by Lynn Cooper
Cup Cake Cutie
Lynn Cooper
Copyright © 2015 Lynn Cooper
All rights reserved.
The day I can’t throw a beautiful, brown-eyed woman over my shoulder and carry her down a ladder, darlin,’ is the day they best throw dirt over this old boy.
—Decker Wyman
ELLA SKYE SHOOK HER fists in the air. Not again! For the love of God, when is that old lady going to learn to keep her damn cat inside? The cloying sounds of a screeching meow-meow was quickly shredding what was left of Ella’s nerves. Grudgingly getting up from her computer, she trudged to the front door and opened it to the familiar, ear-piercing noise known as Beatrice Abernathy’s voice.
“Here kitty, kitty! Sampson, please come down out of that mean old tree. Come to mama,” the eighty-year-old whined, tapping her cane on the sidewalk. Stiffly, she turned around to give Ella a disapproving look. “A big girl like you shouldn’t be parading around outside in her underwear.”
Images of strangling Beatrice’s scrawny little neck played on a constant loop in Ella’s mind. She didn’t have anything against the elderly, but this particular octogenarian knew how to push Ella’s hot buttons—more specifically her fat buttons.
“Ms. Bea, I would hardly classify yoga pants and a tank top as underwear.”
“Any garment that shows every nook and cranny should stay behind closed doors. A woman of your size should wear looser-fitting clothes.”
Ella was fuming but knew it was no use to offer any explanation, excuse or defense for being overweight. Beatrice was just as narrow-minded and judgmental as the rest of the world. Only other women plagued with PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) could understand her battle. If not for the Soul Cysters online support group, Ella would have no empathy at all. Even her own mother thought the extra pounds came from gluttony and laziness. No one outside the support group could grasp the ill effects of having a severe hormonal imbalance. One that slowed Ella’s metabolism down to a crawl, sapped her energy and caused a myriad of other problems. Not the least of which was unwanted body hair in the most inconvenient of places.
Ella rubbed her fingers underneath her chin to check for regrowth. If she didn’t have the hair on her face waxed every week, she’d be sporting a full-on beard that would put a lumberjack to shame. Thankfully, her skin still felt silky smooth. Having Beatrice as a neighbor meant Ella’s curvaceous and ample figure was under constant scrutiny. The last thing she needed was to give the old bag more ammunition.
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty!”
Meow-meow! Meow-meow!
Despite Beatrice’s rude and hurtful comments, Ella knew she had to offer some assistance. If for no other reason than to stop the assault to her ears. Sampson and Ms. Bea were about to bring on a migraine. And that was the last thing Ella needed. She loved her job as a graphic design artist but, during deadline time, things could get a bit stressful. At the moment, she was designing an important ad campaign for The Little Cupcake Company on North Broad Street. And this little interruption had the potential to throw her off schedule big time.
Determined to get back to it, she briefly assessed the huge oak tree in her front yard. For some reason, that blasted feline always chose a tree on her property. To a cat, trees probably always looked taller and more tempting on the other side of the street.
The limbs appeared to be plenty sturdy. And, thanks to her upper body workouts, Ella was quite confident she could shimmy up the tree and rescue Sampson. Easy peasy. She would be back to designing in no time.
On her first jump, Ella grabbed hold of the bottom limb. She swung herself up and over until her firm, round booty was resting comfortably in its crook.
She looked down when she heard a wispy gasp. Beatrice was fanning her face.
“Lord, child, you’ll fall to your death. Those limbs get smaller towards the top. I don’t think they’ll support a big girl like you.”
Inwardly, Ella screamed. Shut up, you old biddy! If you’d keep your stupid Sampson in the house, this wouldn’t keep happening.”
About two-thirds of the way up, Ella heard a sickening crack. The limb she was standing on started to give way. Quickly, she grabbed the tree trunk in a bear hug. She wrapped her thick thighs around it and crossed them at the ankle. The bark was digging into her sensitive flesh through the thin material of the yoga pants, sending shivers of pain down her legs.
