The Cowboy

by Molly O'Keefe

  My body shuddered just looking at it. The worst days of my life were spent in this house. My soul had been diminished and my spirit ridiculed. I was made to feel a kind of shame that I’ve never been able to shake off.

  Bea the Fuck-Up was born in this house. And I hated it.

  The front door opened and Ronnie stepped out onto the wide porch. Despite hating the house and dreading the questions she would ask me, I was so happy to see her. And by her screams, she was pretty happy to see me.

  She looked amazing. Almost like a different person—being loved by Clayton had transformed my sister. Her hair was the same, and she was wearing a dress we’d bought together in Austin a million years ago. But she just…glowed.

  “What are you doing here?” she cried, running down the steps to sweep me up in her arms.

  “Me? What are you doing here?”

  I hugged her as hard as she hugged me. And I buried my head in her neck and smelled her—lavender and Pantene shampoo and home.

  My sister and I had lived together for five years in Austin and so the dogs claimed her as their human, too, and wiggled their way between us, barking until Ronnie acknowledged them.

  “Seriously,” I said as Ronnie scrubbed bellies and accepted face licks from the dogs. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to do something about this house,” she said. “I don’t want it. Sabrina doesn’t want it. Dylan doesn’t—”

  “Sell it,” I said.

  “Well,” Ronnie said. “There’s more to it than that. We might not want the house, but do we want to sell the land? The stables?”

  “Keep the stables, sell the land.”

  “You know it’s not that easy.”

  I thought it was exactly that easy. Ronnie tended to make things more complicated the more she thought about them.

  Sometimes you just had to go with your gut, you know?

  “Why not?” I asked. “Aren’t Oscar and Maria ready to retire? They’ve got grandkids in Galveston and they just put a down payment on an RV. You don’t need to worry about them. I vote sell everything. Sell it all. Every stick.”

  “Noted,” she said.

  The front door opened again and there was Clayton. Handsome, super-rich, totally devoted to my sister Clayton. For all those things you’d think I would like him. Love him, even. But before he made my sister the happiest woman in the world, he destroyed her.

  The only one not totally over it was me. I’d had front-row seats to my sister’s devastation and carried a grudge. As her sister, it was my job.

  “Bea,” he said, smiling a little as he stepped up beside Ronnie. “I didn’t know you were meeting us.”

  “I’m not,” I said. “I’m here to give the dogs a chance to run.” I looked down at the dogs who were flopped at my feet, tongues out in the June heat.

  “You have three million dollars in a bank account,” Clayton said. “Why don’t you get a house with a yard so they can run there?”

  My sister reached over and stroked his arm, some kind of married couple communication for it’s not your business. Or something. I didn’t speak the language. But Clayton nodded tersely and the subject was dropped.

  Clayton’s phone rang and he stepped away to answer it.

  “Do you need some help?” Ronnie asked me.

  “With what?”

  “With… “ She shrugged. “Anything.”

  Anything was code for my life.

  “Everything is fine, Ronnie.” I didn’t even try not to sound peeved. She wasn’t being pushy, she was just doing what…we do.

  “You know what I mean. Figuring out what to do next. Going back to college.”

  When Clayton destroyed her life years ago, I’d been there and I picked up the pieces of my sister. And she’s been paying me back ever since by fixing my problems. Keeping me out of trouble. Making decisions so I wouldn’t have to.

  And I have let her, for an embarrassingly long period of time.

  Not healthy.

  “I can do this, Ronnie,” I said. “I can figure out what’s next on my own.”

  “I know,” she said, quick with an empathic nod like it had never occurred to her to doubt me, which we both knew was far from the truth. I was Bea King—doubting me was the second biggest religion in Dusty Creek right behind high school football. “It’s just that…you haven’t. And I want you to know that I’m here. If you need me.”

