by Vicki Tharp
“What are you doing?” She asked.
“I’m going to kiss you and work my way down from there.”
“The doctor said not to overexert yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
She pushed against his chest. “Lay down.”
“I’m not five. I don’t need to l—”
She grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and stripped it off his body. The quick movement made the bruising on his side ache, but the pain barely had time to register before the heat in her eyes made his blood rush south, with a roar and a whoosh like a drain being pulled on Niagara Falls.
“Lay back,” she said again.
“Yes, ma’am.” Silas settled back, resting his weight on his elbows to watch Josephine crawl over the top of him. The scoop neck of her tank top sagged, gracing him with a view of the most jaw dropping cleavage on the circuit.
He reached out to her, but she shook her head and gave him that same disappointed look his kindergarten teacher had had when he’d refused to color inside the lines. With a hand in the middle of his chest, she pushed him back into the cushion. His damp skin stuck to the Naugahyde. She straddled his hips and reached above him, her breasts inches from his face as she dropped her cards on the counter behind his head.
He wanted to rise, to claim one glorious mound with his mouth and then the other, but that would be getting way ahead of themselves. Yes, they’d kissed. Yes, everything she’d done to this point said she was interested, but she wasn’t one who played the field. He wanted her to set the pace.
She sat, her knees straddling his hips, and he skimmed his hands up her bare thighs, over her shorts, and settled them at her waist. Around his ribs where the purples of his bruise had faded to greens and yellows, she traced the outline with her finger. He flinched, and she snatched her hand back.
“That hurt?”
“It’s managable.” It wasn’t an out and out lie. But he wanted to push the ack-what-have-I-done look off her face. “You could kiss it and make it better.”
The mischievous curve of her lips raised goosebumps on his flesh and made him harder. He wanted to grab her hips and grind against her, but he folded his arms behind his head and gave her full, unbridled access.
“If you don’t think it will make it worse.” Without waiting for his answer, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his side, and his goosebumps doubled in size. She worked her way over his rib cage, bracing herself on one hand while the other skimmed over the ridges and valleys of his abdomen. His blood pressure spiked, and his pulse kicked up, the thump-trump echoing in his bruise and at his temples, but no way would he stop her sweet torture.
She laved a line from his ribs, over his pectoral muscle and to the flat of his nipple. His eyes closed, and he brought a hand to the back of her head and held her in place. It sent a tug and a tingle to his groin and forced a groan from his lips.
“Come here.” He cupped her face and brought her mouth to his. She tasted of cheap wine, and even though she hadn’t touched a horse in days, he caught a whiff of sweet hay in her hair as if she’d rolled naked in the cool grass, her skin warmed by the Canadian summer sun.
Her kiss was light, tentative. Silas ran his hands under her shirt and hugged her to him. She moaned. Soft. Encouraging. She fell into the kiss, her tongue dueling with his.
Before he’d given it conscious thought, he reversed their positions. The movement tugged at his ribs and made his head spin. Dots appeared in his peripheral vision, but when she’d murmured his name with a naked rawness that boiled his blood, he wasn’t convinced the concussion was entirely to blame for his lightheadedness.
She pulled back from the kiss. Their breath mixing in harsh pants that made ribs hurt and his chest ache.
Placing a hand on his cheek, she said, “You okay? I think maybe we should stop.”
“Think again.” He dipped his head, going in for another kiss. Was that her way of trying to put the brakes on? His next words were going to be painful to say, but he said them anyway. “Unless you want to stop.”
“No.” Her answer came quick. No stutter. No hesitation. No embarrassment. He had to admire a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to say so.
He settled between her legs, bracing his weight on his elbows, his arousal at the juncture of her thighs. Her hands went to his ass, and she arched up against him. “Please tell me you have condoms,” she said.
“Hang on.” He pushed up with one hand and reached up over the counter, feeling around until he’d found what he wanted. His arm shook under his weight, his strength nowhere near where it should be.
He settled down beside her, her cards in his hand as he fanned them out. “I knew you had an ace.”
“You sneak.” She laughed and socked him in the arm. “If all that was a rouse to see my cards, I’m gonna—”
He shut her up with a kiss. She took the cards from his hand and tossed them over his shoulder. The cards fluttered to the floor. At midday, even with all the windows open, the inside of the camper was getting steamy.
Silas broke the kiss. “Hold that thought.” Sweat slicked his skin as he stripped out of his sweat pants.
Josephine tossed her clothes to the floor, where they landed with a soft whump. She lay there on his bed, bare before him, except for the not-so-innocent smile on her face. She reached out to him, but if he didn’t grab a condom now, he knew he’d be hard-pressed to do it later.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m not exactly dressed for travel.”
He pawed through a couple of drawers. Where the hell was that box? Drawer after drawer, cabinet after cabinet he searched and searched. Josephine sighed, and he glanced behind him. She’d rolled onto her belly, her head resting on her folded hands with her delectable ass face up, taunting him.
If he couldn’t find his supply… “You wouldn’t happen to have—”
“Yeah. I’ve got condoms. In my trailer. Which is in Salinas with Cora about now.”
