The Truth About Cowboys

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  I stop at the truck and glance his direction. “Quiet before I tell you how Game of Thrones ends.”

  “Wait. You know how it ends?”

  “No,” I say, “but I can Google with the best of them.”

  I start to get into the truck, but he’s still not done. “You’re afraid you aren’t good enough anymore. That’s a bad reason to stay here.”

  I grimace and get into the truck. He’s wrong. I’m not afraid. I know my arm. I use my arm. I’m rusty, but I can still throw like a mad bitch who got stood up on her wedding day. It’s not just about my skills. I have to stand on that mound and not think about the ranch and my grandmother. I can’t do that.

  I start the engine and put the truck in motion, forcing myself to drive past the cottage, to stay away from Jessica. The last thing I need right now is to be reminded of the big city, big games, and the past that is forever gone. And so I drive on by and park in front of my house before I decide I’m wrong about everything I just told myself. Roarke is right. I need a new plan. An idea forms in my mind, and maybe, just maybe, it’s time to stop pushing the past into a box. At the same time, maybe it’s time to think out of the same box. Maybe it’s time to bring a little more city to the country. Jessica started out as a reminder of everything I lost, everything that burned me, but now—now she makes a new start feel possible. Jessica, who I can’t get out of my head and I’m not sure I want to try.

  I’m not going to try.

  Not tonight.

  I back the truck up and head back to the cottage. In three minutes flat, I’m standing on the porch, and I catch myself with the key in hand, about to open the door. “Damn it,” I curse, pocketing the key. I knock instead, my blood pumping, adrenaline damn near burning a hole in my chest. There are footsteps and she calls out, “Who is it?”

  “How many men do you have coming by at two in the morning?”

  She yanks open the door, her hair a rumpled, bedhead wild, a T-shirt, one of my T-shirts I left here for a change of clothes, hanging to her knees. Holy hell. My eyes rake over it and her nipples pucker beneath the white cotton. “Would you believe I spilled Sprite down my gown and—”

  I step into her and tangle my fingers in all that wild hair, dragging her mouth to my mouth. “I didn’t come here to talk.”

  “But we need to talk and—”

  I kiss her to shut her up and walk her into the cottage, kicking the door shut behind me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Jessica…

  The minute we’re both inside the cottage, Jason parts our mouths, removes his jacket and boots, and then pulls his shirt off. Oh yes. Please. My mouth waters with yet another look at his body. I open my mouth to speak, but I never get the chance. He cups my head and kisses me again, catching the hem of his shirt and tugging it over my head, leaving me in panties, but not for long. His hot gaze rakes over my naked body, and his hand closes over that slash of silk and gives it a hard yank.

  I yelp as my panties tear away, and he scoops me up and starts walking toward the bedroom. The next thing I know, I’m on the bed and he’s on top of me, the heavy weight of him perfection.

  “I thought you weren’t coming back?”

  “I thought you were going to stop talking.”

  “Your rule, not mine.”

  “Yes, sweetheart. My rule.” He turns me over, gives my backside a firm but painless smack, and then turns me back and kisses me again. “My rules,” he whispers, his lips pressing against my ear. “Understand?”

  “Only if I agree,” I challenge. “And if you’re trying to shut me up, don’t do something I like that much.”

  “You liked that, did you?”

  “Yes. Should I keep talking?”

  “Do not keep talking.” His mouth closes down on mine, heavy with demand, his tongue licking wickedly against mine. He’s a drug, I decide, and I’m addicted.

  I don’t even know how it all happens, but somewhere in between his mouth and his hands all over my body, he’s undressed, I’m on my knees, and he’s pressing inside me—yes, there is a condom. Such a responsible cowboy. I like this about him. He’s dependable, so dependable that I know before it happens that his hand is coming back down on my backside. It does. I moan and arch into the thrust of his cock. He came back and I’m going to come right here. This night has worked out better than most of my life from what I can tell right now.