  “You kidding?” I asked and tucked my arm in hers. We stepped off the paved path to the house, into the scrubby grass that used to be lush and green but had been left to go brown in the heat. “The prevailing truth in my life is that you are here for me.”

  She smiled and pressed her head into mine. The dogs, once their humans were on the move, got up and trotted behind us. Occasionally Louise barked at some groundhog or butterfly and Thelma would go darting off into the underbrush to hunt some squirrel that she didn’t have a chance in hell of catching.

  “Tell me what’s going on with you,” I said, changing the subject away from me.

  “We’re going to New York tomorrow. I have a few meetings for the foundation. We’re going to be back at the end of the month for dinner at Sabrina and Garrett’s. You should come!”

  “She already invited me.”

  “Great, then I’ll see you there.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Bea.” She sighed.

  “I am. I am way too busy doing anything but watching my two sisters have a competition about who is more in love.”

  “It’s not a competition,” Ronnie said with a smile. “I win, hands down. I know you’re on some kind of self-inflicted abstinence, but you should consider it.”

  “Love?”

  “Yeah. It’s…really nice.”

  I couldn’t tell my sister, who looked like she was made of light and kittens, that all I knew about love—really knew, like down in the soles of my feet—was that it was a seesaw. The higher it lifted you, the deeper it would drop you.

  And she should know that, considering what Clayton had done to her.

  It was for fools. And I was no longer a fool.

  I hugged my sister close and thought about the things I could say.

  You’re crazy to love this much.

  Loving someone is no guarantee they’ll love you back.

  But I squeezed my sister and kept my mouth shut.

  3

  CODY

  Thursday morning I was out there again. My leg was killing me but I was standing in the back of that yard, rubbing my knee, watching that deck up in the leaves. Waiting.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  What was she doing?

  If I were a smarter guy maybe I’d have the words for this.

  Was there a word for this?

  Voyeurism wasn’t it.

  Because I made sure I couldn’t see her. Not all of her. That big old oak made getting a good look at her next to impossible. I could move, find a spot in the yard where the giant tree didn’t make seeing her difficult, but this suited me just fine.

  Yesterday, right here, under these branches, I hadn’t been able to see her face or see much of her at all. When she sat I’d taken one step back and to the left so I could see her hands as she put them between her legs. And I could hear her. And I could imagine…

  The way I was living these days and what I’d been through, she seemed like a fucking miracle.

  There was a chance she wouldn’t show this morning. And I couldn’t blame her. She was taking on a lot of risk without knowing if I was some kind of maniac who meant her harm.

  For the eight hundredth time I glanced around the yard, making sure there was no one else back here. Not on the construction site, not on The Bar’s back deck. No one but me.

  What a noble pervert I was.

  Anticipation was like a shot of whiskey on an empty stomach.

  The deck door was pulled open, the dogs came charging out for breakfast and she followed, wearing another oversize T-shirt.

&
nbsp; Oh. Thank God. The relief was almost embarrassing.

  She turned and I could see her shirt said Fuck the Patriarchy in big white letters.

  Boldness seemed to be her calling card and all the parts of me I’d locked up clamored to get loose. Clamored for her.

  When she set the food down, the dogs went bonkers for it and I cleared my throat. A subtle little signal that I was there. Watching. She laughed in her throat as she stood up—part laugh, part moan. One hundred percent kerosene.

  She ran her hand up her thigh as she stood, so I could see the scrap of red lace under the shirt.

  This woman was going to kill me.

  Once the dogs were done eating she shifted the chair so it faced me directly and I stepped to the side, a little farther into the trees so I could see her without totally seeing her.

  I was pretty fucked up these days and had a hard time really being clear on what was important, but we’d avoided seeing each other’s faces, and that seemed like something I had to protect at all costs. From this spot, the oak tree and the banister obscured her face but between the leaves and the wrought-iron spindles of the railing I could see that sweet spot between her legs.

  She propped one bare foot on the seat and stretched her other leg out wide. The navy blue shirt dipped down between her legs.

