Champagne and Cowboys

by Donna Michaels

  “I am a simple mechanic.”

  “You strap yourself to equipment and jump from helicopters into raging fires. You’re simple all right. Simple-minded. Why don’t you just join the circus and shoot yourself from a cannon?”

  “Marty pays better.”

  Really? What could I say to a dumbass? I closed my sketchpad, ready to put it away. My hands were shaking so much, I dropped it.

  “Dammit.” I deflated like a punctured balloon as pictures scattered all over the counter and floor.

  Gable knelt to pick them up and I stopped him.

  “I’ll do it. Leave my stuff alone.”

  And just like that, nice guy Gable switched to Badass Cowboy. I sensed it, saw it, and when he gripped my shoulders and lifted me from the floor, felt it.

  I’d never seen him that way before, and I probably didn’t ever want to see him that way again. His eyes burned with emotion I didn’t have time to analyze. His voice dropped to a rough growl.

  “Met you at my sister’s party years ago. Thought you were mighty fine. Met your husband, I envied him, but recognized his claim.”

  “I don’t want to talk about David,” I interrupted, but he continued.

  “Stood in a hospital broom closet with you the night your man died; held you in my arms as you mourned him. Sad to say, I would have traded places with him if I could. One, so you’d never know such pain. Two, ’cause it would be okay, dying with a woman like you loving me.”

  “Stop it, stop it, stop it.” I covered my ears and closed my eyes.

  He kissed my eyelids and his voice changed from fierce to gentle as he pried my hands away from my head.

  “You stalked me. You’ve been watching me, creeping around…”

  “Don’t know about creepin’. I’ve been around to help Beth. Saw to things for you, too, when needed.”

  “You let me believe you’re a mechanic.” I just felt so betrayed.

  “I’m not a genius like your late husband. I work with my hands. Sometimes they get dirty. But I figured you weren’t the kind of woman who’d care about a little oil and grease.”

  “You know very well it’s not dirt and grease I don’t like.”

  “Do I? What don’t you like? What are you so pissed about?”

  “I’ve been cooped up too long.” I shrugged from his grasp and crossed to the window. I had too many grievances to articulate. I choked with the need to scream at him.

  “Let’s go,” he said and handed me my coat and boots.

  “Where?” But I wasted no time putting on my cold-weather clothes.

  “Outside. You said you needed some fresh air.” He pulled on a jacket and led the way to the elevator. I followed him, expecting to go down.

  We went up, and up, and finally stopped on the twenty-fifth floor. The doors opened on a small room, lockers on one side and two exits on the other. One said Stairs; the other had a chain on it and said Caution.

  Of course, we went to Caution. He used a key to unlock the padlock, opened the door, and we stepped into a winter wonderland. No new snow fell but the wind slapped us with recycled icy flakes.

  I huddled closer to him as we crossed the roof, dodging around slick spots and six-foot drifts. I slipped and almost fell when the cheap soles of my boots gripped no better than they had before. Gable threw his arm around my shoulders, catching me.

  “What are we doing?” I panted.

  “Gettin’ you a breath of fresh air.” And that’s what we did. Laughing, he took my arm and navigated our way through the blustery weather, skirting snowdrifts and moving us toward the edge of the roof.

  “What is this place?” I asked as we arrived and stood next to the five-foot wall surrounding the space. When I stood on tiptoes, I could see the street below.

  “Helipad. Handy. We take off from here.”

  And there it was. We were back to the rotten center of my fury. He’d brought me up here to continue an argument I’d refused to have.

  “You said you were a mechanic. You forgot to mention you jump into fires.” I shouted my complaint at the street below, denying him my gaze. “I am not, I won’t accept, I can’t…”

  My list of what I wasn’t, wouldn’t, and couldn’t do, petered to an end. It was too late to guard my heart. He was already in.

  “You took advantage of me.” My shriek into the wind ended on a sob.

  He hugged me close, sheltering me with his body. “I love you, Harley-Jane. I love you so much. I want to spend forever with you, sweetheart.”

  I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my face to his chest. The irony of my using him to hide from him didn’t escape me.

