Summer's Wicked Cowboys [Casanova Cowboys 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Rhea Regale

  They pulled in front of an old Colonial house with an American flag hanging off the porch post. Summer caught the grimace that twisted Carter’s mouth before it disappeared beneath a stoic line. He climbed out of the truck and started around to her side. She let herself out before he could, sparing another bout of chivalry, and walked in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, they came together at the back door. Carter handed her the box. With her hands full, she couldn’t stop him from dragging his rough fingertips down the side of her face. Her world shook.

  “I’ve hurt more than you’ll ever know, angel,” he said, his voice etched with the pain that took up permanent residence in his eyes. She pressed her lips together and turned her face down. She couldn’t bear that raw anguish reflecting from his soul.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Chapter Nine

  Carter leaned back against the truck and watched Summer hurry toward the house. If he wasn’t burning in the hell he had created for himself, he would’ve enjoyed the view. Her black jeans formed around her slender legs and accentuated the perfect roundness of her ass. She had cut her honey-brown hair, but the fat curls still bobbed past her shoulders from the neat ponytail at the back of her head. He never thought he’d like bangs on a woman until he saw how Summer’s wispy strands caressed her forehead, the longer strands framing the elegant cut of her cheekbones and the delicate curve of her jaw.

  He lifted his eyes to the flag flapping like a carefully choreographed dancer in the light breeze. He had drowned with every glance into her eyes, those rich pools of color suffocating him in her sorrow and grief. His entire body was a wretched mess of aches and pains, both of pleasure and guilt. His cock throbbed with her nearness. Her flowery scent left his mind whirling.

  He wanted her back, every way he once knew and more.

  No battle during his four years in service matched the stress of these few minutes. All he wanted to do was pull her into his arms, beg her for forgiveness, and go back to the way things were.

  He wore his scars on his flesh. She wore hers on her heart, buried deep from watchful eyes, but he knew they were there.

  Carter lowered his head and crossed his arms over his chest when Mr. Dixon came to the door. One good thing about the past five years. Those who didn’t spend every day with him prior to the accident most likely wouldn’t waste a second glance at him with the idea he might be Carter Ryder, infamous Casanova and murder suspect. There were things he needed to stabilize before he faced those who may believe he played a very prominent part in his parents’ death.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. He slipped it out, glanced up at Summer as she disappeared into the house, and answered it.

  “Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner,” Rylan greeted. Carter’s brows furrowed.

  “Everything okay? You sound a bit shaken,” Carter said. Rylan cleared his throat. Something brushed against the phone. A muffled exchange of words filled his ear. “Rylan.”

  “Hold on,” Rylan said in a gruff tone. The short moment his cousin released the mouthpiece, he caught a very distinct page, calling for a doctor so-and-so. Carter looked up at the house. The door had been closed, no signs of Summer returning.

  “Ry, where are you?” Carter demanded.

  “Thank you,” Rylan was saying to whomever he had been speaking to. Once again, he cleared his throat. “I’m over at Westfield Medical. There was an accident on Crosslane.”

  An invisible cord tightened around his lungs. Crosslane was notorious for one sharp curve that landed many cars into the ditch along the road. If he remembered what Colt told him, Crosslane had taken Rylan’s girlfriend’s life a few months ago.

  “Is the driver okay?” Carter asked.

  “They’re bringing her in for surgery. I’m headin’ back to the office to fill out a report and contact her family. I can stop by later with the guys. We can figure out where to start with that house. I’ll have Craig and Brody grab some grub from Martin’s.”

  Summer emerged from the house, Mr. Dixon behind her in the doorway. She waved as she hurried down the wooden stairs and headed back toward the truck. She kept her head bowed, avoiding him at all costs. Carter headed toward the passenger side to open the door.

  “Good plan.” Carter pulled open the door as Summer approached from the bed of the truck. “I’ll need to stock up on some things over the next few days.”

