Cowboy Crush(18)

“Good,” she said, rocking her pelvis so her cleft rubbed his hardness. A jolt of pleasure slammed into her. “After we, uh, shower, we can go into town. I need boots.”

“It’s hot to be wearing boots,” he said, though he wore them. He dropped his head and nibbled her sweaty neck. The feel of him sucking her flesh lightly and rubbing his hands over the globe of her ass caused heat to sink into her pelvis. She felt herself grow wetter.

“Flip-flops aren’t much protection against snakes and random nails. Plus, it would be nice to have a souvenir of Texas,” she managed to say.

Cal unbuttoned her shorts and pushed them down her hips, leaving her clad in a tiny bikini. Then he dropped to his knees and pressed a kiss to her belly before nuzzling her satin-covered mound with his nose. Looking up he said, “We can go to the Co-op. I need cement for the bucking barrel, anyway. If we get moving, I’ll have enough time to stop by Whitman’s Hardware before they close.”

Maggie sighed as his hands cupped her ass and brought her hard against his mouth. “But we have to shower first.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll take a fast one together. Conserve water,” he said, fastening his mouth on the satin that covered her clitoris. He stroked her with his tongue through the material.

Maggie knew what he was doing. Driving her to distraction. “I know what will happen when we get naked and soaped up in that shower.”

Cal released her ass, held up his hands and looked up at her. “Hey, I can keep my hands to myself.”

“But not your mouth,” she said, tangling her hand through his hair and pressing him back to his previous task.

He obliged, nuzzling her flesh through the now-soaked panties. Maggie sighed and dropped her head back, letting him do as he pleased. He sucked and nibbled before sliding the material aside. She felt the heat of his breath on her naked flesh as she felt the pressure grow in her womb. Cal made one long slow swipe of his tongue through her sex. Then he stood. “Last one in the shower has to do the dishes tonight.”

Maggie blinked at the sudden loss of pleasure. Cal grinned as he darted out of the room.

“You bastard, you know I hate doing the dishes,” she shouted with a laugh. But truly she didn’t, not with Cal sitting at the kitchen table strumming songs on his old guitar. There was something comforting about his baritone while she scrubbed the pots.

Yeah, this place was growing on her.

And that determined cowboy was growing on her, too.

That thought was more dangerous than the snake she saw coiled in the road. Way more dangerous. Buying cowboy boots wasn’t going to protect her from either of them.





10


CAL SCANNED THE rack of boots. “We can always drive back into McKinney. Go to Cavender’s.”

“And get mugged by your fans? No thanks,” Maggie said, holding up a brown leather Justin roper and squinting at it.

“I ain’t that popular, darlin’.” He tried for lazy charm in his demeanor since he’d lost his cool earlier. But he hadn’t liked letting her see how frustrated he was by his damn inability to control his body. Ripping up the floor had hurt his shoulder like a mother. It pissed him off. That and the fact he’d had words with his mother about Wyatt on Sunday. It had started with his brother, Wyatt, asking questions about riding bulls. They’d finished lunch and sat in the sunroom drinking sweet tea. Wyatt had grabbed a rope and practiced tying it.

“So you still thinking about riding, huh?” Cal said to Wyatt, eyeing the rope in his brother’s hand. The kid looked like Gary Whitehorse’s Comanche ancestors with the exception of his brown eyes and gangly build. Seventeen and ready to conquer, Wyatt was buck wild and spoiled rotten by his father. The kid’s saving grace was he had a good heart and a mother who’d beat him before she’d let him come to a bad end.

A mulish expression crossed the kid’s face. Cal knew that look. Seen it too often in the mirror. “Yeah. Why not?”

“You’re too tall.”

“Whatever. I’m just messing around, anyway.”

“Just messing around can get your face broken,” Cal said, noting his mother’s back stiffening. Ruth had lost Cal to the sport. She wouldn’t lose Wyatt.

Cal didn’t know whether he should support his younger brother’s dream of bull riding or squash it before the kid tore himself apart. On one hand it gave them something in common. Cal had been on the road during much of Wyatt’s boyhood, driving incredible distances until he hit the PBR and started making enough to fly to the venues. And there had been no breaks. He rode all year, chasing the rankings, battling through broken noses, gashes and strained muscles. No time for Coyote Creek. But despite the fire in the kid’s eyes, Cal had seen enough to know his kid brother would never achieve success as a bull rider.

