The Cowboy

by Molly O'Keefe

  It’d been many years since I was last at Edna’s house, and as I drove slowly down Elm I realized that all I really remembered about it were her amazing garden and…yep…there it was. The bright green door.

  Faded a little, but still there.

  Bright green with a big gold lion-head knocker right smack dab in the middle of it.

  The garden out front was a wild mess of dried-out brambles and overgrown plants. I didn’t blame Cody for not taking care of it, because of his bad knee but it didn’t change the fact that Enid would be so sad to see her garden that way.

  I hoped, I really did, that I wasn’t making a mistake.

  Ah, hell, who was I kidding? Mistakes were what I excelled at. I grabbed the BBQ, went up to that bright green door, and prepared myself to make a doozy of one.

  15

  CODY

  Charlie was calling me. A lot. So I put my phone in my underwear drawer and did my physical therapy in the living room. Where I couldn’t hear it.

  I did the therapy on the ball and with the sissy little bands and the five-pound ankle weights until I was drenched in sweat. Until every muscle shook and it felt like half my brain had shut down.

  Never in my life had I expected my ass to be so thoroughly kicked by physical therapy. At the top of my game I could run a six-minute mile and bench double my weight. I had belt buckles that proved I was a badass.

  Now I was getting that bad ass kicked by the stretchy bands.

  In the bedroom I took off my sweat-soaked shirt and tossed it in the vicinity of my hamper. I took out fresh clothes, and because it was there and I had limited self-control…I fished out my phone.

  Four calls from an unknown number. Another bunch from Charlie and three text messages. And, I swear to god, I wasn’t going to read those texts but I caught sight of Bea’s name.

  She seems like a nice girl and she’s already falling for you.

  What the fuck? Why was Charlie talking to Bea? And falling for me? Where in the world did he get that idea?

  And just like that, my phone buzzed and Charlie’s number appeared and all my avoiding him went up in smoke. All the really good reasons I had for not returning his phone calls were not nearly as important as finding out what he was doing talking to Bea.

  “Charlie?”

  “’Bout damn time, boy.”

  That boy grated. The boy always grated, and he knew it and it was why he was calling me that. But his voice…god. His voice. The whiskey-soaked baritone of it, just this side of a rasp.

  I think you got talent. Real talent, boy. I remembered that. But you’re wasting it. And I remembered that.

  “What are you doing?” I asked him, getting to the point. Because once the memories came back I was never going to make my way clear of them again.

  “Son—”

  “Don’t, Charlie. Don’t.” If there was one thing I hated more than boy it was son. Son said in that particular tone. In that particular way. Because he had been a father to me. And that hadn’t worked out very well for either of us. “What bug is up your ass?”

  His silence was awful, so awful I wanted to hang up. I remembered all at once exactly why I hadn’t talked to him in months. Because we had so much to say. None of it good. None of it easy.

  “You want to move Bonnie,” he said.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Because when I moved her there after the accident, I said I was the owner. Because you didn’t have a phone. And were in and out of surgery.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I…know. You don’t have to explain it to me.”

  “So, you need my okay to move her.”

  “So, give it.”

  “Nope.”

  “What do you want Charlie?”

  “Meet me there. At the rehab place.”

  “Charlie—”

  “Meet me there, son. And look me in the eye and tell me why you haven’t returned my calls. Meet me there and talk to me.”

  The no was on the tip of my tongue. The no was pushing its way out of my mouth. Into the world.

  “I deserve that, Cody. And you know it. And maybe you do, too.”

  “I got what I deserved,” I said with a laugh.

  “I talked to Bea,” he said, twisting the screws. “She seems like a firecracker. The kind of girl you used to like. The kind that would be good—”

  “Tomorrow,” I said. “Noon. At the rehab place.”

  “Looking forward to it, son.”

  “Don’t,” I whispered, “call me son.”