  I knew better than to wish for anything. It was a miracle she was doing this at all and I had no business wanting more. But for a second, the force with which I wanted that tail of blue shirt to be lifted up and out of the way almost brought me to my knees.

  Then she slipped her fingers beneath the lace of the underwear and moaned low in her chest. And I wondered if it was because it felt so good or because she knew I could hear it. I wanted it to be both. I wanted the show and her authenticity.

  I wanted her to like doing this for me. For her to be as turned on as I was.

  My erection was its own beast, and I throbbed and ached against the zipper of my jeans but I didn’t dare touch myself. I didn’t dare adjust my cock or I’d risk coming like a teenage boy. So I clenched my hands into fists until they hurt.

  She lifted the shirt so I could see the top lace of her red underwear and her hand reaching down to pull the lace to the side of her pussy. I imagined how pink she would be. How wet.

  I groaned, low in my throat. I just wanted to say something to her. I wanted to be as much a part of this as I could.

  She spread her legs out wider and rocked forward in her chair. Presenting herself to me and I fucking loved that. I went from hard to concrete.

  “You know,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, but I jumped like she’d electrocuted me. “I can see you.”

  Even the blood in my veins went still. I wasn’t sure my lungs could work. And for a second the impulse to turn and walk away was so strong I had to close my eyes just to keep myself there.

  “Not all of you,” she said, and I exhaled long and slow. “That fist you’re making,” she said. “I can see that.”

  Again, I looked around, making sure we were alone. But there was no one back here. It was the ravine on one side, Jack’s empty deck on the other, and a brick wall on the other side of that.

  It was just us.

  She flipped the blue shirt back down so the view was obscured.

  “You want to see more?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  My voice sounded like it was being pulled out of my boots.

  “Then show me something.”

  I wanted to climb up on that second-floor deck and bury myself between her legs. I wanted to make her come for days until the fire under my skin was gone. I wanted to fuck her until I could stand myself again.

  But that wasn’t what she was offering, and even if it had been I’d never take it. There were rules here. And I knew what she wanted.

  “The risk is what makes it hot, cowboy,” she said, all teasing and coy.

  I took my time undoing my belt, unzipping my fly, all with the arm she said she could see. As far as stripteases went, it was pretty lame, but it seemed like the bark of that big old tree was starting to smoke.

  My cock, once I had my zipper down and my boxer briefs out of the way, was leaking come all over the place. This, I thought, looking down at myself, was going to be a very short show. But I took my cock in my hand, hissing at the contact, my own touch made revolutionary just because she was watching. I lifted my fist and licked the slick of come off my fingers.

  “Oh, my god,” she gasped. “That…”

  She liked that. So I did it again. And she rewarded me by lifting her shirt out the way. She rubbed her clit and then she used her other hand to fuck herself and…fuck.

  I started working myself over good.

  And there was twenty feet of angles and oak tree between us, keeping us separate. Keeping us secret. But that moment, even not seeing her face or most of her body, was the most intimate thing I’d ever experienced.

  I looked away, broke the moment because my fight-or-flight instinct kicked in hard. But for my body it was too late. One hard stroke and I was done, coming into my hand, biting my lip so I didn’t make any sound.

  Up there she was coming, too. I could hear the soft gasps and pants she made when she fucked herself to orgasm. She sprawled back in her seat, and I imagined I could smell her on the breeze. The salty sweetness of her. I imagined her body, replete in that chair. The nape of her neck would be sweaty. Her pussy when I touched it would be hot. Swollen.

  “Hey,” she whispered. “You…okay?”

  Without another word I turned and walked away.

  4

  BEA

  Louise woke me up from a delicious dream about Ryan Gosling cooking me a steak dinner by lying with her belly across my mouth and suffocating me.

  “Okay,” I muttered, pushing Louise away from my face. “I’m up. I’m up. And you need a bath.”

