sat on the back porch and sipped my hot coffee. Anxious to put the memory from the day before behind me, I surveyed the damaged fence off in the distance.

I had called Daddy before I went to bed to tell him the news about the storm. He said his trip home was delayed due to tests the doctor had scheduled and asked me to call the insurance adjuster. His voice sounded sad when he said, "Rachel, honey I'm so sorry you had to face this alone."

When he paused for a moment, I sighed and told him what I thought he wanted to hear. "Oh, thank goodness Kent was here with me when the storm hit. He was a big help with the horses." At least part of what I had said was the truth.

Anyway, that was yesterday, so I decided to saddle up TiaMaria, since she wasn't due for another six weeks, and take a slow ride along the fence line to survey the damage before calling State Farm. Besides, Kent would be here any minute, and I didn’t want to be around him.

I swallowed hard and whispered to myself, “You have to work with Kent; you know you can’t do all the work yourself.” As I slipped TiaMaria’s halter over her soft, white nose and led her out of her stall, I realized just ignoring Kent wasn’t the right solution. What was I going to do? If Daddy discovered there was tension between us, Kent would be fired immediately, and I didn’t want that either.

Just as Tia and I left the stable, I noticed Kent's pickup turning into the drive. So I gave her a nudge, and she moved out in a slow lope. I didn't bother turning around to greet Kent with a wave. Instead, I was trying hard to forget how after we had sex, he had left me there naked without saying a kind word and rushed out like he wanted to be anywhere in the world but with me.

I couldn't believe I had allowed myself to fall into his arms — even after the frightening turn of events caused by the storm. Somehow that twister must have rattled my brain. I felt shameful and embarrassed how I went along with it and even asked for more after it was obvious he was done with me. I tried to blot out the mental image of me lying there fingering myself like some horny teenager. I should have known not to allow him to kiss me. But it was too late, and now I was left dealing with the consequences.

Within a few moments, I heard the pounding of hooves coming up behind me. Of course, it was Kent — who else would it be? And I figured he was riding Licorice. Sure enough, he caught up with Tia, stopping right beside me. I turned my face away, and just as I expected, Kent ignored me as well. I was tired of his games and tired of trying to play nice. Just before we got to the place where the wooden fence had been reduced to splinters, Kent shook his head, and said, "Wow, we were lucky. We could have been history!”

The sound of his voice made it impossible to put the thoughts of the previous afternoon out of my mind. I recalled the image of his nude body — buff, sexy— his piercing green eyes and the way he had possessed me. Then, I hated to admit it, but a thrill ran down my spine, and I could feel my pussy wanting more of him. I was ashamed that I felt that way and I wanted to hate him with vigor. I wished I could despise him just as much as he seemed to despise me, but I couldn’t bring myself to act with hatred. I was foolish enough to think that I had seen a spark of something else in him the previous evening. A flash of Kent, the friend I used to know.

He had held me in his arms at first with compassion. Grateful we had survived the storm together. Maybe it was the adrenalin rush caused by our traumatic experience that turned a moment of compassion into one of passion. I had to admit with our bodies pressed together, our arms entangled, I felt like Kent cared about 'us' again. But once he had gotten his rocks off, I didn't recognize him any longer.

I heard him say something about an uprooted tree that was blocking the road farther away, and I followed along behind Licorice to get a closer look. They took off in a canter, but Tia and I took our time. I didn't want him to know how the previous evening had affected me — or sense how I wished he would take me into his arms again.

All of the sudden TiaMaria balked and let out a wild neigh, snapping me out of my thoughts. I gripped the reins. What was bothering her? "Easy girl!" I cried. But she snorted and lowered her head. Then she reared up and abruptly stepped aside. I leaned over a bit searched the ground to see what had frightened her. A rattler was coiled up alongside a clump of weeds.

“Easy Easy!” I cried. I felt the tension in TiaMaria’s muscles gathering under me. “No!” I shrieked. She bucked and turned away from the reptile. The first time I hung on. But when the snake started shaking its rattle, Tia reared up again. I lost my grip on the saddle horn. I slid off her back and fell a few feet from the snake. As I scrambled to get away, I watched as the snake slithered off and hid under a log. I shook my head; I was dazed, and it felt like time had stopped for a moment. Then I felt a pair of strong hands under my armpits lifting me up.

“Rachel,” I heard Kent whisper as he was cradling me in his arms. I blinked. As my head cleared from the shock, I could see his face with clarity. He was peering into my eyes. His brow was furrowed, and his lips were firmly pressed together with worry.

“I'm all right,” I said, my voice a whisper.

He lifted me up on Licorice and set me behind the saddle. I gasped for a moment, afraid Licorice might buck, too, since he wasn't used to anyone riding doubles. I had to wrap my arms around Kent as Licorice started off at a trot toward the house. “We need to take you to the doctor,” I heard him say gruffly. I wondered if I were dreaming as I gripped his waist and breathed in his masculine scent.

“I don’t need a doctor; I was just thrown off a horse. Nothing is broken or bruised, and what about poor Tia?” I whispered.

“You don’t know that! I’m taking you to the doctor,” he said with authority. Then he continued, “If she doesn’t follow us, I’ll ride back to get her.” I knew that there was no point in resisting. He had already made up his mind, and he was going to take me to the doctor — come hell or high water.

When he arrived at the stable, he heard hooves thudding behind us. Tia had followed us home. Gently, as if he were handling a newborn baby, he helped me down, and I was grateful that Daddy wasn't around to see me. He would have made a big fuss as well. Quickly, he unsaddled the horses while I sat on an old chair at the back of the stable. When he was finished, he looked into my eyes and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Where's your purse?"

"Inside on the counter by the pantry."

"Let me help you into my truck and you wait there while I go get it,” Kent said, peering at me, bossy as ever. I wanted to roll my eyes at him, and I suppressed a giggle. Kent's behavior was so ridiculous it was humorous. I was perfectly fine, yet, I sensed his panic was genuine. So I did what I was told more out of a need to please him than out of concern for myself.

Chapter Twelve

Kent

We were both quiet for a few moments. Rachel was looking out the truck window, and I was gripping the steering wheel so hard my fucking knuckles were turning white. I was trying not let my PTSD render me a blithering idiot, but I was losing the battle.

My head was racing, reviewing the mental images of Rachel lying limp on the ground with a rattlesnake coiled up, ready to strike, only feet away from her head. For a few moments, I stayed focused on the situation, helping Rachel up, but soon after my PTSD took over.

The accident reminded me of Marcus lying limp in my arms while I watched his life ooze out of him and how my efforts to help him were useless. A renewed fear had driven my desire to get Rachel to the doctor to ensure no serious injuries lurked under the surface.

I could sense Rachel looking over at me from time to time, but I kept my eyes on the road, cruising just over the speed limit toward Cody's West Park Hospital. I didn’t want to face her and chance her noticing the fear in my eyes. What I needed was for her to trust me, but so far I figured I had failed miserably.

“Kent…” she breathed my name softly and waited for a response. So I gave her one. I clenched my jaw and tromped the accelerator, racing pass a truck pulling a horse trailer. Just as the cab of my truck came even with his, I flipped him off, and hollered, “Don’t you know how to drive, you stupid mother fucker?”

Rachel shook her head and probably rolled her eyes, but I wasn’t looking at her when she said, “Really, I’m fine! You don’t need to be in such a hurry. Settle down, Kent!”

I knew she was okay. Earlier my eyes had scanned over her body for bruises and broken bones. There was no swelling, no blood, and she wasn’t dazed or concussed. Yet, I couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened to her — a broken leg or a rattlesnake bite. I knew if the accident had been serious, though, there was no doubt I would have gone crazy!

As I pulled under the covered entrance to the emergency room, I turned to face her, and said, "Stay right there, and I'll get a wheelchair."

Rachel grabbed my hand before I got out. Her eyes were wide, and her voice was kind when she said, "Kent, I can walk. Go on and park and meet me inside." I felt my face flush with both anger and embarrassment as I walked around to her side of the truck and helped her out, slamming the door. I could park the damn truck later.

When we got inside, I pointed to a nearby chair and indicated I expected her to sit there. Then I stalked up to the counter, palming my hair, rang the bell, and whispered, "Unbelievable; I need to ring a little fucking bell before getting attention in the emergency room!"

Moments later an obese woman — she would never have made it in the military — dressed in blue scrubs with her hair pulled back in a tight bun looked over her glasses at me. "How can I help you, sir?"

“Where’s the doctor?” I hissed. Then I turned and gestured at Rachel, and continued, "I have a young lady here that was thrown from a horse." I noticed when the nurse looked at Rachel she squinted her eyes trying to adjust the angle of her glasses as she assessed the situation.

Then she turned and pressed the button to unlock the door and walked around in front of Rachel, and asked, "What seems to be the problem, hon?"

Rachel grinned and glanced down at the floor with her hands in her lap but before she could answer, I growled, "Where the hell is the doctor?"

"Sir, please be patient. There was a bad accident at the Stampede Arena —"

"What happened?" I asked.

"I can't name any names; that would be a HIPPA violation. But two cowboys were gored by a bull."

