The Last True Cowboy by Laura Drake (8)

Carly

I’m standing at the white board outside the truck the next morning, pen poised. “What do you want for today’s special?”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, yesterday it was fish sandwiches. How about rodeo dogs?”

“How about a double serving of, I. Don’t. Care.” She reaches up to crank the volume on the boombox.

Slayer is screaming “Raining Blood.” Great. I hate that I even know that song. I didn’t, before being stuck in a tin can with a sullen, grown-up two-year-old for ten hours a day. I don’t understand why she’s so hostile. I find myself both wanting to find out the answer, and wanting to stay ignorant. I fill out the rest of the board, making specials of what we have left over. We’re going to have to hit a box store and stock up before we leave town.

As I watch the early risers walk the grounds, a hollow feeling fills my chest. Funny, I’m back in my old world with people all around me, yet I’ve never in my life been so lonely. I’d love some distraction from the problems that my brain works over like well-worn worry beads. But everyone I know here is tied somehow to Austin, and I don’t know how to answer their questions.

Homesickness hits. You can’t know lonely in Unforgiven. You know everyone in town, and they know you. Even driving on a back road, people at least wave, and many will stop in the middle of the road for a good chin wag.

But then again, that’s how gossip spreads. A flush of heat shoots up from my chest that has nothing to do with the rising temperature outside.

And I’ve got to talk to Austin. After his admission last night, my secret wears on my conscience like a hair shirt. I may not be the person I thought I was, but I’m not someone who can live with having Austin find out about the baby from someone else.

One impossible task at a time. I work like a robot, taking orders, checking the line from the window every few seconds, looking for broad shoulders and a Cattleman Creased Stetson. I’ve been speech-writing in my mind all morning, trying to come up with some way to explain, without having him hate me.

This is going to be a stunning shock to Austin. So far, most of my scenarios end up with tears (mine) and anger (his).

And I haven’t even started on the explanation for Nana and Papaw.

There’s a recurring theme here. I can’t seem to make a freakin’ decision. About anything. It’s like I’m in one of those dreams where it’s essential you do something, but you move in slow motion, and minutes tick away…

Life used to be so simple. Joking with the regulars at the diner, the comfortable routine with the staff. At home, setting the table for dinner with Nana and Papaw, with nothing more on my mind other than what’s on TV that night. Counting the days until Austin came home, so we could fall into the bed over the store and make love all night. Best yet, though, spooning with my best friend, talking about nothing and everything, until I’d drift off, safe in his arms.

You think you appreciate it, at the time. I didn’t, but I do now…

I’m tired. Tired of worrying. Tired of not liking myself. Tired of being whiny. Well, like Nana says, “You made yourself a shit sandwich. Now you get to eat it.” Man, I miss her.

Luckily, business slows while the rodeo’s happening. I give Nevada a break, and she’s gone forever. By the time she climbs back in the truck, I’ve got my apron off. “Where the heck did you go?”

“Why? You got somewhere to be?”

Her smirk crawls under my skin. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

As always, she has a retort, but I’m out the door and don’t hear it. The announcer is two riders into the bull-riding event when I sprint to the arena. It’s only ninety degrees out, but the crowd is packed in the bleachers, raising the temperature and blocking any stray breeze. I find a slot and slide between a little girl and a cowboy wannabe nursing a beer.

He tips his hat. “Hello, pretty lady.”

I give him a quick nod, then focus on the chutes.

“Next up is Shane Dalton. He rode Battle-axe for eighty-two points yesterday. Let’s see how he does on Sit and Spin.”

I cup my hands around my mouth. “Go, Shane! Stick on him!”

“You know that guy? Is he your boyfriend?”

My stomach flips. As much from the BF comment as the wash of beery breath from Mr. I-bought-the-buckle.

