Second Hope Cowboy

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  He frowned. “I’m a cowboy, sweetheart. I eat off the land and when you see a turkey roaming you’ll know he’s waiting for Thanksgiving Day, not to be made into bacon.”

  Her mouth salivated. Her stomach rumbled. Oh, what the hell. She stomped across the room, dragging the length of the blanket along with her, and snatched a piece off the paper towel covered plate. She chewed leisurely, closed her eyes and enjoyed the hickory, maple syrup taste. Her taste buds thanked her.

  Opening her eyes, she found he was watching her. She swallowed the last bite.

  “Some piece of bacon.” There was an obvious catch to his voice.

  “I’m hungry,” she admitted. “And I haven’t had a real piece of bacon in a while.”

  “Apparently.” He wriggled his brows. “Is there anything else you haven’t done for a while? I’d be willing to help.”

  His words dripped awareness across every nerve-ending of her body. She was at a cross between the desire to giggle and the need to fan herself. She did neither. Instead, she turned and headed toward the bathroom. “Enjoy your heart attack waiting to happen.”

  “And enjoy the shower. Don’t forget the cold—”

  She slammed the door on his words. There was nothing he could say that she cared to listen to.

  Inside the privacy of the bathroom, and away from his skeptical view, she stepped out of the fluffy puddle of material and looked around the tiny space. She could barely move and wondered how Tucker could manage. Once upon a time, they crammed into the bathroom and showered together—made love too.

  Shaking her head, she inhaled deeply, smelling soap, sandalwood and shaving cream. God, the man smelled good. Her belly did a flip-flop and she had an impulse to spray his cologne all over her body.

  Pull yourself together, girl.

  She examined the sink and shelves. All of her toiletries were gone, exchanged for spice deodorant, a block of manly soap with grease left over in the foam, and a can of shaving cream. She picked it up and sniffed the scent, liking it a lot. Putting the cream back in its spot, she opened the cabinet under the sink, smiling. A box held the things she’d left behind—razors, shampoo, conditioner and feminine soap. But there was something else she didn’t remember. She grasped the pink pouch and opened the cloth satchel in curiosity, emptying out the contents into the basin. Three packs of birth control pills spilled out—each one was full. The doctor had prescribed them after the miscarriage, after she and Tucker had decided not to get pregnant again, but she’d never taken one.

  She wondered if he’d seen them.

  Dropping the pills back into the bag, she set them aside then grabbed her toiletries, grateful that Tucker never threw anything away.

  As she bent to place the bottles into the tub, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full-length mirror. Holy crap! She wrinkled her nose. Her hair needed brushed, or possibly cut off, and her mascara had smeared.

  Pulling off the bandage on her forehead, she examined the wound closer. It wasn’t bad and would heal in no time. The dark bruise looked worse than the actual cut. She had more purplish marks on her chest, but they would fade in a few days.

  A shower would do her some good.

  ****

  Everything in Tucker’s life reeked of horse crap.

  After Hope had gone into the bathroom, he’d brought his coffee out on the porch because he couldn’t control parts of his body while imagining her undressing, the water spilling over her firm breasts and thighs…

  Oh shit!

  The cooler breeze kicked up, a respite for the sweat beading on his brow, which had nothing to do with the heat but everything to do with his ex-wife naked in his cabin.

  He took a long drink from his cup, the hot coffee burnt all the way down into the pit of his stomach, settling like a cement block.

  Damn, how does a man recover once he realized he’d built his world around the wrong woman.

  And since she’d walked through the front door, he’d gotten a clear glimpse at how he was failing at rebuilding his life.

  Since she’d left two years ago, he’d spent his days brooding, miserable and hiding away from people—because the last thing he needed was company. Anyone who dared approach him would receive the sour apples of his mood. His brother Cash had dealt with Tucker’s acerbic mood for as long as possible, until Cash had wised up and stopped calling—except on special occasions.

  He’d been a bit of a recluse from friends until he started working at the Brooke Creek Ranch and for the first time in a long time he’d started talking about his blackened past.