Rachel gasped and looked up at her. "Oh, my God! I hope they’re going to be all right!” Then she cleared her throat, and continued, “I was just a bit shook up at first, but now I'm feeling fine. I don't want to take up the doctor’s time.”

I slammed my clenched fist into the palm of my other hand, but when the nurse raised an eyebrow and shook her finger at me, I figured I had pushed things to the limit. Then she threw her shoulders back and peered into my eyes. “Do I need to call security?"

“Kent! Let’s go! I'm okay!” Rachel’s voice was pleading this time. Then she turned to face the nurse, and continued, “I’m sorry ma'am, it’s no big deal. If I don't feel well in the morning, I'll make an appointment with my family physician.” Rachel reached down to grab her purse before she stood up.

The nurse nodded and brushed a lock of hair out of Rachel's face before she said, "You seem fine dear. I believe your friend here is a bit overprotective." Rachel grinned and nodded her head. Then without waiting for me to defend myself, the nurse turned and retraced her steps. After swiping her identification card through the lock, she disappeared inside and the door banged shut behind her.

“Let’s go,” Rachel said, and even though she had a grin on her face, her eyes were narrow and stern, almost like she was giving me an order. This time I didn’t argue. Instead, I kept my mouth shut and followed her back to the truck. After I had reached the driver’s side, my heart was pounding so hard I wondered if I was the one who needed to see a doctor. Just after I pulled the key from my pocket and slid behind the wheel, I felt Rachel's delicate hand on my knee.

“Kent…I’m fine. I’m not hurt…please, just calm down,” she said. I gazed over at her beautiful brown eyes and noticed how her hair cascaded down behind her back — in silky waves. Her lips were a dull, rosy color. I gulped and sat dumbstruck as I admired her beauty both inside and out. “I think what I need is a drink!” she exclaimed in a lighter voice as a smile washed over her face. I couldn’t stop looking at her. I was impressed at the way she had handled our situation with the nurse. If it had been left up to me, I probably would have been arrested.

“Why don't you drive us over to the Silver Dollar Saloon? I think we could both use a drink and something to eat,” she suggested. I blinked, as I began to feel my panic and anger subside. She was right. She wasn’t hurt. I was overreacting — my damned PTSD reared its ugly head again and made a fool out of me.

“Okay,” I said and started the truck.

It was happening to me all over again. As much as I had tried to resist Rachel, she was taking hold of my emotions, and this time I wasn't going to run away. I felt we might have a second chance if it weren’t for my PTSD. I was falling deeper for Rachel than I had ever dreamed was possible. Now that I had tasted her and felt her sweetness, I had come to the same conclusion I had in high school — Rachel was the only woman for me.

Suddenly, I wanted to tell her everything — I wanted her to see straight into my soul. But I had to get help with my PTSD if we were ever going to have a normal relationship.

Chapter Thirteen

Rachel

By the time we finished at the hospital it was late afternoon. I watched Kent as he walked back from the bar and sat a Coors for each of us on our table. Soon after Kent sat across the booth from me, Chad walked over to us, smiling. He wiped his hands on his apron and extended his palm. “Hi Rachel, long time no see.” I nodded, but before I could answer he asked, "How's your father doing?"

I explained that Daddy was doing as well as could be expected, and said, "Thanks to you we're fortunate to have Kent. He's a great ranch hand." After a moment of small talk reminiscing about our high school days, Chad reached over to a nearby empty table and gave us both a menu.

Before Chad excused himself, he nodded over at a waitress, and said, "Bonny will be right with you. She'll take your order — sirloin steak with fresh corn on the cob is today’s special."

While Kent was glancing over the menu, I peeked over mine, and I couldn’t help but admire his broad shoulders and the way his pecs were bulging under his plaid cowboy shirt. My eyes were drawn to the cobra tattoo, and I wondered if it had a special significance. His handsome, chiseled face was set in a scowl, and his green eyes looked intense — he was studying the menu carefully. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him smile. I wondered again, like so many times before, what had happened to Kent to cause such a dramatic personality change.

By the time Bonny came around to take our order we were on our second bottle of beer. "I'm starved," I said glancing at Bonny. "I'd like the special, cooked medium rare."

Kent looked up and nodded. "I'll take the same...and...oh, bring us an order of cheese nachos."

I noticed how his eyes glanced down at my breasts but soon darted away. Then he licked his lips and took another few gulps of his beer. I placed my hands in my lap and drew in a deep breath. I was ready to take the plunge and come right out and ask Kent what had happened to cause his dramatic mood change. But before I could form the words to express my concern he broke the silence between us. He glanced around the room, and said, "Chad's old man is dead, but the place looks the same as it did ten years ago.”

I nodded, but I was not going to be drawn into chit-chat about the decor of a famous Cody landmark, so I blurted out, "Kent, where did you go when you left home after graduation?”

Kent’s eyes widened at first then narrowed when he looked down at the bottle he cradled in his hands. After a second or two he looked up at me with furrows between his brows, and I could see that he was struggling with something inside him. He took another quick chug of his beer and smacked his lips. "I joined the Navy."

"Yes, I knew you had become a SEAL, but what happened after that? Where were you stationed? It must have been fascinating?" I was trying to ask the right questions — hit the right nerve to make him talk — and was hoping the beer would remove some of his inhibitions.

Kent looked down for a moment and rolled the edge of the beer bottle around on the table. "Of course. I started out at Great Lakes for basic training. Then eventually, after a few tours at sea, I had learned a lot about navigational equipment. And during previous firearms competitions, I had scored high in marksmanship and done well through survival training. So when I was promoted to midshipman, I applied and was accepted into BUD/S at Coronado Base in San Diego. After passing that I was assigned to my first SEAL unit."

"That must have been very tough. I heard only the best of the best get in." I was telling the truth. I had great respect for anyone who served our country, but something about the SEALs created a sexy impression. A persona Kent wore all over him.

When Kent chuckled, I almost gasped, but I managed to smile instead. Then he explained, “One thing was for sure. You don't know what you are capable of until you’re put to the test. And being a SEAL continuously tested both my physical and mental abilities.”

About that time Bonny brought our nachos and set them on the table directly in front of me. I took the jalapeño pepper off one, bit down with a 'crunch' and placed my hand in front of my mouth. Nothing was going to stop me from asking more questions. "Were you ever in Afghanistan?"

Kent palmed his hair and replied in a monotone, “Yeah, several times, and Syria.”

I was grateful that he was responding to my questions, and I had to remind myself to take it slow — not push him. But instead, I did it anyway. "What did you see? Did something happen to you?"

“Let's put it this way; I’ve seen more than I ever dreamed was imaginable. War is ugly, Rachel. You don’t need to hear the horrors of my terrifying experiences.” For a moment I forgot how he might reject me and reached out for his hand. When he didn’t respond, I pried his fingers away from the bottle and laced them together with mine. That moment I forgot every rude thing he had ever said to me. I wanted to comfort him and help ease the pain he was suffering.

“I want to know all about your experiences, Kent,” I said in a softer voice as we stared at each other. “I know you think I won’t understand but—”

“I watched my friend die in an ambush.” Kent shook his head, looked down at our hands, and continued. “Blood was streaming out of him...there was nothing I could do.” Then he paused and rubbed the cobra tattoo before he continued. “We had been through so much together, in training and on assignments. Marcus — we called him cobra — his code name. He was my buddy, my brother.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. Now I understood why Kent had the tattoo. He was still carrying Marcus with him, embedded in his body; there was no more separation. I wasn’t sure if that idea was helping or was a hindrance to Kent’s emotional recovery. But one thing was sure, he was still grieving.

Taking another swig of his beer Kent went on with his story. “Marcus was so brave, even when he knew he was dying.” He looked down and squeezed the bridge of his nose before he continued. “He thanked me for helping him in the end. But I hadn't really done anything except hold him in my arms and watch as his life slipped away.” Kent looked up at me with wet eyes. “Sometimes I wonder why it was Marcus instead of me.”

I looked into his green eyes and squeezed his hand, "It just wasn't your time…there are things left here on earth you haven't accomplished yet. You have no reason to feel guilty. You did what you were trained for.”

Moments later Bonny came up to our table and sat our dinners in front of us. I placed my napkin on my lap and picked up my steak knife. I was prepared to sit there in the bar and listen until Kent had everything off his chest. But when I glanced back, he had a vacant stare in his eyes. I could tell he was replaying in his mind Marcus' death over and over again.

“Did you leave the military after that?” I asked.

I watched him take in a deep breath. “I couldn’t be there anymore, not after Marcus’ death. I couldn’t bear to watch another one of my friends die. I was a coward,” he said and pressed his eyes closed. “Soon after, I was diagnosed with PTSD and given an honorable discharge.”

“Don’t say that. You served your country for years. You were a brave soldier who had suffered a terrible loss. None of this is your fault. You are not a coward.” I was leaning over the table, trying to reason with him.

When he opened his eyes, I could see that the fire had returned. Then he let go of my hand and gulped down the last half of his beer. “Why did you stay here, Rachel?” he asked.

