Cowboy Sing Me Home

by Harris, Kim Hunt

  Dusty didn’t know what else to do, so she faced the camera, and smiled. Right before she saw the flash, she felt Helen Tanner’s warm hand on her shoulder, welcoming her into their group.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It took some doing, but Luke convinced his doctor he was ready to go home the next morning. He promised on his honor to go straight home and get some rest.

  He felt bad for lying to the doctor, and he knew he should do exactly as he’d promised he would. His leg ached and he had very little energy. He should at least go to his parents’ house and break the news to them.

  He wasn’t sure how his mother was going to react when she learned she wasn’t going to be a grandmother after all. Probably the same way he was reacting: a confusing mixture of relief, disappointment, and anger that left him feeling off-balance.

  One thing he knew for sure, though. He needed to see Dusty.

  He wanted to see Dusty, he amended silently. Need implied things he wasn’t prepared to deal with yet. His heart still ached for her, and what she’d told him in the hospital, and he wanted to see her.

  He drove straight through town and out the other side, until he pulled up the hill into Trailertopia. The lot was full, thanks to the Rain Fest, and he drove slowly along the dusty road to her trailer.

  She was outside, wearing denim shorts and sleeveless button-down top, bent over the open storage bin along the bottom of the trailer. Her long legs were tanned against the faded denim of her shorts, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  She didn’t look up until he pulled in front of her trailer, but he was certain she was glad to see him when she straightened and saw it was him.

  He opened his door, swung his legs out so his left could take the weight, and slid from the seat.

  “The hero returns,” she said. She smiled, though, as he limped toward her. “I didn’t know you’d been released.”

  “Just half an hour ago.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “And you came here first? Probably not a wise move, considering.”

  Considering. The word was a loaded one, and there was more than one question in her voice.

  There was more than one question he wanted to ask, too. It was 10:30 in the morning, and already the sky was white and the air so hot it hurt to breathe. He felt sweat pooling in the small of his back, and saw the shiny drops of it at her brow. All he could think was how much he wanted to just be here with her, just sit with her and be alone together, and not think of anything else.

  “Melinda lied. There’s no baby. There never was.”

  He’d meant to handle that much better, of course. But standing within two feet of her, he couldn’t think of anything but her soft skin, the curve of her jaw and the way the tiny green earrings she wore matched her eyes.

  He’d expected her to say something, of course, to at least be as shocked as he’d been. Instead she stood silently across from him as she digested the news. He searched her face for a sign of what she was thinking, but as usual her countenance was a carefully neutral mask. He thought he might know her well enough by now, though, to guess some of what she was thinking.

  They could pick up where they’d left off. Except they weren’t in the same place they’d left off, not by miles. He’d been shot, and thought he’d lost her forever. He didn’t feel like the same person he’d been a few days ago. That man had given little thought to the precious gift of time, of life, and how quickly it can be taken away. He’d given only casual consideration to what a miracle it was to find the one person you really click with, can feel instantly comfortable and whole with. The man who took that for granted was gone.

  And she’d confided in him, her own tragic secret that he knew she would never have shared if she had thought she’d be standing across from him like this, now. She’d opened herself up to him in a way neither of them planned or knew how to deal with.

  Because of all that, he expected her to turn him away. Still, he held his breath and searched her face for some clue, waited while his heart thudded for her to make some indication.

  His heart thumped painfully, and at first he blamed that on the weakness left over from the shooting, but he realized he was terrified. Terrified that she would tell him to go. Terrified that she would ask him to stay.

  “You’re pale. Come in out of the heat.”

  Not exactly an invitation that answered the burning question, but still he followed her up the foldout steps one at a time.

  Inside, he leaned against the counter, because he didn’t feel comfortable enough to sit and didn’t feel strong enough to stand.

  She pushed him gently into the booth at the table, though, and opened the miniature refrigerator to pull out two bottles of water.

  He drained half of his in one gulp, and still came away dry-mouthed. He watched as she closed the fridge door with her hip and leaned her back against it. She twisted the cap off her bottle and drank, never taking her eyes off his.

  “So,” she said as she brought the bottle down.

  “So.” He attempted a smile and wished his heart would slow down; the rush of blood was making him dizzy. “So I’m not getting married, obviously. And I came here to see –”

  That was as far as he got before she was on him, her lips on his, her hands in his hair. He roped his arms around her and held on desperately, only pulling away when he was so starved for air he thought he would pass out.

  He gasped air into his lungs as he tugged her hair free of the band that held it back. “I was sure you were going to tell me to leave.”

  “So was I,” she said against his neck, and her tongue did amazing things that sank through his skin and had him instantly ready. “I guess I surprised us both.”

  He laughed and threaded his hands through her hair, pulling her mouth back to his. “Come here,” he said gruffly. He stretched his wounded right leg out before him, and lowered her to straddle his left knee, pulling her as closely as he could get her.

  “Can you – b” she said, her voice as ragged as his own. “Are you okay to –”

  “I’m fine. Miraculously cured.” Although he wasn’t entirely sure he had the strength to go through with making love to her, he knew he didn’t have the strength to stop.

