Cowgirl Come Home

by Debra Salonen - Big Sky Mavericks 03 - Cowgirl Come Home

  “You made the only decision you could given the circumstances,” Paul said.

  “Did I? Every day I wonder what would have happened if I’d said, ‘Okay, Ross. I’ll give Nevada a try.’ Maybe I could have made B. Dazzled work if I drove to the closest town every few days to fill my orders. Maybe I would have liked living off the grid.”

  “Killing rattlesnakes with your bare hands.”

  She snickered softly, grateful for Paul’s attempt at humor. “Exactly. Instead, I asked Ross to take me home. Ten miles. A stretch of Highway 99 I drove nearly every day. I know what happened because I’ve read the accident report. But, I can’t remember how it happened. And that’s what keeps me awake at night.” An understatement.

  “Trauma like that doesn’t magically disappear, Bailey. My parents still talk about the night Neve Shepherd drowned.”

  Of course, Bailey remembered the tragedy that shook Marietta to its core. “It happened the end of my freshman year.” Bailey hadn’t known Neve, personally—only senior boys showed any interest in underclassmen girls, but she’d never forget the look on her father’s face when he returned with the search party that found Neve’s body.

  “I think Ross jack-knifed the truck on purpose.”

  Paul’s grip on her fingers intensified. “Why would he do that?”

  The same question Maureen asked every time Bailey brought up the subject.

  “To hurt me.”

  Paul started to speak, but she jerked her hand away and shook her head.

  “Ross could be reckless. And impulsive. Even his friends called him a loose cannon. And he had a temper.”

  “Like OC?”

  She swallowed hard. “Crazy, huh? I left Montana to get away from my father and wound up marrying someone just like him. How Freudian can you get?”

  Paul scrambled to a sitting position and moved close enough to take her face between his hands. “OC is a hothead. I can’t dispute the point. But people like OC Jenkins don’t go around offing themselves and the people they love just to make a point. That would be the equivalent of giving up. Can you see your father ever giving up on anything?”

  She pictured the tall, slightly stooped figure pushing the walker into the hospital a few hours earlier. Alone. Determined. The way Ross looked after she told him she wasn’t going to Nevada with him.

  Paul pulled her to him. “Accidents happen, Bailey. Ross had a lot on his mind, right? Distracted drivers make mistakes.” He kissed the top of her head. “Just ask Austen. I borrowed his brand new Tiburon to impress a girl I’d asked out. On the way there, I somehow managed to clip a telephone pole—an old one, thank God. I rolled the car and landed crossways on the railroad tracks.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “Not a scratch. But the car was totaled. And Austen wanted to kill me. Mom wouldn’t let him.”

  She brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across his brow. “I’m glad.”

  Neither spoke for a heartbeat or two.

  Bailey experienced the same sort of clarity she’d felt when she told Ross she wasn’t going to Nevada with him. She knew her future would be changed by the decision she was about to make. Right or wrong, sometimes you had to go with your gut.

  “This is probably a mistake, Paul, but it wouldn’t be our first.”

  He brought his lips to within touching distance from hers. “Are you making a pass at me?”

  “Pretty much.”

  She looped her arms around his neck and waited for him to make up his mind. Her heart pounded so hard he could probably hear it. She moistened her lips in anticipation.

  “Good,” he said. “Because I want you worse than I ever did in high school. And we both know I couldn’t keep my hands off you then.”

  He slipped his hands under the shirttails she’d pulled free when she removed her belt and unbuttoned the waistband of her jeans after eating too much Korean barbecue.

  “The feeling was—is—mutual,” she admitted. “But…we’re not the same people we were in high school. What if the weight of all my baggage suffocates us both?”

  The look in his eyes said he understood completely. “Mine will more than even out the load, Bailey.”

  The thought of them hidden by a wall of scarred old trunks and bags made her smile. She risked touching his arm. The skin of his forearm seemed a good deal more freckled than she remembered, the reddish gold hair wiry and thick.

