The Last True Cowboy

by Laura Drake

  Calm down.

  Take a deep breath.

  Hold it for like 25 minutes.

  Now I’m hyped so bad a fine shake runs down my limbs, and I just want to get it over with.

  I scan the rows of big-ass trucks that all look the same in the dark. Hey, maybe I won’t find Austin…Nah. The only thing worse than this day would be waiting another day to tell him.

  A shadowy figure leans against a truck two rows in, one boot up on the running board. “Austin?”

  His head comes up and my heart, ignoring the memo, knocks my ribs in a happy dance. I keep my feet to a sedate pace. Why rush to disaster? Then he steps into the light, and I know why. Broad cheekbones, prominent jaw, and lips too full for a guy.

  I’ve always loved those lips.

  “Hey, Tigger.” He leans one hand against the hood of the truck. “I should have asked you if you wanted to have dinner. Or we could—”

  “No.” It comes out too loud and echoes down the row. I swallow and start again. “This is good.” Dark is best. I don’t want to see his face in sharp fluorescence when I tell him.

  “What’s wrong?” He steps to me and runs his hands down the backs of my arms. “You’re shaking.” He tips his head to look down into my face. “Are you okay?”

  An unladylike snort of laughter explodes from my nose. “No. Not at all.”

  “Aw, hon.” He leans his butt against the truck and gathers me into his arms.

  I have no choice but to lean into him. Okay, I have a choice, but I ignore it, because his arms form a familiar circle of safety and comfort that I haven’t felt in so long. I’ll just rest here for a minute, then…

  “Talk to me, Tigger. What can I do to fix this?”

  His words slap me to reality. This is so wrong. I shouldn’t be taking comfort from the one I’m fixing to take all comfort from. Stop. Back away.

  But when I shake my head, my forehead rubs the front of his shirt, releasing the smell trapped inside. I take a deep breath of him: cologne, pheromones, and familiarity. A sticky wad of lonely gathers in my chest that’s hard to breathe around. “Can we stay here, just for a minute?”

  He tucks me in tighter and rests his chin on the top of my head. “You got it.”

  The words rumble through his chest and into mine. I’m not going to ruin these last stolen moments of peace. I lay my ear against his chest and let his heartbeat calm me. My breath settles into his rhythm; strong and even.

  “I’ve missed you like half my brain is gone.”

  My head bounces with his chuckle, and I snuggle in closer.

  “No, really. I was looking all over for my sunglasses today. Shane pulled them off my head and asked if I also forgot to tell him about my lobotomy.”

  “You’ve got more smarts in your boots than I have in my whole body,” I whisper into his shirt, treating myself to a deep breath of Austin, trying to hold it in, soak it into the lining of my lungs, so I’ll never forget.

  What if…I know it would be stealing, for me to take one more night for myself before I tell him. Nana taught me better.

  I feel his smile against my hair. His lips move down to my temple. His teeth catch my earlobe and he sucks on it.

  Either a bull lowed in the pens, or I moaned. I’m not sure which. I want him. Want the way he makes me feel like the center of the Universe. The Universe of Us. I want to be part of a whole again, not a limping shell. I want…

  The light is blocked out, and his lips are on mine. My hands steal to the sides of his face, and I take him in: a sweet kiss that makes me want to cry.

  There must be a term stronger than wanting, but it’s lost in his gentle touch. Like our first kiss, that day in the homestead house when we looked at each other and realized we were doing more than playing house all those years; we were practicing.

  The want pulls my brain from reason. This must be how addicts feel. My fingers slide down the stubble on his soft cheeks. I know the topography of his face better than my own. I’ll pay the penalty later. I need this. I’m taking this. Not sure I could stop now, anyway.

  He slants his head, and when he opens his mouth, sweet turns hot. He seems as desperate as I feel, tasting, testing, pushing. We can’t get close enough. His hands cup my butt and he lifts and turns me, so I’m standing on the running board. We’re the exact same height. I know, because we tested it out before he bought this truck. I’m squeezed between the truck body and his, yet still, it’s not enough. Wrapping my fists in his shirt, I pull him closer and melt into his mouth. Tonight’s memory is going to have to last me the rest of my life.

