The Last Christmas Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  “Yeah, but in the interest of not causing damage, we have to treat you like you might have a spinal injury,” Juniper said. “So be patient.”

  “I’m not going to the hospital,” he grumbled.

  “Maybe you should,” Rose said, pacing back and forth and staring down at him while the EMTs checked him out.

  “You want to pay my bill?”

  Rose pinched the bridge of her nose while they looked in his eyes, checked his spine for trauma.

  “I recommend you go to the hospital,” Juniper said. “Just to be safe.”

  “All right. But in your opinion am I gravely injured?”

  “I can’t diagnose you.”

  “Isn’t there paperwork I can sign and not go?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Then I want that paperwork. Because I’m not going to the hospital.”

  “Why not?” Ryder asked.

  “Because I’m fine,” he said.

  “You’re just being stubborn,” Rose said.

  “Seriously,” he said, having finished being checked over, and moving himself into a sitting position, then standing. “I’m fine.”

  He winced as he tried to put pressure on his leg.

  “Are you sure you didn’t break it?” she asked.

  “It did look like he managed to mostly get his body in a gap,” Juniper said. “He’s lucky. Because if anything would have made real direct contact he probably would have wound up with some crushed limbs. Or worse.”

  “Nothing is crushed,” Logan said. “Believe me, shock might be a hell of a thing, but it’s certainly not going to have me standing on a crushed femur.”

  “I’ll get you that paperwork,” Juniper said. “You have to promise that if you have any severe symptoms you’ll take yourself to the doctor.”

  “I don’t have to promise a damn thing,” Logan grumbled.

  Rose felt slightly at her wits’ end. She didn’t know how to react to this. As a friend, she was scared. As his lover, she was something else entirely. The feeling that was rolling around inside of her chest was somewhere on the border of hysterical and unreasonable. And she didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to react at all, so she found herself sort of frozen.

  She knew that Sammy and Iris were fussing, and that Ryder was examining his tractor. And Rose was just kind of standing there, her ears buzzing. She felt so... She was already such a disaster. And then a tractor had fallen on the man. A tractor.

  And she had no idea what she was supposed to do in response to that. It was like... Was he being punished? Was he being punished for taking her virginity? Because that didn’t seem fair. He hadn’t taken it. She had given it to him. With joy, at that.

  So, surely, God wouldn’t drop a tractor on him for that.

  He had done great work that night.

  And she had rejected him. But she felt like she had been scraped out inside. She felt like she were dying a little bit. Like she might have been crushed underneath that tractor. And that made her think that rejecting him had been the best thing she could have done for herself. Because if she felt like this now, how would she feel later?

  There couldn’t be a later.

  For that very reason.

  Except...

  “I have to go,” she said. And suddenly, she found herself running again. Running like she had done to his accident. Running and running like a coward.

  And in her mind, flashes of another time she had run filtered through her mind.

  There was an accident.

  Mom and Dad...

  She ran and ran. When she stopped, she was breathing hard, and she realized tears were running down her cheeks. Her lungs burned from the cold air. She stopped at the base of a tree and sank down to the ground. She was already dirty anyway. And she cried. Cried out all the tears that she had been holding inside of herself since that night with Logan. Since last night when she had told him no. Since this morning when she had talked to Iris and had to face how badly she had hurt her sister.

  Since she had seen him lying on the ground pinned underneath the tractor.

  And for good measure, she cried some tears she thought might have been building inside of her for the last few years. Because sometimes she felt lonely. And there was no way to say that. No way to say that sometimes she just felt like there was a big hole inside of her chest and nothing would fill it. Nothing. Not ever.

  Because she loved talking to her sisters and confiding in them, but sometimes she just missed her mom. And she usually didn’t let herself. Because how could she? When everyone had done so much for her. Everyone had done so much for her and it seemed like being sad about what she didn’t have wasn’t fair. It seemed like it minimized everything they had done for her. Because of course they missed their parents, too. They missed their parents, and they’d also had to take care of Rose. And it felt like a terrible repayment to be sad. To feel like she was missing bits and pieces of something vital.

  It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Iris and Ryder and Sammy could not have done any more for her. Pansy couldn’t have done more. Logan...

  She pressed her fists to her eyeballs. Trying to stop the tears. She hated this. She hated it more than anything. All these feelings that were welling up inside of her. These feelings that she usually did such a great job of ignoring.

  She cried and she hid. Until she felt like a coward. Until she felt...better.

  She had felt fragile for a while now. And there was something about crying that made it feel like that fragility had drained out of her. Like it was done. Like she had drained some kind of poison from her body and left herself feeling stronger.

  And she wondered if maybe this was the big change that really needed to happen. Finally thinking about her own feelings.

  Finally admitting that she had pain.

  That it was okay to feel loss. That it didn’t make her a burden or ungrateful or any of the other things she was so afraid of being.

  She sat there until it was starting to get dark. Which it did so early this time of year.

