Must Love Cowboys

by Cheryl Brooks

He nodded. “For now. I never know when the flashbacks will hit me or what will trigger them.”

  If memory served, I was pretty sure I’d witnessed a few of those episodes already, and I’d been the inadvertent cause of at least two of them, including the most recent. “If you ever need to talk, I’m a pretty good listener.”

  “I’ve noticed that too.”

  The smiles we exchanged were evolving into a kiss when I heard footsteps coming down the hall.

  Nick stuck his head through the doorway. “Sorry to break up the party, but those dishes aren’t gonna wash themselves, and I’m sure as hell not tackling that mess alone.”

  “Be right there,” Wyatt said. “Tina had something she wanted to show me.”

  “Sure she did,” Nick scoffed. “Listen, you two can play show-and-tell later. Right now, I want to get my chores done before I conk out from eating that huge dinner.” He aimed a grin at me. “Which, by the way, was fabulous.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it,” I said. “Any requests for tomorrow?”

  “I dunno… The stuff you come up with on your own is damn good. Surprise me.”

  “You’re a big help,” I grumbled. “Guess I’ll just ask Calvin what he usually does on Mondays.”

  Wyatt cleared his throat. “I can tell you that—any of us could. The usual weekday breakfast, sandwiches for lunch, and pork chops for dinner.”

  I was almost afraid to ask. “How many pork chops apiece?”

  Nick licked his lips.

  Oh, here it comes…

  “I can eat three,” he said. “Unless they’re the big thick ones. And then I usually only eat two.”

  “And what would you like with your pork chops?” After the day I’d had and as tired as I was, no telling what weird combinations I might come up with if left to my own devices.

  “Anything,” he replied. “Use your imagination.”

  “You might be sorry you said that when I serve Swiss chard ice cream for dessert.”

  For a moment there, I thought Nick might actually gag. He put up a placating hand. “Okay, okay. Green beans and mashed potatoes.” The resignation in his voice and posture suggested that those two dishes comprised the remainder of their standard Monday night fare.

  “Not terribly imaginative,” I said. “But doable.”

  “Baked sweet potatoes instead of mashed?” Wyatt suggested.

  I nodded. “That’s better. What about a salad?”

  Wyatt arched a wicked brow. “Caesar?”

  “You got it.”

  “Wait a minute,” Nick said. “What about dessert?”

  I grinned. “Sugar-free Jigglers.”

  Nick stared at me, unblinking. I could’ve sworn there were tears in his eyes. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “For now,” I replied. “Although I’m pretty sure it’ll come to that eventually.”

  “I’ll give up a pork chop if it means having pie,” he declared.

  “What kind?” I prompted.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just as long as you don’t make it with Swiss chard.”

  * * *

  After the guys left to wash the dishes, I took Ophelia out for a short walk. A surreptitious glance at the hillside where I’d seen a light the night before revealed nothing, although it wasn’t yet fully dark.

  I came back inside to find Calvin waiting for me. “I hate to put more of a burden on you,” he began. “But I could really use your help making sure I’m taking my pills right—at least ’til I get the hang of it.”

  Among those people currently residing in the bunkhouse, no doubt he envisioned me as the closest thing to a nurse. While I couldn’t claim to be an RN, I could read and understand a prescription label. If I had any doubts or questions about his medications, I had a computer and I knew how to use it. “No problem. Do you need help tonight?”

  “There might be one I’m supposed to take at bedtime. Not sure.”

  I followed him into his room, noticing a slight shuffling of his feet as he walked. I couldn’t recall that he’d moved that way when I first arrived, although at the time, I hadn’t been paying any attention to his gait. I probably would now; I’d watched Grandpa like a hawk for years.

  Old habits die hard…

  Calvin retrieved a sack full of medication bottles from his dresser and handed it to me. I was thankful to see a full bottle of nitroglycerine tablets in there along with several other prescriptions.