  Another smack, another arch of my spine, another thrust. Repeat. Repeat again. Repeat—and that’s it. I’m done, shattering and quaking. His guttural groan and pulsing spasm of an orgasm inside me, so damn hot. He’s definitely no longer my asshole cowboy, because what asshole of a cowboy could possibly make a girl feel this darn good?

  A sentiment I echo over and over to the rhythm of his heartbeat once he pulls me to him in bed and folds me close, my head resting on his chest. Sleep comes easily. Just like I did. I smile with this silly thought, but the truth is that I don’t come easily for anyone, but apparently I do for Jason. I’ll analyze why later. Right now, my lashes are heavy, my body sated, my mind going blank….

  …

  I blink awake to sunlight, the rain now floating away in clouds meant for elsewhere, and as a bonus, the woodsy scent of man. A smile forming on my lips, I reach for Jason, but all I find is empty space. I sit up and look around the room to find no sign of the man responsible for the ache of my well-sexed body.

  “Jason?” I call out.

  There are crickets in response.

  “Jason?”

  More crickets. Okay, not even crickets. There’s nothing. A sick feeling forms in my belly and I try to shove it aside. If he left—he left. We had sex and he gifted me with orgasms as I did him. It was a mutual satisfaction thing. No need to regret. Regret is what you feel when you don’t have an orgasm.

  I stand up, naked as the day I was born, and remember his shirt by the door. Considering it’s hot in here now that the sun is out, and I’m fairly sure the stifling air means the air conditioning is not on, I don’t grab a robe. Why? I’m alone. That much is obvious. I walk that direction and enter the living room to find his shirt hanging on the doorknob of the front door. I’m not sure what to make of that, but okay. Whatever the silly joke is, it’s not funny. I walk that way and grab it when my hand hits a piece of paper pinned to the sleeve.

  Jessica—

  I said goodbye. You rolled over and smacked me in the face. That’s not a joke. It is, however, so very you.

  I blush as if he was here right now while saying those words. Good grief, I smacked the man and not on his fine ass. I continue to read:

  Your car is still stuck. Your tire is flat. Your interior is covered in mud. In other words, you still need me to take you to the main house, and for other things I’ll demonstrate tonight.

  —Jason

  P.S. I like you better in my shirt than me.

  I smile and unpin the note before sliding the shirt over my head, a flutter of butterflies in my belly. My God, what am I doing with this man? Not falling for him. Just because this, whatever this is, feels ten time better than anything with Craig ever did, it’s not me falling for him. This is me having a fling, I tell myself. That’s all it can be. I’m leaving. He’s not. This can go nowhere, nowhere at all but the bedroom. We both know it. That makes this safe for each of us. That makes this a perfect escape, which is what I wanted. It’s what he wants, too. And I have no desire to cry or eat chocolate today. A fling is good. It even burns calories and emotional baggage right along with it.

  With this thought, I shift gears to the way the new rain-free day has burned through my ceiling and it’s officially hot in here. This sends me searching for the thermostat, but I can’t find it. I spy what looks like some sort of window units, but that can’t be the actual air, can it? God, I hope not. I frown. I need to call Martha and ask her, but a quick glance at my cell phone tell
s me it’s only eight in the morning. Martha might not be up yet. I doubt that’s true, with the cooking she does for the ranch crew, but she’s not a spring chicken, either. Jason is working. Now that I think about it, he didn’t promise me a ride to the house, either. I could walk. It’s a short walk and it’s not raining. I just need to shower and dress before it gets too hot. I’ll figure out the thermostat when I can talk to one of them.

  …

  Not long later, I’m freshly showered, dressed in my new Wranglers and ugly boots with a tank top, and the heat is rising. I put on light makeup and let my hair air dry to avoid blowing more heat into the room. I can’t take it. I go hunting for the thermostat again and that’s when I have a realization. There are window units. I saw them, of course, I did. But they just didn’t register. Who uses window units in Texas? Lord help me. I do. I turn them on and position a couple of fans I find in the laundry room to help circulate the air, hoping I get things moving by the time the high sun is upon this place.

  I’m just about to call Martha and plan the day when she calls me. “Hey, honey.”