  Elsa, Deckland’s wife, had become a close friend. Even now, he knew if he needed anything he could talk to her. She’d been through a bad relationship before Deckland and had learned survival through the hands of an abuser. Luckily, she’d gotten away and had met Deckland—and they were as happy as two lovebirds sitting in a tree.

  Just as he’d once been with Hope.

  He liked seeing Deckland and Elsa happy, no one deserved it more than them, but it was impossible not to feel a thread of envy. He’d had heaven once and he woke up one morning in hell.

  He took another sip, this time his gut was numb.

  Damn, the only reason for Hope’s visit was because she wanted to take his house. When she called, he should have just answered the effing phone, but he’d turned it off two weeks ago. It’d saved him a lot of physical torment. He really hadn’t blocked her calls, at least not literally.

  He’d gotten about an hour’s sleep last night and spent most of the time tossing in the covers and wallowing in memories. Finally, when the restlessness had gotten the best of him, he’d rolled out of bed at the break of dawn.

  Walking into the living room, he’d come to a dead stop when he saw Hope stretched out on the small sofa. Her arms were high over her head and a long, toned leg hung over the edge of the cushion. He’d practically salivated remembering how those legs had felt wrapped around his torso as he plunged—

  Shit! Shit! Double Shit!

  He wanted Hope to go home.

  Suck this up, dude. You’ve been divorced long enough. Don’t get dragged back into the hell of the spider web.

  But it was easier said than done.

  His wife—or ex-wife—had done a number on him.

  He’d pouted and wallowed in his misery for a long time. Then the anger came and it had been a relief. He’d picked himself up from the floor of hell, dusted himself off and did what could be considered an irrational move. He sold the ranch and kept the house.

  Hope had asked why. He wasn’t sure how to answer that question. But he did know that at the time, he couldn’t manage to part with the house where memories had become his museum.

  And after he’d sold Havens Ranch to Cash, he’d taken off and explored the country. Drank too much. Had sex with random, willing women. Did a lot of stupid stuff he couldn’t change. He’d become a man’s man during that time and hated himself for it now. He’d found that big tits, great screws and sexy women couldn’t patch the cracks in his broken heart.

  He hated that Hope was tougher than he was when it came to their past relationship.

  He’d never backed down from a challenge, could wrangle a cow with his bare hands, could take more pain than most men, but one woman—a petite blonde with penetrating eyes and a sexy pout—could bring him to his knees.

  If he ever got over the betrayal of her leaving, which he doubted he would, he’d find someone who deserved his love. He’d have that family he’d always wanted.

  Acid washed into his throat. The family he’d dreamt of having with Hope.

  They’d been so close to grasping the dream.

  He looked into the distance at a group of deer grazing along the edge of the woods. “Are you the bastards that caused her to wreck?”

  At the sound of his voice, they turned their heads and nailed him with wide-eyed glares. He guessed if they had hands instead of hooves, they’d have flipped him off.

  He blinked and l
aid his head back. The quiet moved his mind back to that doctor’s visit when he and Hope were excited to see their baby at twenty weeks of gestation.

  As the doc rolled the ultrasound tool across Hope’s slightly swollen abdomen, an expression washed over the doc’s face—an image Tucker would never erase from his brain. Minutes had flowed into an eternity, until the doc explained he couldn’t find a heartbeat.

  Hope’s wail as she absorbed the news was forever branded inside his head, and played like a broken soundtrack on lonely nights.

  The other babies had been lost early, during the first trimester, but the last pregnancy had been different. They’d believed they were beyond losing the baby. They were both wrong.

  His vision blurred and he pressed his fingertips into his eyelids.

  He was a grown man and should be stronger.

  There were moments in a person’s life when the world stood still and that was his. After that gut-wrenching news of no heartbeat, he’d taken Hope home and silence had governed like a black hole, threatening to suck them in.

  No parent should ever have to lose a child. It was against human nature.

  He shook his head, hoping to dislodge the thoughts.