I swallowed hard, not expecting his question. “We were talking about you,” I said. Then Kent leaned over the table and peered straight into my eyes.

“And now we’re talking about you. Why didn’t you go to college?” Kent asked.

I pushed a piece of meat around my plate. "Just a week or so after graduation, right before I had planned to leave for New York City, I found Daddy unconscious on the floor of the stable. At first, I had hoped he would get better and so had he, but as time went on his condition got worse. So I had to stay behind to take care of the ranch. There was no way I was going to leave Daddy in his condition, so I just stayed and kept putting off my plans.”

Kent peered out the window for a moment before he faced me. "So I guess we are just two people who’ve lost out on our dreams, wouldn’t you say?”

I nodded. He was right. My plan of going off to the big city and then to college had dramatically changed, but at least I had Daddy and the ranch. Kent was left with nothing. And I figured he didn’t realize he could still have me. “I’m alive, and I'm still here, even if it wasn't my initial choice.”

"Yes, you are," Kent said. Then all of the sudden he threw down his napkin and stood up. "I should take you home. Your father will be worried." Before I could say a word, he was motioning to Bonny to bring him the check.

I didn't want to go home yet. I wanted to continue our conversation. Then I remembered I hadn’t told Kent the good news. “I forgot to tell you, I got a text from Daddy while you were talking to the nurse. It looks like he has qualified as a guinea pig for a new trial drug. Sally said they had started him on it already but still were adjusting his dosage, so he has to stay one more day.”

I watched a sly smile come over Kent's face when he heard the news about Daddy. Then for some reason, I giggled when I started following behind as he walked toward the cashier. My head was dizzy, and I felt light as a feather. All that interested me was watching Kent's tight, sexy ass standing at the counter, and I had to think twice — I almost reached out to squeeze it. I felt flushed from drinking three beers and from the desire that was building inside me.

When we got outside the door, Kent stumbled when he stepped from the sidewalk into the parking lot. Then he turned toward me and snickered, saying, “Maybe I shouldn’t drive. I don’t think you can drive either." He grinned and pointed across the street at the Holiday Inn Express. "We should check in for the night and drive back to the ranch early in the morning since Sam is still away."

"Yes," I said. Then I giggled and grabbed Kent's arm. "We don't need to get a DWI." Kent stopped and blocked me from opening the truck door with his arms crossed over his chest. I giggled again and started to weave a bit. He grabbed me by my shoulders. Standing tall over me he bent down to kiss me. I rose up on my toes as our lips pressed together. When his tongue slid into my open mouth, I closed my arms to embrace him. His hand slid around and grabbed one cheek of my ass. Then I heard someone yell out at us, "Hey cowboy, go get a room!"

Kent broke our embrace and rested his arms on my shoulders. Then for the second time since our high school days, I heard him laugh. "Sounds like a great idea to me!" The guy looked over at us, tipped his Stetson, and gave us the thumbs-up sign.

Kent got in, and before starting the truck, he pushed the button on the glove box. Reaching inside, he sifted through several papers and pulled out three condoms. Sliding them into his pocket he smiled, and said, “This cowboy is prepared to ride.”

Moments later we were in the elevator at the hotel on our way up to our third-floor room. Just as the door swung open Kent grinned. Then he picked me up and bent me over his shoulder. I squealing and giggled as he walked down the hall and stopped in front of room 345. After inserting the card into the lock, he looked down the hall both ways, ensuring no one was watching. Then he swatted my butt sticking up in the air and brushed his fingers over my pussy.

When we reached the king-sized bed, he lay me down on it and gently fell over me, wedging his thigh between my legs. “Rachel, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered into my ear. “Please let me make love to you the way you deserve it!”

“I’d like, that,” I said, and thought how nerdy that must have sounded. I should have said something more exciting. I watched as Kent hooked his thumbs under his belt buckle and glanced down at the bulge in his jeans straining against his zipper. I batted my eyelashes and softened my voice to a sexy whisper, “Yes, Kent I want you to fuck me and then hold me in your arms.”

Proud that I had been a bit more creative, I stood up and ran my hands over my breasts, caressing them. Then watching Kent watch me, I undid my western shirt, one snap at a time. He licked his lips as I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them down my legs, exposing my black bikini panties that matched my bra.

“Good, I want this to be better than the last time,” Kent said, stepping closer to me. I could feel his hot breath against my neck. “You’re making me so fucking horny, Rachel. I want to have you right now!”

In moments Kent’s clothes were laying on the floor, and I noticed his hard cock was larger than I had remembered — a horny girl’s dream. It was at least nine inches long, surrounded by a ring of light brown pubes, and the vein along the side was throbbing. My mouth was watering to taste him, so I ran my tongue over the slit at the tip of his cock.

Kent stood back and started stroking himself as he watched me unfasten my bra. When my breasts bounced free, he stopped. Then he took my nipples and rolled them between his finger and thumb, sending electric sparks through my body. I moaned as his mouth covered mine. I wanted him to bury his cock inside my dripping wet pussy. But I also wanted the moment to last a while, not knowing if we would ever get the chance again — Kent was so unpredictable.

Then he pulled me close and ran his hand down my back and squeezed my ass cheeks. “Rachel, you’ve got to know. I have always loved your ass.” I giggled as he pushed me back away just enough so he could start working his fingers under the black, thin, fabric covering my mound and wet sticky folds. I pressed against his hand, wanting more. Then he hooked his finger around the elastic band that ran over my hip and pulled my bikini panties to the floor.

He got down on his knees and buried his nose into my pubes and began lapping his tongue over my slit. I opened my legs to give him more access to my horny hole, and in response, he moaned and pressed his mouth harder against my sensitive sex.

After running my fingers through his hair, I opened my pussy lips, exposing my soft pinkness. I heard Kent mutter, “Holy fuck, I love the taste of you, girl!” Then he gently pushed me down on the bed.

He kneeled beside the bed and pressed my thighs open and started parting my pussy lips. I groaned as his tongue fucked my hole while I tugged at my hard nipples. His beard brushed against folds. He was tantalizing me. I spread my legs wider, hoping he was going to finger fuck me, but instead, he pushed my lips back, exposing my sensitive clit.

He placed his mouth over my nub as I guided his head where I wanted it. He looked up at me with his green eyes and grinned, “You have the most beautiful pink clit hood.” Then he lowered his head and nibbled at it, causing my juices to flood over his mouth. I started rocking my hips as I twisted his hair between my fingers, knowing he was about to send me over the edge.

“Not yet,” Kent whispered. “Let’s make this moment last.” So we slid up and laid our heads on the pillows. Then he rolled on his side and put one leg between my legs, pressing his thigh against my wetness.

Kent’s kiss was soft and tender; his tongue swirled around my swollen lips and into my mouth. I sucked on his tongue like I wanted to suck his cock, and he moaned and pressed his body closer.

As his fingers brushed over my mound, I figured it was my moment to repay him for his oral pleasure, so I grabbed his hand, and said, “It’s my turn. I want your cock in my mouth.”

He grinned, lay back, and spread his legs. While I was circling his cock head with my tongue, I reached down and gave his balls a soft squeeze. Kent bucked and gripped the sides of my head, pressing himself deeper into my mouth. I could taste his salty juices, and it made my pussy wetter.

The air was thick with our combined scents, and I was about to cum just giving Kent a head job. He must have sensed I needed more so he pulled out and motioned for me to turn around. For a moment I was confused. Then I realized he wanted me in the 69 position. So I giggled and straddled his face as I ran my tongue along his shaft.

I know I came twice for him while he licked my clit and fucked my pussy with two fingers. Then all of a sudden he flipped me over and turned around, smothering me with kisses. He ran his tongue down the side of my throat, licking away my perspiration. When he got to my tits, he used his tongue to trace one of my nipples.

After a moment he peered up at me with his sparkling green eyes, and said, “I noticed one of your hot spots is squeezing your big brown nipples. Am I right?” Before I could even nod my head, he was tugging hard at one and nipping at the other.

I couldn’t take it any longer, so I yelled, “Oh my God, I’m cumin.” I arched back as the orgasm was building deep inside my core. A moment later I felt his fingers inside me. While he was still nipping one nipple, he was also skillfully massaged my g-shot. I tilted my head back and parted my lips and pressed my pussy against his hand. Then it felt like I was peeing on myself when my orgasm crashed over me like a tidal wave. I begged Kent to stop — but he knew better.

I felt the bed was wet under my hips as his fingers kept working their magic when he whispered, “Give it to me Rachel, let me have all your sweetness, cause after you think your hot pussy is finished I’m going to fuck you and make you cum again.”

I whimpered. “I can’t. I’m already done.”

Kent grinned, and said, “No you’re not!” as he reached down and retrieved a condom out of his jeans pocket. I watched him roll it over his hardness, thankful he had come prepared — I hadn’t thought about protection at all!

He lowered his body over me. His tongue was in my mouth as his shaft stretched open the pulsing walls of my pussy. I shuttered as he filled me up until his cock head was pressing into my cervix. I could feel my pussy gripping his meaty shaft. He was right; I still had more to give him.