The gate swings open, and a red spotted bull comes out butt first. Shane’s up on his rope, and balanced, ready for the bull’s next move. It turns right. Bad choice for the bull. Shane matches the animal’s timing, jump for jump. After four seconds, he starts spurring with his outside foot, big money chops, to impress the judges. When the horn blows at eight seconds, Shane pulls his hand out of the rope and the bull’s next kick throws him off. The cowboy hits the ground running, and after a glance over his shoulder to be sure the bull isn’t chasing, he pounds his fists into the air.

“How ’bout that, folks?”

The crowd cheers. I put my fingers in my mouth, curl my tongue, and let loose a piercing whistle. Shane hears it. He finds me in the crowd and points at me, laughing.

“The judges liked it, too. They score it an eighty-three and a half points!”

“Mommy, that lady hurted my ears.”

I look down. The little girl is scowling at me, hands over her ears. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I promise not to do it again.” I manage to sit, though my toes are tapping a hurry-up dance on the wood boards. I checked the day sheets; Austin’s up next.

“Can I buy you a beer? Hey, whasyername, anyway?”

Great. Unfortunate taste in clothes, irritating, and drunk. The rodeo trifecta. “No, thank you.”

Saved by the announcer. “Austin Davis bucked off yesterday, but he’s back today, and knowing him, looking to take it out on his bull, Dust Devil. Out of chute two, let’s cheer on a local favorite!”

I can’t cheer. I never could. I’m suspended in frozen anticipation, holding my breath, sitting on my crossed fingers.

The wannabe bumps my elbow. “Hey, honey—”

“Shhhhhh,” I hiss.

A massive black brahma rears in chute two, and the cowboys grab Austin’s flak jacket to keep him from falling under the bull’s hooves. With a hand tied to the animal, the chute is the most dangerous place to be. “Get out! Nod! Nod!” I mutter with the last of my breath and finally, he does.

The gate swings, and the bull takes off, running straight and crow-hopping across the arena. This is the worst kind of ride; the bull looks easy but isn’t. Every jarring thump pulls Austin off his rope. His score is going to suck.

If he makes it to the whistle.

Even as I think it, Austin loses his spur hold, and his legs fly out behind him. His hand pops out of the rope, and he lands face-first in the dirt. The bull gallops off.

Getupgetupgetup.

After an agonizingly still moment, Austin pulls himself to his feet and his hat billows dust when he smacks it against his thigh. The bullfighters entice the bull to the exit gate.

“A rare second buck-off for Davis. Let’s show some appreciation for the effort.”

Austin takes his rope from one of the bullfighters and limps to the gate, the crowd’s applause his only parting gift.

I want to catch him before—

“Hey, sweet cheeks. Whatyasay—”

My boot on his instep cuts off whatever drivel he was about to spout. I stand, and ignoring his wheeze, step down from the stands and jog for the contestant area behind the chutes.

When I find him, Austin’s pulling tape off his wrists. “That bull was a pig. Totally not your fault.”

He turns at the sound of my voice. “Yeah, I’ll tell that to Shane when I don’t have gas money.”

“You need gas money? I’ve got—”

“I’m not taking your money, Tigger.” His gaze is watchful, reminding me of Shane’s “stray dog” comment. “What did you want?”

For things to be the way they used to be. “Are you staying tonight before heading out?”

“I am.”

The look on his face freezes in place. Open and unafraid, he watches me close, his gaze flicking over my every movement. But his eyes, sad and hopeful and sweet, somehow form an arrow that pierces my chest. I’m going to hurt him. Bad. I wish I could walk away and never see him again, just so he could stay innocent.

But that’s the coward’s way out. “We need to talk. Can we meet after dinner?”

“Sounds good. And Tigger?” He steps into my personal space and runs a finger down the inside of my forearm. “I miss you.”

I want to forget. To lean into him and share the weight on my shoulders.

But that weight is what is going to drive him away. “Good.” I straighten my shoulders and take a step back. “See you then.” I turn and walk away before I can change my mind.

Carly

The long, dread-filled day is over. I walk in and out of yellow pools of sodium light in the contestants’ parking lot. Did I, just this morning, wish I could talk to my best friend? Well, I’m going to get the chance in a few minutes, and all I want to do is jog back to my bike and get the flock out of here.