6
“See,” Josephine said. “Bad juju. I’m telling you. This season is cursed.”
“I don’t think my inability to find a box of condoms supports your theory of bad juju on the circuit. I’m pretty sure the cosmos doesn’t care if we get laid. This is more of an organizational problem.”
“Maybe.”
Silas was bent over, digging through a bottom drawer. She reached a hand out, wanting to grab that bodacious chunk of cowboy bootie.
“Aha, found them.” Silas turned around brandishing a brand new box of condoms in his hand.
Josephine scooted back, making room for him on the bed. While he’d been searching for the condoms, she’d re-tucked the sheet around the cushions. Nothing worse than sweaty skin on Naugahyde.
He grabbed his head and leaned against the counter, the box of condoms clattering to the floor. This was a bad idea. She scrambled off the bed and took him by the hand. “Lay down before you fall down.”
He didn’t argue. He half-fell, half-rolled onto the bed. When Josephine went to grab her clothes, Silas clasped her wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“You’re not in any shape to—”
“Look at me. All of me. Tell me I’m not ready for this.” His words came out low, but steady.
She looked him over, from the determination in his eyes to the pulse-pounding at the base of his throat, to the taut muscles of his body to the impressive erection at the juncture of his thighs.
When her eyes met his again, he said, “I’m ready.”
He rolled onto his stomach and snagged the box off the floor and handed it to her. She fiddled with the box. Wanting to rip it open but not wishing to participate in anything that would hurt him either. The doctor did leave him with strict instructions not to overexert himself for the next week.
As if he read her mind, he took the box from her hand, ripped a packet open and sheathed himself. He reached out a hand to her. “Come here.”
S
he took it but didn’t step forward when he tugged. “Under one condition.”
“Name it.”
Even as he said it, his hand went to his forehead. This was a horrible idea. But it didn’t stop Josephine from saying, “I do all the work.”
“Deal.” His grin said this ought to be fun.
He pulled her onto the bed, and she straddled his thighs, taking him in her hands and guiding him to her entrance. “You sure?”
He let out a groan, surging up until he’d buried himself balls deep. Josephine blew out a breath, a smile on her lips as she adjusted to his breadth. Holy guacamole.
When she started to move, he gripped her hips and said, “Give me a minute.”
“I knew this was a bad—” She started to climb off but his hold on her only tightened.
“I’m fine. My head’s fine. At least the big one is.” He huffed out a heavy breath. “Sweet baby Jesus, you’re tight.” His jaw clenched, and this time when he groaned, she knew it wasn’t because of the concussion.
She started slow, increasing the rhythm and the pleasure. When Silas tried matching her, stroke for mindblowing stroke, she stilled.
He opened his eyes, his lids heavy with lust. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m supposed to be doing all the work. You are supposed to be laying there and enjoying it.”
“I am enj—”
“Stop moving.”
“You’re killin’—”
“Hands above your head.” She leaned forward, her breasts smushing against his chest as she pinned his wrists together with her hand. “If you move, I’ll have to get a rope.”
“Promise?”
When she went to sit back up, his arms came around her back and held her against him. She opened her mouth to protest, but then he rolled his hips and drove up into her, driving every word, every sentence, every thought from her mind until all she was surviving on was instinct and passion.
He drove faster and harder, their bodies slick and sliding together as the temperature in the camper climbed to combustible levels. Josephine’s heart clattered in her chest, her blood rushing, racing as he ravaged her body. His breath, harsh pants in her ear. His steady rhythm now hard, erratic.
He was close. She was close. They were so very, very close.
She buried her head in his shoulder, nipping at the tender skin. He reached between them, gliding his fingers through her folds, catching that bundle of nerves. One touch, one brush, one nudge, and she fell off the cliff.
No. She didn’t fall.
She jumped.
And took him with her.
He held her tight as the aftershocks wracked their bodies. His hands cupping her ass as he gently thrust inside her, not wanting it to end, to be over.
His fingers trailed up the muscles on either side of her spine, sending shivers through her body, and tightening her around him. His breath caught. He cupped her face, and tilted his head back, looking her in the eyes.
The heat of embarrassment rushed up her cheeks, and she glanced away. Not because she was ashamed of what they’d shared, but because of the way his gaze laid her bare. As if he could see all that she was, and more importantly, all that she wasn’t.
“Look at me,” he said.
She did. It wasn’t easy looking into the eyes of a man who looked like he’d found his forever when she knew, knew, forever wasn’t what she wanted. At least not anytime soon.
“You know this is temporary, right cowboy? That when Cheyenne is over I have to go back home—”
“All I ask is here and now. One day at a time. That’s what we’d agreed. Right?”
She nodded because her throat had closed and the words wouldn’t come.
He brushed her damp hair from her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead and pulled her in tight. “That’s my girl.”
Bam, bam, bam.
The camper door shuddered. Josephine startled and tried to scramble off him, but Silas held her tighter.
“Go away,” Silas hollered.
Bam, bam, bam. Bam, bam, bam. Bam, bam, bam.
“Open up, Foss.”