“Fuck me hard, Kent,” I mumbled. Using my hands, I gripped my knees to open my hungry pussy wider.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kent said, his voice was deep and breathy. He pressed his hands against the bed, rising up over me, holding his shaft in me for a second like he was going to do push-ups. Then he thrust me slowly for a moment, teasing me and enjoying every minute.

As he began building to a climax, his pumps came deeper and harder. I dug my heels into his ass, prodding him like a stallion, matching each of his strokes. He began fucking me so hard his cock was jarring my body while I moaned and bit my lip. My tits were bouncing with each of Kent’s strokes.

Kent tilted his head back, just like he had done back in the tack room — like he was going to howl. That was my signal he was ready to explode inside me, so I helped myself along. While my hole was filled to the max, I pulled back the hood over my clit and fingered my sensitive hot nub. Just as the walls of my slippery pussy clenched down on Kent’s manhood, I heard him grunt, and his cock started pulsating spilling his seed inside the condom.

For one brief moment, Kent Walker and I were one, frozen in time, panting and pulsing together. As our orgasms subsided, Kent pulled out, and we rolled onto our sides. We fell asleep spooning with Kent’s arm around my waist. The next thing I knew when I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand it was eight in the next morning. I leaned over and whispered in Kent’s ear. “Rise and shine cowboy. Time to go feed the horses.”

Chapter Fourteen

Kent

It had been two weeks since Sam had returned from Cheyenne. The new medication had made a big difference — his improvement was remarkable. He began walking without his cane and within a few days started driving again. Rachel and Sally called it a little miracle, and I agreed with them.

About a week ago he started following Rachel and me around in his jeep, watching while we did our work. Honestly, sometimes he was a pain in the ass, never giving us a moment to ourselves. Well, maybe it was a good thing. If left up to our own devices we would have been busy, but not with the work Sam was paying me to do.

After lunch, Rachel stayed behind while Sam and I got to work repairing the broken fence, and I listened while he reminisced about his rodeo days. He even rolled up his sleeve and showed me a large scar on his forearm and explained how once his arm got caught in the rope when he fell off a bucking bronco. He told me how he thought he was going to die as that crazy horse dragged him around the arena until the clowns came to rescue him.

I thought about telling Sam about Marcus, but then he might put two and two together and find out I had PTSD — a good excuse to fire me. I figured he’d be afraid I’d do something bizarre. So I decided not to bring up any of my war stories.

When we got back to the house, I looked for Rachel and found her sitting on the swing in the backyard between the house and the stable, reading a book. I stood for a moment and admired her. The curves of her slender neck were delicate and graceful. A few strands of dark hair had escaped her loose ponytail and brushed against her cheek. Fuck…she was sexier than ever!

When I couldn't stand it any longer, I peered around to see if Sam was nearby. Since he wasn’t, I figured he was still tinkering in the machine barn. So I slipped up behind Rachel and bent down to kiss the nape of her neck. I chuckled when she gasped. Then she swatted my arm, and said, "I can’t believe I was so engrossed in my book I let you sneak up on me like that."

I moved the book so I could see what she was reading. At first, I was going to tease her, but when I saw it was A Veterinary Guide to Horse Breeding I nodded my head toward the stable, and asked, “Anything in there I should know?”

“Probably, but I just started reading it today,” Rachel said, as she tossed her book on the ground and patted the wooden seat, gesturing for me to sit there. “I’ve been missing you. I haven’t seen you all afternoon. I'm sure glad Daddy is doing so much better.” I nodded. Then she wrapped her arms around me. Her lips touched mine for a quick kiss while Sam was still out of sight.

I took her hand in mine. “I’m trying to get everything out of the way so we can go for a drive tonight.”

Rachel's eyes got wide. "Drive where?"

“We can eat at the tavern next to the campground there in Meeteetse. Then we can stop by my place. I want you to see my trailer. Maybe we can take it and go camping sometime.”

"I can't wait to see where you live. I've been past there, and I know the tavern you are talking about. It sits right beside the river."

I nodded my head in agreement. But my mind was being distracted by the ache that was building in my groin. It had been almost two weeks since we had made love, and I needed her sweet arms around me again.

Since I had confided in her about Marcus, my anxiety level was improving, and my fits of anger were subsiding. Just being around Rachel was worth a hundred counseling sessions offered at the VA clinic and all the damn pills in the world.

Rachel's eyes reminded me of an excited child, when she said, “Our first post-graduation date!” I could see that she was just as happy as I was. I always knew we were right for each other. But I still wasn't sure if she felt that way too, and I didn't want to risk ruining our renewed relationship by asking. I decided to take the 'wait and see' attitude toward the situation — and keep my fingers crossed.

“And what will we tell your dad?” I asked, arching my eyebrows at her. I didn't think Sam had any idea that Rachel and I were more than co-workers. But he was a wise man, and selling Sam short could be a mistake.

Rachel shrugged her shoulders and let out a relaxed sigh. “I think we should be honest with him. There’s no point in hiding it, is there?” she asked.

He seemed to appreciate the work I'd been doing, but I didn't see him accepting me as the man for his daughter. So I laughed and tried to joke about the situation even though inside my heart was pounding. "Maybe I should ask permission before taking you out tonight.”

Rachel squeezed my hand and laughed out loud, "I think it's a bit too late for that. And anyway, he knows we went out in high school, so it doesn't take a genius to connect the dots."

When I tried to wrap my arms around her again, she smirked, and said, “Our break is over…Time to get back to work. You help Daddy, and I’ll go feed the horses.” About that time Sam came out of the machine barn and started walking toward us. He didn't seem shocked that I was sitting by Rachel on the swing, talking. He motioned for me to follow him into the house.

As I made my way along behind him, my mind was racing, working to come up with the right words to tell Sam I was in love with his daughter. I was thinking what I should say. “I fell in love with Rachel in high school.” No, that would sound immature. What about — “Do you mind if I take her out for a ride?” No, that seemed too old-fashioned.

By the time I decided maybe it was best to let Rachel tell him what she wanted him to know, Sam pointed to the same chair that I had sat in for my initial interview and gestured for me to sit down. Instead of sitting in his recliner, this time he stood in front of his massive oak desk. He seemed so different, even looked younger, when he smiled, and said, “Kent! I have an idea.” His voice cut through my thoughts and startled me for a moment. I was panicking, wondering what was so important that I had to work to control my breathing.

"Yes, sir."

"I need to run something by you. But first, I want to thank you for the way you've stepped up and helped Rachel around here. Especially since I was in Cheyenne after that damn storm!”

I put my elbows on my thighs and clasped my hands together, "My pleasure, sir, I was just glad nothing serious happened and all the horses were okay.”

Sam leaned against the front of his desk and crossed his arms over his thick chest. Clearing his throat, he said, "I've been thinking, and since God seems to be giving me a second chance at life, I’m almost ready to get back to doing some of my old work routines — but I know I’ll never be able to do it alone. So I would like to promote you to head ranch hand and hire more help if we have to.”

I nodded my head, but something told me that wasn’t all, so I held my breath for a moment while Sam continued. “And I haven't told Rachel yet — I wanted to make sure you were on board before I give her the good news. I wrote away to Barnard College in New York City and explained her situation, and they have agreed to accept her as a provisional student."

I gasped for air, I couldn't believe what I was hearing, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “Dear God." But Sam kept on talking, not noticing how the expression on my face had morphed from a smile into a scowl.

"My daughter, God bless her soul, has tried her best all these years, but it takes a strong young man like you to work beside me and keep this ranch going,” Sam said. Then he chuckled and continued. “I’m not a chauvinist, but Rachel has a small frame and working as a ranch hand is too hard on her. And besides, she has always dreamed of going off to the big city. Now it’s my turn to let her reach for her dreams.”

I felt like Sam had punched me in the gut. Since Rachel and I were getting along so well, I hadn't been so happy since I was in high school. I had come full circle with Rachel, and we were beginning to build a new relationship. But after what Sam just told me, I felt I was back to square one again. After taking a deep breath, I realized I loved Rachel and always had, so I wanted her to have the chance at her dream. After all, she had so unselfishly put aside her desires for the love of her father and their financial survival. Who was I to stand in her way?

"Well, what do you think?" Sam asked peering down at me.

“Thank you for the opportunity, Sam. I will be happy to take you up on your offer.” Then I gulped. “I enjoyed working with your daughter but now look forward to working with you!”

Sam uncrossed his arms and stood up straight. There was a sly grin on his face when he shook my hand. "It's a deal then."

I needed some fresh air to process my new situation, so I turned and started walking toward the front door, headed for my truck. "Oh, and I heard you've been working with Licorice, Sam said, causing me to stop and turn back to him. “Maybe in six months or so, we'll see how you do here at the Cody Stampede before we sign you up for Greeley.”

I felt my eyes get wide at the chance of getting back into rodeoing, and I turned around to face Sam. But before I could speak, Rachel came running toward us, wide-eyed and breathless. She first glanced over at her father and then at me. “Fancy’s down…she’s in labor and struggling.”