  “I can’t promise you anything, Paul,” she said. “So much is riding on OC’s recovery and we both know how unreliable he is.”

  His hands settled at her waist. His fingers were warmer than they should have been, his touch sweeter and more penetrating that she wanted to admit.

  “We’re not kids any more, Bailey. We’re two single adults who still have a thing for each other. People make love all the time without being in love. Why shouldn’t we?”

  She liked that point. Maybe his divorce had left him just as bruised and disenchanted as she felt. What was stopping them from taking advantage of this reunion?

  She grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged it up and off in one single fluid movement. “I’m in.”

  She tossed it toward the nearby chair. Where it landed, she had no clue. Her gaze was locked on the delighted surprise she read in Paul’s expression.

  “For real?” he asked, his gaze dropping to her chest.

  She looked down, too. She couldn’t remember what bra she put on that morning. She certainly hadn’t dressed for seduction. Luckily, she’d grabbed the pink lace. Her favorite. “For right now. Will that do?”

  “Hell, yes. Everybody says focus on the now. I can do that. I can do that very well…when I’m looking at you.”

  She took a deep breath, fairly certain her breasts would swell against the sculpted pink lace.

  “God, Bailey, you’re even more beautiful than I remember.”

  “Do you know what I remember?”

  His tongue flicked back and forth across his lower lip. “No. What?”

  “I remember that stupid shift knob of your truck poking me in the most inconvenient places at the most inconvenient times.”

  He grinned and made a magnanimous gesture toward the bed. “No shift knobs in sight. But I could call Room Service if this is a sticking point.”

  The last vestige of hesitation left her. She scrambled to her knees and tackled him. “The only thing I’m calling Room Service for is Death By Chocolate. I saw it on the menu. But first we have to work up an appetite. Sound like a plan?”

  He wrapped his arms around her and rolled to one side, taking her with him. “The best plan evva, as Chloe would say. Let’s go for it.”

  His lips were within inches of hers but he didn’t kiss her right away. First, he said, “I learned from our mistake, Bailey. I never travel without condoms.”

  They’d used protection back then, too. But they’d been impatient. Careless. Rushed.

  “Good thinking.”

  She went off the pill when she and Ross got married, thinking they would start a family along with their new business. They’d tried but nothing took. For a period after his death, she’d beaten herself up about that, too. Now, she put the thought out of her mind.

  Nothing was going to distract her from Paul’s kiss.

  The lips she remembered. The way he kissed? Not so much. The boy she’d kissed had segued into a man who knew what he wanted, what he liked and what he damn well planned to give her.

  Paul could honestly say he hadn’t seen ‘sex with Bailey’ as even a remote option when he fired up the Cessna. He’d figured the trip would involve a lot of pacing in hospital waiting rooms and ferrying OC back and forth from the hotel.

  To wind up sharing a room with Bailey…a pleasant surprise. To be invited back into her life as a confidant of her worst fear, to hold her, kiss her…damn, he couldn’t quite get his head around the bounty.

  “I want you worse than when we were in high school,” she’d said.

  He knew exactly what
she meant. He’d gone hard the moment she’d pulled off her T-shirt.

  Every inch of her skin smelled like honey and roses. He wanted to go slow, remember every sensation, but Bailey had never been patient. Once she made up her mind to do something, it got done.

  “Do you remember our first time?” he asked unbuttoning his shirt.

  She brushed his fingers aside and took over. One, two, three, pull out shirt tails, four, five… “We came close so many times, but I think it was in my barn, right? The hayloft. Your Boy Scout sleeping bag.”

  He unbuckled his belt and unzipped while she pulled the belt through the loops. “The hay smelled good but the sleeping bag wasn’t thick enough to keep the poking parts from poking you.”

  His belt joined her shirt on the floor. By wordless agreement, they both wiggled out of their jeans. Her panties didn’t match her bra. Lime green bikinis with black polka dots. “Cute.”

  She touched the raised fabric of his navy blue stretch boxer briefs. “No more tighty whities.”