  “Anythin’ you need, cuz, you better be lettin’ me know. Got it?” Rylan asked, a serious punch behind his words. Summer flashed him a shaded glance as she climbed into the truck, muttering a quiet thanks. Carter closed the door and returned to his side.

  “Got it.”

  “Good. See you around seven.”

  Carter dropped the phone on the console and pulled the truck onto the road. He glanced at the angel sitting so close to him, yet still so far away. Alone. He felt alone, and cold, knowing he couldn’t stop the truck, take her, and kiss her like he wanted to.

  “You’ve always had talent with flowers. I’m glad to see you living your dream,” Carter said.

  “I’m not living my dream, Carter.” She turned a poisonous look on him, one he didn’t need to meet to feel the acidic glow. “You made sure of that.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “You did.” Carter wasn’t prepared for the wicked punch Summer delivered to his right shoulder, followed by a rapid concession of punches. “You ruined everything for me! Every damn dream I had you shredded and stomped on and burned—”

  “Summer, hold up. Honey, I’m driving,” Carter murmured, trying to fend off her brutal attack.

  “I. Hate. You.”

  Oh Christ. That heart wrenching strain in her voice, the one he knew preceded the onset of sobs, gutted him from throat to groin. He veered the truck to the side of the road, defending his head from her wild punches and slaps until he slammed the shifter into park.

  One of her fists scraped against his jaw before he could grab her wrist. He grunted, fumbling with her flailing hands until he finally had both her wrists in a secure grip.

  “Let me go. You have no right touchin’ me. You have no right comin’ into my store, the one I wanted to build with you, and make me feel this–this…pain. Why did you come back? Wasn’t what you did when you left enough?” she yelled, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Carter’s mind whirled as he watched her crumble. His own pain and regret surfaced from the deep pit of his soul, leaving him speechless as she fought to pull her arms from his hands. The stray strands of her hair clung to her smooth cheeks, her lashes clumping into dark frames to her glistening eyes.

  He wedged a knee onto his seat for more leverage against her forceful struggle. Carefully, he fought her back into her seat, her chest rising and falling with each gasping breath she took between quiet sobs.

  “Angel, please. Calm down,” he said softly, not trusting his own voice.

  “Don’t call me that,” she whispered. Beneath his hands, he felt her muscles relax, her arms slacking in his hold. He lowered her hands to her lap, not wanting to release her because of his own selfish desire to have direct contact.

  “You will always be my angel, Summer. No matter what.”

  Her upper lip curled back. She lunged for him. Carter knocked her fist away, cupped her face, and slanted his mouth over hers. He wasted no time to fill her with the unfurling hunger he had pent up for so long. Her finger dug deep into his arms, weakly trying to shove him away even as her tongue met his with the same furious passion that bordered wild. Her lips tasted sweet, salty, but the hot haven he wrongly indulged in was just too right to ignore. From their first kiss, he knew she was for him.

  Right now only magnified how right she was for him. When her fingers flattened over his arms and slid up to his neck, he nearly lost the battle with his self-control.

  Carter drew back, damn well knowing he may not have another chance to taste her if he couldn’t win back her heart. Those dark lashes fluttered over her cloudy eyes, her plump bo
ttom lip disappearing between her teeth. Tenderness was a hard thing for him to achieve, but he tried his hardest to be tender when he wiped away her tears and the moisture from her upper lip.

  Then she sniffled and laid the real question out for him. “Why did you leave me, Carter?”

  “I was scared,” he admitted, unable to speak louder than a hoarse whisper. Her fingertips played with the ends of his hair before she slipped her hands down his shoulders and rested them on the console. When she tilted her face down, he lowered his hands over hers. “I was scared and confused and I didn’t want to hurt you, Summer. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I ran, but not from you.”

  “What happened that night?” Summer lifted her eyes to him, her soul bared for him to suffer. “It was a murder-suicide. Why would you run?”

  Carter sighed, chancing her recoil as he folded his fingers around her smaller ones. She didn’t pull away, but didn’t respond.

  “I deserve to know,” she murmured.