Catching sight of the sidewalk below, her breath caught in her throat. In her anger, she had forgotten that she was terrified of heights. She had been looking up the whole time and didn’t realize how far she had climbed. Ella was just about to yell for help when she saw Beatrice disappear into her house.
THE SEXIEST MAN TO ever take a breath propped the tallest ladder in the history of ladders against the massive oak. Now, Ella found herself wishing she had chosen a different outfit. Maybe one less form- fitting. She wasn’t ashamed of her curves. But had she known she was going to get stuck in a tree and be rescued by a hot, hunky fireman, she might have opted for a flattering sundress.
While the tall, broad-shouldered man was locking the diagonal braces and securing the ladder on level ground, Ella breathlessly watched his chest muscles bunching beneath his tight, black T-shirt. Talk about sexy! This man should be featured in a fireman’s calendar for all the world to see. She sure wouldn’t mind hanging him on her bedroom wall.
Ella’s fantasy was brought to an abrupt halt by Beatrice’s yammering.
Pointing at the tree with her boney finger, she said, “I warned Ella not to climb that tree. I told her that the weight of a big girl like her would break those tiny limbs. I told her, but she wouldn’t listen.”
Ella’s face was burning with embarrassment. Her cheeks were aflame with the humiliation of having her plus-size shape pointed out by an old hag who couldn’t control her cat or her mouth.
Beatrice’s words stung. Unkind comments about her weight always did. Ella waited for the beautiful fireman’s response, but he just kept manipulating the ladder as if he hadn’t heard a word the old woman said. He was concentrating intently on stabilizing the extension locks and pulleys on the aluminum rungs. Her hero was focusing his attention on safety concerns and her imminent rescue, not on Beatrice’s mean-spirited drivel. With a satisfied look on his face, he threw his gorgeous head back and called up to her, “Hold on. I’ll have you down faster than you can say, ‘Pleasant View.’”
Having now laid eyes on this Adonis, the name of the town finally rang true. His ruggedly handsome face and sculpted body was the most pleasant view she had had in a long while. When she moved here three months ago, she wasn’t sure she had made the right decision. At the moment, she was more than happy to call this place home. It wasn’t until he spoke again that Ella realized she had been so taken by his good looks she had forgotten to reply.
“Almost there, little girl.”
This time, her jaw dropped in disbelief. Did he really say little girl to her? Looking at him, he appeared absolutely perfect. But, apparently, his eyesight wasn’t so good. Even if he had paid no attention to Beatrice’s comments, anyone with eyes could see that Ella Skye was anything but little. Still, she couldn’t control the pitter-patter of her heart. Having him call her little girl felt wonderful.
In her head she repeated the words Pleasant View and, by the time she finished, he had already confidently climbed the gigantic ladder. Their faces were now only inches apart as he leaned against the top rung. She caught the faint scent of his cologne on the breeze. It was heavenly and manly and woodsy.
He smiled, revealing rows of perfectly straight, gleaming-white teeth. “You enjoy tree climbing, do you?”
“Only in my
spare time,” Ella said, returning his smile.
He nodded. “Anything injured?”
“Other than my pride, no.”
“Good. Okay, Ella, I need you to turn loose of the tree trunk and lean forward when I tell you to. I’m going to position my right shoulder under your chest and lift you into position.”
Oh, shit! He knew her name. He had been listening to Beatrice.
“Uh, lift me into position?”
“Yes. How else can I carry you down?”
“Carry me?”
He chuckled. “Is there an echo in this tree?”
“No. Sorry. I just don’t want you getting a hernia or worse. I—I mean—you know—since I’m so heavy and all.”
“The day I can’t throw a beautiful, brown-eyed woman over my shoulder and carry her down a ladder, darlin,’ is the day they best throw dirt over this old boy.”
Ella couldn’t stop a huge grin from spreading across her apple cheeks. Her heart was leaping with joy. The best looking man she had ever seen thought she was beautiful, and he called her “darlin’” to boot. Leaning all her weight on him would be no problem now. His deep, southern drawl and honey-coated words had effectively melted her bones.