Because, after tonight, I don’t think I’ll have a best friend.

I spent the day making a bullet-point list of items to cover in the conversation. By afternoon, the bullets zipped through my brain, faster and faster, until even Nevada noticed I was a mess. Well, I think she did; she just pointed to her T-shirt:

Now I’m hyped so bad a fine shake runs down my limbs, and I just want to get it over with.

I scan the rows of big-ass trucks that all look the same in the dark. Hey, maybe I won’t find Austin…Nah. The only thing worse than this day would be waiting another day to tell him.

A shadowy figure leans against a truck two rows in, one boot up on the running board. “Austin?”

His head comes up and my heart, ignoring the memo, knocks my ribs in a happy dance. I keep my feet to a sedate pace. Why rush to disaster? Then he steps into the light, and I know why. Broad cheekbones, prominent jaw, and lips too full for a guy.

I’ve always loved those lips.

“Hey, Tigger.” He leans one hand against the hood of the truck. “I should have asked you if you wanted to have dinner. Or we could—”

“No.” It comes out too loud and echoes down the row. I swallow and start again. “This is good.” Dark is best. I don’t want to see his face in sharp fluorescence when I tell him.

“What’s wrong?” He steps to me and runs his hands down the backs of my arms. “You’re shaking.” He tips his head to look down into my face. “Are you okay?”

An unladylike snort of laughter explodes from my nose. “No. Not at all.”

“Aw, hon.” He leans his butt against the truck and gathers me into his arms.

I have no choice but to lean into him. Okay, I have a choice, but I ignore it, because his arms form a familiar circle of safety and comfort that I haven’t felt in so long. I’ll just rest here for a minute, then…

“Talk to me, Tigger. What can I do to fix this?”

His words slap me to reality. This is so wrong. I shouldn’t be taking comfort from the one I’m fixing to take all comfort from. Stop. Back away.

But when I shake my head, my forehead rubs the front of his shirt, releasing the smell trapped inside. I take a deep breath of him: cologne, pheromones, and familiarity. A sticky wad of lonely gathers in my chest that’s hard to breathe around. “Can we stay here, just for a minute?”

He tucks me in tighter and rests his chin on the top of my head. “You got it.”

The words rumble through his chest and into mine. I’m not going to ruin these last stolen moments of peace. I lay my ear against his chest and let his heartbeat calm me. My breath settles into his rhythm; strong and even.

“I’ve missed you like half my brain is gone.”

My head bounces with his chuckle, and I snuggle in closer.

“No, really. I was looking all over for my sunglasses today. Shane pulled them off my head and asked if I also forgot to tell him about my lobotomy.”

“You’ve got more smarts in your boots than I have in my whole body,” I whisper into his shirt, treating myself to a deep breath of Austin, trying to hold it in, soak it into the lining of my lungs, so I’ll never forget.

What if…I know it would be stealing, for me to take one more night for myself before I tell him. Nana taught me better.

I feel his smile against my hair. His lips move down to my temple. His teeth catch my earlobe and he sucks on it.

Either a bull lowed in the pens, or I moaned. I’m not sure which. I want him. Want the way he makes me feel like the center of the Universe. The Universe of Us. I want to be part of a whole again, not a limping shell. I want…

The light is blocked out, and his lips are on mine. My hands steal to the sides of his face, and I take him in: a sweet kiss that makes me want to cry.

There must be a term stronger than wanting, but it’s lost in his gentle touch. Like our first kiss, that day in the homestead house when we looked at each other and realized we were doing more than playing house all those years; we were practicing.

The want pulls my brain from reason. This must be how addicts feel. My fingers slide down the stubble on his soft cheeks. I know the topography of his face better than my own. I’ll pay the penalty later. I need this. I’m taking this. Not sure I could stop now, anyway.