“I ain’t afraid if that’s what you’re implying,” Wyatt said, brown eyes flashing with anger.

“Did I say that?” Cal asked.

Wyatt made good grades and as he approached his senior year of high school, he had a good shot of getting an academic scholarship. But Cal figured he’d have to toss Wyatt a bone, and in the process of letting him try bull riding, he might knock some sense into the kid.

For a few seconds the kid stared down at the rope. “One of the guys over at the Co-op said you ordered a bucking barrel in. Maybe I can come out and try it.”

Cal nodded. “I could use some help getting it installed. You can shovel.”

“I can do that,” Wyatt said.

Ruth caught Cal’s eye and she glared at him. Battle lines drawn. “Can I speak to you for a minute, Cal?”

Wyatt rolled his eyes as Cal and their mother rose. The kid knew what their mother wanted. Same song, different dance.

“You have to nip this in the bud,” his mother whispered, spinning on him, her finger jabbing him in the chest.

“Mom, I’ve got this,” Cal said, taking her finger out of his solar plexus.

“No, you don’t. That’s all he does is watch you and all your friends ride. He’s glued to his laptop, streaming all your rodeos.”

“And you’re not?” He still wanted his mom to watch, to be proud of him. To not hate the sport he loved so much. But she had issues with rodeo. The sport had brought Cal’s father to town...and it had taken him away.

“Of course. And I live with my heart in my throat, scared to death. And when Rasputin tossed you, gored you and stomped on you, I felt like it was happening to me.”

“Mom,” Cal began.

“No. You don’t understand. I’m proud of you. I am. But I can’t go through it again. You and I both know that Wyatt isn’t cut out for it. He’s too tall and he’s starting too late. He’ll get hurt.”

“But you have to let me handle it. If you push him away, he’ll only hold on tighter. Let me spend some time with him. He can come out to the ranch and I’ll put him to work. He can earn a little cash and I’ll teach him to ride. After a few weeks, I’ll take him over to Sawyer’s and get him on a practice bull. Hal Sawyer will tell him straight up that he won’t cut the mustard. Better he hear it from someone in the business than me or you.”

Ruth made a face. “But he could still get hurt.”

“Nah, maybe a bump or bruise. Maybe enough to give ’em up for good.”

“Like you did?” his mother said wryly.

Cal smiled. “Well, if he gets addicted, I can’t do much about it. He’s fascinated enough to want a ride, but I’m not sure the passion and work ethic are there yet.”

“But the sense of adventure and all those girls are. It’s such a lure. Look at the life you lead.”

He knew she was thinking, “like father, like son.” Cal’s father had lived the same vagabond lifestyle. Handsome as sin and just as shiftless, he’d rolled into town thirty-six years ago and hired on to help with branding, saving money for his next ride. Ruth had been a teenage waitress with plans to leave the five-stoplight town for a chance at modeling in LA. But she’d taken one look at Dave Calhoun’s baby blues and that had been all she wrote. Ten months later she had a newborn, a used trailer and an empty spot in her bed. Dave hadn’t stuck around long enough to learn to change a diaper before he was gone again. She’d tracked him down in Wyoming. A woman had come to the pay phone and told her Dave was with her now and to stop pestering him. Ruth never looked for Cal’s father again.

So she probably thought Cal was like his old man, roaming around, a new girl in each town. The thing was Cal wondered the same thing. Maybe he understood his old man better than he thought...though Cal would have never knocked a woman up and then abandoned her and their child. Never. But that itch to move, that empty feeling in his belly, seemed never fulfilled.

Maggie pulled him from his recollections with a sigh. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” he asked, bending down to peer at the lower shelf lined with boots. A pair of sand-colored boots caught his eyes. Weren’t Lucchese, but they sported nice leather tooling and looked comfortable enough.

“Sound like such a cowboy. It’s so hot.”

“That’s just how we talk down here. Ain’t like I’m using it for effect or nothing. Here, try these, baby.” He shoved the boots toward her.