  But he’d already hung up. I looked down at my phone and felt the power in my muscles to heave it against the wall. To drop it and crush it under my heel. But there was a loud knocking on my door and so all I did was toss the phone back in my underwear drawer and limp my way to the front hall.

  It could only be Jack, so I didn’t bother with a shirt. It could only be Jack, so I didn’t bother trying to check my temper and bad attitude.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do?” I demanded as I threw open the door.

  “Nope,” Bea answered.

  She had a take-out container filled with what smelled like Buddy’s brisket in one hand and a six-pack of Shiner in the other. And everything in between those two things lit me on fire. The bright red lips, the deep V-neck of her blue T-shirt, the long skirt that ran over her hips and thighs like water.

  Her sparkling eyes and the razor-sharp edge of her smile.

  I was tired of fighting her. Of fighting…this. And all the anger and grief and guilt I was feeling seemed to reach out for her. Seemed to want her.

  She will make me feel better, my body seemed to say. She is what I want.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought we could have a few beers. Talk—”

  “That’s a bad idea.”

  “The beers or the talking?”

  “All of it. Everything. You,” I snapped at her, “are a bad idea.”

  She winced and glanced away. I’d hurt her. And I felt like shit about it, but this was a her-or-me situation. This was fight or flight. And I’d run from her as far as I could. My back was against the wall and she just kept on coming.

  “Funny,” she said with a cracked voice and brave smile that took me out at the knees. “I think I’ve heard that somewhere before. Here.” She shoved the Shiner and the takeout container at me, and I took them because I didn’t know what else to do. “You’ve got some shit to figure out with your horse,” she said, backing away.

  “Bea,” I said, feeling as if my guts were stuck on the bottom of her shoe. She was pulling part of me with her, every step she took. “Bea, wait—”

  She turned and lifted her middle finger at me over her shoulder. And I deserved that and so much more, but she didn’t deserve what I’d done to her. I dropped the stuff in my arms beside the door and ran after her.

  I caught her at the curb beside her Jeep. “Bea,” I said. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “Yeah, fuck you.” She didn’t look at me but I could see the tears swimming in the corners of her eyes.

  “No, listen—”

  “No, you listen.” She shoved me away from her but I wouldn’t go. I wasn’t rock solid on my feet, but I was rock solid with this. With her. “You don’t get to say that to me. No one does anymore. You know why? Because I’m not a bad idea. I’m not.”

  “Bea—”

  “Don’t!”

  I grabbed her forearm. Well, not so much grabbed as touched, and we both sucked in a breath. Hers was probably furious. But mine was…fuck…mine was rattled and turned inside out.

  How many times had we touched? There was that hug the other day. The handshake a few days ago. I’d never really touched her like this. The whole of my palm touching some part of her body, some sweet stretch of her skin.

  “Stop touching me,” she said.

  I wasn’t holding her, she could literally just move her arm. So could I. But we didn’t.

  “I don’t w
ant to stop,” I said.

  “What about your rules?” she asked. “What about dragging me down with you?”

  My fingers twitched and stroked that sensitive pale skin on the inside of her arm. I could, in fact, feel the pound of her heart in her wrist. She was panting and so was I, our breathing matched like we were in this race together.

  Don’t look at her, I told myself, even as my hand sought new territory of her body to touch. I cupped her elbow, my fingers easing up under the sleeve of her shirt. She was sweating, which I loved. Because so was I.

  And she was shaking. Trembling.

  So was I.

  “Cody,” she said, and then I did it. I looked at her. And I fell headfirst into her wide blue gaze.

  This was a mistake. Touching her like this. Wanting her like this. No good would come of it. I should stick to my Morning Girl. The perfect simplicity of it. No one got hurt with my Morning Girl. No one.

  This—me and Bea—we’d both get hurt.

  “I don’t care,” I said.