  Making out with someone who knows what you need before you do—who, when you do “that thing,” reacts the exact same way, every time…it’s the best.

  Then somehow, we’re up in the cab and I’m lying on top of Austin (he got the bench seats special for us, too). He grasps the front of my shirt, and there’s a pistol-shot pop-pop-pop as the snaps come undone.

  In a deep part of my brain the pheromones haven’t fogged; reason is yelling don’t do it! You’re making it worse! Don’t— Heat and hormones blot out the rest.

  Austin dispatches my bra with a practiced twist of his fingers (I bought it with that move in mind). He takes my nipple in his mouth, makes that little groan in the back of his throat—and I’m lost. Lost to the fact that anyone could walk by. Lost to thought.

  Lost to him.

  My eyes closed, my hands work by braille, remembering and memorizing the soft hair on his chest, the dip at the curve of his hip, the hard length of him, straining the buttons of his Wranglers.

  Things get frantic and we’re laughing, trying to kick out of boots and straight-legged jeans in a tight space. It takes forever. But finally, he’s there, his bare chest a rock-hard slab beneath my hands, his even harder cock poised at the perfect middle of my straddled legs.

  “Slow down, cowboy. I’m going to make this last.”

  His cock surges against me and he groans.

  Smiling, I nip my way down his neck, cup him, and roll his balls in my hand. He loves that.

  He runs his hands down the length of me until he reaches my butt. He tries to guide me down. He looks up at me, his eyes full of lust…and love.

  So much for slow. His look alone makes my twinkie twitch.

  A smile quirks one side of his mouth. Because we both know this is going to be epic.

  “God, I’ve missed you.” I slide, slow, slick, and hot, down his shaft, my nails digging in his pecs, chewing my lips to stifle a scream.

  “Shhhhh. Shhh, baby.” He pulls me to his chest and rocks me, knowing perfectly well that my clit is in hard contact with his pubic bone. He moves, slow and rhythmic like a rocking chair, but with the opposite effect. It winds me up. And up. We spiral together, him getting stronger, but not faster, until the pleasure is so exquisite it hurts.

  He catches my mouth and pours in all the emotion he hasn’t said. He bucks under me, once, twice. It pushes us both over the edge, and I moan into his mouth, “I love you. Always.”

  When the fog clears, we’re sprawled bonelessly together, separated only by a thin layer of sweat. Coming down from a high like that is always hard, but this time I didn’t pack a parachute. I open my eyes, squinting in the harsh glare of reality. When I push off his chest, his arms tighten around me.

  “Not yet, Tig.”

  Yes, yet. It was “yet” an hour ago. A day ago. I snatch clothes from the floorboard, shrugging into them as fast as I can…like that’ll make what just happened, not happen.

  No, I don’t wish that. I wish a zillion other things, but never that.

  His hand brushes my waist. “Where you going? Come lie down for a minute.”

  I knew I’d pay for stealing. And as terrified as I am to tell him, I can’t be sorry. “We need to talk, Austin. You know we do. But I can’t tonight. I’ve got to…” I’m not compounding my sin with another lie. “I just can’t.”

  “Okay, Tig. I’ll see you Friday. We’ll talk then. Now, c
ome back here. I want to have a deep conversation with your body.”

  It would be so easy. All I’d have to do is loosen my muscles and my self-control. I’m relaxing into him…but I can’t. I’ve already taken more than was mine. I should have never allowed this to happen. But I’m weak. And in spite of what he’s going to think when he hears the truth, he means everything to me. I do a push-up off him and pull on my last boot. “I’m sorrier than you know, but I can’t.” I open the door. The wanting makes me steal one look back and to put my hand, one more time, on the chest that is no longer mine. “Remember, I love you.”

  Yeah, there’s a parting gift.

  He’s going to hate me.

  Chapter 9

  Carly

  Five days later, we wake in Roswell. I suggested that we make unscheduled stops here and there along the way: industrial parks, mall parking lots, municipal ball fields. We only got chased off twice, and we’ve upped the average bank deposit by a chunk. I’m proud, feeling like I’m repaying Cora in some small way.