  Her skin was as soft as he knew it would be. He slipped his hands under her top and stroked the smooth line of her back, cupping her waist in both hands. He couldn’t get enough of her, wanted to feel more and more of her, needed to be closer to her more urgently than he’d ever needed anything.

  He held her waist and groaned out loud when she locked her hands behind his back, leaned back and rocked herself against his thigh. He could feel her warmth against him, and his heart thundered to see her, her eyelids heavy, her lips full, her face flushed with desire. He’d known it would be this way between them. Knew that joy and need would be mixed in equal measures, that the connection would be immediate and deep. What he had not known was that he would be unable to catch his breath, and would be afraid his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

  “And my doctor told me not to do anything strenuous,” he said, only half joking.

  “Don’t worry,” she said as she brought her lips back to his. “I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”

  She stood and held out a hand to help him do the same, then led him down the short hallway to her bedroom.

  He gripped her hand tightly, superstitiously afraid to let her go. “Not that I’m complaining, but this isn’t at all how my fantasies went.”

  She turned with a sexy, wicked look in her eye that had his hands itching to touch her again. “Fantasies, huh? I’d like to hear about that.”

  Her fingers were everywhere, unbuttoning his shirt, stroking his skin, driving him wild. He ached with the need to be inside her, but he wanted to prolong it as long as he could, draw out every drop of pleasure possible. His head swam with the need, and he swayed on his feet.

  “All right, Cowboy.” She gave him a gentle push onto the bed. “You’re no good to me if you pass out.�
��

  He toed off his boots and heard them drop to the floor, then slid gingerly back onto the pillows, his right leg a heavy weight.

  She stood beside the bed and unbuttoned the top button on her blouse. “I was serious. I want you to tell me about your fantasy.”

  “Why?” He reached to help her with the next button.

  She stepped out of his reach. “Because. I happen to think your voice is sexy. And I’d like to hear what you think, when you think about us.”

  He swallowed, but it didn’t do any good. His mouth was still dry. “For one thing, I didn’t have an ugly white bandage on my leg.”

  “A minor consideration.” She unbuttoned the next button, her eyes molten green on his. “What else?”

  “Why don’t you come down here beside me, and I’ll whisper it in your ear?”

  “Why don’t you tell me where we were, in your fantasy?”

  “We were here, in your trailer. You made it pretty clear this was where you wanted to be. Come here.”

  She shook her head, a smile teasing at the corner of her mouth, her hair slipping across her shoulders. “Tell me.”

  “You know, this is a little weird.” He scooted back toward her and swung his legs back off the bed.

  “Do you want the rest of these buttons to come open?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  She put her hand on his shoulder and locked her elbow. “Then tell me. I want to hear.”

  She really did want to hear, he realized when he heard the hunger in her voice and saw the excitement in her eyes.

  So maybe it was a little strange, he thought. It was also erotic and exciting. Her eyes still on his, he cleared his throat and wondered how much she was prepared to hear. “We were here, in your trailer, like I said.”

  “Mmmhmm.” She straddled his legs and undid the next button, exposing the lacy edge of her bra underneath.

  “I walk in and we just – we just look at each other. You’re waiting for me.”

  She unbuttoned two more buttons.

  “We don’t speak, we just… lunge at each other.”

  “Mmm, passionate.”

  “Very passionate. And I rip your shirt off.”

  “That only happens in movies, you know.” She undid the last button and stepped close enough that he could rest his cheek against the curve of her breast.

  “And in fantasies,” he said as he slid the shirt off her shoulders. “In my fantasies.” He kissed the smooth, taut skin of her stomach, and she twined her fingers through his hair, her breath softly teasing at his scalp. He slid his hands down and cupped her bottom, the smooth roundness of it delighting him.

  “Okay, so you rip my shirt off,” she said as her fingers went to work on the rest of his buttons.

  “I rip your shirt off, and you are very impressed by that.”

  She laughed, that dark, throaty laugh he remembered from the first day he saw her, laughing at Tumbleweeds. His erection throbbed painfully in his jeans, and his moved his hands down, to the line below her shorts, and back up to cup bare skin.

  “You are,” he insisted. “You’re very turned on by my strength and manliness.”

  “Ahh, yes, I am that,” she said.

  He lifted his head to meet her eyes, and he knew at that moment she wasn’t talking about the fantasy. His eyes locked to hers, he slid his hands around to the front of her legs, and slipped his fingers inside her panties. Her breath hitched and her eyes narrowed as he touched her moistness.

  She breathed deeply, raggedly, and murmured a desperate oath as she unhooked the front clasp of her bra and her breasts sprang free. He took her nipple in his mouth, and she folded her arms around his head, her chest heaving with each breath she took.

  She arched against him again, rocking against his hand, and he felt frantic to get rid of the cloth that separated them, but was unable to take his hands away long enough to accomplish that. She was warm and wet, and the feel of her fascinated him, as if he’d never touched a woman before.

  He’d certainly never touched a woman like her before, who openly, unashamedly celebrated the pleasure they brought to each other. He should have known she would be this way, though, he told himself as he drew her hardened nipple into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue. Whatever she did, she did head-on and without hesitation.