  “Yeah. Me neither,” she said, and then I wasn’t just touching her. I grabbed her arm and turned her, putting her back to her Jeep. And I stepped right into her. Right up against her. My cock, painfully hard, pressed against her belly and we both sighed.

  “You want this,” I said, grinding just a little against her because it felt so good. Because her eyes were blown wide. Because I couldn’t help myself.

  “Yes,” she said.

  I braced my arms against the Jeep, squeezing the metal frame until my palms hurt.

  Don’t let go, I told myself.

  And then I kissed her. My mouth to the lemon-sweet spice of hers. And she opened right away, like she was gasping she opened her mouth and her arms came around my back, holding me so hard.

  Yes. Fuck, yes. There was nothing careful. Nothing easy or tentative. We kissed like we knew each other and had been separated for far too long.

  Her hips arched forward, pressing my cock between our bodies, and I groaned low in my throat. Taking her mouth with no finesse. Nothing but hunger. And she met me the same way. I sucked on her tongue and her fingers pulled my hair and I could have died, right there, a happy man. Such a happy man.

  Because she tasted perfect. Felt perfect. Like home.

  Like something I missed and hadn’t realized how much.

  I eased back, suddenly scared. Suddenly in way too deep.

  “Don’t you dare,” she said and followed me. This time it was her sucking my tongue and I groaned, falling back against her and the Jeep. And, again, my cock hit her just right and she arched up against me, bracing her feet against the curb until she found the spot she wanted and I felt her tension. The electric current filling her body.

  And fuck, I was going to see where that current went. I was going to follow it all the way to the end. But for that we needed to not be standing on the street in front of all my neighbors.

  I let go of the Jeep’s metal frame and cupped her shoulders, the raw, fierce strength of her arms, until finally I had her hand in mine and I stepped back.

  She stumbled forward, her eyes blissed out, her lips swollen. And fuck, the things I wanted to do to her. The shit I wanted to say. I wanted to crank every dial she had until it was way past bearable. Until she was screaming my name and coming so hard it hurt.

  “Inside,” I said, and I turned, my cock bouncing as I walked, pushed so obscenely against the fabric of my gym shorts. If anyone was paying attention I know I looked ridiculous.

  And I did not give one shit.

  Her hand in mine, I practically ran up the walk to my house and we were barely through my open front door before I turned and pushed her up against the wall, slamming the front door shut with my foot.

  “Holy shit,” she said. “Look at this place—”

  “Later,” I said and crowded right up into her. I braced my arms against the wall and kissed her again. Kissed her until she was pushing back against me. Kissed her until she was grinding herself against my cock.

  Behind my closed eyelids I saw stars.

  She pulled back and I followed, but her hand against my chest stopped me.

  “Are you going to touch me?” she asked, whispered, really, against my lips.

  And I didn’t know how to tell her that in so many ways I was scared to. I was barely on the edge of something wild, and touching her fucking body would send me someplace I couldn’t contain.

  “Cody,” she breathed into my silence, and then her hands lifted to my shoulders, still wet with sweat, and then skated down over my biceps and onto my chest. Her fingers touched my nipples, grazed them until I groaned and then she came back for more. She stroked my abs, first with the palm of her hand and then with the back of her hand, and I watched her watching me. And when her fingertips reached the waistband of my shorts I nearly came.

  I grabbed her hands, pushing them back against her body.

  She pushed against me, but she didn’t stand a chance.

  “Touch me and I’ll come, Bea.” I shook my head. “I’m barely—”

  “Me, too.”

  I looked in her eyes. Looked at her face, the high flush and the way she was gulping air. I could see her heart pounding in the tender skin of her throat.

  “Cody,” she breathed, her back bowing off the wall and into my sweat-slick chest. “Please. I’ve wanted you…”

  “For so long,” I finished her sentence. Even if that wasn’t what she meant, it was how I felt. Like I’d wanted her for eons, not just days. Years. Not hours.