Blushing, Ella said, “Okay, just tell me what to do and when to do it.”
“Alright, get ready. On the count of three, fall across my shoulder.”
Ella whispered, “One, two, three—oh, you really are strong. I can’t believe I trusted you enough to do that, cowboy or fireman or whatever you are.”
For the second time during their conversation, he chuckled. And the deep timbre resonated out of his chest into Ella’s.
“I guess I’m both. Ever heard of the Rowling Wyman Ranch?” he asked, steadily climbing down the ladder as though she weighed no more than a feather.
Ella couldn’t keep the admiration from her voice. “I’ve only lived here a few months, but that ranch was one of the first spots I noticed. I think everyone in Pleasant View has driven by that place at least a dozen times. I’ve never seen such a beautiful spread. Green, rolling hills peppered with cattle as far as the eye can see. A gorgeous main house with rows of bunk houses and a huge red barn. Oh, wait! Are you Rowling Wyman?”
Slowly he let her body slide down his until her feet were safely planted on the sidewalk.
“No. I could never fill those boots. Rowling is my dad. I’m his oldest son, Decker.”
“Oldest?”
“Yep. Not too old though, only thirty-five. I have—”
Before he could finish his thought, Beatrice impatiently tapped her cane on the concrete. “What about my Sampson?”
Looking sheepish, he said, “Right. I’ll get him now.”
Decker had no more than placed his foot on the ladder when Sampson came scampering down the tree. Arrogantly, he jumped from the lowest limb, landing on his feet and pranced over to Beatrice.
Decker scooped Sampson up and handed him to his owner.
Beatrice mumbled a barely-audible thank you before shuffling her way across the street. They watched until the old woman and her cat were safely inside the house.
Ella cleared her throat. “You were saying?”
“Oh, yeah, I have a younger brother, Rylan. He’s twenty-nine and works the ranch, too.”
“I bet he’s married just like you and your father.”
Talk about fishing for information. Instantly, Ella longed to reel those words back inside her mouth.
“That’s a bet you’d lose, little girl. Why? You in the market for a cowboy?”
Heat filled her face. She nervously bit her bottom lip. “I might be.”
Decker raised his eyebrows. “Well, Dad’s a widower. My mom died a few years ago from breast cancer. She was his heart, and it’s not likely he’ll ever love another. Rylan’s probably closer to your age, but he’s engaged. He and Olive Boone are gettin’ hitched this summer at the ranch.”
“I’m sorry about your mom. But I’m happy for your brother. I’m sure his wedding will be lovely. Well, I should get back inside, and you should probably be getting home to your wife. Thanks for saving me, Decker.”
Winking at her, he said, “It was my pleasure.”
Ella turned toward her house. How could she go from feeling happy and light as air to feeling despondent and heavy as lead? She really needed to get a grip. The man was simply doing his job. She got stuck in a tree. He got her down. End of story. One trip down a ladder, being draped over wide, masculine shoulders did not a courtship make. Just as she lifted her heel in an attempt to propel herself forward, a strong, warm hand grabbed her upper arm.
“Aren’t you the least little bit curious about my marital status?” he asked, offering her a boyish grin.
Ella was positive her heart was going to lurch out of her chest. “Not really.”
“Bullshit. You’re dyin’ to know. Just like I’m dyin’ to know yours.”
Coyly, she showed him her finger. “Do you see a ring, cowboy?”
“Nope, but that don’t mean diddly-squat nowadays. I want to hear the words. Tell me you’re not married, little girl.”
Ella was breathless. “No, I’m not married, Decker. How about you?”
Her heart failed when his expression turned somber. Furrowing his brow he said, “There’s no easy answer here, Ella. It’s complicated.”
Taking a deep, determined breath, she spoke with as much confidence as she could muster under his sultry gaze. “I don’t do complicated. Good day, Mr. Wyman.”
Ella was reeling with emotion as she turned on her heel and walked away. For a few seconds she held her breath thinking—no, hoping—he would stop her again. Instead, she heard the scratchy, crackling sound emanating from his shoulder mic. An emergency call was coming in for an out-of-control yard fire across town.
