Cowboy Redeemed

by Parker Kincade

  He pulled back again and jutted his chin, his gaze locked somewhere behind her.

  Damn. Damn, damn, double damn.

  Her crew didn’t work on Sundays.

  Ainsley turned her head to see a horse and rider at the far end of the driveway and heading their way.

  What the hell was going on? She officially had more visitors today than any other day since she’d moved here.

  Ainsley let out a long sigh. “So much for hot and kinky outdoor sex, huh?” At this point, Ainsley would take any kind of sex. Her body was about to implode.

  “Kinky, huh? You into kinky outdoor action?”

  “Guess we won’t find out, will we?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Best thing about interruptions? They’re only temporary. I promised you we’d get to the good stuff, Ains. And I always keep my promises.”

  Ainsley rolled her eyes. “Lord save me from smooth-talking cowboys.”

  Clay rewarded her with a rich, husky laugh.

  “Want me to come with you?” he asked as she started down the drive to greet the unwanted visitor.

  “I got it, thanks. I handled things just fine before you showed up, and I’ll handle them after you’re gone.”

  Her life wasn’t changing. Not one. Little. Bit.

  ***

  It hadn’t taken him near as long as he’d expected to finish the repair work on the porch. Once he had the old decking removed, he discovered the frame was in relatively good shape, considering how long ago it must’ve been built. He added a couple of crossbeam supports for good measure, and then he only had to lay the new boards.

  By late afternoon, he was done.

  He would’ve been done a lot sooner if Ainsley hadn’t distracted him. She’d come back from meeting her visitor with an armload of what appeared to be homemade bread. Since she couldn’t get in through the front door, Clay assumed she entered the house through the back, because the next time he’d seen her, she was bread-less and walking the rows of her garden with a basket against her hip. He had watched as she considered the plants, seemingly choosing with care what she deemed worthy to go in the basket. Once she’d made her selections, she’d disappeared yet again. When she returned, she’d spent the next hour pulling weeds, bending over and giving him a delicious view of her fine ass.

  His poor thumbs were damn near black and blue from the near misses with the hammer.

  He finished loading his tools into the truck and grabbed his duffle bag from the back. He double-checked the porch steps, rocking back and forth, testing his weight along the boards. Each one was solid as a rock. As was the porch itself. If he ever wanted to give up the cattle business, he figured he could earn a decent living building shit.

  At least now Ainsley wouldn’t have to play Twister to get from the damn door to the ground.

  Clay opened the screen door and frowned, wondering why she’d left the door open in this heat instead of cranking the A/C as most people around here did.

  “Ainsley?” he called. “Come check out your new porch.”

  She came into view with a smile that knocked his boots off, her sea-green eyes alight with something akin to happiness.

  She’d changed her clothes. She wore a faded blue top and tan-colored shorts that hugged her hips. He did a quick check to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind that would damage her bare feet.

  “All finished?” She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and hooked it over her shoulder.

  He stepped back. “Check for yourself.”

  The citrus scent he’d begun to associate with her tickled his nose as she breezed by. She’d showered and, for the first time, he got a look at her unrestrained hair. He originally thought it blonde, but it was actually a crazy mix of golds, yellows, and reds. Thick and straight, it fell over her shoulders and down her back, much longer than he’d expected. Perfect to wrap his fist around as he pounded into her.

  “Oh wow, Clay.” She turned a circle, then stopped to bounce on the balls of her feet, much as he’d done, to check the strength. “This is fantastic, thank you.”

  The sun brought out the natural beauty of her face. Clay liked that she didn’t cover up those sexy freckles on her nose with makeup. He liked her just as she was. Strong and independent. Able to handle herself in a bar full of cowboys, yet melt like butter when in his arms.

  She tucked her hair behind an ear, her expression torn as she looked him over. “I really want to throw myself at you, but…”

  He laughed. “Say no more. Point me toward the shower.”

  For the second time that day, Clay followed Ainsley into the house.

