A Real Cowboy Never Walks Away (Wyoming Rebels Book 4)

by Stephanie Rowe

  She would never forget the shock of watching him drive away, leaving her pregnant and abandoned. She'd thought he was going to propose. Instead, he'd walked away, and he'd never looked back.

  Not once.

  Not until today.

  Not until she'd finally met someone else who made her want to feel again.

  She looked at Travis, listening, watching, and she knew that she was falling for him. Falling for another cowboy who would leave. Who would walk away.

  Just like before.

  Chapter 12

  As he listened to Lissa's story, anger fermented inside Travis, the same, dark anger that had haunted him his entire life. He wanted to punch every one of those bastards who'd treated her like shit and made her feel ashamed of who she was.

  He knew now why she'd moved to Rogue Valley. Self-preservation. She'd had to escape the judgment and the grief. They'd forced her to move away, to give up her childhood town to save herself and her daughter. Self-righteous, pretentious bastards.

  How in the hell had she done it? She'd been a kid herself, and she'd managed to start her life in a new town, with a kid, and a broken heart. He could see by the expression on her face, that she didn't see how amazing she was. She was remembering the judgment and the betrayal, not feeling the power that she'd harnessed to survive.

  Fuck them. No one had the right to make her feel like that. Scowling, he leaned forward. "Listen to me, Lissa. Those people don't mean shit. Forget about them. Forget about Rand. You're absolutely fucking amazing, and don't ever forget it."

  Her eyes widened, and he realized how violent he sounded. His hands were balled in fists, and his muscles were tensed, ready to fight. He knew that if Rand showed up at the door right now, he'd beat the hell out of him. He'd break every rule he'd ever made about not letting his temper win, of not being like his old man.

  "Sorry." Swearing, he stood up and backed away. He couldn't stay in that apartment any more. He was too pissed, too jacked up by revisiting his own past, and by hearing about hers. He always had difficulty with people, but right now, he hated them all, every last one of them, except Lissa, whoever was taking care of her kid, and his own brothers. "I gotta go."

  He strode past her to the door that led to the outside, and grabbed the doorknob—

  "Wait."

  He froze as she put her hand on his arm, her touch so light and gentle that he could barely feel it through the hardness of his taut muscles. He didn't turn around. He just kept facing the door. "Lissa," he said, his voice strained. "I need to get out of here." He needed to get to his tour bus and his punching bag. His anger was too strong, poisoning him. He'd never touched a drink in his life, but his anger was a legacy of his dad's that he hadn't been able to shake. He'd never touched anyone in anger, ever, but it was always there, always close, always taunting him. He was scared shitless every single day that today was the day he'd become like his old man.

  But Lissa didn't let him go. She just slid her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his back. Travis swore and let his forehead rest against the door. He couldn't make himself push her away. It just felt too good to have her holding him. As they stood there, some of his anger began to recede, lulled away by her undemanding embrace.

  With a low groan, he finally turned and pulled her into his arms, just like they'd done the prior night in her kitchen. It was different this time, though. Last night, they'd still been virtual strangers. Tonight, they'd stared into each other's darkness, which changed the embrace completely.

  Lissa sank against him, not hesitating at all as their bodies meshed. She tucked her face into the curve of his neck, her arms tight around his waist. Travis locked her against him, his forearm angled between her shoulder blades, his hand deep in her hair, while his other arm was tight around her waist, his face nestled in her hair.

  He could feel her breasts against his chest, and, like some asshole guy, his cock got hard in response. After the story she'd just told, how the hell could he be thinking of sex right now? She needed a friend, not a guy pawing at her. But at the same time, she also needed to know that physical affection with a man didn't mean she should be condemned and ashamed.

  He understood now why her Wildflower Café tee shirt was several sizes too big, and why her jeans were baggy. She was trying to hide the fact she was a woman, both from the world and from herself. It fucking pissed him off that she hid herself like that.

  "You're getting tense again," she said, her face still tucked in the curve of his neck. "What are you thinking about?"