  “Hey there, Martha. I was just thinking about walking your way.”

  “Oh no, honey. The sun hasn’t done its job yet. It’s a muddy mess from there to here. Jason was going to pick you up, but one of the hands just told me that he’s buried in mud at the orchard, dealing with some sort of irrigation issue.”

  “Oh well, we can do tomorrow, right?”

  “We can do today and tomorrow. I’m going to pick you up, but my car is buried in mud. Some of the guys are digging me out in exchange for cookies.”

  Jason isn’t coming. That’s all I hear. That means my tire isn’t the only thing buried. I’m with this man and I need to be careful. “I’ll be here when you get here. I’ll just be writing.”

  “Divorce in the morning, cookies in the afternoon.”

  I laugh. “Divorce is a reason to eat cookies for sure.”

  We hang up and I set up a work spot at the kitchen island, where the fan is blowing right at me while I drink hot coffee. I’m a contradiction and that doesn’t make me mysterious, but it might make me crazy. So is the memory of being naked on this very island with Jason’s hands all over me. Not the best way to get my work done.

  I pull up my Word document and start a new chapter, daring to go to a place that is personal to me: The number one reason my clients stayed in their relationships was fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of change. Fear of not finding someone new. The list goes on and on, but fear is the demon in the room you must face. If you don’t confront the problems you’re hiding from, they may confront you.

  It’s an easy piece of advice to offer, considering my recent past. I knew my ex wasn’t “the one” but I stayed. Deep down, I knew we didn’t love each other, yet I stayed. And, in turn, the problems we had found me. They found me and shook up my entire life, but perhaps things happen for a reason. Maybe I was meant to come here. That world is no longer my world. I stare at the window unit. Is this my world?

  Footsteps sound on the porch and I jump to my feet. That must be Jason. I hurry to the door, reaching it as a knock sounds. I open it and gasp to find my old world has collided with my new world. “How are you even here?” I ask, staring at my visitor.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jessica…

  “Surprise!”

  I continue to gape, not so much because my best friend Shelley is standing at the door, but because her cat, Kelly, is in her arms.

  “We drove and Kelly was not pleased. She meowed a warning to about every single car that passed by. It was nuts. Can we come in or what?”

  “Oh yes. Of course. Why didn’t you leave her with that neighbor who normally keeps her? And how are you here so early?” She’s a beautician who despises morning appointments.

  “I had to see you,” she says, her red hair frizzy with the humidity. It’s the Texas way. Style. Frizz. Embrace the look. She hands Kelly to me. “I need to get her litter box, food, and water. You know how she is. And a bed. I forgot the bed. Everything has to be perfect the moment we arrive or she gets all nervous, and well, she’d pull her hair out if she had any.”

  I open my mouth to ask about that “had to see me” comment because she really doesn’t do mornings. Not even for me. To be here now, she had to have left at dawn. “Shelley—”

  “Give me a minute,” she says, and she takes off down the stairs, heading toward her Mercedes, dodging mud puddles without the tiniest struggle. If I didn’t love her, I’d hate her. Pretty. From old money. Amazing parents. A fabulous sister. And grace.

  Kelly gives me a paw on the cheek and I give her a rub. “Hey, you sphynx of a cat, you.” I kiss her and set her on the floor, walking to the kitchen to get her a bowl of water.

  Kelly hurries toward me and drinks. Shelley rushes inside, loaded down with a bag she uses for Kelly and a litter box. She kicks the door shut and blows a strand of hair from her eyes. She hasn’t even set the litter box down when Kelly jumps inside it. Shelley loses her grip and it crashes down.

  “Jeez,” she murmurs, looking around the cottage. “Oh, honey. What is this place? This is nothing like I expected. It’s so very—basic.”

  “Basic works for me. I don’t drip money like you do.”

  “You’ve earned plenty of money all on your own and more power to ya for it.” She walks to the kitchen and plops Kelly’s litter box back down next to my computer, right where I was sitting naked last night—but don’t worry, I cleaned the counter.