  Then she stood, pushing herself up, away from the tree. She felt a little bit guilty about leaving Logan. Because he might have been in some kind of serious pain. But she wouldn’t know, because she had run. Of course, someone would have come to get her if he was hurt badly.

  Finally, when she had herself a little bit together, she trudged home. When she came into the house, dinner had just been set out on the table.

  “Where’s Logan?” she asked.

  “He was feeling kind of done in,” Iris said, looking at her curiously. “He went home.”

  “Oh. Did he... Does he have dinner?”

  “No. I bet he wouldn’t mind if you brought him some. Are you okay, Rose?”

  She stared at her sister for a long moment. “I think so.”

  “He’s okay,” Iris said, her tone so gentle it made Rose want to cry again.

  “You know how it is,” Rose said, looking down. “You know. Because... Sometimes you think everything will be okay, but...”

  “People die,” Iris said.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “People die. When you don’t expect them to.”

  “He’s not going to die,” Iris said.

  She nodded. Then she looked up and caught her reflection in the glass on the microwave, and could see that her eyes were puffy. So no wonder her sister had looked at her like she had grown another head. “Allergies,” she said.

  Iris nodded. “Sure.”

  “I’m going to... I’m going to take him his dinner.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’ll tell Ryder and Sammy where you are.”

  “Thanks.” Rose collected rolls, and filled a plate with meat and sides. Then she headed back out of the house, not really thinking. Not really thinking about anything. What she would say when she got the
re. How she would explain her reaction to the whole thing. None of it.

  All she was thinking was that he wasn’t going to die. She repeated that. Over and over.

  “Not dead,” she said out loud as she knocked ferociously on his cabin door. He jerked it open, and she froze.

  His shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and he looked tired, grumpy and slightly disoriented.

  “I brought chicken,” she said.

  And then she found herself being dragged into the cabin.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  HIS BODY HURT like the devil. His head hurt like the devil. Everything hurt.

  And then, Rose had appeared at his door looking wholesome and carrying a home-cooked meal, and all he could think was decidedly non-wholesome thoughts. About a thousand of them. All flashing through his mind in bright, brilliant Technicolor in the split second between when he opened the door and when he dragged her inside.

  He grabbed hold of the plate of food and set it down on his coffee table. She stared up at him, her eyes glittering.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Dinner,” she said.

  “Bullshit.”

  “You got hurt,” she said. And then, something happened that he didn’t expect. Ever. In fact, he would have been less shocked had the sky opened up inside of his cabin and a thunderstorm had begun in the living room.

  Her face crumpled. Her lower lip quivered. And then Rose, his tough, strong Rose, began to cry.

  He bundled her up into his arms without even thinking.

  “You rolled a tractor on yourself,” she said.

  “I’m okay,” he responded.

  “But you might not have been.”

  “I know. I thought that. As it tipped over on its side. I thought... You hear about this stuff. This is how people get themselves killed. Doing what they’ve done hundreds of times, and not paying attention, or being careless at just the wrong time.”

  “Was it because of me?”

  “Rosie, I think you’re pretty damn sexy, but I did not roll a tractor over on myself because I was distraught that you said you wouldn’t sleep with me again.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” she said, angry now. “Did I distract you?”

  In all honesty, probably. He wasn’t exactly sure what he had been thinking about before the tractor had tipped over. But he knew what had flashed through his mind as he’d gone down to the ground. Her. Her face. The way it had felt to have her hands on his body. And a shocking bolt of grief that he might not ever feel them again.

  “Are you here because you feel guilty?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m... I’m upset. I needed to see that you were okay.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Sore as hell. Then it’s going to hurt even worse tomorrow. But I’m fine.”

  “Eat dinner,” she said.

  “I don’t want to eat dinner, Rose.”

  “Eat dinner. Have a beer. I’m going to run you a bath.”

  He froze. Heat filtered through his veins. His gaze sharpened, and he looked at her. “A bath?”

  “A bath,” she returned.

  And she treated him to a stern glare that sent a bolt of desire right down to his cock. But she didn’t stick around to allow him to question her. And he decided to just let her go. If Rose was here to take care of him... Well, damn him to hell, he was going to let her. Whatever shape that took.

  He’d taken control the night they slept together. He didn’t regret it.

  But he was curious what she might do if given the chance to take the lead.

  He sat down on the couch and picked up the plate of food that she’d brought. It was quite a pile of food. Chicken and mashed potatoes. He dug into it, and realized then that he actually was starving. Who knew that near-death experiences whipped up an appetite? He went to the fridge and grabbed a beer, opened it up and settled back down on the couch. He rested the bottle on his thigh and grimaced. Yeah. He might not have taken the full brunt of the tractor, but the way he had braced himself for impact had knotted his muscles up tighter than he’d ever felt them.