  "That I'm pissed that you're ashamed of being a woman. That you crush your femininity because of a bunch of bastards."

  She stiffened. "I'm not ashamed. I just need to stay focused—"

  "Liar." He pulled back, searching her upturned face, her brown eyes, her perfect mouth. God, she was beautiful. She had no makeup on. Her hair was tangled. Her curves were hidden by baggy clothes. And, without a doubt, she was the sexiest woman he'd ever met. Desire pulsed through him, a raw, visceral desire that seemed to come from the deepest core of his being. Not just sex, but a need to protect her, to shield her from all the ugliness in the world. Somehow, if he could save her, he felt like it would give him something to anchor to, something to hold onto when he started slipping into the darkness. "I—" Shit. No. He wasn't going to say it.

  "You what?"

  "Nothing." He cleared his throat. "You need to sleep. I'll take the couch—"

  She didn't move. "You what?"

  He met her gaze. "You don't want to know, sweetheart. Trust me."

  Heat flooded her cheeks. "Travis. You're looking at me in a way no one has ever looked at me. You make me feel...safe. Protected. Like I matter. I know that this thing between us doesn't matter, because you're leaving, but—"

  "Doesn't matter?" He gripped her arms, furious that he'd somehow made her believe she didn't mean anything, that he thought of her the way all those other scumbags had. "Of course this matters. You think that just because I leave town in a week that this moment doesn't matter?" He dropped to his knees before her, shattered by the fact that somehow he'd made her think it didn't matter. "How in hell's name do I make you understand how much this matters? How much you matter?" He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft curves. "I haven't cared about anything in a long time. I've been shut down my whole life, always running, always trying to find that place that won't hurt so fucking much." He stared up at her. "Don't you get it? That place I've been trying to find is you. Every minute around you shines a light into the darkest places in my soul. You make the anger that haunts me recede. You make me feel like I have a chance not to fall into the legacy that defines me and my brothers. Every fucking minute with you matters. Every second. Every touch. Every word. Everything."

  She stared down at him, her mouth open in surprise.

  Shit. He'd said too much. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was losing his shit—

  She sank to her knees in front of him, so she was level with him.

  He went still, his heart thundering violently as she stared at him. She was so close to him, so close he could almost feel her in his arms. Need burned through him, a need so strong it almost hurt. He wanted to lose himself in her, surrender to her, offer her everything he had to give, little as it was.

  "Travis." She framed his face with her hands, her palms warm against his cheeks. "You're a beautiful man," she whispered.

  He closed his eyes. He knew she wasn't talking about his looks. She was talking about the deeper side of him, the part he knew was black, tainted, and dangerous. "There's no beauty inside me," he whispered. "I wish there was—"

  She pressed a kiss to his lips.

  He froze, stunned, shocked, and almost overwhelmed by the need to haul her against him and plunder her until there was nothing left of the darkness in either of them, until desire, lust, and connection had destroyed every shadow lurking over them both.

  But he didn't move.

  He'd never try
to seduce her, to take her, not after the past she'd endured. No matter how badly he wanted her, he would never—

  She kissed him again, angling her head, her lips parting against his.

  He groaned softly, his fists bunched by his side. "Don't do this, Lissa."

  "Why not?" She feathered a kiss along the corner of his mouth. "I want to. I want this. With you."

  He grasped her shoulders and gently set her back. "Lissa," he rasped out, his voice hoarse and raw with need. "If you kiss me, it's going to unleash something inside me that I'm not going to be able to control. I already want to make love to you until there's no space in your memories or your mind for anyone but me. I want to worship your body. I want to teach you what it feels like to be valued. I want to erase all the crap still haunting you until you realize exactly how incredible you are."

  "I need that, too," she whispered. "I've been afraid my whole life. Afraid of men. Afraid of dating. Afraid of wanting a man. Afraid of any of it. I know you're leaving. I know what we have isn't forever. I know you have to leave, but I need to feel the way you make me feel, even if it's just for a night."