I grabbed Sam by the arm to help him walk as fast as he could, and when we got to the kitchen, Sally was preparing dinner. Sam hollered over his shoulder, keeping in step with me. “Sally, call Dr. Rogers and let him know, Fancy’s having a dystocia birth! We need him right away!”

When we arrived and opened the stall, poor Fancy was laying on her side with her hindquarter surrounded by a pool of bright, red blood. Rachel had her hand on Fancy’s flank, and she was squatted down beside her, assessing the situation. Rachel’s voice quivered when she said, “Daddy, the placenta is coming first. It’s bulging out of her vulva.”

Sam let go of my arm. “Let me have a look!” He said. I was right behind him. We could see the foal was stuck inside the placenta which appeared to be thick and tougher than I had seen before. Something had to be done immediately! There was no question, Fancy and her baby was in grave danger.

Sam looked over at Rachel, and said, “Sally’s called the vet; he’ll be here soon. I’ve been breeding horses for years and this happens occasionally, but usually, we can tell ahead of time the mare will have trouble, so the vet is usually here by this time.” Then he patted Fancy on her side and shook his head.

Rachel put her hands on her hips for a moment then turned and grabbed Sam’s arm. “We have to cut the sack and pull the baby out or we’ll lose both of them. I was just starting to read about complications with birthing today.”

Sam nodded and turned to me. “Kent go into the feed room and bring out the shears — the ones we use to cut the rope off the hay bales.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and ran to complete my errand. When I got back, Rachel had positioned herself on her knees behind the mare. When I handed her the shears, she looked up at me with wide eyes, but she was surrounded by an air of confidence.

Sam leaned over so he could see. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his Swiss Army knife. He opened out the smallest blade and handed it to Rachel. “Now, poke a hole in the sack. Gently very gently…All you need is a hole large enough to work the shears in.”

Rachel did as she was told. Water and blood gushed out, and the mare began to struggle to stand up. I rushed to her head and held it down. When I began patting her neck, she relaxed a bit. Then Fancy's ears perked up to listen when I said, “Hang on, mama. Rachel’s been studying, and she knows what to do.”

Sam took hold of Fancy’s tail and pulled it aside so Rachel could see what she was doing. Just after she opened a long slit in the sack with the shears, Sam looked down at his daughter, and said “Pull open the sack…Can you see the feet?”

“Only one.” Rachel scowled.

I could see Fancy was having another contraction as the sides of her abdomen stiffened and it seemed like she was trying to bear down. She was starting to sweat and took several deep breaths — the mare was almost exhausted. Fancy raised her head and looked toward Rachel and Sam then her big brown eyes peered at me. I could tell Fancy was asking for my help. So I stood up and looked at Rachel. “Look out! Let me in there.”

Rachel and Sam stepped back, giving me room as I sat on my butt and put my feet against Fancy’s hindquarters, one on each side of her tail. I rolled up my sleeve and pushed my hand inside, almost up to my elbow, and grabbed hold of a tiny hoof. I could see it was white, just like Fancy’s. I waited for a sign that another contraction was starting, and when I felt the pressure I said, “Okay, Fancy, my lady, we’re going to have this baby.”

I heard Rachel start and Sam join in as they yelled with each contraction. “Come on girl…push…push…push!”

Rachel and Sam stroked the mare’s flank while I pulled first on one leg, then when the second appeared, I grasped it, too. By that time my legs were straight as my feet pressed against Fancy’s rump. All of a sudden there was a swishing sound and out plopped a beautiful pinto colt. Rachel ran to get a feedbag and started wiping the colt off — massaging it, making sure it was breathing. Sam went around in front and encouraged Fancy to rise to her feet. As soon as she stood, we could tell Fancy hadn’t injured her hips during the delivery. That’s when I said, “Oh, look; it’s a little filly.”

Moments later Fancy was nuzzling at her baby, and we heard a voice holler, “Sam…where are you?” It was Doctor Rogers coming through the stable door.

All three of us watched in wonder as the vet examined the foal, still curled out on top of the wood chips, and then he turned his attention to Fancy. We were all high-fived each other when the doctor congratulated us. “If Fancy had gone unattended much longer, I’m sure you would have been facing a tragedy instead of a celebration. The placenta was abnormal.”

I stayed around an hour or so celebrating with Rachel and Sam. Even Sally came out to the stable and brought us some sandwiches and a few bottles of beer. Then Rachel snapped a few pictures on her iPhone that Sam wanted to put up on their website. But neither Rachel or I mentioned our previous plans since it was already late in the evening. After she hugged me goodnight right in front of everyone, I got in my truck and headed toward Meeteetse.

I felt conflicted yet proud of my decision to stay and help Sam, even though I wondered why that each time I believed I had a future with Rachel something unexpected drove us apart. I let out a sigh and slammed my hand on the steering. “It must be our destiny,” I said to myself. “No need to fight it any longer.”

Chapter Fifteen

Rachel

I closed my laptop and placed it inside my carry-on bag, then coiled the cord around the palm of my hand. I checked my closet one last time, making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, and my eyes began to sting. I squinted them together and scrunched up my nose, trying to chase the tears away, shaking my head in disbelieve. After all these years I was finally going to live my dream, but now I was having second thoughts. I walked over and flopped down on my bed. It had been two weeks since the night Fancy had her baby — and thirteen days since Daddy had given me the good news at the breakfast table that morning.

****

"Good morning, Daddy. Have you been out to check on Fancy yet?" I had asked before glanced up at the kitchen clock, noting Kent would be arrived in about thirty minutes. As I poured myself a cup of coffee, my cheeks felt flushed at the thought of rescheduling our date.

"Good morning, sweetie. How about you refill my cup while I go get a letter that I want you to read," Daddy said, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. When he came back, he laid the letter upside down, making sure I couldn't see the return address. Then he pulled up his chair and waited for my undivided attention.

I felt my heart skip a beat. I couldn't imagine what Daddy's surprise was. If I had to guess, though, it was more good news about his test results. He reached across the table and took my hands. As he spoke, his eyes got wet. "Rachel, I'm so proud of you on so many levels. You have put your life on hold to tend to me — without a whimper." He paused a moment and cleared his throat before he continued. "You've worked your fingers to the bone to keep bread on our table. But God has seen fit to put my illness in remission — I'm getting stronger and stronger each day. I’ve decided to hire Kent as head ranch hand. I believe soon I’ll be able to take over the rest of the business.”

I squeezed his hands, and said, "I'm so happy that you’re better and can enjoy life again. I've been so worried about you. I can see now how well you're feeling. I love you, Daddy and —”

He let go of my hands and pulled his white handkerchief out of his pocket. "Wait a minute I'm not done yet," he said. After he wiped his nose, he reached down, turned over the letter and held it out to me. “This is from Barnard College in New York City.” He paused as I took it from his hand, but all I could do was peer down in shock, wondering what Daddy was up to. Then he leaned closer with a big grin, and said, "Well, go ahead and open it!"

I gasped and put one hand over my mouth. As I read the new acceptance letter, my heart was beating like crazy, and my head felt light and dizzy. I ran over to Daddy and threw my arm around him, and whispered into his ear, "You have made my dream come true — how did you do it?"

I sat down beside him as he explained that after seeing what a great job Kent was doing he wrote the dean of admissions at the college and explained my situation. He believed the new medication was helping him regain his strength and endurance. "I'm anxious to get back in the saddle — literally and figuratively!"

I was bubbling with joy and enthusiasm, and for a moment dying to share the good news with Kent. Then like I had pricked my finger, I jerked. Something told me to be careful; Kent may see my new opportunity as history repeating itself and revert to his brooding dark mood.

When I had asked Daddy, he assured me that Kent knew all about it and was grateful for his promotion. Of course, Kent would put on a brave face in front of his boss — a man! But his reaction to me when we were alone may be entirely different.

That morning after Daddy and I had finished our breakfast I waited out front for Kent. It wasn't long, like any other day, before I saw Kent's red truck turn into the driveway. But I could tell by the scowl on his face even before he got out of the truck that he wasn't the happy-go-lucky Kent I was used to seeing.

He glanced up at me and gave me a weak smile before slamming the door. "Good morning, Rachel," he said like I was just his co-worker and he was reporting for work. Instead of waiting for me to step off the porch and walk toward the stable with him — our morning ritual — he went on without me. His face was expressionless when I called out, "Kent, can we talk for a moment?"

“I have work to do. I have to clean up Fancy's stall,” Kent said and rushed toward the stable.

I followed, and with desperation in my voice, I said, "Kent, I know you know. Daddy told me." Kent nodded his head but didn’t turn to face me. After all, our relationship had blossomed, and I was falling deeply in love with him. So I ran up and tugged on his arm, desperate to break through his darkness so we could talk things out together.

"Okay, that's great. Best of luck to you," Kent said and pulled his arm away.

I reached for his hand, but he yanked it away, too. "Can we talk about this, please? Don’t let history repeat itself! Stop acting like you did at graduation,” I pleaded.

At the mention of our graduation, Kent stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face me. At first, his green eyes burned into mine, and then he looked away. He paused for a moment and rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s nothing to discuss here. You’re going to New York. You’re going to college. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“Yes, it was, but things have changed over the years,” I said in a softer voice, trying not to cry.