  After my normal routine of throwing up and getting a shower, I step out of the bathroom. Nevada is watching TV, sitting on her bed in a T-shirt that reads, WHEN I ASKED, “HOW STUPID CAN YOU BE?” IT WASN’T A CHALLENGE.

  Cora really needs to think about putting that girl in a uniform. “I checked the propane on the truck yesterday. If we don’t get them refilled today, we’re in trouble.”

  Her gaze doesn’t move from the set. “Duh.”

  I take a breath and let it out slowly. I need this break as much as she needs this job, so I’m going to give it another try. I sit on the other bed. She’s watching one of those crappy shopping network shows. “I bought a ‘jewel’ necklace from them once. It was garbage.”

  She grunts.

  “I don’t know how they make it look so amazing. Maybe they’re using the real thing for the taping, then ship you Taiwanese crap.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You’ve never bought anything there? Then why are you watching?”

  “Beats the pork futures report.”

  “Yeah. Just barely.” God, I need coffee. But, though it still smells wonderful, since the pregnancy, it tastes like hot, rancid motor oil. I ignore my caffeine withdrawal and try to think of something we have in common to talk about. “You know, I just realized. I don’t know anything about you.” I sit and fold my legs on the bed. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll tell you something about me, then you tell me something about you.”

  No response.

  I’ll take a yes on that, because the only other option is pork futures. “I’ve lived my whole life in Unforgiven. My Nana and Papaw raised me since I was two, when my parents died in a motorcycle accident.” I whip through the high points of my life: Student Council, Cibola County Rodeo Queen, manager of the Chestnut Creek Café, all without mentioning Austin. I wind down when I realize I’m starting to sound as fake as a Christmas letter.

  “I mean, it hasn’t always been easy. The diner isn’t making enough money, and…”

  Shutupshutupshutup. “Anyway. Your turn. Tell me something about you.”

  “Oh, let’s see…” She puts her finger under her chin and looks at the ceiling. “I like long walks by a lake, my favorite color is lavender, and I think Justin Timberlake is dreamy.” She drops the falsetto and scowls. “Oh yeah. And I don’t like you.”

  “You know, I may have gotten a hint of that somewhere along the way. But why? You don’t even know me.”

  Nevada stands, and takes the two steps to the bathroom. “Oh no. As of now, I know way too much about you.”

  The door slams loud enough to wake the people three doors down.

  Why do I keep trying? In a couple weeks, I’ll be back home, and I’ll have lots more to worry about than this.

  But I know why. I’ve got one of those Labrador puppy personalities—everybody likes me. Well, maybe not Ann Miner, the snooty president of the historical society, but she even looks down on the mayor. And Austin, when he finds out. I slept with another man, got pregnant, and then took comfort from Austin, and I have yet to find the guts to tell him.

  Hardly the actions of a woman who claims to have loved one man her whole life.

  The magnitude of my sin in the truck slams, rocking me. Holy cripes, could Austin think we’re getting back together now? He wouldn’t. Would he?

  * * *

  Austin

  I pull the truck into the cutoff for the fairgrounds on Friday. Roswell has always been lucky for me. I have three Champion buckles from here already and, as good as I feel, I’m gonna score another this weekend.

  And I get to see Tig. I’ve been counting the minutes like some doe-eyed teenager with a first crush, and I don’t care. She still loves me.

  My life is getting back on track; I can feel it.

  I hit the road late, so the parking area behind the arena is almost full. I pull in, shut it down, and head for the chutes to see who’s around.

  Metal rings with the sound of bulls’ hooves as they’re being unloaded. Ropers are in the arena, throwing loops, warming up their horses. I see some riders behind the chutes, but I don’t want to stop and chew the fat. I’m keyed up as a hot barrel horse. Hey, it’s eleven—I could eat. Smiling, I head for food truck alley, and the beacon of Cora’s red truck.

  Life. Is. Good.

  Lexi Falls saunters by in her signature painted-on jeans and boobie buffet on display. She’s a lackluster barrel racer, and all the guys know Lexi is mostly here to rub a polish on buckles. Not to be crude, but Lexi has been known to fall.

  “Hey, Austin.”