  While I contemplated life with a cowboy, he stroked my hair and rested his chin on the top of my head.

  “We are seriously going to discuss your job,” I warned, finally gazing up at him.

  “Looking forward to it,” he growled, taking my mouth in a kiss.

  I moaned softly and slid my arms around his neck. I’d been waiting for this. Needed it.

  “You had enough fresh air?” he murmured against my lips.

  I now knew Gable Matthews’ secret. Beneath his easygoing, laid-back, nice-guy disguise beat the heart of a cowboy. The wild kind.

  I’d met his alter ego earlier in the kitchen, before calm, laid-back Gable took back control. In the elevator, we locked lips and kissed our way down thirteen floors. When we hit twelve, I knew Cowboy had me in his arms.

  I would have ripped his clothes off as soon as we were through the door. He laughed, a low gruff sound that ratcheted my desire ten times higher.

  “Janie, love, I’ve been waitin’ to do this a long time. Let me have my fun.” He stripped my coat, dropped it on the floor, and walked me backward to the fire.

  The tiny buttons on Maxine’s blouse, designed to drive a man’s lust, worked on me as well. Gable’s fingers brushed my skin, slowly opening the silk material, leaving a fiery trail behind.

  “Oh, yeah.” He leaned down, tasting me with his lips as he pushed the blouse from my shoulders. The lovely cloth hadn’t hit the floor before Gable framed my waist beneath the camisole, slid his hands upward, stroking my torso with calloused palms as he reached, and found, the matching bra.

  One clever flick and he unhooked the clasp. Another sleight of hand, the camisole and bra joined the blouse on the floor.

  He pulled me toward the couch and sat on the edge facing me. When he cupped my freed breasts, his touch made me suck in my breath, and my body clenched, reaching hungrily for more.

  He worked one nipple with his thumb and took the other in his mouth, pulling it deep to suckle before worrying the tip with his teeth.

  “Gable,” I panted. My legs threatened to buckle; I leaned forward, clutching his head, pressing my flesh deeper.

  I missed the part where he unzipped the Capri pants. When they came down, and with them the midnight-blue underwear, lace pooled around my boot ankles, baring me from knee to head but leaving my legs bound closed.

  “Sweet, sweet, sweet,” he groaned switching nipples at the same time he slid his free hand between my thighs, making me gasp.

  My hips swayed as he parted my sex and I think I cried out as his fingers found the heart of me.

  “My boots off,” I urged. I wanted to spread wide and take all of him. “I need you inside me now.”

  “Come for me first.” He chuckled, driving me mad with teeth and tongue above, and magic fingers below. I refused to give him the climax he sought. Instead, I concentrated on the tangled material limiting my movement.

  Apologizing silently in advance if I ripped Maxine’s cute outfit, I shifted my weight, trying to balance on one foot as I jerked free the other.

  Gable used my move to his advantage, sliding a finger inside me as I twisted.

  Sweet Jesus in the morning. My pelvis danced to the tune his fingers played when he added a second to the first, and I came hard.

  He held me through the orgasm of my life; when it ended, he arranged
my limp body, sitting me on the edge of the couch, and spreading my thighs before he leaned forward and took me with his mouth. Even though I’d just come, when he sucked my clit, then fucked me with his tongue, another climax rolled through me.

  When Gable finally relented and gave me what I craved, we didn’t make it to his bed. Instead, he moved us to the rug on the floor. The prodigious hard-on he’d sported in the morning proved not to have been an aberration. Even though I’d come twice, making my sex slick and ready for his penetration, when he fit his cock to my entrance, he grunted at the tight fit.

  As his girth stretched me, my sheath pulsed around him, squeezing the hard flesh that split me open, milking his length as he worked his way toward home.

  “Yes,” I moaned when he hit that sweet spot high inside me.

  “Uh huh,” he agreed and began his move, pounding into me as each thrust carried us across the rug.

  I arched, taking him to the root and grinding against the pleasure-pain of his size. I sweat, and he kissed the dampness from my brow. I cried, and he kissed the tears from my eyes. I moaned, and he filled my mouth with his tongue, matching the tempo with his lower thrusts.