  But still I was a powder keg and everything about me felt dangerous. I turned her around so she faced the wall. The sweet curve of her ass pressed up against my dick and I hissed between my teeth at the contact.

  She tried to turn back around but I wouldn’t let her. My fingers threaded through hers and that contact, the soft webbing of our palms touching, was like fire under my skin. I pushed her palms up against the wall.

  “Keep them there,” I said and dropped my hands to her hips.

  “Cody.” She reached for me and I stepped back. Away from her, the sudden air between us felt arctic. My skin without hers touching it felt like ice.

  “Don’t…” Fuck, it sounded stupid. Over-dramatic, but I was barely holding on here. “…touch me.”

  16

  She stood against the wall. So still. “Is this another one of your rules?” she whispered.

  “Rules?”

  Did I have rules with Bea? Other than not doing this? Other than avoiding this at all costs?

  She bowed her head against the wall. “Never mind…just…do what you’re going to do.”

  She lifted her hands up wider against the wall, and the muscles under her shirt shifted and bunched. Her sleeves pulled back to show her shoulders, the sweet indention of her muscles. I wanted to kiss her there, but there was no time.

  Her fingers spread wide against Gran’s old wallpaper and the position made her hips pop out from the wall.

  What I was going to do made my mouth water. My hands cupped her waist and slid down to her hips;, my thumb brushed the curve of her ass and she twisted a little under my touch all the muscles firing under my palms.

  I liked that.

  My thumbs slipped down over the curve of her ass to that sweet crease where her thigh started.

  I thought again of my Morning Girl, of how badly I’d wanted to touch her the other day. How hard it had been not to climb to that deck. With her I had rules. So many rules.

  “Cody,” she breathed, and I realized I was stroking that sweat tender skin through the stretchy thin fabric of her skirt. She put her forehead against the wall and made some whimpering sound in the back of her throat like I was just killing her.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Please,” she whispered, and her begging went right to my head like a shot of whiskey.

  With both hands I pulled up that skirt, revealing bit by bit the long lengths of her legs.

  And then the red panties sh
e wore beneath it. They were sliding down her hips and I wanted them on the floor. I wanted them in my pocket.

  “Hold your skirt,” I whispered in her ear, and her hands came off the wall to grab the gathered skirt out of my grasp. With my hands free I slipped them down over the silk of her panties, over her ass and then around…slowly…so slowly…to her pussy.

  “Fuck,” I breathed when I found her ready. Drenched and hot. She was soaked, her panties were soaked, the insides of her thighs were soaked. “You’re so wet, Bea.”

  “I want you. So bad,” she groaned.

  Teasing her, teasing both of us, I played with the lace trim on the top of her panties, running my fingers over it until she whimpered and her legs sagged.

  “I like it when you beg me,” I whispered.

  “Oh, my god, please, Cody. Please.”

  “What?”

  “Touch me.”

  “Like this?” I slipped my fingers down another inch into her panties. I could feel the heat coming from her. The tickle of her pubic hair against my fingers.

  “No, asshole,” she groaned and grabbed my hand, shoving it deep into her underwear until I was cupping the whole of her pussy in the palm of my hand. My fingers slipped right through the fat, wet lips and found the entrance to her body. I rimmed her with my fingers. Light touches, around and around until her hips were following the movements. And I pushed my heel down until I found the pressure and the place that made her stand up on her tiptoes.

  “How bad do you want it?” I asked her.

  “Cody,” she moaned, her head back against my shoulder, and I put my lips to her throat.

  “Tell me, Bea.”

  “I feel like I’m dying,” she whispered. “I’m so empty inside it hurts. I need you—”

  I slid my middle finger deep into her body and she cried out. Her knees buckling, she turned her head against my shoulder and I knew she wanted me to kiss her. But I was in danger of burning up right there on the spot. I was about to be a giant pile of ash.

  We both fell against the wall. The heel of my hand pressed harder against her clit and she started to shake.

  Rules. A little self-control. Restraint.