  He closed his eyes, praying for strength he didn't have. "I won't be like Rand. I won't make love to you and then walk away—"

  "Hey!" The anger in her voice made him open his eyes. She was glaring at him. "Don't ever say you're like Rand. We both know you're not."

  Shit. She was right, at least on some levels. "I'd never make a promise I couldn't keep," he agreed. "But you deserve those kinds of promises. I can't make them."

  She rolled her eyes, a decidedly adorable dismissal of his argument. "I know, I know, you can't promise forever because you're leaving town, and all that. I'm okay with that. Good, actually, because I don't have time for a relationship because I'm not willing to sacrifice my work or my daughter, so it's fine—"

  "No. You don't understand." He caught her face in his hands, just as she'd done to him. "Even if I wasn't leaving, I couldn't make those promises. I don't have the capacity for a relationship. I didn't when I left here originally, and now? I'm even more fucked up. I don't even have the capacity to connect with my brothers anymore. I'm broken, Lissa. Completely fucking broken." He grimaced, almost wishing he'd learned different lessons in his life, so he could be a different guy kneeling in Lissa's living room. But he wasn't. "I've got nothing to offer you, Lissa, nothing but some naked, sweaty time with a guy who will never stop thinking about you for the rest of his life."

  She encircled his wrists with her fingers, a light touch that trapped him as completely as iron shackles would have. "I'm broken, too, Travis. I'm barely holding together. Maybe we can give each other what we need to survive our lives. Maybe you were sent to my café for a reason other than cooking burgers."

  He wanted to kiss her, to make love to her, to lose himself in what they could become together. God, he wanted to, and that fact alone was an incredible gift. It shocked him how much he wanted to make love to her. He knew it was because Lissa wanted nothing from him. Nothing at all, except to matter. "You matter to me," he whispered, sliding his hands through her hair around to the back of her head. "I have nothing to offer you except myself, for this moment."

  "I know," she gripped the front of his shirt. "But I need how you make me feel, Travis. I need this with you." She raised herself on her knees and kissed him again.

  He closed his eyes, fighting not to respond, when every cell in his body was screaming for release. "I can't be the man you deserve."

  "But maybe you can be the man I need," she whispered against his mouth.

  The man she needed? Someone who would make her realize how incredible she was? A man who would teach her that making love could be beautiful and honorable, not something to hide in shame? God, he wanted to be that man. He wanted to restore faith to her, to heal the wounds that she'd been carrying for so long. Could he do that? He wanted to. "I don't know how—"

  "Just be you." She slid her arms around his neck. "Just be the man who cooks burgers, stands behind me when my ex shows up, and sees beauty in junkyard paintings." Then she kissed him again, hard, demanding, desperate, vulnerable.

  It was her vulnerability that got him. She was scared to reach out, scared to tap into her feminine side, scared to give him access to herself. Protectiveness surged through him, and he knew she was right. He'd been meant to come to her café, not to flip burgers, but to protect her, to use the anger and fury fermenting inside him to keep her safe, to do something good, for once in his life.

  "I won't betray you," he whispered into the kiss, as his hands sank into her luxurious hair. "I promise you that."

  "I know."

  Her absolute conviction undid him. No one had ever given him such trust or believed in him. He'd bared almost all of his crap to her, and yet she still had complete faith that there was goodness inside him. "Lissa." With a low growl, he gave up the battle, and he took over the kiss.

  Chapter 13

  When Travis took over the kiss, Lissa froze. She'd wanted him to kiss her back, but suddenly, with his arms around her, and his mouth becoming demanding, she felt out of control, sucked into the vortex of his seduction. She felt like she was seventeen again, struggling to find her footing amidst a swirl of emotions and desires that were stronger than she could handle.

  Travis broke the kiss, and trailed his lips along the side of her neck. "We'll only do what you want," he whispered. "You set the pace. If all we do is kiss, that's completely fine."