  “Yes,” she whispered as she moved against his hand. “Oh, God yes.”

  She shrugged the bra to the floor and tugged his shirt free, popping off the last button in her haste. They both laughed, and she said, “So it does happen in real life, after all.”

  She bent over him and kissed a hot trail from his neck, down his shoulder, then pushed him back until he was lying sideways across the bed. He pulled his hands away and unbuttoned her shorts.

  She knelt over him, her white-blonde hair a curtain around them, and said, “So that’s it? You’ve ripped off my shirt, and now you’re just going to leave me hanging?”

  “Oh no. I get the rest of your clothes off, too, and mine.”

  “Easier that way.”

  “Much. And I back you up to the table, and take you right there.”

  “On my table?”

  “On that very spot.”

  “And I’m okay with that?”

  “Oh yeah, you like it a lot. Very enthusiastic about the whole thing, I’d say.”

  “Really?” Her mouth was hot and wet on his nipple.

  He cupped her head the same way she’d cupped his, and fought to find his voice. “Definitely.” His voice was ragged and strained, and it took all he had to speak. “In fact, you might have called me a god, I’m not sure.”

  She laughed as she inched down him and unbuttoned his jeans. “You make me laugh, Ace. I like that.” She tugged the zipper down slowly, her knuckles pushing gently against his erection, and he lifted his hips to maximize the contact.

  She took the material in both hands and pushed his jeans down his legs, careful of the bandage. His shorts came next.

  She became still and quiet as she looked at the bandage that circled his leg.

  To his shock, she bent and placed a soft kiss just above the bandage, like she would a child who had fallen and scraped his knee. Then she turned her head and rested her cheek against his thigh.

  Luke was overwhelmed by the tenderness of the gesture, especially on the heels of the most erotic moments he’d ever experienced. A lump formed in his throat, and he reached down to stroke her hair, taking in the scene of her bright golden hair spilling over his lap, her touch gentle and protective against his thigh.

  “When Stevie said you’d been shot…” Her voice was a whisper in his heart’s ear. “I thought I’d lost you, too.”

  He stroked her hair, filled with powerful emotions. “Dusty. I –”

  She must have known what he was going to say. She raised her head, and her eyes met his with a look that stopped the words, and stopped his heart.

  It started again, with a terrible pounding. His mouth hung open, his breath raging in and out, and he couldn’t believe he’d actually been about to say the words.

  Their eyes remained locked across his body, across the chasm that instantly separated them. He saw in her eyes anger, and fear, and a glimmer of hope behind that filled him with sadness because its tiny flame spoke of all the heartbreak she’d endured.

  Her eyes shifted away, and her shoulders lifted with a deep breath. When she turned back to him, she was the same old Dusty, stoic and in control of herself and the situation.

  “Did I do this, in your fantasies?” She took him in her mouth.

  His breath gushed out with the shock of it. She felt incredible, hot and wet and wonderful on him. At the same time, it broke his heart because he knew she was doing this so she could regain control.

  He cupped her head, then slid his hands down to grip her shoulders. “Dusty. Come here.”

  “No.” She resumed her work on him, and he had to fight to remember why he’d asked her to stop. “I say when.”

&n
bsp; She said when. She called the shots.

  And he let her. Because it felt too good to make her stop, and because after what he’d almost said, he didn’t trust himself to be the one calling anything.

  When he thought he couldn’t hold out a minute longer, he slid his hands beneath her arms and tugged her toward him. “I have to have you. Now.”

  She smiled that secretive, seductive smile. “Now that’s exactly what you said, in my fantasies.”

  He held her face cupped in his hands, and he wanted to tell her that it was okay, that he accepted her on whatever grounds she was willing to give.

  She met his eyes and laid two fingers across his lips. He smiled, and when she saw he wasn’t going to try to make any more foolish declarations, she smiled, too, and rose above him.

  Her eyelids fluttered close and her breath hitched when she lowered herself onto him. Breathing deeply, she looked over her shoulder at the bandage.

  “It’s okay,’ he said hoarsely, his body jerking at the feel of her tight and warm around him. “It’s okay,” he said again when she turned back to him, referring to them, and not his leg.

  This time she did not look away, and amidst the pleasure they shared with their bodies, her eyes remained on his. Like the night behind Tumbleweeds, he felt the connection in the seat of his soul, knowing she felt it too, and rejoicing when she did not close her eyes and close him off, but kept the windows to her own soul open, until she rode them both past the edge of control.

  She collapsed against him, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, her bare skin against his, the blood beating in their chests in time with the throbbing aftershocks between their legs. He held her tightly, and kissed the top of her head.

  Later, when he had the strength to talk again, he said, “I’ve decided to stay right here, forever. Just like this.”

  “Naked in my bed?” He felt the curve of her cheek shift as she smiled.

  “Naked in your bed.”

  “And what if I get up?”

  “That will definitely take some of the fun out of it.”

  She slid to the side, so that her head rested on his shoulder. She looked up at him, and she didn’t look like the cool, self-composed Dusty. The eyes that met his were unsure, and vulnerable, and he took it as his reverent duty to make sure he did nothing to take advantage of that vulnerability.