CHAPTER 9
Moonlight streamed in through the open window. Travis rolled to his side, punching his pillow into submission for the fourth time that night, and shut his eyes. But all he saw was Elaine’s face, glowing and kissable in the moonlight. What the hell had he been thinking, kissing her? He hadn’t. His cock had been the one calling the shots. And it stirred now, taunting him.
She’d looked so sweet and vulnerable in the dark, and once he’d had a taste, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t help himself. Her mouth had been softer than a feather. And she tasted like cotton candy. More incredible than he could have possibly imagined. It had taken superhuman effort to back away. His cock stood at full attention now, pressing against the elastic of his shorts as he replayed the scene over and over.
“Goddammit,” he groaned.
He rolled over in the other direction. Fuck him for being such a perv. He slipped a hand inside his shorts, fisting his cock and giving a sharp pull. His balls tightened as electricity circled up the back of his legs. He stroked again, imagining that sweet pink tongue lapping him up. He squeezed harder, pulling in short, strong, strokes, visualizing creamy full breasts, dusky pink nipples begging to be nipped and suckled.
What undid him was the vision of her spread open and ready for him, dipping his head to taste her, seeing her writhe in ecstasy before he finally pushed into her slick heat. He’d make it so good for her. Stroking in and out until she cried his name. His hips bucked as he pulled once, twice, three times, and came into his hand with a groan. He stared up at the ceiling, breath coming in harsh rasps, as his brain returned to earth. A bead of sweat trickled from his temple, slowly moving down the contours of his face to drop to the sheet. He was soaked. And still frustrated as hell.
Fuck this shit.
It didn’t matter it was before zero-dark-thirty. Sleep would only continue to elude him. He needed to work Elaine out of his system. He slipped off his shorts, and pulled the sheets from the bed, balling everything up and mashing it in the hamper. After a quick shower, he gathered up the sack of laundry and brought it downstairs to the washer. Then he went to the weight bench, which stood in front of the large stone fireplace where a couch had once been.
One of the many advantages of being a bachelor. No woman to tell him to hide his weights in the basement, or the barn. His setup right in the middle of the living room kept him from slacking off. He never missed a day of PT. Even on the coldest, stormiest mornings, he’d work up a sweat, then run the perimeter of the ranch before heading into the office. Being up at the ass-crack of dawn meant he’d get it over with sooner.
He started off with reverse sit-ups, but instead of his usual fifty, he doubled them.
“Ten.” Elaine was a Prairie resident.
“Twenty.” She was coming to work on his campaign.
“Thirty.” She had a kid.
“Forty.” She must be at least ten years younger than he was.
“Fifty.” She had scars, and probably a past.
“Sixty.” So did he for that matter.
His abs started to burn. “Seventy.” He’d never met anyone with a stronger work ethic. She must work seven days a week. And she was sweetly strong. She’d make the perfect rancher’s wife. He grunted. “Eighty. Motherfucker.” He wasn’t fucking quitting now, even if his abs hated him for a week.
“Ninety.” And he didn’t need a wife. His mother had dipped a toe in the ranching life pool, decided it wasn’t for her, and left them high and dry when Colton was two. Nope, if he started the ranch again someday, it would be without a wife.
“Hundred.” He dropped back, abs screaming.
He doubled his pushups to two-hundred.
How many times had he wanted to rub away the tension she carried at her neck? Or do something to ease the tired look in her eyes? She’d laughed yesterday, and his insides had gone all funny seeing her face light up. She was too young to carry all that worry with her. Most kids her age were probably doing keggers at college parties. She had the air of someone much older.
Travis collapsed on the floor, arms aching. Dragging himself up, he pulled on his running shoes. Making sure the door was locked behind him, he jammed the key in his shorts pocket and took off at a steady clip for the fence line. The moon was just setting, but the sun would be up by the time he finished.
Forty-five minutes later, his lungs burned as he forced himself to sprint over the final rise and back to the barnyard, now framed by a riot of pinks and oranges lighting up the morning sky. Weston stood waiting for him, lounging on a porch post, thermos in hand.
“What the hell is this?” he gasped between taking spiky breaths of air and surveying the work crew accompanying Weston.
“Morning to you too, sunshine.” Weston tipped his hat and hopped down the stairs, offering him the thermos. “Time to fix this place up. You’re running for sheriff. Your property can’t look like it hasn’t seen the light of day in a decade.” He unscrewed the thermos lid and poured hot liquid into it. “Drink up. If people see you neglect your property, they’ll think you’ll neglect your job.”
Travis rolled his eyes. “Oh, Jesus.”
“Praying won’t help you win,” Weston chuckled. “But polishing your image will. And you wanna win, don’t you?”
“You sure this isn’t about you taking over my job?”
Weston smiled enigmatically and lifted a shoulder.
“What’s the trailer for?” Travis gestured at the horse trailer attached to Weston’s truck.
“Saw in the back of Rancher’s Monthly yesterday that there’s an auction next town over. A nice gentle mare and a pony are up. You come from ranch stock, gotta have animals for your flyers.”
“But I’m a policeman.”
Weston tsked and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Voters want someone like them.”
A knot formed in Travis’s stomach. “This is a bad idea, Wes.”