Plopping down in front of her computer, Ella told herself it was for the best. If she had learned anything during her twenty-seven years, it was that men would always cause her heartache. The only question was how long it took them to do it. Today, Decker Wyman set a new record.
SLAMMING HIS HAND AGAINST the dashboard of the fire truck, Decker cursed. Talk about your shitty timing. He really wanted a chance to properly explain things to Ella. After the number Sheridan had worked on him, he thought he’d never have the inclination to put himself out there again. But seeing Ella up in that tree with her bountiful breasts pressed against the trunk had really gotten his blood pumping. Carrying her down that ladder with her luscious, plump butt stuck in the air gave him some major wood. It was a good thing his fireman’s uniform trousers were roomy in the crotch. Being well-endowed, he didn’t want to scare her off from the get go. As it turned out, his cock wasn’t his biggest problem. His mouth was. He was so desperate to find out if she was single, he didn’t stop to think about how precarious his own situation was.
He never would have let Ella walk away, but when some dumbass set their yard on fire during a burning ban, he had no choice but to answer the call. Today, his satisfaction wouldn’t come from putting out the fire. It would come from slapping a steep fine on Hubert Caldwell. Decker had repeatedly warned him about burning yard debris on breezy springtime days. But he was one of those who had to burn or die. He wasn’t sure if it was some sort of addiction for Hubert or a deep family tradition. Whatever the case, Decker was fed up. It was time to hit the fire starter where it hurts most—his wallet.
He had cut Hubert a lot of slack over the years. Decker had always felt sorry for him since the tragic accident that killed his father, Hank. In a way, Decker had felt somewhat responsible. He was just eleven years old when Hank came out to the ranch looking to buy a stallion for Hubert. Rowling had gone to a cattle sale and told his son to show Hank around. Decker proudly pointed out the three stallions his father wanted to sell. But Hank decided he liked the looks of a young gelding that hadn’t been broken.
Decker’s best efforts to discourage Hank failed. The stubborn man shook Decker off and climbed into a stall wit
h the wild horse. In a matter of seconds, the animal had reared up on its back legs, snorting and pawing the air. Decker unlatched the gate in an effort to give Hank a means of escape, but it was too late. The full force of hooves came down on Hank’s head and shoulders. The fracture to his skull was fatal.
Decker shook off the horrible memory as he pulled into Hubert’s driveway. A few feet away, Hubert was stomping some smaller flames and impotently spraying a cracked garden hose.
Whipping out the mother of all hoses, Decker gave the fire starter a shit-eating grin. Once the perimeters were contained and the central fire had been doused, Decker pulled a citation pad from his shirt pocket.
Hubert frowned and threw the garden hose on the ground. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m writin’ you a citation for burnin’ durin’ a ban. I’ve given you all the chances I’m goin’ to. Enough is enough, partner. This is the only way you’ll learn,” he said, tearing the three hundred dollar fine from his pad.
Hubert snatched the slip of paper from Decker’s hand and scoffed, “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to pay this. I’ll use it to start my next fire. That’s what I’ll do.”
“Three hundred bucks or thirty days in the pen. It’s up to you, buddy.”
“We’re not buddies, and I don’t take orders from no highhanded Wyman. Of course I don’t recall you being so high and mighty when your woman left you. How did that go down? Oh, yes, I remember now. She ran off with some fancy city slicker, didn’t she?”
“Just pay the damn fine, Hubert.”
It took everything Decker had not to knock that smartass’ block off. But it wasn’t his style to spar with a man who was at a physical disadvantage. Rowling had raised him better than that. And, who knew? Maybe Hubert would have turned out to be a better man, too, if Hank had been around to finish raising him.
Climbing back into the fire truck, Decker blew out a deep breath. His shift was over, and he was anxious to get back to the ranch. He was tempted to swing by Ella’s. Her house was on his way home. But, she had said she didn’t do complicated. And Decker having a wife he couldn’t locate, who refused to sign divorce papers despite the fact that she left him for another married man, was just about as complicated as things could get.