  “Yes, you do.” Carter lifted her hands to his lips and kissed her soft knuckles. “My father killed my mother because she was trying to protect me from his rage.”

  “You were there?”

  “Yes.” Carter held her gaze for a long moment. “He killed my mother, and I killed that bastard.”

  Chapter Ten

  “I killed that bastard.”

  Summer stared at Carter, waiting for him to say something else. His eyes never slid from hers, holding onto a place deep inside her heart and soul that belonged to him. His revelation should have struck a chord of caution. Instead, she wanted to know why he killed his father. The Carter she knew wasn’t capable of the heavy hand Mr. Ryder had, nor did he possess the mean, uncontrolled temper of his old man.

  She couldn’t resist curling her fingers around his thumbs. He left her reeling after his kiss, sparking all of her passion, both joyous and grievous, to life. The taste of his mouth intoxicated her. She was still trying to get a grip on her composure, but having him so near, having him back, would challenge all of her staged logic from the day he left until now.

  I’ll always love you, Carter, but I can’t risk my heart if you were to leave again.

  “I–I’m not sure I believe you,” Summer said slowly. She fought her eyes to stay on his when all they wanted to do was drop to those fine lips and instigate another kiss.

  The corner of Carter’s mouth curled upward in a sad half grin. “Unfortunately it doesn’t change what happened.”

  “Rylan said your father—”

  “I know what Ry said. I know what the papers said. I’m telling you what happened.”

  Carter released one hand and cupped her jaw. His thumb brushed over the corner of her mouth and back along her cheek. She should shrug him away, shrug off the eruption of arousal that shortened her breath and left her pussy throbbing.

  “The bullet my mother took was aimed dead at my chest. She stepped in front of me, taking the hit.” Carter pointed to his biceps, the one she distinctly remembered covered in ink. “The tat covers the scar from the bullet hitting my arm after it went through her. According to Colt, it tore through her aorta. She was dead in seconds.”

  Summer let out a sharp breath. “God, Carter.”

  “Pa blamed me, naturally, and tried for another hit. I wrestled the gun, managed to turn it back at him, and helped him pull that damn trigger.” Remorse coursed through his eyes as he spoke. He couldn’t hide how the incident haunted him. Not from her. “My mother had called Rylan when he heard Pa and I going at it. Ry burst into the house as Pa fell to the floor. He had seen what happened through the window as he was coming up the stairs. Told me to get out of town and he’d call me to let me know when it was safe to come back. Colt picked me up. I stayed low at his place for the night, then we were off to continue his circuit. Summer, I had a hard time dealing with what happened. It nearly killed me many a night. All I had to my name were a couple pictures, you in my head, and prayers to God He would help me figure everything out.”

  “You couldn’t call me? Not even let me know what had happened? Instead, you let me wonder and worry, cry myself to sleep tryin’ to figure out what I did wrong,” Summer said. Carter encased her head in both his hands, his fingers curling in her hair. He brought his face close to her, so damn close she could taste him all over again.

  “All I can say to that is I was scared and stupid. I didn’t know how you’d take it, how you’d look at me knowing I had my father’s blood on my hands.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his baseball hat slipping off his head. She wrapped her hands around the warm flesh of his wrists and closed her eyes. She was caving, fast. “I swore I would never be him. I would never be like him. In minutes, I realized how similar we were and I knew true fear for the first time in my life. I didn’t want that for you. I didn’t want it for me.”

  “You’re nothin’ like him. He was a cruel drunkard. You’re…” Summer pressed her lips together. “You went into the army. You’re a hero.”

  “Sweet angel, I’m so far from being a hero. A hero would never leave the love of his life the way I had.”

  “I would’ve stood by your side every step of the way. We could’ve gotten through it together. You used to tell me that together, we could conquer anythin’ thrown at us. Any time I had a bad day at school or had a tough time at work, you always came up to me with reassurances that made me believe.”

  “I would take you down to the stream and we’d sit in the bed of my truck for hours, you tucked in my arms as I listened to what bothered you.”