  What he didn’t do was stop. For anything. When he moved us from the rug to the bed, I wrapped my legs around his waist, rode his cock, and went along.

  Gable fucked like a machine, an animal, a man long denied. He knew what he wanted and took it. I didn’t complain. I hadn’t needed sex for over five years, but suddenly I couldn’t get enough. Of him.

  When we finally lay entwined in a sweaty embrace, still joined, I drifted in sated happiness. So much had happened in such a short time.

  “What time is it?” I asked, momentarily confused as I sorted through work, storm, party, party, and sex events.

  Gable pointed at the clock beside the bed. It read 11:48. “Still New Year’s Day.” Without comment, he rolled from bed and retreated to the bigger room.

  I wondered why he’d taken off. Maybe bathroom visit. Maybe condom disposal. My thoughts stuttered to a halt.

  Condom disposal. We’d fucked like bunnies, he’d filled me three times, four, if you counted as two the one orgasm that had rolled into another.

  Houston, we might have a problem. My hand went to my belly. My lips turned up in a half smile. No problem. But a definite maybe complication.

  Confirming he was a planner, Gable came back with two crystal goblets and a bottle of bubbly something that had escaped the excesses of the night before. I wondered how long he’d been chilling it in preparation for this moment. I held the glasses; he poured.

  “Happy New Year, Gable,” I said, taking a tiny sip of Champagne. “You do understand if I’m pregnant, you’re marrying me.” I watched his expression. No surprise. No guilt. Maybe a slight hint of smug satisfaction.

  “Looking forward to it.” He toasted the idea and grinned. “Happy New Year, Janie.”

  Chapter Nine

  The truth is, I guess I’d been wound tight for a long while. After Gable and I celebrated the new year and our relationship several more times, we spent the night shifting, and rearranging, touching, making love twice more…

  I didn’t know if I’d snored, or kept him awake. I’d slept like a rock. It. Was. Awesome. I woke up happy but hungry.

  I sniffed the air hopefully. Toast? Maybe Gable’s absence from the bed meant he’d gone food hunting. I shrugged out of the tangled sheets, heaved off the heavy comforter, and noted, when my feet hit the floor, the room seemed a lot warmer.

  I tidied the comforter and bedroom in general, doing my best to erase the evidence of our recent activities. That done, I showered, used Gable’s razor to shave. I hoped he understood that sleeping together gave me razor rights.

  I helped myself to one of his clean tees and wore it while I hand-washed my new collection of lingerie. He found me standing on my tiptoes, hanging my skivvies up to dry with his tee pulled high enough to show my bare rump.

  “Brought breakfast, but I’m thinkin’ it’ll be good warmed.” With that, he dropped his jeans to his knees, picked me up, and directed me to, “Wrap and ride.”

  Oh yeah.

  Restaurants were beginning to open back up because somewhere he’d found breakfast. Hash browns covered in congealing gravy, cold but fluffy biscuits, strips of bacon, and scrambled eggs were waiting. And even microwaved, they were great.

  Replete with food and more, I gathered my pictures and carried them to the couch where I sprawled lazily.

  “Gotta go out and help the city some,” Gable said, shrugging back into his coat instead of sprawling with me.

  “You don’t work for the city.”

  “Time of crisis, good deeds bring good will, good will brings contracts. Marty volunteered us. You get it?”

  Oh yeah. I got it. “So, you’re fighting indeterminate fires today?”

  He grinned. “Sure, hope not. Checking gas lines. Repairing waterlines. Haulin’ trash, helping motorists get their cars unstuck. You name it. The city’s coming back to life as the snow melts.”

  “Okay.” I didn’t have it in me to volunteer. Maybe later.

  “Rest up. I’ll be back soon.” He delivered his order, winked at me, and left.

  I watched television with half my attention and sorted through my drawings with the rest. Several downtown roofs had collapsed under the weight of ice and snow. Gable hadn’t been joking when he said he might have to fix gas lines. Apparently, the cold weather had caused cracks in more than a few. And water lines were broken all over town.