  “Jesus, what’s that smell?” He closed his eyes, raising his face to absorb the delicious scent.

  She beamed. “Dinner. Which will be ready soon, so you better get a move on.” He followed her through the living room to the bottom of the stairs. “You can use my bathroom.” She looked him over, the hunger in her gaze firing him up. It took every ounce of self-restraint to keep his hands from her. “It’s the largest. You’ll have to go through my bedroom to get there. First door on the left. I put a towel on the counter for you.”

  He kept his hands to himself, but couldn’t resist leaning in for a quick kiss. He pecked her cheek. “Thanks, darlin’. I’ve worked up quite an appetite.” Not just for food.

  Her eyes smoldered, and Clay almost lost his resolve not to rub his sweaty man funk all over her.

  “Better hurry then.”

  She yipped as he popped her on the ass and jogged up the stairs.

  He couldn’t keep his gaze from her bed as he passed through to the bathroom. Thank God it wasn’t twin-sized, nor a king-size where she could sleep away from him either. He’d be able to hold her close, have her warm curves against him as he slept.

  And when the hell had he started caring about that shit? Usually, once the deed was done, he was ready to hit his own sheets. Alone. He didn’t take women to his trailer for a reason. He didn’t like to invite misunderstandings. Sleeping with a woman after sex, allowing her free reign of his home, screamed an intimacy Clay stayed away from.

  Until now, apparently, because he could definitely imagine waking up next to Ainsley, her body limp and satisfied.

  Her rumpled sheets made him grin. He’d know how soft the mattress was before the night was up. He hoped the antique metal frame was as sturdy as it looked.

  He kept walking.

  The bathroom wasn’t huge. He closed the door behind him and dropped his bag to the floor.

  A vanity sat against one wall, its single sink rust-lined from age. The counter wasn’t cluttered. No bottles of lotion or sweet-smelling perfumes. No frills of any kind. Just the towel she’d left out for him.

  A shower/tub combo filled the end of the room. Clay sat on the edge of the tub and pulled off his boots. He had tossed his sweaty shirt into the bed of his truck hours ago, so all that remained were his jeans, boxer-briefs, and socks, which he stripped off and left in a pile with his boots.

  He started the shower and waited until the water heated before he stepped in, pulling the clear curtain closed.

  Clay forced himself to work methodically. He washed his hair, scrubbed his arms, legs, and chest. Water and soap sluiced down his legs and swirled around the drain, taking the sweat and dirt of the day with it.

  The hard-on he’d been sporting since he kissed her protested the lack of attention to detail. He was tempted to jack off to relieve the pressure making his balls feel as though they were about to explode. If he didn’t act, then his chances of lasting more than a minute when buried in Ainsley’s heat were slim to none, he was sad to admit.

  He fisted his length with a soapy hand. He’d been so ramped up for her since the moment of her shy little “hi” the night before, it was nothing short of a miracle he’d lasted this long.

  He bit his lip, looked down to find the bulbous head red and angry looking. Moisture leaked from the tip. He stroked up and smoothed his thumb across the ridge to wipe it away.<
br />
  A hiss escaped through his teeth. Fuck that felt good.

  For the sake of his sanity, he tightened his grip to borderline painful. His teeth clenched as he started slow, moving his hand up and down from base to tip. He leaned into the spray and braced a hand against the wall of the shower.

  His heart thrummed, its rhythm matching that of his hand. He stroked harder, faster. In his mind, it wasn’t his hand doing the work, but Ainsley’s. She had strong, work-roughened hands. Where most women fell short—from fear of hurting him, or lack of temerity, Clay didn’t know—Ainsley had the passion inside her to give him what he needed. A firm, confident grip. Powerful, steady strokes. A soft, warm landing.

  His breath puffed out in quiet pants as his balls drew up tight. His legs shook as his fingers sought to dig through the side of the shower. The base of his spine tingled a second before his release.