He slants his head, and when he opens his mouth, sweet turns hot. He seems as desperate as I feel, tasting, testing, pushing. We can’t get close enough. His hands cup my butt and he lifts and turns me, so I’m standing on the running board. We’re the exact same height. I know, because we tested it out before he bought this truck. I’m squeezed between the truck body and his, yet still, it’s not enough. Wrapping my fists in his shirt, I pull him closer and melt into his mouth. Tonight’s memory is going to have to last me the rest of my life.

Making out with someone who knows what you need before you do—who, when you do “that thing,” reacts the exact same way, every time…it’s the best.

Then somehow, we’re up in the cab and I’m lying on top of Austin (he got the bench seats special for us, too). He grasps the front of my shirt, and there’s a pistol-shot pop-pop-pop as the snaps come undone.

In a deep part of my brain the pheromones haven’t fogged; reason is yelling don’t do it! You’re making it worse! Don’t— Heat and hormones blot out the rest.

Austin dispatches my bra with a practiced twist of his fingers (I bought it with that move in mind). He takes my nipple in his mouth, makes that little groan in the back of his throat—and I’m lost. Lost to the fact that anyone could walk by. Lost to thought.

Lost to him.

My eyes closed, my hands work by braille, remembering and memorizing the soft hair on his chest, the dip at the curve of his hip, the hard length of him, straining the buttons of his Wranglers.

Things get frantic and we’re laughing, trying to kick out of boots and straight-legged jeans in a tight space. It takes forever. But finally, he’s there, his bare chest a rock-hard slab beneath my hands, his even harder cock poised at the perfect middle of my straddled legs.

“Slow down, cowboy. I’m going to make this last.”

His cock surges against me and he groans.

Smiling, I nip my way down his neck, cup him, and roll his balls in my hand. He loves that.

He runs his hands down the length of me until he reaches my butt. He tries to guide me down. He looks up at me, his eyes full of lust…and love.

So much for slow. His look alone makes my twinkie twitch.

A smile quirks one side of his mouth. Because we both know this is going to be epic.

“God, I’ve missed you.” I slide, slow, slick, and hot, down his shaft, my nails digging in his pecs, chewing my lips to stifle a scream.

“Shhhhh. Shhh, baby.” He pulls me to his chest and rocks me, knowing perfectly well that my clit is in hard contact with his pubic bone. He moves, slow and rhythmic like a rocking chair, but with the opposite effect. It winds me up. And up. We spiral together, him getting stronger, but not faster, until the pleasure is so exquisite it hurts.

He catches my mouth and pours in all the emotion he hasn’t said. He bucks under me, once, twice. It pushes us both over the edge, and I moan into his mouth, “I love you. Always.”

When the fog clears, we’re sprawled bonelessly together, separated only by a thin layer of sweat. Coming down from a high like that is always hard, but this time I didn’t pack a parachute. I open my eyes, squinting in the harsh glare of reality. When I push off his chest, his arms tighten around me.

“Not yet, Tig.”

Yes, yet. It was “yet” an hour ago. A day ago. I snatch clothes from the floorboard, shrugging into them as fast as I can…like that’ll make what just happened, not happen.

No, I don’t wish that. I wish a zillion other things, but never that.

His hand brushes my waist. “Where you going? Come lie down for a minute.”

I knew I’d pay for stealing. And as terrified as I am to tell him, I can’t be sorry. “We need to talk, Austin. You know we do. But I can’t tonight. I’ve got to…” I’m not compounding my sin with another lie. “I just can’t.”

“Okay, Tig. I’ll see you Friday. We’ll talk then. Now, come back here. I want to have a deep conversation with your body.”

It would be so easy. All I’d have to do is loosen my muscles and my self-control. I’m relaxing into him…but I can’t. I’ve already taken more than was mine. I should have never allowed this to happen. But I’m weak. And in spite of what he’s going to think when he hears the truth, he means everything to me. I do a push-up off him and pull on my last boot. “I’m sorrier than you know, but I can’t.” I open the door. The wanting makes me steal one look back and to put my hand, one more time, on the chest that is no longer mine. “Remember, I love you.”

Yeah, there’s a parting gift.

He’s going to hate me.