“Oh, these are pretty.”
He liked the way her eyes lit up. “Then they’ll definitely suit you.”
“You don’t have to say things like that to get me into bed,” she teased.
“I know. ’Cause once you’ve been with Cal Lincoln, you’re ruined for other men,” he said, pulling her hip toward him, rubbing a hand on her bared shoulder.
Maggie’s hair tumbled around her shoulders and her cheeks looked rosy. Like a well-loved woman’s should. Her skin had grown tan from all the work she’d done washing windows, pulling weeds and tilling flower beds. Even though she’d worked like a dog—something that had surprised the hell out of him—she looked healthy and relaxed. She hadn’t lied when she implied she’d needed sex. He’d patched her up real good and he’d send her back to Philly ready to...
Something terrible bloomed inside his head.
It was the image of a faceless man gripping Maggie’s hips, nibbling his way down her collarbone. Then he saw her throw her head back as the stranger tugged the band from her ponytail, making sweet waves of brown silk tumble over her naked shoulders. Her breasts heaved as the man licked first one nipple, then the other.
Furious jealousy seized him, sinking its claws into him, shaking him.
His hands curled so he jabbed them into the front pocket of his jeans and turned away. He didn’t want to feel this way about her. He’d told her they were about five weeks of pleasure. Thinking about her with another man shouldn’t make him incensed...ready to punch his fist through something. But despite his best effort to keep his distance, he did, indeed, care about Maggie. Thing was, the woman delighted him. From cooking him dinner to refusing help with the tiller to her willingness to tangle with a perceived threat to her status as his woman, everything she did charmed him. He loved too much about her. Even those ridiculous house shoes with the floppy bunny ears she’d worn the past few mornings.
“I talked to Charlie today,” she said, sitting on the bench and sliding off the flip-flop she wore.
“Why?” he said drolly.
“I wanted to know why you two act so weird around each other,” she said.
Cal’s jealousy faded and irritation took its place. Just when he thought everything about her was perfect, she started meddling. “Nothing like coming out of the corner with a sucker punch.”
Maggie looked up at him, her forehead crinkled as she struggled to pull the boot on. “Surprise attack worked for the Pict peoples who occupied ancient Scotland. It was one of the main reasons they built Hadrian’s Wall. Very effective.”
“History lesson aside, why do you care about me and Charlie?” Cal asked.
“I don’t know. You go out of your way to avoid him and I wondered,” she said, obviously refusing to drop the subject.
Did the Picts know when to retreat? ’Cause now would be a good time for Maggie to do that. “If you’re implying I’m emotionally crippled, that’s horseshit.”
“I merely wondered why you both circle each other like snarling yard dogs.”
She definitely wasn’t going to drop it. “We have history. Nothing worth repeating.”
“That’s what he said.”
“Did he?” Cal wouldn’t have expected Charlie to open up to Maggie, but then again, the old man seemed to have a soft spot for women and children. That was likely his only redeeming quality. “Okay, fine. Charlie taught me to ride bulls. He actually taught me a lot of things—roping, branding, sittin’ a horse in a rainstorm.”
Her head jerked up as if she hadn’t actually expected him to tell her. “He’s the person who taught you to ride a bull?”
“Yeah, before he went to work as a ranch hand, he rodeoed. I was a little wild and he hired me to work one summer. We clicked. Charlie taught me the cowboy code.”
“Cowboy code?”
“Things like a man always takes care of his horse before himself, how to tie knots, shoot a pistol. Just things a guy needs to know if he works in the saddle.”
“But you don’t work in a saddle.”
“I did for a while. I’ve worked a spread or two in my lifetime,” Cal said, finding another pair of boots that looked nice and holding them up to her. She shook her head. “We had a falling-out when I was eighteen.”
“Oh.” She stilled and waited for him to continue.
Hell, she was like every other woman. She wanted to fix things, make everyone hunky-dory, latching arms and singing “Kumbaya.” He’d have to spill or he’d look emotionally damaged or like he was at fault. He wasn’t. Charlie was the one who’d lost his marbles.