  Clay squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head to his forearm. He continued to stroke, slower now, as he pumped his release to the shower floor.

  He had no idea how long he stood there. His heart finally slowed to a normal rhythm and he raised his head to realize the water had turned cold. He did a quick rinse and made sure the evidence of what he’d done had washed down the drain.

  Clay turned off the water and stepped out. He dried himself off and pulled a freshly washed set of clothes out of his bag. The contract Gavin had given him fell out onto the floor. Clay shoved the thing back in and jerked the zipper closed.

  Man, he was in so much trouble. He didn’t want to get involved, but he couldn’t get Gavin’s words out of his head. What kind of trouble had Ainsley gotten into? What had he gotten himself into? If she knew Gavin had asked him to talk to her, she’d kick his ass out faster than he could blink.

  Annnd he’d just whacked off in her shower. No denying he felt a hundred times more relaxed, but what had he been thinking?

  Fuck.

  He didn’t think where Ainsley was concerned. With her, he was all about the action. She ran away. He went after her. Her porch needed repair. He repaired it. Her lips needed kissing, and goddamn if he hadn’t done his best to erase the memory of any man who’d been there before him.

  Action.

  “Clay?” Ainsley’s voice drifted up through the floor. “Bring the towel along with your dirty clothes and I’ll toss them in the wash. Dinner’s ready.”

  Clay stared at the floor like a monkey staring at a math problem. There. A vent along the baseboard. The bathroom must be directly over the kitchen. Christ. Had she heard him come? The thought threatened to make him hard again.

  See? Action.

  Chapter Seven

  Ainsley held a cool cloth to her cheeks. She could blame the heat from the kitchen for the flush covering her skin. But really, the cause of her uncomfortable condition was clomping his boots down her stairs right this very minute.

  Holy hotness. The distinctly male noise that drifted through the vent gave her a pretty good idea what he’d been up to while in her shower.

  “That doesn’t smell like any spaghetti I’ve ever had. Where you want the towel I used?”

  Ainsley dropped the cloth into the sink and tried to look casual. Hard to do when the man was sex-on-legs in his denim and black tee. What she wouldn’t give to have been upstairs with him, watching as he pleasured himself.

  Her cheeks flamed again. So much for acting natural. More like a bitch in heat.

  Ainsley pointed to the set of folding doors by the back door. “The washer is in there. Where are your clothes?”

  “In my bag. You aren’t washing my clothes, Ains. I’ll get them later.”

  “That’s silly. There’s no reason not to do them here.” When she reached for his bag, he held it out of reach, the look of panic in his eyes so fleeting, she could’ve imagined it. Probably had.

  “It’s no big deal. I’m gonna put this in the truck and then I’ll be ready to eat. My mouth’s already watering.”

  “You got some weird laundry phobia I should know about?”

  “Yes,” he said as he opened the back door. “My brother shoved me into a dryer when I was a kid. I’ve been afraid to get near one ever since.”

  Ainsley sucked in a breath. “Are you serious?”

  “Nope.” He winked. “Rest assured. I’m one-hundred percent pro-laundry. I even did a load this morning.”

  Ainsley clasped a hand to her chest. “A man who does his own laundry? Be still my heart.”

  His laughter followed him out the door. By the time he returned, Ainsley had dished up heaping plates of spaghetti noodles topped with the sauce she’d spent the last few hours making.

  He pulled out a chair for her, making sure she was settled before he took his own seat across from her.

  “This looks amazing, Ainsley.”

  Pride filled her as she passed over a basket filled with fresh, warm bread. Clay took two slices, placing one on the edge of his plate, one on hers. A simple gesture, yet it warmed her heart all the same. She could really learn to like this man. A lot. She was afraid she might already.

  “It’s nice to have someone to cook for other than myself.” She took a bite of spaghetti and silently congratulated herself. She’d been so nervous, wanting to get the sauce just right, she’d been afraid she’d mess up the whole batch. She hadn’t. It was delicious.