  His breath caught in his throat as her hand cupped his erection. “Not since college.” Not since Jen started shopping for him.

  She turned her attention to his bare chest. “Your muscles are so filled out. Chiseled, even. From swinging a hammer, I suppose. You’re so manly, now.” Her tone held a hint of teasing, but he thought he detected a bit of wistfulness, too. He felt the same.

  “You’re thinner and more voluptuous. How is that possible?”

  She flexed her bare arm to show her well-defined biceps. “Exercise. For a while after the accident, I couldn’t do anything. I felt like my body was melting into the sheets. As soon as I started physical therapy, I went gung-ho. One of my trainers, who also became my friend, called me Bailing Wired.”

  He squeezed the muscle. “Hey, that was my nickname for you.”

  “That’s what I told her. Although I was never sure it was a compliment.”

  He locked fingers with her and leaned in close enough to nibble her neck. “It was. I admired your drive and fearlessness. Scared the bejesus out of me at times, but, man, you were something to watch.”

  She moved her head and shoulder in a way that told him she was enjoying his touch. He trailed his tongue to a pronounced bump on her clavicle. A broken collarbone from falling off a horse when she was ten. A scare like that might have stopped other kids, but not Bailey Jenkins. From what her mother told him, she was back in the saddle while her arm was in a sling.

  She dropped back on her elbows. “This,” she said, shifting to her right side to touch her collarbone, “was the first of many. Two cracked ribs. My kneecap is all screwed up. I broke my elbow, but it’s stronger since I started lifting weights. A couple of toes. And fingers. And that’s not even counting my ankle.”

  He slid off the bed so he could start at her feet. “Which toes?”

  She wiggled her left foot. He kissed them all, which made her laugh.

  “And your right ankle.”

  “Obviously.”

  The scar wasn’t as furious a red as when she first arrived in Marietta. He nuzzled his cheek against her wound, their gaze locked. “I’m sorry you were injured, but I’ve got a few war wounds of my own, you know.”

  He licked the inside of both her knees.

  “You do?”

  “Viral paper cuts. I give myself a yearly bonus to make up for the grievance.”

  He advanced to her mid-section, checking each rib with his lips. When he reached her bosom, he unsnapped the front-closure bra and separated the two halves of pink lace. Her small, perfect breasts greeted him, nipples erect. He had to taste them. He couldn’t not.

  She squirmed in a happy way that made conversation superfluous. Her hands moved to his bare back, stroking, finding her way again. She touched his hair. “Don’t mention the gray,” he said, glancing up.

  “You have great hair. Always have. I used to dream about your hair.”

  “My hair?”

  She laughed. “Don’t sound so outraged. Maybe dream isn’t the right word. There were times with Ross when we’d be making love and when I’d run my fingers through his hair, I’d think of you. Except in summer.” He waited. “In summer, he shaved his head.”

  He didn’t know what to make of that admission, but the thought disappeared when Bailey reached between them and worked her hands under the waistband of his shorts. She cupped his buttocks, squeezing. “You still have a pretty amazing butt.”

  Then she worked the fabric lower. It took both hands to free his erection. “Ah, there’s my big Z.” Her private name for his penis.

  She petted and fondled until he feared he might shoot his wad the way he did the first time she touched him. Something that would have been mortifyingly embarrassing with anyone else.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Paul?”

  “Positive. Are you having second thoughts?”

  She blinked coquettishly. “I’m having naughty thoughts. Where are those condoms?”

  He had to walk into the bathroom to his toiletries bag. When he returned, the bed was turned down, the lights lowered and pillows plumped…with Bailey naked and waiting, one hand touching her breast, the other lazily rubbing a spot between her legs.

  “There’s so much I want to do with you—”

  “Later,” she said, opening her legs for him. “I’m ready, if you are.”

  He sheathed himself then moved to the spot made for him. Wet heat beckoned, her womanly scent adding to his lust. One finger, then two, opening her to him. Her legs wrapped around him. She made a small peep but brushed aside his concern. “I need you inside me, now, Paul. Now.”