  And now, Hope was stuck here, alone with him until her car was fixed. They were out in nowhere. The closest store was twenty miles away, and that was just a corner market where he could pick up basic items. Next door to the store was a shop with the best mechanics this side of Texas. They just weren’t the fastest.

  His gaze drifted to his empty coffee mug, wishing it’d turn into a wishing well, when he got a strong smell of coconut and vanilla.

  He brought his eyes up to the petite woman watching him through the screen door. She pushed it open and stepped out, letting it slam back into place. He dropped his eyes over her slender body. She was a little on the skinny side but she had curves in all of the right places—spots he’d explored with his hands and his tongue many, many times. Her blonde hair hung in damp tresses over her shoulders. A stirring erupted in his groin, not surprising him one bit. He still craved her—in fact, he hadn’t wanted—truly wanted— another woman since he’d met her eight years ago at the rodeo. She was watching from the rail and he’d just gotten off a spitfire of a bull that had made his balls ache. He must have been walking bowed-legged because she’d offered him some ice with a smile that had made the ache turn into a throbbing need. They were hooked ever since.

  Until…

  He wasn’t going there.

  Instead, he tore his gaze downward over her legs. Nice, slender legs—nicer if they were wrapped around his hips.

  She took a drink from her cup, drawing his gaze back up as she eyed him through the steam.

  Damn, his faithfulness and loyalty to her had gotten him nothing.

  Yet, he still wanted to sample her as much as he wanted to on day one, the day they’d snuck off into his truck and explored one another naked for the first time. He’d wanted it to be more romantic, thought a woman like her deserved candles and soft music, but she’d practically torn his clothes off—and damned if he would have argued. He’d never been into candles much anyway.

  “I about froze in the shower.” She shot one hand to her shapely hip.

  His lustful thoughts came to a screeching halt. “I warned you. It ain’t my fault you chose not to listen.”

  “I should have gone down to the pond and took a dip. It’d been warmer,” she snapped. “Can’t the hot water line be fixed?”

  “It’s amazing that you’re still giving me shit over something that no longer has anything to do with you. I think you just like riding my ass.” He shook his head and palmed his neck, rubbing the kinks. “I happen to like cold showers.”

  “Oh yes, I’ve missed riding your ass because it’s always so much fun talking to a wall. Just keep the water pipes the way they are. You’re right, it has nothing to do with me.”

  She strolled across the porch and took a seat in the swing. It cracked and squeaked. She pushed off with her foot and his gaze drifted to her pink toenails. She stiffened her toes then gave them a wiggle. He’d always liked her feet.

  His dick took charge and pressed against his zipper. Damn betrayal of his body!

  He tasted blood and realized he was biting his tongue.

  “I’d forgotten how quiet it is out here.” She lifted her legs up under her bottom. The shorts rode up on her thigh, giving him an eyeful of firm, rounded bottom.

  He was in trouble—big trouble.

  “Don’t worry.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll get you back to the city before you can spell deer backwards.” The quicker she got going, the better.

  She blinked. “Sounds good.”

  “Thought you’d like the sound of goodbye,” he growled.

  “Tucker, can’t we just let go of the anger?” Her gaze pleaded.

  He looked at her, knuckling the rim of his hat. “Sweetheart, there is no ‘we’ in this. You chose your path. These are my emotions and I choose to own them. Just let it be.”

  She rolled her finger along the the cup. “I left because I thought it was the right thing to do—”

  He got up so fast that the chair hit the wall. He set his cup on the top rail. “You ready?”

  She looked down into her still full cup of coffee. “Uh…sure.”

  His body was so stiff he couldn’t manage to walk two steps without feeling as if he’d crack like the tin man. Hell, he had to get Hope back on the road and as far away from him as possible. Otherwise, he’d make a fool of himself and ask questions he had no business of knowing, not now. Something he wanted no part of at this point.