  Clay swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “If this is any indication as to your cookin’ skills, save me a seat at your table every night.”

  Her belly fluttered. In her dreams, she had a place. A home of her own. Children who’d know they were loved and cherished. A handsome, rugged man with enough love for all of them.

  Good lord. She’d waxed poetic about her future more in the twenty hours since she’d met Clay than she had in the last ten years. He made her want … everything.

  “Ains? You okay?”

  She nodded, too embarrassed by her thoughts to trust her voice. She busied herself with twisting noodles around her fork. They ate quietly for a few minutes.

  “That was Ed Marks who stopped by earlier. You know him?”

  Clay nodded. “He still help out around here?”

  Ed had managed the ranch for years. While he refused to talk much about her uncle, he’d agreed to stay on. He hadn’t been happy about Ainsley’s decision to sell off part of the herd, and they’d gotten sideways over it. He’d walked out on her that day.

  “No, but apparently his wife insisted he bring me some of her homemade bread.” Ainsley had been surprised by the rare gift. Friendship hadn’t come easy in her nomadic life, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want or need it. Bread did not equal friendship, but Ainsley hoped it was a start. She made a mental note to take a few jars of spaghetti sauce over to Ed’s wife tomorrow.

  “He worked here for as long as I can remember. I hadn’t heard he retired.”

  “I don’t think he’s retired from ranching, just from ranching for me.”

  His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “How’s that?”

  She shrugged. “We didn’t see eye-to-eye on some things. He decided it’d be best to move on.”

  “Ed’s good people. He knows his stuff.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Her tone dripped with sarcasm. The old man was set in his ways. He also hadn’t understood the financial trouble Ainsley had walked into. If she hadn’t sold the cattle, none of them would be here now. Not her, certainly not Ed, and not the smokin’ hot cowboy sitting across the table from her.

  “I’m guessing this is a touchy subject?”

  “Touchy in that I don’t like the implication I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “And … do you?”

  His gentle tone eased the bite of his question.

  Ainsley laid her fork against her plate and took a drink from her glass of iced water. She had no reason to lie. Her fate would be decided within the next three months anyway.

  “Not entirely,” she finally admitted. “But here’s the thing. Business
is business. Whether it’s raising cattle or selling cars. The way I see it, the financial principals are the same, no matter the commodity. I don’t know all I need to know about running a successful cattle operation—yet—but I understand how finances work.” Or don’t work, as the case may be.

  If the bank loan she applied for came through, Ainsley’s problems wouldn’t be over, but she could breathe a little easier. She knew enough to know it would take years to breed the herd back to what it had been. So what if she had a few lean years? She’d had twenty-four of them so far, and she was still standing.

  If the loan didn’t go through, well … she wouldn’t think about it unless it happened. She could make herself nuts with what if’s. If she’d learned anything, she’d learned not to buy problems she didn’t have yet. Best to focus on the ones she did have.

  “Where’d you learn about business?”

  Ainsley relaxed, happy to steer the conversation away from ranch talk. “I got a job straight out of high school with a local cable company. I started as a low-level data entry clerk for their accounting department.”

  “You go to college?”

  “No. College wasn’t really an option for me. I could’ve gotten loans, I’m sure. But after a few months in accounting, working with all of the delinquent accounts, I realized taking on debt that massive wasn’t for me.”

  Oh, the irony. The loan for the ranch would pay college tuition several times over.

  “I didn’t go either. I never felt the need, much to my parents’ dismay. The way I see it, the cattle don’t care if I have a piece of paper saying I learned something I’d probably forget a year out of school anyway. Why bother? Experience and working knowledge, I’ve got in spades. Did your parents give you grief about not going?”

  Ainsley hesitated. She’d never shared her story with anyone. Until now, no one had cared enough to ask.

  “I grew up in the system. I didn’t know my parents. I didn’t know the man who owned this place. In fact, until he died, I didn’t even know he existed.”