  Once up, I was up. Like, for-real up. I shoved my feet into some shoes and took the dogs out to the ravine.

  I kept one eye out for Sabrina but she didn’t show up. She often didn’t on Fridays. And I was glad. I was.

  But I kind of wanted to tell her about this thing. This morning thing I was doing with the strange man in the backyard. She’d get scandalized and her eyes would go wide and she’d be a little judgy, but she’d also want to know more.

  My cowboy voyeur was a hot secret, but what fun was a secret if you couldn’t talk about it with someone? And Sabrina was all I had. Except, it would seem, I didn’t even have her.

  The air smelled like butter and sugar, and I could see the lights on in Sweet Things, but she stayed on her side of the street.

  And I stayed on mine.

  Ronnie would be so disappointed in us.

  My hands trailed across the old wood paneling of the stairwell and came away covered in dust. Everything was filthy because of the work Cody was doing.

  Cody.

  His name was Cody. Cody watched me jack myself off. Cody watched when I bent over showing him all my secrets. Cody who licked the come off his hand and made that little coughing sound to tell me he was there. Cody who warned me I wasn’t alone when I felt so fucking alone all the damn time.

  Cody. I’d spent the last two nights staring up at my ceiling, thinking his name until I whispered it out loud. And then immediately felt foolish. Louise had poked her head up over the edge of my mattress and barked at me as if in agreement.

  He was already out there; I’d heard him after the dogs woke me up.

  What to do? I thought. What to do for him? For us? Because there was no pretending I wasn’t into this just as much as he was, if not more.

  While the dogs were peeing and sniffing around, the first drops of rain fell from the heavy sky. And the earth opened up, letting loose the scent of summer. A dusty, earthy, green and thirsty smell. It was delicious.

  The dogs charged up from the ravine and into the open side door behind me. Upstairs I changed out of my boots and sleep shorts and into a plain white T-shirt that
hung just past my butt. Rain pattered against the window, big, fat drops. Without any escalation.

  Underwear? No underwear?

  I decided none, poured a bunch of kibble into the two dog bowls, and opened the screen door with my shoulder and elbow. The dogs poured out, jumping up and down on my small deck waiting for their food.

  Cody.

  When I was a kid I’d gone to one homecoming dance. I’d been a freshman and not yet a total cynic, my date had been a junior, and I’d been giddy with anticipation. I’d had to put my fingers to my lips to keep inside these wild giggles that kept wanting to erupt. The night had ended terribly, but that feeling had been worth it.

  And standing on my deck, I felt the exact same way.

  New. Excited. And full of possibility.

  I pressed my fingers to my lips, keeping in the wild giggles.

  He was out there. I could see a different slice of him this time. His chin and chest. His mouth. Jesus…his mouth. It was set in a firm line but it was a good mouth. I wanted that mouth on mine. On my body.

  No. Nope. Rein it in.

  The rain didn’t bother the dogs any and it hit my shirt, my shoulders, and my hair in big fat drops.

  Facing away from Cody, I bent to put the bowls on the ground and in the backyard, instead of his usual throat clearing, I heard him groan.

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  I smiled to myself and stood back up while the dogs cleared out their bowls with record speed and then beelined back inside.

  With my face tilted up to the rain I turned and faced the backyard, and I didn’t have to look to see what was happening with my shirt. The transparent spots revealed the pink of my flesh beneath the thin white material. I looked glazed in sugar. Sweet and pink. Delicious.

  My skin was soon slick, my short hair damp. I looked down at the spot where he usually sat and I saw his boots and the worn denim he wore, even in this heat.

  My shirt was soaked through; from his angle I imagined he could see my nipples, pulled into hard brown beads from the rain, the dark nest of curls between my legs. I turned again, imagining the shirt clinging to the round curves of my ass, and my hearing was so attuned to him, so thirsty to hear every single sound from his mouth, I could hear him moan low in his throat.