  And he’d definitely been hit by parts of the machine, even if it hadn’t been the full weight of it. His hip bone hurt like a son of a bitch, all down his leg. His shoulder ached—he wasn’t quite sure why. He had the vague impression that he might have landed shoulder first before the tractor had come down on top of his lower half.

  He grunted, then took another bite of food. What a day.

  He heard soft footsteps, and he looked up. And damn near just about dropped his plate. Because there, standing in the doorway, was a large-eyed-looking Rose, wrapped in a white towel. She had it rucked up underneath her arms so there wasn’t much to see of her breasts. But it just barely skimmed her hips and thighs, revealing a very healthy length of beautiful, shapely legs.

  She was a thing of beauty. Athletic and sculpted from all the hard labor she did. And he remembered well what those legs felt like around him. The girl knew how to hang on. All that horse riding she did. Made it fun to ride her, that was for sure.

  And apparently, there was no amount of traumatic injury that could damage his sex drive where Rose was concerned. He went from feeling sorry for himself to basic bro in a split second.

  “The bath is ready,” she said.

  She looked shy, and for some reason, he found that even sexier.

  That he knew she was strong, that he knew she was confident in about a thousand kind of ways, but that she was a little hesitant in this.

  Hesitant, but still here. Hesitant, but still naked.

  “Are you offering me pity sex?”

  She lifted a bare shoulder. “I didn’t say you were getting sex.”

  “That’s cold,” he said.

  “I’d say it’s up to you to make it a certainty, wouldn’t you?”

  “Are you asking me to seduce you?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “Well. Given my current physical state, it might. But I’m willing to take the risk.”

  He set the food down and stood, making his way over to her. He started to wrap his arm around her waist, but she put her hand up, stopping him midmotion. She put her hand on his chest, letting her fingers drift down to the first closed button on his shirt.

  She undid it slowly. Maddeningly slowly.

  His whole body felt like it was on fire. He was pretty sure everything was still keyed up from that fall. Adrenaline mixed with pain. And the brush of her fingertips against his skin. Just a bit. Just enough...

  It about set him off.

  She undid the next button. Then the next, her eyes never leaving his.

  And all he could do was watch. Because it was Rosie. His Rosie. The object of his fantasies. Everything had been so harsh and sharp and real that night they’d been together. It had been a fantasy. It had been the most incredible experience of his life. And he had been damn certain he had experienced it.

  Still. This felt like something more. Something different.

  Maybe it was because that first time she had come to him, and no matter how much she had told him otherwise, he had known that she didn’t know what she was getting herself into. And her reaction following it had only confirmed what he had been afraid of.

  That she would find herself overwhelmed by it. By the connection between them. By everything. But she was back now. Even knowing how it was. And that was a hell of a thing.

  She unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, then grabbed hold of either side of it, tugging him into the bathroom. She closed the door behind them. Locked it.

  “We’re the only people here,” he said.

  “My whole family lives on this ranch,” she whispered. “If anybody comes walking in for any reason...”

  Point taken. While he was willing to defend what was happening between them if he had to, he di
dn’t exactly relish the idea of anyone catching them in the act.

  He pushed that thought away, because it was enough to dampen a little bit of the arousal he was feeling. And he didn’t want anything to dampen it. Because it was just too damned good.

  “Now,” he said, his voice getting rough, “you can drop that towel.”

  “Can I?” she asked.

  She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, and he let it drop to the floor. Then her face contorted. “Logan...”

  “What?”

  “You look like you got...well, you look like a tractor fell on you.”

  “Funny story.”

  Her fingertips traced over his pectoral muscle, down his stomach where he winced, and so did she, as she ran her fingertips over a visible, dark bruise that came up over the waistband of his jeans.

  With her eyes on his, she started to undo his belt. This was an old dance for him. A woman taking his jeans off. But it felt new. With her. Felt like something else entirely. Something he’d never experienced before. He didn’t quite know what to do with that. Not even a little.

  Because they weren’t just a woman’s hands. They were Rose’s hands. Because he was looking into Rose’s eyes. She was familiar, but this wasn’t. She mattered. This mattered. His Rosie.

  She licked her lips as she undid the button on his jeans, as she lowered the zipper. His whole body tensed, and he grimaced. Then she pushed his jeans down his hips, and there was no hiding just how deeply she affected him. He was hard as iron, and it was obvious.

  She leaned in, kissed his mouth. Her body wasn’t pressed against his, she held herself separate. And her kiss was soft, sweet. He would be tempted to call it innocent if she weren’t in a towel and he weren’t desperate to be inside of her.

  Then she kissed his neck, and he shuddered. His chest. And she kept on going. Those soft lips pressing to every inch of his skin on down. Until she was on her knees in front of him, and he had to grip her hair to keep himself from falling over. She looked at him, her fingertips playing over that deep, purple bruise on his hip. “It could’ve been so much worse,” she whispered. She kissed him there. On that bruise. So close to where he ached for her, an ache that now surpassed any of the physical pain that he felt from his accident, and he nearly doubled over.