  “Lexi.” I touch the brim of my hat and keep going. I’ve got a lady to see.

  “It seems congratulations are in order.”

  I turn and walk backward. “How’s that?”

  “I just saw Carly having morning heaves behind Cora’s truck.” A sly smile slithers onto her lips. “Y’all better schedule the wedding. I hear maternity bridal gowns are hard to come by.” She turns, and hips rolling, motors on.

  Carly, sick? I turn and jog for the red blob in the distance. What the heck is that she-cat jawing about? Carly’s not pregnant. I’d be the first to know, if she was.

  She’s in front of the serving window, filling the wire shelves with small bags of potato chips.

  I pull up a step from her and touch her arm. “Tig, you okay?”

  She hunches her shoulders with a jerk, and the bag in her hand crumples. “A-Austin. I didn’t expect you until—”

  “You’re sick?” When she doesn’t move, I take her upper arm and turn her to me. She looks strained and her skin is pale, but that’s how it has been, lately.

  Her brows pull together. “I’m not sick; why do you ask?”

  “Well, Lexi Falls just told me she saw you throw up, and—”

  Her hair flies when she whips her head to the tough-looking girl in the truck. “I’ll be back, Nevada, okay?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Let’s go somewhere and talk.” She grabs my sleeve and walks off.

  I follow. Worry rolls through me like the far-off rumble of summer thunder. “What’s going on, Tig? Lexi somehow got the idea you were preg—”

  “Shhhh! Hang on a second, will you?” She looks around, then heads for a barren, grassy area fifty feet behind the truck.

  When we arrive, she spins to me. “I’m pregnant, all right? But you don’t have to worry; it’s not yours.”

  I fall back a step as much from her spitting tone as her words. “What are you saying? Of course it’s mine. You don’t have to worry, hon, we’ll just get—”

  “It’s. Not. Yours.” Color has drained from her face, except for two spots of red, high on her cheeks.

  What alternate Universe is this? Tig was my first; my only. And I’m her—no, I’m not. I can see it in the stubborn line of her jaw, the ice in her unwavering look. The muscles in my shoulders let go. I lock my knees to keep them from letting go. “What the f—”

 
“I made a mistake, okay?” Her eyes slide away. “A huge, impulsive, ignorant, moronic mistake.”

  “I think you’d better tell me. Now, Tig.” My voice is quiet, but there’s iron in it.

  “I was lost. I was mad. I was—conflicted. You didn’t take me seriously, that we were broken up. No one in town did, asking all the time how you were, when we were getting back together. When I told them we weren’t, they’d get this smug smile.” She grabs her hair and pulls. “You can’t imagine how that feels, to have finally realized who you are is not who you want to be, but everyone around you is pushing you to be the same…I was going insane. So, I took off for Albuquerque, to forget all that for a night. I met a guy in a bar, and—don’t you dare look at me like that, Austin Davis. You wanted to hear, so listen.”

  I push down the pissed and nod.

  She wraps her arms around her waist. “His wife had left him, and we got to talking. I made it clear there’d be nothing more, and he was fine with that. But I was drinking, and he was drinking, and somehow…”

  Her words speed up like a downhill roller coaster.

  “The next thing I know, it’s morning and I’m alone, remembering what happened. What I did.”

  When she looks up, her eyes are red, and filled with sadness. “I know it probably doesn’t make a difference to you now, but Austin, I’m so, so sorry.”

  “I—” I’m not sure what I was going to say, because another fact drops like a bomb in my head. “Last week. In the truck. Tell me you didn’t know then. That you didn’t…” But I know from her flinch, she did.

  She can’t look at me. “I knew.”

  Red-paint anger splashes in my brain, behind my eyes. I see red, literally. “You let me believe, for an entire week, that we were getting back together. That we were back together. And now you tell me…Who are you?” I squint down at her. “It’s like I’m in a ’50s sci-fi movie, and an alien has taken you over. You look like my Carly, but you’re not. You can’t be, because my Carly would never—”

  “You know what? Screw ‘your Carly.’” She leans in, face flushing. “Your Carly is dead. No—I’m starting to think she never existed. She was some perfect girl we made up.”