  “Hmm…metoprolol succinate, Plavix, and simva-statin.” That last one I recognized as a medication Grandpa had taken to lower his cholesterol; the rest I would have to look up. I handed him the simvastatin. “You should take one of these tonight and the others in the morning. If you don’t have a pill organizer, I can run into town and get you one. Grandpa was on so much stuff, putting it in an organizer was the only way I could keep it all straight.”

  “Thanks, Tina. I’d appreciate that.” With a rueful smile, he added, “Guess I should’ve paid more attention to my blood pressure and cholesterol before now. I knew they were both high, but I really hate taking medicine. It’s my own damn fault I wound up in the hospital.”

  Given the discussion I’d had with Wyatt earlier that evening, I wasn’t sure whose fault it was. However, until we found further proof, I saw no point in giving Calvin anything else to worry about.

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Calvin. You’re not the only man who doesn’t like to take his meds. Half the time I had to disguise the stuff I gave Grandpa, especially toward the end when he was having one of his bouts of paranoia. Even when he was perfectly lucid, he wasn’t what you’d call compliant.” I sometimes wondered why he’d been so resistant. Was it a refusal to admit weakness, or was it simply a matter of not wanting to rely on a bottle of pills to keep him alive? Never having asked the question, I didn’t know.

  “I’ll just bet you did. John always was a stubborn fellow.” Smiling somewhat reminiscently, he set the sack back on the dresser and headed into his bathroom.

  A better nurse would’ve waited until he actually swallowed his evening dose, but I figured I could trust him to take it on his own. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  * * *

  Nick and Wyatt were still at the sink washing dishes when I went back to the kitchen. As I passed behind them, I did something I’d never done before in my life—to anyone. I grabbed Wyatt’s ass.

  Actually, it was more of a fondle than a grab, but he obviously felt it because he aimed a sly wink over his shoulder at me as I headed toward the freezer.

  Nick’s chuckle proved he’d either seen or at least guessed what I’d done. “Not shy anymore, are you, Tina?”

  “I wouldn’t say I was completely cured,” I said. “But I’m getting there.”

  He nodded. “Are you two gonna be sneaky like you and Dean were? Or are you planning to openly bunk together?”

  Clearly Dean and I hadn’t been sneaky enough if Nick thought that. “Dean and I did not sleep together.” On the other hand, the fact that I not only didn’t blush but was able to form a rational reply was further proof of how far I’d come in my battle with shyness. “Besides, the bed is much too small.”

  “You could put two bunks together,” Nick suggested, apparently undeterred by such a minor detail.

  “And have one of us fall through the crack in the middle of the night? No, thank you.” Opening the enormous freezer, I began digging around for pork chops. Unfortunately, since the different meats were all wrapped in white paper and many of the labels were smudged, they weren’t easy to find.

  “No, really,” Nick persisted. “That wouldn’t happen if we tied the bed frames together.”

  “I dunno if I’d like that or not. I’m used to sleeping alone.” A glance at Wyatt, whose shoulders were now shaking with barely suppressed laughter, gave me an idea. “Besides, wh
at with Wyatt’s bad shoulder and all, he might have a hard time getting comfortable.”

  “Not if you massaged it for him real good,” Nick said. “He’d probably sleep like a baby.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure.” I finally found some pork chops, but the package was pretty small, so I rummaged around until I found three more. By this time, my fingers were practically frostbitten. “What kind of pie did you say you wanted?”

  “I didn’t,” Nick replied. “And don’t change the subject.”

  “I’ll change the subject if I want to.” I glared at my so-called boyfriend. Although I was very glad he had shaken off the demons of his past and regained his sense of humor—at least temporarily—his continued silence was a teensy bit exasperating. “Doggone it, Wyatt, will you please say something?”

  Wyatt stopped laughing just long enough to say, “We could use baling wire to hold the beds together.”

  Chapter 20

  “Thanks a bunch, Wyatt,” I said. “Do you really think we can get away with anything that, that…blatant?”