  She heard the truth of his words, and some of her tension eased. "It's been a long time," she admitted.

  "I know." He slid his arm beneath her, and scooped her up, standing easily. "Why don't we keep this low key tonight? I'm here all week. We have time."

  Regret and relief both rushed through her as he carried her back toward her bedroom. "Taking me to my bed is low key?" she teased, trying to ease her nerves by lightening the moment.

  "More civilized, at least." He tossed her on the bed, and a laugh escaped her as she scrambled away from him when he sat down. "I figure that sleeping here with you is a good first step. No hanky panky, but it's better than the couch." He raised his brows at her as he pulled off his boots. "I'm not gonna lie, sweetheart. I'd rather sleep wrapped around you than on that couch."

  She held her breath as he stretched out on the bed. "You're really going to sleep here?"

  "Yeah, but I'll keep my clothes on." He beckoned to her, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Come here, sexy. I need to fondle you."

  She giggled again, and crawled across the bed toward him. "We only have one blanket left in here."

  "I'll be your blanket any day." He caught her as she reached him, tucking her against his side.

  She snuggled against him, using the front of his shoulder for a pillow. He grabbed her knee and pulled her leg across his stomach, inadvertently brushing her leg over his erection. Heat flushed through Lissa, and her belly tightened. He wanted her. He knew all about her past, and he still wanted her. Not the way Rand had wanted her, as a challenge that no one else had been able to crack.

  Travis wanted her with all her flaws, because of all her flaws. He wanted her, just for her.

  She smiled and snuggled closer to him. "Sing me a song," she whispered.

  "I only sing when I have to." He traced designs on her back, along her spine, and over her bum. "Singing is for strangers, now. It's not personal. It wouldn't mean anything."

  Sadness coursed through her at his reply. His music had once saved him, and now he wouldn't even do it when he was alone. "Didn't it used to mean something to you?"

  "Yeah, but that was a long time ago." He kissed her hair.

  She lifted her face to his, closing her eyes as he feathered kisses across her forehead, her eyelids, and her nose. "That feels good," she whispered.

  "Good." He kissed the corner of her mouth, and then the other corner.

  Her heart began to pound, and she became viscerally aware of how tightly they were wrapped around each other.
Kiss me, Travis. She didn't dare say it, afraid to acknowledge how much she wanted it. She'd spent a lifetime condemning any desires she had, but Travis made them burn through her, fierce, powerful, and demanding.

  A kiss now was risky. They were in her bed. It would be so easy for a kiss to spin out of control. But at the idea of it, warmth spread through her, like molten lava searing her veins. She wanted to lose control. She wanted to lose herself in Travis, in his touch, in his kiss, in his—

  His mouth hovered over hers, so close his breath warmed her lips.

  "Kiss me," she whispered.

  His response was instant, as if he'd been waiting for permission, coiled and ready to strike. His mouth sank onto hers, hot, wet, and demanding. It wasn't a tentative, gentle kiss designed to keep them both safe. It was a raw, desperate kiss destined to consume them both.

  It was everything she burned for.

  Instinctively, she moved closer, and he did the same, the kiss increasing in intensity as their bodies melded. He slid his hands beneath her shirt, palming her back, sliding his hands over her ribs, across her belly, over her hips, as if he intended to learn every curve of her body, to brand every inch of her with his touch.

  Raw need poured through her, and she tugged at his shirt. He sat up instantly and ripped it over his head, showcasing rock-solid muscles carved like a masterpiece across his chest, torso, and shoulders.

  "Dear God," she whispered. "You're like a model for Playgirl or something."

  He laughed, a deep, rusty laugh that sounded like it hadn't been used in a long time. "It's all the rage and anger inside me. Makes for a great workout motivator."

  "That's sort of sad."

  "Not sad. Never sad. It's my legacy. I deal with it." He grinned. "Plus, being such a highly-toned male specimen distracts my fans from the fact I don't give a shit when I sing anymore. Works out okay."