  See, this old building isn’t so bad. I felt a swell of pride that Gable had nurtured The Inferno through what they were calling the worst storm of the century.

  A picture flashing on the screen pulled my attention back to the news, and I turned up the volume. I knew that man. I’d last seen him being drunk and disorderly and stealing my taxi.

  I leaned closer. Detective Ronald Parks. Stabbed. Found dead in a cab. I paused the big screen and scrambled to find the sketch I’d drawn. Irritated, I set aside rat-catcher and reached for his sidekick.

  I’d drawn the eyes wide, glassy and unfocused. His mouth lolled open. He slumped on the seat, his head twisted at an odd angle to be looking up at me.

  I looked back at the public image of Detective Parks provided by the police department or family. He didn’t look like a drunk. He looked like a nice man.

  I studied my caricature with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Same man, Detective Ronald Parks, but not drunk. Dead.

  I didn’t know Gable’s cell phone number and panicked a bit until I remembered the call he’d made tracking me down in Mount Lebanon. That made me remember the taxi thief, the dead body, the ferret-faced man following me all the way to Church’s place.

  My finger trembled more than a little when I redialed his number.

  “Hey, sweetheart. Miss me already?” His gruff tease steadied me.

  “Gable,” I whispered as if ferret man could hear me. “Remember I told you about the taxi in Mount Lebanon?”

  “Not much to remember. You lost it to another customer. Guy beat you to it, left you afoot.”

  “Yeah, except, the guy was two guys. One shoved the other inside and told the driver to take off.”

  “And?”

  “There’s a picture of a dead man on television and he’s the man who got stuffed in the cab. He was stabbed. I think he might have been already dead when I saw him.”

  “You sure about it being the same man?”

  “I drew a picture. Right after. When I was at Church’s. It made me mad and yeah, I’m sure it’s the same guy. Should I call the police? There’s a hotline for information.”

  “They’re going to tell you to bring your picture and come in. But go ahead and call. I’ll come home. Take you and your picture to the local precinct.”

  “Pictures. There’s two. I have a picture of the real taxi thief. The one who shoved Detective Parks into the cab.”

  “Shit. Sit tight. I’l
l be right there.”

  I paced, worried, and finally called the hotline. After I gave my name, my story, my phone number, and my address, the woman taking calls told me to bring my pictures and come to the station. I told her I’d wait for a friend, but get there as soon as he could drive me.

  Hey, the snow was melting, but it was still cold outside and the sidewalks were anything but cleared.

  I slid out of Gable’s tee and into now-dry undies, and, with no choices left, the little black dress. Probably a tad formal for the police station but the only thing available. And who knew? Coming from Maxine’s establishment, it might have already visited the precinct.

  When I couldn’t stand it any longer, I called Gable again. “Just arrived, Janie. Got a cop down here coming with me to talk to you. Says he was Detective Parks’ partner. Wants to see your pictures and get a jump on the investigation. We’ll be right up.”

  Well, that was a relief. I pulled on boots, ready to go or stay. When the door leading into Gable’s apartment opened, I waited in front of it.

  I froze, seeing the man following Gable into the room. Before I could screech a warning, he plunged a needle into Gable’s neck and emptied the contents.

  Gable went down. The taxi thief shoved his body to the side of the door, pulled out his gun, and came after me.

  I had my phone up dialing 911 by that time. I hit Send a second before he connected with my jaw. The blow sent me reeling toward the couch where I’d left the pictures.

  My leather soles skidded across bare floor, leaving me pin-wheeling but out of his range as I struggled to get away from him. I expected him to shoot me. He lunged after me instead. Before I could regain my balance and run, he was on me again.

  “Where’s the tablet?” He grabbed my arm and this time landed an open-handed slap. “The tablet, where’s the fucking copy of my picture?”

  The pictures were on the couch. It was hard to believe he couldn’t see them. But in his frenzied pursuit of me, he’d run right past them. He didn’t wait for an answer but backhanded me, rocking my head from side to side. I reeled under the assault.

  “What tablet, you freaking maniac?” I flung my arm up. He jerked me harder, twisting my arm painfully behind my back.