  “Sure. We’re two consenting adults.” He glanced at Nick. “Doesn’t bother you, does it?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Of course it doesn’t bother him. He’s the one who suggested it!”

  “Hey, if an idea is good…” With a shrug, Wyatt snatched up a dish towel and dried his hands.

  “Where are you going?” Exasperation coupled with fatigue and a bit of menstrual snappishness made my question sharper than necessary.

  “To move one of the extra bunks into your room,” Wyatt replied with perfect calm.

  For a moment, all I could do was gape at him. “Right now?”

  “We’re finished with the dishes.” Nick’s tone and expression tacked the “well, duh” onto his reply.

  “Oh. So you are.” My brain was really beginning to protest the abuse it had taken over the past twenty-four hours. I needed sleep. Badly. Now my desire to dive into bed was being thwarted by two cowboys who were fixing to rearrange the furniture. “Guys, look. I’m exhausted. I didn’t get much sleep last night—”

  “Neither did we,” Nick countered.

  “I know, but I’m guessing you two actually fell asleep at some point.” I looked Wyatt right square in the eyes. “I never did.”

  With a flick of his brow, he nodded. “We’ll make it quick then.”

  That particular response wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I figured he might be in need of a sympathetic ear. Spilling the beans about his childhood had to have been tough. Then again, he’d been living with his past for a long time. Maybe I was the one who needed to adjust.

  I nodded my consent, wondering what the other men would make of the new arrangement, especially Calvin. With him home from the hospital and sleeping in the room next to mine, keeping quiet would be even more important than if Dean and I had ever actually spent a night together. Too bad it would also be more difficult.

  But not tonight. Something told me I’d have my mouth too full of Wyatt to let out many cries of ecstasy.

  Chuckling to myself, I transferred the frozen pork chops to the refrigerator and rummaged around for pie ingredients. At the rate I was making pies, I wouldn’t have been too surprised to find I’d used up all the available frozen fruit. Maybe it was time for a cream pie—butterscotch was my specialty—or even a cake.

  I was still pondering that decision when Wyatt and Nick came trooping through the kitchen with a bed frame. Considering they’d passed through the mess hall with it, I could hardly wait to hear the comments from the others, who were presumably watching TV.

  I didn’t have to wait long because Sonny and Dean were right behind them with a mattress. Bull brought up the rear carrying a stack of sheets. The only one missing was Joe, and I’d have bet anything he’d gone after the baling wire.

  Oh, bloody hell…

  “Y’all are bound and determined to get us”—I caught myself before saying hitched—“together, aren’t you?”

  “Self-defense,” Dean said with a grin. “Wyatt has some pretty wild nightmares. You might have better luck calming him down than we do.”

  So…it wasn’t so much a matter of getting us together as it was getting Wyatt into a different room. I had to wonder why they hadn’t stashed him in the old foreman’s quarters before now. But whatever the reason, apparently I was going to have to deal with another man suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I didn’t mind, really, but some combat soldiers tended to come up swinging, especially when awakened by loud noises. Grandpa had been one of them.

  On the other hand, it was a safe bet that Wyatt’s worst nightmares revolved around a woman’s scream. Dean was probably right about me being a better roommate.

  It struck me then that Wyatt wasn’t all that young—mid-thirties at least, and possibly older. Never having asked him, I didn’t know for sure, but he should’ve been married with children a long time ago. So should I, for that matter. Shyness was my big issue. His was different.

  Unless he’d been married before.

  Once again I realized how little I knew about the man with whom I was about to start sharing a bed. He seemed to think telling me about his mother’s murder said it all, and from his perspective, perhaps it did. I wasn’t convinced; I needed to know more. A lot more.

  Perhaps he had been married, and his wife couldn’t deal with the horrors of his past. Or maybe he was like Calvin in that respect, avoiding attachments to keep from losing anyone else. He seemed to know what he was doing from a sexual standpoint, so I seriously doubted I was his first.