He arched his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips. “How have things changed, Rachel? You don’t want to go to college anymore?” he asked, his voice harsh and rude. I cowered and pulled away.

“No, I’ve always dreamed of this, but now…”

Kent clenched his jaws and jammed his hands into his jean’s pockets. “Good, then best of luck in New York, and I hope you achieve everything you’ve ever hoped for." Then he paused and cleared his throat and made an effort to sound a bit kinder. "Look, Rachel, it’s our destiny. You need to go on. I wish you well."

****

I was zipping my suitcase shut when I heard Daddy hollering from the foot of the stairs. “You ready? We need to leave for the airport in about fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, I’ll be right down,” I said, as I buckled the strap of my carry-on bag so it could piggy-back on top of my large suitcase. Last week I had shipped most of my winter clothing to the dormitory. The dean assured me my packages would be waiting when I arrived for orientation.

When I got downstairs, Sally and Daddy helped me with my bags. I was glad she had decided to stay on to cook and clean. Even though Daddy no longer needed a nurse, they seemed to have become close friends. After I double-checked that I had everything — bags, purse, phone, and of course, my the receipt for my e-ticket. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kent standing in the shadow inside the stable. I hurriedly said, "Oh, wait I want to tell Georgie-B goodbye and check one last time on the others.” I wanted a goodbye kiss from Kent. I needed to touch him — give him another chance to beg me to stay.

As I entered the stable Kent stepped out of the shadows and tipped his hat. "Best of luck Rachel." Then he turned and opened the door to Licorice's stall and closed it behind him.

Inside the car, I felt like a first grader getting on the school bus for the very first time. Pressing my face close to the window, I watched Pitchfork Ranch disappear behind us. I swallowed hard and wondered what adventure lay ahead. But for some reason, I didn't feel as excited as I would have if I had been eighteen. Life had washed away the naïveté of my youth.

I heard Daddy and Sally chatting away, telling me how they looked forward to visiting in a month or two, but all I could think about was Kent. I felt we had blown our second chance to be together. And I wondered if Kent was secretly happy I was leaving. Perhaps all he really wanted was to get me to sleep with him in the first place. Tears started running down my cheeks, and I accidentally whispered, "He wouldn't even kiss me goodbye."

Daddy looked up into the rearview mirror. "Are you all right back there,” He asked. “I know it's sad leaving home for the first time. I’ll miss you! But you'll be fine in a few days." I wasn't sure who Daddy was trying to convince, him or me.

Chapter Sixteen

Kent

It had been three long weeks since Rachel had come to tell me goodbye. After I was sure she couldn't see me, I watched Sam's van disappear over the hill going toward Cody. I had totally been fucked over. Every time I thought about Rachel, I came up with the same questions. Did she put her dreams ahead of our relationship? Or was it our destiny not to be together?

My pity party was in full swing when two days later Sam moseyed up and asked what I thought about moving my fifth- wheeler permanently to the ranch. At first, I wondered why, out of the blue, Sam would make such an offer, but moments later he answered my question. "I've been watching you for several weeks now and see you have a God-given gift for training horses." Then he took off his Stetson and scratched his head. "Maybe you're one of those horse whisperers like in the movies?”

We both laughed and my angry mood lifted. There was something about Sam that reminded me of Rachel. When I was around him, I felt less angry, and my PTSD seemed to melt away. After considering for a moment, I decided it was his smile, and I realized how feeling bitter wasn’t the answer.

So I nodded my head, and said, "Sounds like a plan to me."

Within two days Sam had a cement truck backed up between two Hawthorne trees at the far side of the stable, pouring a slab for my trailer. Three days later I was a permanent resident of Pitchfork Ranch, with my own water and electrical hook-ups. I even had satellite TV.

I could tell Sam missed his daughter, and I figured having me around helped ease his loneliness. Being around him felt comfortable for me, so things began to fall in place. Most days Sam kept me busy teaching reining to Licorice, then he started riding Georgie-B again. I swore Georgie could sense Sam was out of shape, so he was careful to take it easy around the barrels — at first. But by last week they were showing daily improvement and had cut three seconds off their time.

The next day Sam rode up to me and pointed toward the hay field that needed mowing. "Kent, you know what, since we’re busy with the horses and the last two of the mares are due any day now, you don’t have time to mow. Already several breeders and trainers are calling, inquiring about the four new foals. Just dealing with our breeding and training schedule will keep the two of us busy. I think it would be best if we hired us a ranch hand. What do you say?"

It thrilled me to death. I had always hoped that someday I could get paid for training horses at a professional level. I shook my head in silent wonder at the turn of events with Rachel and her family. I had always felt Rachel would make a beautiful wife and mother. As I had gotten to know her better, I was sure my suspicions were correct. I had even fantasized about building a house somewhere nearby Sam and living our lives out together.

I knew I should be proud of Rachel, a small-town girl from Wyoming attending a fancy New York college, working hard to develop her potential. Several times I had picked up my phone to call her then chickened out. I was afraid I would say the wrong thing, not knowing how to tell her how much I missed her.

A few days later, after doing a working interview with three prospects, we hired Gavin. It seemed they all said they wanted to work. But when it came to carrying heavy bales of hay and cutting themselves on the barbed wire mending fences, they didn't show up the next day.

So far Gavin was doing okay for a green nineteen-year-old kid, but he could have done with some military training. He was lousy at following orders and was late for work this morning. Moments ago, he had the audacity to ask me to go pick up his pliers he had absentmindedly left by the fence. Sam was standing there watching and knew Gavin had pissed me off when I whipped around, and asked, "What the fuck did you say?"

Gavin rethought his question, and with a sheepish grin, he said, "Oh, nothing Kent, I was just making a joke."

I took off my hat and ran my palm through my hair, trying to control my anger. "Look, we take our work seriously around here. So don't go joking with me. Walk your ass on out there — maybe you won't forget the next time.”

Gavin looked like I had slapped him in the face — what a pussy. He turned around and started sauntering back to where we were working.

Then I heard Sam holler, "Kent! That's enough. I think the kid got your message."

I turned to face Sam and lowered my eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. That won’t ever happen again. I don’t know what I was thinking."

Sam narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows with worry instead of anger. Then he stepped closer and put one hand on my shoulder. "You know, son, you shouldn't have let her go."

I cocked my head to one side, and asked, “What are you talking about?"

A grin came over his face. “Kent, I’ve lived almost fifty-five years now, and it didn't take me but a minute to figure there was a spark between you and Rachel. I had never seen her face light up like it did when you walked up that first day.”

I knew Sam was a smart old bird, but I had no idea he would intervene and encourage our relationship. “I know you love her,” he added. I felt my heart had been punctured by an arrow. I had never spoken those words aloud, and I never imagined Rachel’s father had either. Before he walked on Sam peered into my eyes and nodded. “You know son, saying you love somebody doesn’t make you a pussy — it makes you a man!”

Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I looked up at Sam. “She wanted to go to college,” I said. “I didn’t want to stop her from achieving her dreams.”

Sam smiled and clapped me on the back as we turned and walked toward the house. “You’ve been brave, and I commend your nobility. But Kent, I know my daughter. She stopped wanting to leave home soon after you started working here.”

I narrowed my eyes in confusion, and countered, “But you’re the one who wrote away to the college.”

Sam's face was beaming with joy when he answered. "Because I wanted to give her a choice — to test her to see if that was what she really wanted. And besides, I also had an ulterior motive."

"What was that?" I asked, keeping in step with him.

"And I wanted you both to admit the truth to each other." Then Sam shook his head and chuckled. "But you are both too damned bull-headed!" My jaw fell slack as I tried to process what Sam had just told me. Then with a gleam in his eyes, he said, "I know where Rachel gets her stubborn streak. I figure you got yours from your mother."

I threw my head back and laughed. "That's right. You and Sally and Mama went to school together."

Sam smiled shyly. "Yeah, and I took her to the drive-in theater one time."

"What, you and Mama?"

"Yep, but after one date she ditched me for your father — he was much older and already owned a ranch.” Then Sam stopped and reminded me. "You better go check on that knucklehead Gavin, and tell him to be on time tomorrow!"

I paused for a moment, but Sam kept on walking. Then I reached out and grabbed his arm. "What should I do...I mean about Rachel?"

Sam lowered his head and peered up at me through his bushy eyebrows. "If I were you I'd get in that old truck of yours — make sure you change the oil first — and drive down to Cheyenne. Then ease east on I-80 and don't get off until you reach New Jersey.”

I nodded my head, and Sam continued. “Then hit the New Jersey Turnpike and follow it across the Hudson River to New York City!”

Chapter Seventeen

Rachel

It was Friday and I was pushing the dormitory door open as I pulled my wool sweater around my shoulders. Stepping over an empty coffee cup rolling in the crisp breeze, I rushed toward the lecture hall, wondering about Kent. How was he doing? What was he doing? He hadn’t called, so I figured he might have found someone else. I made it just in time to find my seat before Dr. Morris began handing out our algebra test. I glanced around and could count on one hand the women I knew on a first name basis.