  Summer’s chin quivered. Her chest tightened as the potent memories of Carter doing far more than holding her resurfaced. “You were my rock. I knew you’d always be there for me.” Reluctantly, she leaned back, placing distance between them. She folded his hands in hers and lowered them away from her face. “Then you weren’t there and I didn’t know what to do.”

  Taking a deep breath, Summer drew away completely and wiped her eyes. She tapped the window. “I need to get back to the shop. I’ve got a lot to do, and Braden usually stops by on his afternoon break.”

  She felt the way Carter’s gaze slid down her body before he turned in his seat and headed back toward her shop.

  “I’m sorry for goin’ through your things. I felt entitled to know what happened to you,” Summer said, cracking the window to allow the cold air into the overbearingly hot cab. Carter’s mere presence could cause her to combust. “So you were a sergeant?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What branch?”

  “Infantry. I went in trying to figure myself out and prove that I was worth something. I needed to prove to myself I was worthy of you after what had happened here.” Carter turned down the heat and rested his hand on his knee. “I wanted to be front line. I knew if I wasn’t worth shit, I wouldn’t make it out alive.”

  “You went on a suicide mission,” Summer murmured. Carter’s fingers rapped his knee. “I saw the medal.”

  “I lost a good friend and got a medal.” Carter shot her a stoic glance. “Not a fair trade in my book.”

  “You got hurt too.” Summer reached over and touched the scar on his cheek. His jaw locked and she pulled her hand back. “Are you goin’ back?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “How much I fucked shit up here.” He turned onto Dairy and a moment later sidled the truck along the curb in front of her shop. He grabbed his hat from the floor, gave it a shake, and pulled it onto his head before nodding toward the building. “Want me to walk you in? Looks like Bray’s already here.”

  Summer’s stomach knotted when she saw the shadowed silhouette of Braden inside her shop. She gathered her purse and keys, and gave her cheeks one last wipe. Her skin was tight from her tears. “Does he know you’re back?”

  “Yes.”

  Summer shot him a curious glance. Carter’s gaze lifted over her shoulder, then landed back on her. “When did he find out?”

  “I’m
his charge at the stables.”

  Summer’s brow furrowed. Braden knew Carter had returned since yesterday and didn’t say anything to her? “Oh.”

  “He didn’t mention it, did he?” he asked, though by the tone of his voice, she suspected he knew the answer.

  “I’ve gotta go. Thanks for the ride,” Summer said, slipping from the truck before she decided to prolong their encounter and risk everything she and Braden built.

  Braden leaned against her workbench, arms crossed, ankles crossed, eyes cold slate gray as he stared past her from beneath his hat. Summer dropped her purse on the counter and looked around for any sign of Katie.

  “I sent her home,” Braden said. The lack of emotion in his words sent a chill down her spine. He pushed off the bench and brushed by her. The lock in the door snapped shut, followed by the hiss of the blinds being pulled closed. Her shop dimmed, the only light coming from a single lamp over her workstation.

  With her heart thundering wildly in her throat, Summer turned. Braden stood behind her, thumbs hooked on his belt, lips taut, eyes fierce.

  “You didn’t tell me he’s workin’ with you,” Summer started, shrugging out of her coat. “You didn’t tell me he was back.”

  “He left us and you expect me to tell you he’s returned with bells and whistles?” Braden snickered, closing the small gap between them. Heat, strength, and a hint of fear pulsed off him. “Where did he take you?”

  “I had to deliver an arrangement to Mr. Dixon. We’ve only been gone for twenty minutes,” Summer said. She looked up at Braden, her heart twisting. She did love him. She loved him so much. Strands of sandy blond hair curled around the bottoms of his ears, stray strands hanging over his temples. He had shaven this morning, the hard cuts of his face smooth and enticing. “Braden—”

  “Did he do anything to you?” he interrupted. Summer stared at him for a long moment as the air around them thickened. Braden growled. “He did.”

  “Braden—”