  ****

  Hope sat quietly in the passenger’s seat of Tucker’s truck and stared through the window into the countryside. A country song played from the radio—cheating and broken marriages. She’d realized long ago that most couples didn’t cheat on each other. They just stopped communicating.

  Last month her sister, Sky, had announced that she was pregnant. She’d broken the news to Hope as if she’d shatter. Sky had sobbed over the phone until Hope had finally soothed her. At one time, Hope wanted a child of her own so much that she couldn’t look at a pregnant woman without feeling like her heart would splinter. But she’d grown from the pain.

  “Sky is having a baby,” Hope blurted. She darted a glance across the seat at Tucker who didn’t acknowledge her. “Did you hear?”

  “I heard.” His voice was low.

  Why was she telling him? She didn’t need comfort or understanding. She was happy for Sky. “She’ll be a great mom. She broke up with her boyfriend and plans to raise her child alone.” Hope pressed her fingertips against the cold window.

  “It’s okay if you’re upset, Hope.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not though. It’s not her fault that she didn’t plan to ever get pregnant and it happened anyway.”

  Looking at him, she could see he was on edge by the solid slope of his jaw and the rigid set of his hands on the steering wheel. His hat sat at a tilted angle.

  Time could change people and it’d worked on their relationship.

  Bitterness crawled up her spine and settled in her nape. She lifted her fingers and scoured the spot. Since she’d driven up the narrow driveway approaching the cabin she’d felt the tension. A massage would help—an image of Tucker rubbing her shoulders bombarded her mind. She rubbed her forehead hoping all naughty thoughts disappeared.

  “There’s your car,” Tucker said.

  She brought her chin up. Her tiny vehicle looked sad sitting along the side of the road, the nose buried in the ditch.

  “You need anything out of it before we pass?”

  “No, I can get what I need on the way back.” Turning away, she’d worry about examining the damages later. For now, she could barely manage probing her inner turmoil at being near Tucker.

  The rest of the drive was quiet.

  Once they reached the tiny store and shop, he pulled into the gravel lot and climbed ou
t, not saying anything to her. Of course he wouldn’t. He was as ready for her to be gone as she was.

  Opening her door, she climbed out and the heat beat down on her shoulders. It was a scorching day, in many ways…and she wished she could believe it had nothing to do with Tucker.

  He started for the shop and she followed him, but a little boy sitting on the steps of the store caught her attention. He had a tuft of blond curls and a smudge of grease across his cheek. A cat was weaving in and out between his feet and the boy was rubbing its head. He lifted his chin and caught her in his curious gaze.

  She waved and he slowly lifted his hand, slightly moving his fingers.

  He looked sad sitting on the step all alone. Her heart tugged.

  Tucker went into the building, but she crossed the pavement, stopping in front of the boy. “Hi there.”

  He looked up at her through thick lashes but didn’t respond.

  “I’m Hope.”

  “I’m Dalton.” His voice was raspy.

  The cat took off chasing a butterfly. “Is that your cat?”

  He gave his head a quick shake. The look in his eyes spoke of tragedy. She knew because it wasn’t too long ago that she’d had the same heartbroken expression.

  “Do you live around here?”

  He nodded.

  “Care if I have a seat?” Another nod. She sat but made sure she didn’t crowd him on the cement. Her heart skipped a beat. “It’s a warm day, isn’t it?” She looked closer, realizing the smudge of grease wasn’t grease after all, but a bruise.

  The screen door squeaked as it opened. Dalton jumped up from the step.

  “Come on, boy. I’m in a hurry.” An elderly man stomped across the lot toward an old beat-up truck.

  “Okay, Grandpa.” Dalton followed.

  The grandpa didn’t look pleased. His hands were pushed into the front pockets of his ragged and faded denim bibs. He wore a straw hat, pulled low on his face. Hope could only see part of his profile.

  Dalton raced toward the truck, jumped into the back and the man climbed behind the steering wheel. As he drove onto the road, the exhaust rattled. A puff of smoke came out of the back. The little boy was still staring at her and she lifted a hand, waving. He didn’t respond.