Soon after I had arrived on campus, several weeks ago, I realized I was at least eight years older than most of the girls, so making friends had not come easy. After all, I was from Wyoming, and many of the others attending Barnard College were from the surrounding areas. So I was viewed as a dumb, unpolished cowgirl, who had no fashion sense at all. And to me, many of them were spoiled freaks with their purple hair, nose piercings, and cutesy tattoos.

As I dug in my backpack for my mechanical pencil, I heard Dr. Morris say, "Okay, ladies, you may turn your tests over and began now. You have sixty minutes!"

I bit my lip as I glanced over the test of only ten problems, broken down into ten points each. Out of all the online courses I had taken, not one had prepared me for college algebra — a freshman requirement. I had studied hard and recalled some of what I had learned in high school about the quadratic equation. So this test was relatively simple. But the next segment of the course would end with exponentials and logarithms — oy vey!

Thirty minutes later I walked up to Dr. Morris' desk and handed him my test. He looked up at me and the corners of his lips turned up in an obligatory smile. "Have a nice day," he said.

I felt cold as I walked out and sauntered past the ivy-covered brick walls, headed back toward my matchbox-sized dorm room. After trying to breathe in a breath of fresh air, I almost coughed from the exhaust fumes caused by the trucks and buses moving up and down Broadway. I missed the fresh, cool air that blew down off the mountains. I missed Kent, Daddy, the horses, and even Sally — and on and on.

Taking my time — what was the hurry, all my homework and studies were done for the weekend — my mind became awash in memories of Kent and me making love together. I wished I had the privacy to pleasure myself, but that seemed impossible. As soon as I would lock my door something or somebody would disturb me. So I decided to take the subway to the Metropolitan Museum — one of the few places in New York City I had fallen in love with.

Just as I passed the security guard's shack beside the student parking lot, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I spotted a red beat up truck that looked just like Kent's. I squinted, not sure if what I was seeing was real or a dream. Then I gasped when I realized Kent was leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree with his arms crossed over his chest, watching me.

My bag fell off my shoulder as I ran to meet him. My heart was beating so hard I felt I couldn't breathe, and my eyes began to sting. Kent rushed toward me with open arms. When our bodies came together, we embraced each other. I lay my head against his leather jacket and I could hear his heart pounding in his chest. I was sobbing so hard he had to pry my face away by cupping my chin in his hand. Then he gazed into my teary eyes, and said, "I've missed you, Rachel."

My tongue was numb. My mouth was dry. I tried to form words with my lips, but I was dumbstruck, rendered mute. All I could do was squeeze Kent tightly and nod my head. I'm not sure how long we stood there in our embrace, slowly swaying back and forth. Two souls alone on their private island, surrounded by the masses of New York City. Finally, he picked me up and swung me around like I was a young school girl. Then I giggled and managed to say, "Kent I've missed you so much. I can't believe you're here.”

"Can you believe it now," he asked bending down to kiss me. Our lips locked and his tongue slipped between my lips. I pushed back as a burning desire for him rushed over me. I knew we had a lot to talk about before we could give in to our physical need, so I asked, "How on earth did you manage to park here? And how long can you stay?”

Kent nodded toward the security guard, who was facing the other way. "For twenty bucks he printed me a visitor's pass, but it's only good for twenty-four hours. So I will have to move it tomorrow. I’m staying till Monday if that’s okay with you?”

I snuggled up against him again and answered with a question. “You can only stay till Monday?”

As we walked over to pick up my bag, my mind was reeling with excitement. Kent and I were finally going to live out one of my dreams. He never knew about it, though, because I hadn’t a chance to invite him to visit me in the Big Apple back on our graduation day.

I took his hand in mine. “Come on. Let's go across the street to Ollie’s and grab a sandwich. You must be starving. How long did it take you to get here?”

"Just a few days," he said, with a mischievous grin. I was so excited on so many levels that I became distracted and started to cross the street before the crosswalk signal turned green. Kent tugged on my arm, pulling me back as a taxi whizzed by right in front of me.

I started giggling, giddy with delight. "How did you know that cab was coming?"

By that time the crosswalk signal had turned green, and as we stepped down into the street, Kent smirked and said, "Rachel, I've been to many big cities all around the world. Just because I'm dressed in jeans and cowboy boots doesn't mean I am green to city life."

We broke into a run to get across the street in time, and I realized I had never imagined Kent living anywhere but Cody, Wyoming. I found it hard to envision him as a Navy SEAL, living a life that was foreign to me.

Kent was quick to spot a booth — a rare find at Ollie's — and pulled me over to sit next to him. Before I had a chance to put my book bag on the floor, Kent's arm was around my shoulder, pulling me closer. I parted my lips and felt his other hand bunching my full denim skirt. Then he worked it up to the soft, sensitive skin on the inside of my thigh. My eyes flew open, and I gasped. Kent was about to finger me — not in here, not in Ollie's. So I grabbed his hand. "Stop Kent, let's wait. It's too light in here; someone will see us."

“So what,” he said withdrawing his hand. I reached over and squeezed his throbbing cock, and he nuzzled his nose into my neck, and whispered, "We'll get back to this later. I need your pussy, Rachel. I’ve been waiting to make love to you for so long now.”

Over lunch, Kent explained how he was sorry for his rude and distant behavior when he found out I was leaving. I understood it had all happened so fast and was quick to forgive him. Kent told me how he had lost his temper with the new ranch hand, Gavin, and how Daddy had convinced him most of his problems were stemming from our lack of communication. I couldn’t have agreed more and finally felt Kent and I was making progress toward a healthy, happy relationship.

After lunch, Kent had rolled his eyes at the idea of going to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I should have known better and just called it the Metropolitan Museum. The art thing threw him for a loop. I could tell he thought visiting an art museum would label him a limp-dicked, gutless wonder. But as soon as I explained he could see Egyptian artifacts dating back to the pharaohs, he changed his mind. He described how on his flight to the Middle East he had spotted the pyramids out of the airplane window and had always wanted to visit them.

All afternoon we held hands, walking the streets of the city. He stopped when we got to Trump Tower and took a few pics. On the way to the World Trade Center Memorial, we snuggled in the subway seats. When we got there, we marveled at the beautiful architecture as we read the names on the plaques of those who were lost in the attack.

By the time we grabbed a snack at the visitor’s center and walked uptown to Chambers Street Station, the sun had slipped behind the skyscrapers. We made out in the corner of the subway car and almost forgot to get off at our 116th Street stop. My blouse was half- unbuttoned as we hurried back to the campus. We were overjoyed — to say the least — to find the student parking lot roped off and the security guard gone.

Kent was quick to unlock his truck door on the passenger's side while I slipped out of my panties. Moments later the windows were steamed over, and Kent unzipped his fly. He took one of my nipples and squeezed hard, remembering that was how I liked it. I squealed with delight as I reached down and parted up my wet, swollen pussy lips. I didn't bother to rub my clit. There was no need; I had been sopping wet all afternoon, waiting for a moment to have Kent’s hard manhood inside me. So I straddled Kent's lap and swallowed his throbbing cock with my hot horny pussy and played the cowgirl role.

Kent let go of my breast and arched his neck back in a moment of ecstasy, and whispered in my ear, "Go slow, I want to remember this, and I haven't put on a condom yet.”

I giggled as I brought my feet up on the seat and squatted over his lap. I used my strong thighs to ride him harder and faster. Of course, I loved cowgirl position, and it appeared Kent did, too. By that time, he had both hands pressing on the seat beside him bracing, pushing back against me. On a downstroke, I whispered into his ear, "Don't worry. I started on birth control when I was back in Cody — thinking I needed to."

He nodded and grinned. "Good, I can't hold it any longer."

The light from the streetlight streamed in through the back window above the seat and silhouetted Kent’s head and neck. There was just enough light on his face for me to watch as he bit his lowered lip before he groaned and grunted as his thick cock started unloading. Even though I hadn’t cum yet, I slowed down, just enjoying watching him. I knew he wouldn’t leave me hanging, and man, was I right. His cock never got soft — Kent just kept coming and coming.

He laughed as he laid me down on the bench seat, with my head near the steering wheel, and completely unbuttoned my blouse and pushed my bra up, setting both breasts free. "Ah," he said. "Now it's my turn to fuck your brains out." And he almost did!

I lost count how many orgasms I had with his cock driving me hard. Then like a butterfly, his tongue was on my clit, causing my pussy to pour my juices all over his face. He wouldn't give me a break, maybe because I was begging for more. By the time he was finished my nipples ached, and my pussy was sore, but I had never felt so satisfied and happy.

It was five o'clock in the morning when I woke up in Kent's arms. He had propped himself against the door and the steering wheel, and before we had drifted off, he pulled a blanket and a pillow from behind his seat. That’s when he told me he had driven straight through all the way across the country only taking catnaps at a truck stop or rest area. I could barely move, but I managed to kiss him again and thanked him for coming to visit me.