“It started with my mom going out with Charlie when I was in high school. Long story short, he fell for her. She didn’t fall for him. When I was a senior, she started dating Gary, who she’s now married to. Charlie convinced me to interfere on his behalf. It caused some drama. She married Gary, anyway, and Charlie took to the bottle. He got mean.”
“You stopped training with him?”
“Not at that point. See, I got a scholarship to University of Texas to play baseball. Everyone thought it was a no-brainer that I go to UT, but I wanted to be a bull rider so I told the MLB team that drafted me along with UT that I wasn’t going to play baseball. It pissed my mother off.”
“Wow. You turned down a baseball scholarship to ride bulls? That takes a lot of self-assurance. And passion for rodeo.”
“Two things I have in buckets,” he said, finally finding a smile. He’d known since his first ride he was destined to be a bull rider.
“So what happened?” she asked.
“I got thrown my freshman year of college. Ended up with a bad concussion. Charlie came to Southeast Oklahoma State where I was on partial scholarship. My mom came, too. She’d just given birth to Wyatt and she was hopped up on hormones. It wasn’t a good scene. She cried, Charlie yelled at my advisor for putting me in danger and Mom yelled at Charlie for interfering. It was a real crap storm.”
Her gaze was riveted to him.
“Charlie had always been a quiet, reasonable man, but I guess the booze did something to him. He threatened my mother, my coach and half the rodeo team.”
“With a gun?”
“No, but they called the police on him.
“To make matters worse, the doctor told my mother I had possible brain damage so she threatened to sue the college. That paired with Charlie’s crazy altercation got me dropped from the rodeo team. Then Gary called the MLB scout for the team that drafted me and worked a deal for me to go to their A team. It led to lots of bad blood between...well, all of us.”
Maggie grimaced. “Ouch.”
“So I left home and didn’t talk to my mother for five years.”
“But she was just being a mother. It’s a dangerous sport. I can see why your mother...and even Charlie might want you to do something safer.”
Like a match tossed into diesel fuel, anger exploded inside him. “No one is going to tell me how to run my life, and no one is going to tell me when I’m done riding. Not a stubborn old drunk or any woman. I can decide for myself when I should quit.”
Maggie slid away from him, from the force of his anger. “I’m sorry. I was merely acknowledging their concerns. Surely you can see—”
“No,” he interrupted, not wanting her to go any further explaining herself. She didn’t get a say-so in his life. “My decision to ride is mine alone. Gary and my mother overstepped. Charlie overstepped.” He looked hard at her so she’d understand that she overstepped, too.
She tore her gaze away. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He’d hurt her feelings, but he couldn’t help it. Having his mother, Charlie and Gary try and stop him from doing what he loved had made him defensive. Better change the subject. “You going to get a pair of boots?”
Maggie looked down at the ones on her feet. “Think I’ll take these.”
“Good. I need to get the barrel. Told Wyatt he could help me install it tonight. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not. It will be nice to have some company at night.” Her brown eyes went soft when she looked at him, making him feel like dog crap for blowing up on her. He shouldn’t have dipped down into that emotional vortex. No need to have gone there. Should have told her it was nothing between him and Charlie. He had to remember that he and Maggie were temporary. They were shits and giggles. That was it.
“Let’s mosey on, cowgirl,” he said.
* * *
MAGGIE WATCHED CAL instruct his younger brother in digging a two-foot hole with a posthole digger, still smarting from Cal’s earlier outburst. She should have kept her mouth shut, but something inside her had wanted to help. Being a mediator was both her strong suit and her downfall.
Cal was installing the bucking barrel in the barn. He’d already unloaded five sacks of Sakrete he’d use to cement the pole in. The barrel sat over by the horse feed, covered with a tarp.
“Will this be removable? The new owners may need every stall,” she asked.
Cal breathed hard after lifting the second bag of ready-mix cement. “We can get it out. No worries.”
“Good,” she said, eyeing the pregnant cat who peeked into the barn. The tabby darted green eyes left then right before gingerly stepping inside. A few seconds later, the cat leaped onto a stack of wood. For a heavily pregnant cat she was graceful.