“This is the perfect way to scrub up your grumpy bachelor policeman image.” Weston cuffed him on the shoulder. “You’re a man of the people now.”
Travis shook his head. “You should go work for your old man.”
Weston made a face. “Nah. I never want to set foot in DC again. But I’ll happily use what I learned as a kid to help a friend in need.”
“I don’t need anything,” he grumbled. What had he gotten himself into, agreeing to run for sheriff?
Weston glared at him. “What you need is a family. But I have to work with what I have, so horses it is. And I know of at least one kid who’d be thrilled to ride a nice gentle pony.”
“Shows what you know. Ponies can be ornery. Don’t underestimate them because they’re small.”
“Then stick Dax on the mare. I don’t care.” Weston turned to the barn. “With the crew here, we can have the barn looking good by the end of the day. You’re going to take more work.”
There went a chunk of his nest-egg. But the barn desperately needed work. At least this way it would be ready for someday, whenever that was. He took another swig of the coffee. “Let me go change. I’ll come help.”
Upstairs, he threw on an old pair of jeans, and dug out his old pair of boots from the back of his closet. An uncomfortable ache settled below his throat. Funny how the smell of leather and sweat could tie him up in knots. He’d sold off the last of the cattle the last time he’d worn these. A few months after he’d kicked Colton out of the house, and he’d realized too late he couldn’t hack ranching on his own.
But he’d had rules and Colton had crossed the line one too many times. He’d been justified in giving him an ultimatum – clean up or get out. Colton had chosen the path as much as he had. A pang of longing hit him in the stomach. What would Colton say about him running for sheriff? His breath came out in a harsh grunt. It didn’t matter. He’d slammed the door on their relationship that awful night, and he’d have to live with that. They both would.
He shoved one foot into the worn leather, then the other. As far as he was concerned, those memories could stay buried in the back of the closet. He grabbed a pair of work gloves and jammed on his straw hat before taking the steps two at a time. Weston was out by the old chicken coop repairing the fencing when Travis joined him.
At first, they worked in silence. Then Weston slid him one of those looks that said they were about to have a “conversation.” “Elaine and Dax seemed to have a nice time yesterday.”
The knot in his belly grew.
“It was great to see them smiling.”
Travis clipped his pliers around a piece of chicken wire embedded in a post and yanked extra hard. He didn’t want to talk about Elaine and Dax. Or anything else for that matter.
“I even saw you smiling.”
Travis shook his head, unable to help the way his mouth curved up. “Shut up. Don’t start.”
Weston chuckled. “Don’t need to. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to tell you’re thinking about it, and you’re tied up in knots.”
He tossed another piece of old chicken wire onto the growing pile. “Doesn’t matter. Not happening.”
Weston dropped his pliers and leaned on the post, arms crossed. “You haven’t been the same since the tornado.”
Travis stepped around him, moving on to the next fence post. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Nope. When was the last time you talked to someone about it?”
The knot in his belly morphed into a ball of barbed wire, and he ground his molars together, as he gave another yank to the chicken wire. “Few years. Before I was promoted to Chief.”
“So why are you still letting it define you?” Weston’s voice called out behind him. “One thing I learned up in Montana that’s stuck with me is that you can let what happened to us be a part of your story or BE your story. You get to decide.”
Travis clenched the pliers like a lifeline. Grief sucked, the way it snuck up on you when you least expected it, slicing through your defenses to stab you at your very core, then disappearing like a thief in the night, leaving you shaken and helpless. “Those guys would all be married with children by now,” he gritted out through the ache in his throat.
“Would they? Are you?”
“That’s different.”
“Bullshit.” Weston’s voice grew sharp. “You denying yourself what they were denied is sick as fuck. Especially when I’ve watched you leave ten-dollar tips under your coffee cup every day for the last two years.”
Travis whirled, throwing the pliers to the ground. “She’s a single mom. She needed it,” he roared. “You’ve seen how she lives.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Weston shouted back. “You may be too thickheaded to realize it, but you’re in love with her. You have been for ages. And I, for one, was glad to see you looking HAPPY yesterday.”
Travis’s breath came in huge gulps. He was not in love with Elaine. Weston was full of shit.
Shaking his head, Weston dug into his pocket and tossed him a set of keys. “Go take the trailer to the auction. The address is on the seat. Crew will have the stables ready by the time you get back.”
Travis trudged down to the truck and pulled out onto the drive. How could you be in love with someone you barely knew? Or barely kissed? Let alone… The image of Elaine’s creamy skin glowing in the dark assaulted him. He turned onto the road, head filled with a picture of her naked and waiting for him.
“Motherfucker,” he gritted when his mistake became obvious. He’d turned too late and was on a trajectory for the ditch. Pushing thoughts of her aside, he jerked the steering wheel and jammed the truck into reverse. “Goddammit,” he yelled, realizing he’d just made it worse and that the trailer was in danger of jackknifing. Now he was stuck blocking the road. He turned the wheel, not quite so tight this time, and jimmied the truck ahead as he registered the whine of a motorcycle in the distance.
Great.
Now he was holding up traffic. They’d just have to wait until he got himself straightened out. Hopefully it was a stranger and not someone he knew. He’d never hear the end of it if word got out he’d gotten himself parked sideways across the road while pulling a trailer. Total rookie move. The whine of the engine grew louder.
CRASH!