“Chet.” Josephine bit out the word like a bitter curse. Why was he still here?
“Stay here.” Silas rolled from beneath her and ditched the condom. He yanked on his sweatpants, staggered a step, then caught himself.
“Foss.”
Silas opened the door, blocking her view with his body and barked out a “What?”
Silas sagged against the door jamb, and Josephine scrambled to get on her clothes. They shouldn’t have had sex. Silas clearly wasn’t fully recovered.
“Josephine in there?” Chet said.
Silas had told her to stay put, but it wasn’t any secret she was in Silas’s camper. She’d been in it since he’d gotten out of the hospital. She fought with her bra, then gave up, pulling her tank top over her head as Silas said, “You know she is.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“Don’t you have something better to do than hang around Calgary scratching your nuts?”
Josephine was a grown woman. She didn’t need Silas to protect her from Chet. She came up beside Silas and opened the door wider. A straw cowboy hat shaded Chet’s eyes from the midday sun. He had a hardness to his expression that said he would gladly go a few rounds with Silas if given a chance.
Chet’s eyes narrowed at Silas. “I go where she goes. Cox’s orders.”
Josephine wrapped her arm around Silas’s waist. “What do you want, Chet?”
“Your father’s on the phone at the arena office. The long-distance call is costing him a fortune, you should—”
“You can tell my father—”
“It’s your mother.” Chet caught the door as Josephine started to close it. “Something’s happened.”
* * *
Josephine paced the office at the Calgary rodeo arena, stretching the long phone cord to its limits as she ping-ponged between the back wall and the front window.
“It’s your mother.” Her father’s voice had an edge. It always had an edge. Usually anger or frustration or authority or any number of things. Usually none of them pleasant.
But this edge, this tone, she’d never heard before.
She gripped the phone tighter as her gut twisted and crashed back on itself. “W-What happened?”
Silas caught her as she passed by and she allowed him to tuck her under his arm. She could hear her father breathing on the other end of the phone, but no words came.
Chet stood in the corner of the office, staring at the floor, his hat in his hands. Giving her as much privacy as he could without actually leaving the room.
“Is she dead?”
Still nothing from the other end. Had she said those words aloud or had she just said them in her head?
Her father cleared his throat. “She’s at the hospital in ICU. She had a stroke.”
Josephine’s world tilted, her knees gave way, and Silas eased her to the ground beneath the window. “I’m on my way. Or send me a ticket, and I can be there later today.”
“No.”
“What do you mean? I’m not staying—”
“Finish the circuit. Finish in Cheyenne. Get that foolishness out of your system, then come home where you belong. Where you’ll stay. The doctors say your mother’s recovery will be long and arduous. You’ll be needed at the ranch.”
“But I—”
“Don’t argue with me, Josephine. For once in your damn life, don’t argue with me. If you had been home, if you had called, if you hadn’t worried your mother for days and weeks and months—”
“Whoa, wait.” The roar in Josephine’s ears eased as her heart tumbled in her chest. Her head went fuzzy and her vision blurred. Did her father just say what she thought he’d said? “Are…are you saying this is my fault?”
There was no answer from the other end. “Hello, hello? You still there?” Still nothing. “Dad?”
“I’ll see you after Cheyenne.”
The line
went dead, and Josephine slumped against the wall. Her fault. Her father thought her mother’s stroke was all her fault.
Funny how her father didn’t think her mother’s stroke had anything to do with the fact that she refused to take care of herself, to eat healthy, to take her blood pressure and blood sugar meds. No. According to her father, none of that had anything to do with her mother’s stroke.
It was all her fault.
And as much as she knew that wasn’t true, that knowledge didn’t do anything to soothe her guilt. Because she did know how her mother worried and stressed when Josephine was gone. She knew that her mother combated her stress by baking, and then by eating.
No Josephine wasn’t entirely to blame, but by following the circuit, by following her dreams, she hadn’t made her mother’s life any easier.
Josephine thumped the back of her head against the wood paneling again and again. Not hard enough to really hurt, but hard enough to dull the massive onslaught of emotions.
“Hey now.” Silas placed his hand behind her head to soften the blows. He plopped down on the floor beside her, curling her into his chest. To Chet, he said, “Give us a minute.”
By the scowl on Chet’s face, Josephine thought Chet was about to say no, but he snugged his hat down low on his head and reached for the office door. He stopped with his hand on the knob and over his shoulder said, “Sorry about your momma, Josephine.”
“Th—” Josephine cleared her throat. It felt like she’d swallowed a bucket full of cockleburs. “Thank you.”
After Chet left, Silas said, “You want to tell me about it, or do you want to be alone?”
“Yes.”
Silas chuckled at Josephine’s inconsistent answer. “Why don’t you start by filling me in and then you can have your space if you need that.”
There wasn’t much to tell, so it didn’t take long. Josephine pushed her emotions aside, kept her explanation to the basics. She didn’t know how to express her conflicted feelings, so she didn’t even try.
When she’d finished, Silas let out a breath. “Look, family obligations are tough. It’s understandable that your father would want you at home—”