  He gratefully obliged.

  They’d always fit together as if made from one whole. He’d always—well, after the first few times—been able to read her rhythm, feel the build inside her core.

  Each thrust re-established their connection.

  “Oh, yes,” she cried, eyes closed. She sucked in her bottom lip as a wrinkle of concentration knit her brow.

  Paul braced himself with one hand and slipped his finger between them, connecting with the tiny button they’d discovered through trial and error, with the help of some sex book he’d “borrowed” from his brother’s room.

  Her whimper jack-knifed through him, bringing him closer to the edge. Her ragged breathing matched his. He was close.

  The moment her hips lifted off the mattress, he felt the life force inside him surge and catapult to completion. Aftershocks rocked them both as they panted hard in that most triumphant of ways.

  “Better than a 10-K,” he said.

  “Better than a buckle run,” she said. “And a lot more fun. Thank you, Paul.”

  He pulled back and gave her dry look. “Thanks? You never thanked me before. That’s something our parents would have done.”

  She grinned. “You’re right. OMG, we’ve become our parents.”

  He rolled off to dispose of the rubber. “Speak for yourself. I’m still young and vital, and after the movie I’ll show you just how vital I really am.”

  He was kidding, of course. He’d be ready long before a two-hour movie was over.

  She scooted off the bed and walked to the bathroom. “In that case, better order room service. I’m going to need Death By Chocolate to keep up with you.”

  He flopped on the bed and reached for the menu. They were going to need more than chocolate for what he had in mind.

  Bailey hadn’t said this was a one-night stand, but who knew what would happen when they got back to Marietta? As she’d said, OC might be the deal breaker that sent her hightailing it back to California. He planned to make the most memories possible in the time they were given.

  Chapter 15

  The sound of a braying donkey woke Paul out of the warmest, sweetest rest he’d had since his children were born. He sat upright in bed, the covers pooling at his waist. A sliver of light through the curtains told him he was in a hotel room in Reno. A low female moan—one he’d heard in various
incarnations the night before—told him who was in bed beside him.

  Bailey Jenkins.

  Holy shit, he almost said. A second braying sound stopped him.

  “My phone. Damn. It’s OC. I forgot I gave him that ringtone.”

  He snatched the phone off the bedside table. Bailey’s snicker was a relief. At least, she wasn’t offended. “Hello?”

  “You can come and get me now. We’re done here.”

  “Okay. Bailey and I will be there in…” He looked at Bailey who poked her messy head out from under the covers and gave him a Really? Look worthy of any pre-teen. “Give us half an hour. Have you had breakfast?”

  “No appetite.”

  “We’ll stop somewhere on our way to the plane, then.”

  OC didn’t argue. He didn’t say anything. Paul checked the phone to see if they’d been disconnected. When he put it back to his ear, he heard OC say in a gruff, emotion-filled voice, “I need a drink, but Jack made me promise I wouldn’t use what happened to him as an excuse to start again.” He sighed heavily. “I’ll be out front when you get here.”

  Paul hit the off button and looked at Bailey, who was sitting up, too. “Whoa. That was heavy.”

  “What? Oh, my God, don’t tell me? Jack passed at midnight and Dad’s been at a bar ever since?”

  Paul pulled her into his arms. Her bare flesh was warm and fragrant. She smelled of sleep and sex and magic. Being with Bailey made all things possible. There might even be hope for OC.

  “He sounded exhausted but okay. He promised Jack this wouldn’t push him over the edge again.” He gave her a squeeze, wishing with all his heart they’d had time to talk before life, families and work intruded.

  Focusing on the moment worked great when you were making love for the third time, but they hadn’t made any effort to discuss what came next. Were they dating? Did one night of beautiful sex make them a couple? A thing?

  Bailey hugged him back then scrambled out of bed, as always favoring her right leg. She walked to her open overnight bag and picked out a pair of pink silk panties and a black and bronze Copper Mountain Chocolates T-shirt.