We had slept that way all night. Since it was early Saturday morning, most of the girls were still out or had left for the weekend. So I slipped Kent inside my dorm — thank goodness, Daddy had paid for a private room. I double locked the door, and we got in the shower. I gasped as he bent me over, spread my ass cheeks and fucked me doggy style, saying, “Rachel, this will help work the soreness out.” He was right. After a good fifteen minutes with Kent in the shower, I left like a new woman.

The rest of the weekend was like a dream. Kent had enough cash he’d been ratholing to pay for two nights at the Plaza Hotel. We lived it up, talking and eating and getting full use of our Jacuzzi bathtub. Sunday afternoon we went to see the Broadway show, Hamilton. I don't know how he did it, but Kent arranged for us to meet the cast afterward — another one of my dreams had come true!

Before he kissed me goodbye on Monday, we were standing beside the truck when he held me in his arms for one last moment. He brushed the loose hair out of my face, then his sparkling green eyes peered at me. "Rachel, I'm in love with you, and I don't want to live without you. But now I know I can wait as long as it takes for you to finish college."

Holy shit! Kent Walker had admitted he loved me! Oh, my God, he has changed! My body shook as I started to sob; I didn't want Kent to leave. I knew I wanted to be with him, too, but I needed time to think — I didn't want to make another mistake. So I said, "Kent, I love you, too." I started bawling so hard I had to dig inside my purse for a tissue. Then I composed myself enough to continue. "I have six weeks to go before Christmas break. Let me see what I can work out.”

"What do you mean?" Ken asked with hope in his voice.

"I think Bernard College might have an online program...but I don't know what the requirements are to get in."

Kent's face beamed with joy as he pulled me in to him for one last hug. For several moments we stood there holding each other, but finally, Kent pushed back. "I'm looking forward to our future," he said. He then turned away and got inside his truck.

I watched with tears streaming down my cheeks as Kent pulled out on Broadway, headed home. I wanted so much to be going home with him — to be a stowaway in the bed of his truck. But if I gave into my emotions and became a quitter, Kent would lose respect for me, and I would lose respect for myself. I had all the evidence I needed to make the right decision when Kent told me he loved me. He had changed and he was conquering his inner demons caused by his PTSD. Kent was an honorable man who deserved the best, and that was what I was going to give him.

As I turned to head back toward the dorm, a few pristine snowflakes danced their way to the ground. I looked up into the gray sky, but all I could see were skyscrapers instead of Eagle Peak rising behind Pitchfork Ranch. For a moment I felt saddened, but then a heartening thought came to mind. Like magic, the corners of my downturned lips were tugged into a smile when I realized the holidays were just around the corner and I would be home for Christmas.

Chapter Eighteen

Christmas Morning

Rachel

I woke up at dawn then walked to my bedroom window and noticed how the sun's reflection across the snow made it appear like gold dust was sprinkled over the hay field. I was surprised to see the light shining through a window of Kent's trailer and wondered what he was doing up so early on a holiday. Since I had been home for two weeks, not one day had passed without holding Kent in my arms and talking about our plans for the future. I was looking forward to finally spending Christmas Day with my high school sweetheart.

I slipped on my jeans and an old baggy sweatshirt with a reindeer on it, a gift from my mother on her last Christmas. Just like I had done for as many years as I could remember, I crept down the stairs into the living room for a peek around. But this time it was me instead of Daddy who turned on the Christmas tree lights and made sure everyone's presents were under the tree.

I took my iPhone out of my pocket and snapped a few pictures of all the colorful packages and one of my old stocking that hung on the mantel by the fireplace. I giggled to myself when I noticed Daddy had played Santa. After I had gone to bed, he had stuffed my stocking with goodies. After twenty some odd years it looked a bit worse for the wear, but I didn't care, I was home, and it was Christmas!

A few hours later we all were sitting around the dining room table eating our Christmas lunch. I was holding Kent's hand when Daddy looked over at me and grinned. Then around a mouthful of pumpkin pie, he said, "Rachel, I'm so glad things have worked out for you to stay here at home and finish your studies online. It’s too quiet around here when you’re gone.”

Kent laughed and grabbed his glass of spiced eggnog. "Not as glad as I am!”

I giggled then reached for my glass and held it up. "I'll drink to that."

I noticed Sally glancing over at Daddy with a coy smile. Then he grinned back, and said, "While we're toasting I have an announcement to make. Sally has accepted my proposal to be my wife.”

A rosy color filled Sally’s cheeks as she held out her hand and showed me the most beautiful solitaire diamond ring I had ever seen. I clapped my hands together. I was so happy that Daddy had proposed to her. She seemed so devoted to him, and I had never seen my father more content. I reached out to hold her hand to get a better look, and asked, “When did you get this Sally? I hadn’t noticed it before.”

Daddy’s cheeks turned a bit red out of embarrassment. “I gave it to her on her birthday last week but made her promise not to wear it in front of you until I made the announcement this morning.” For a few moments I wondered what the big deal was, then I figured Sally’s birthday must be December 15th, the day my mother had passed away.

I looked at Daddy and winked. “The ring is beautiful — and congratulations.”

Then all on a sudden Daddy glanced over at Kent, then back at me. “Wow, it’s almost two o’clock. Sally and I will clean up the dishes. Why don’t you two go enjoy yourselves? Thanks for cooking, Rachel. Our Christmas lunch was delicious.”

Kent turned to me. “Yeah, I got a surprise, but we have to saddle up the horses and take a ride to go get it.”

An hour later Georgie-B and Licorice were trudging up the dirt road toward the east pasture, leaving their heavy footprints in the snow. Kent had been very secretive about why he insisted we ride way up to the pasture instead staying close to home. I couldn’t help but notice that someone on horseback had ridden up the road earlier, though the footprints were almost erased by drifting snow.

As I wrapped my woolen scarf tighter around my neck and patted Georgie’s flank, covered in a thick winter coat, I pondered how our relationship had grown. We had been given a second chance at romance, and I was grateful I had finally found the Kent I had longed for since high school.

Moments later, Kent turned around in the saddle and looked back at me, pointing ahead at a stand of pines. "That's where we're headed.” It was the same place TiaMaria had run toward for shelter the day of the terrible storm.

As we got closer, I saw what appeared to be a small box dangling from a bough of a pine tree. My heart began to flutter when Kent dismounted, wrapped the reins around the saddle horn and walked toward Georgie and me. I had never seen such a wide grin on Kent’s face — ever — as he helped me down to the ground. When he took my hand and tugged me toward the box, I could see it was wrapped in shiny, gold paper and was hanging by a red velvet ribbon.

I peered into Kent’s green eyes, and with a coquettish smirk, I asked, “Oh, is this for me?”

Kent nodded and pointed toward the delicate bow with a tiny holly leaf on it. “Go ahead, open your surprise!” His expression was warm and tender as I undid the bow and the box fell into my palm. I took off one glove with my teeth and held it there while I carefully unwrapped my gift. I gasped and my glove fell to the ground when I noticed inside the box was another, and that it was the type that usually contained jewelry.

While I peered in wonder at the tiny box, Kent snatched it out of my hand and dropped to his knees. As he opened the lid to reveal a beautiful teardrop diamond ring, he whispered, “I have a question that's been burning in my mind since graduation day, Rachel." I gulped and held my breath, then I gasped when Kent asked, “Will you marry me?"

I shrieked and knelt beside him. Wet snow was seeping in through my jeans as I threw my arms around his neck and whispered, "Yes, yes, yes...a billion times yes!" And I covered his face with kisses.

"I love you, Rachel, and always have."

“I love you more, Kent!” My hand was shaking when he pulled off my other glove and slipped the platinum ring on my finger. Then we hugged and fell over in the snow. After tumbling over and over a few times, we sat up and giggled. Then Kent pulled me to my feet. I stretched out my arm, flexed up my hand, and peered at my gorgeous engagement ring. It was the exact moment I had envisioned for so many years in myriad different scenarios. Now it had happened — it was real, not a dream!

When we brushed off our coats and headed back toward the horses, I turned to Kent. "Would it be all right if we invite Daddy and Sally and see if they want to do a double ceremony."

Kent pulled me close to his chest and gazed down at me with a sly grin on his face. "Rachel, I bet Sam would be honored to get married with his daughter."

I cocked my head to one side. "What makes you say that?”

"Sam is a man who puts the love of his daughter before everything. He's been hoping we would get together all along! That's one of the reasons he hired me."

“Did he tell you that?”

“Kinda.”

Before I could ask more probing questions, Kent put his lips on mine, and we kissed until I forgot what we were talking about. My head was still spinning as we started back toward the house. Kent turned and peered at the mountains behind us and pointed toward Eagle Peak. "Isn't that fitting,” he mused. When I turned around to see what he was referring to, I noticed how the sky was lit up in the most beautiful colors of purple, pink and yellow. It was the most beautiful sunset.

I nudged Georgie and rode up beside Kent. Then I grinned, and said, “This time you're not getting away from me. We're riding off into our future together!”

“Agreed,” he said. Then he winked just before he dug the heels of his boots into Licorice’s side. Speeding ahead, Kent held his Stetson high and hollered, “Ye ha, and Merry Christmas!”