  I pursue her, stopping right next to her, crowding her. “What is going on?”

  “Tommy wants me to go to Europe with him, and I don’t trust anyone but you with Kelly. You love Kelly. I was thinking you could just stay in my place and watch her. I think Tommy’s going to propose.” Excitement lights her eyes.

  “You are making zero sense, and I mean zero. You want me to stay there, but you’re holding Kelly, right here, with me.”

  “I’m offering options. Option A) here, option B) you can still come back, but I couldn’t risk you choosing A and Kelly being at B.”

  “Okay. I guess. We’ll move on from that because I love you. I’m not going back for months,” I say, and the idea of going back right about now does not appeal. At all.

  “My God, why is it so hot?” She shoves her hair out of her face again. It’s kind of a nervous habit that tells a story. She knew I’d push back on this.

  Which is why I ignore her complaint. “How long are you going to be gone?”

  “Two months.”

  I blanch then recover quickly. “Two months? What about your job?”

  “He’s covering my bills, and I told you. He’s going to propose.”

  “And you’re going to move to New York City,” I supply, feeling this news that she hasn’t actually shared as news, like a blow. My only real friend. Gone.

  “I could eventually.” She pops open the lid to a can of cat food and Kelly jumps onto the counter, immediately at the bowl. “This trip will decide everything. Tommy and I have done the long-distance thing for so long that we need solid time together. We could hate each other when it’s over or we could end up engaged.” She runs her hands over her jean-clad legs, rocks on her high-heeled boots, and stares at mine. “What’s that on your feet?”

  “They’re for snake protection.”

  She jerks her face to mine. “That’s it. Option A has become you need to come back to Dallas and stay with me immediately. Please, Jessica. Don’t make me worry about you and snakes while I’m gone.”

  My cell phone rings, and I pull it from my pocket to find Martha calling. I quickly answer the line. “Hey, honey,” she says. “My car is still trapped, but Jason got away long enough to give you a ride. He’s on his way.”

  Just thinking about seeing Jason sets my heart racing. “I have a problem. Okay, not a problem. A friend stopped b
y. She’s about to leave the country and wanted to see me. And—she wants me to cat-sit for her. Are you okay with that?”

  “There’s a kitty there now?”

  “Yes. Yes, there is. A sphynx, so there’s no hair everywhere and—”

  “Let me call Jason. I want to meet the cat. What’s the cat’s name?”

  “Kelly and my friend is Shelley.”

  She cackles adorably. “Kelly and Shelley. I love it. I’ll be right there.” She hangs up. I turn to Shelley.

  “That was my landlord, who I adore. She wants to meet Kelly, so if she impresses her, she can stay here, but I’m not going back to Dallas.”

  “Why? Why would you want to stay here?”

  “I need this time to regroup.”

  “You need a good romance novel to remind you good men are real, which is why I brought you my collection.” She takes off for the door, and I let her go. Why would she bring me her collection if she thought I was going to leave? Because, I think, she didn’t really want me to go back with her. That bites and I try to let it go, because admittedly, I’m a little sensitive right now. Exactly why when she comes back inside with a Victoria’s Secret carry-all on her shoulder and plops onto the couch, I don’t let it go.

  “I guess you didn’t think I’d really go back with you.”

  “You’re you, Jess,” she says. “Of course you’re not coming back. That’s how you are. You decide, and you do. It’s why you succeed at everything you do. You don’t talk. You do.”

  She takes the wind out of my prickly sails just that easily, but then the self-doubt kicks in. “Is that a good thing?”

  “It’s fabulous,” she says, “and damn Craig for making you doubt yourself enough to ask that question.” Her hands settle on her hips. “You’re fucking fabulous and he’s a fucking loser. You will not let him run you down. The end.” She grabs a romance novel from the bag. “You wanted to write a romance novel. That’s how much you believed in romance. Read them. Remember. Date a damn cowboy that doesn’t have an agenda besides riding you instead of his horses. Better yet, you ride him and screw anything else. Unless you fall in love. If you fall in love—” Her eyes go wide. “Write about it.”