  Had I told him he was my first? I didn’t think I had, and in the heat of the moment, he could easily have missed the loss of my virginity. There hadn’t been much of an opportunity for detailed confessions, either. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to be sneaky about our relationship. He wanted everyone to know so there would be no excuse for us not to spend time together.

  Guess the double bunk is a good idea after all.

  I was fortunate to have reached that conclusion because in the next instant, Joe came through the kitchen with a coil of wire in one hand and a pair of pliers in the other. Why I had ever thought there would be any semblance of privacy in a bunkhouse was beyond me. Case in point, I’d had more men in my bedroom in the past few days than I had in my entire life—even taking into account that I’d lived in a home with a father, a grandfather, and two younger brothers.

  I simply waved at Joe as he passed by.

  Figuring it would be a while before I could crawl into my makeshift double bed, I made a big batch of tuna salad for the next day’s lunch. I had no idea whether the guys all liked tuna, but it had been on the list Dean had given me. Surely someone would eat it.

  * * *

  At least no one was in my bathroom when I went to take a shower, although to be honest, I half expected Wyatt to join me there. I could’ve used someone to wash my back.

  Yet another novel experience.

  Someone should have stuck me in a bunkhouse years ago. If they had, my shyness would’ve been nipped in the bud and would never have blossomed into the evil entity it had become. Well…maybe not evil, but that was the way I was thinking at the time. Exhaustion did funny things to me—making me loopy and weird.

  So much so that by the time I stumbled out of the bathroom and saw Wyatt stretched out on one side of my newly enlarged bed, I began laughing hysterically.

  “What’s so funny?” The glance he stole at the bulge in his briefs made me laugh even harder.

  “You. Expecting me to sleep with you in that thing.”

  “It’s sturdier than you think,” he said. “We all but welded the frames together.”

  How sweet. He thought I was only worried about our personal safety. I had other concerns, most of which involved the whole happily ever after thing. So much had happened in a very short time. I hadn’t
had time to process it all.

  Therein lies your problem, Tina. You think too much.

  The voice in my head sounded suspiciously like Morgan Freeman. Or maybe it was Alec Guinness. I wasn’t sure. Either way, it sounded venerable and wise. I thought perhaps I should listen.

  “Does Calvin know you’re in here?” Not only would hearing strange noises coming from my room disturb the old man’s rest, I could see him trying to return the favor I’d done him by rescuing me from whatever varmint had crawled into my bunk.

  He nodded. “Even if he didn’t, I don’t see how he could’ve missed what was going on in here earlier. We weren’t exactly quiet.”

  By that I could safely assume Calvin had either okayed the project or acted in a supervisory capacity. I didn’t know which was worse: the guys knowing what we were up to or getting caught in the middle of a steamy tryst. I felt like a new bride being teased by her husband’s groomsmen.

  Only there hadn’t been a wedding. There’d been a—

  A what? An understanding? Dean and I had started out with a no-strings relationship that, given time, might have gotten a lot more involved. What exactly did I have with Wyatt?

  I blew out a weary, resigned breath. At least they’d put the headboards against the wall. If I had to climb over Wyatt to let Ophelia out during the night, whatever arrangement we had would probably end pretty quickly.

  He held out a beckoning hand. “C’mon over here and lie down. You look worn-out.”

  In that moment, I realized what was bugging me. The night before, Wyatt had picked me up and carried me into my bedroom. Now it was up to me to voluntarily get into bed with him. The subsequent attack of nerves had my feet rooted to the spot. Earlier, I’d been thinking about sucking his luscious cock. Now, it seemed as if those thoughts belonged to another person entirely.

  As though he understood my dilemma, he got up and came toward me. Simply watching him move was riveting. The play of muscles beneath his skin. The shock of dark hair, hazel eyes that could appear brooding and forbidding, and a moment later seem welcoming and kind. He gathered me into his embrace.