Stone was moving rapidly, his previously smooth motions seeming frantic as he chased his own release. Finally, he pressed against me, buried deep within me, shuddering out my name as he came. For a while, neither of us moved, content to just stay where we were, our sweaty chests pressed together, hearts pounding against each other. After a few moments, Stone pressed a tender kiss to my forehead and held the condom in place as he withdrew. I felt strangely empty inside as I watched him walk to the attached bathroom, and I was unsure of what to do next. Was this the part where I left? Headed back to my own room and back to our rolls as roommates and coworkers?
I was saved from my wandering thoughts when Stone reappeared, a lazy smile on his face. He didn’t hesitate as he turned the lamp off and climbed back into bed, moving close to me and pulling me against him, my head nestled on his chest while his arm wrapped around my shoulders. I was glad for the darkness, knowing my face was likely etched with disbelief. I huffed out a shocked laugh before I could think better of it.
“What is it, Blondie?” he asked, his voice muffled with sleep.
“I just can’t believe it. Stone Pennington is a cuddler.”
“Yeah,” he said, his chest moving with is silent laughter. “Don’t tell anyone, it might ruin my rep.”
“It’s okay,” I said, my jaw cracking with a yawn. “Your secret is safe with me.”
He ran his fingertips lightly up and down my back, the touch now more emotional than sexual, but the feeling of electricity that I got whenever he touched me persisted.
“Good night, Penelope,” he said softly.
“Good night, Stone.” It was the last thing I remembered before sleep took us both.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Stone
Walking through the hotel grounds, I couldn’t shake the feeling of pride that was building in my chest. The exterior work was almost complete, and the limestone bricks that made up the façade reminded me so much of home, their warm creme tones identical to those on the actual Alamo mission in San Antonio, that I couldn’t contain my excitement. Even the date on the keystone above the main door, 1758, was identical. The walkways were poured concrete in a taupe color, reminiscent of the deserts of Texas, and the landscaping was done in an array of various cacti and other hardy shrubs and palms surrounding intricate water features and stone sculptures. The entire scene presented as a beautiful and welcoming oasis. I loved it.
Moving through the main doors, I entered the reception area and the casino proper. Staff moved around like bees in a hive, everyone trying to get as much done as they could in as little time as possible, and I did my best to engage with as many of them as I could with a quick word or a nod of acknowledgment. The space smelled of fresh paint and wood varnish, as the gaming tables and bar areas were getting their final touches. Once the exterior was well on its way, the secret theme was out. Penelope had done an incredible job with the reveal, and her social media campaign was a hit. Reservations were coming in fast and hot, with the hotel already nearly fully booked between now and Christmas. We were ten weeks from the Grand Opening, but only six from the Soft Launch and there was still so much to do before we could even think of calling ourselves ready.
Thinking of Penelope and the Grand Opening at the same time brought me up short. I stopped, realizing that as soon as our project here was done, our time together would be finished as well.
Two weeks had passed since that incredible night in the hot tub, and things had only gotten better. I expected awkwardness the next morning, but there really was none. We just seemed to slide into this comfortable routine. Everyday, we came to the hotel, worked hard and kept it professional, then headed back to the house, where we spent time together. Sure, some of that time was spent on sex - awesome, mind-blowing sex - but a good portion of it was spent just getting to known each other, and the more time I spent with her, the more I liked her. We cooked together, watched TV, talked about our families, our childhoods, even the awkward teen years that no one really likes to discuss. Penelope and I talked about everything.
Except what would happen when these next few months ended.
Shaking my head to dispel the thought of her going back to New York and how that made my heart clench in ways I wasn’t prepared to examine, I continued through the main casino and toward the center of the property. Along the way, I glanced at the displays stationed at the main intersections and thoroughfares. Harold had gone to a lot of effort to find and secure western memorabilia during the last year or so. The boxes had not stopped coming to my office, and I eventually had to assign a team to deal with them.
They had been working hard, and now as I traveled the property, moving from the gaming area and into the high-end shopping district, there were displays of items everywhere you looked. Some were historical pieces, things like clothing, tools, and even documents from the American Frontier. There were photographs and other artwork that depicted this quintessential period of American history which spanned from the tail end of the Civil War to the end of World War I. The men and women of the Wild West had shaped a great portion of this country, including my beloved Texas, and it was important to me that our future guests were able to appreciate the part they had played in making America the great nation that it became.
Just before I exited the building to the interior courtyard and pool area, I paused again to look at the most recent display case. A mannequin stood inside a tall glass rectangle wearing none other than Clint Eastwood’s poncho from the film “A Fist Full of Dollars”.
I didn’t know how Harold had accomplished it, but I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at it, the brown and beige poncho that was so iconic to western film, fringe and all. He had asked me about my favorite Spaghetti Western movie, then gone out and acquired the damn thing. It was a really…fatherly thing to do.
There went my chest again. Shit.
Maybe I was having a heart attack. I should probably see someone about that.
When I called to thank him for it he had sounded so pleased, so genuinely happy to be talking to me about something that made me happy, that I couldn’t help but smile as he went on and on about other film and TV items he hoped to get a lead on. Apparently, Harold had a thing for Bonanza, and was in negotiations to get his hands on the leather vest Lorne Green wore in the opening credits. After we ended the call, I spent hours on my laptop searching for other items available from the show. I didn’t understand it, but I really wanted to do something nice for him in return.
Nope, I didn’t understand that one bit.
Walking through the automatic doors that led outside from the shopping area with its giant air conditioning unit in the vestibule working hard in the afternoon heat, I headed outside to The Oasis, the giant spread of pools and lounge chairs that made up the outdoor space of the hotel. The different pools were spaced around the area, with cactus gardens and palm trees throughout, and the bars and eateries were made of the same pale limestone as the rest of the building. The place still carried the western feel, with the cabana beds made to look like chuck wagons, their arched canvas covers in place to protect our guests from the relentless desert sun. There were tables made out of barrels and wagon wheels were assembled side by side to take the place of fences. Some people might say that the aesthetic was over the top, but, hey, what in Las Vegas wasn’t?
Making my way past the pools, I followed the meandering pathway to the farthest back corner of the property, directly opposite from where the business offices were kept, to the corals. Carson Young had done an exceptional job with his team, and the place looked straight out of the movies, with split rail fences and a beautiful classic looking barn to house the animals. He and I had debated which animals would be kept on the property and had finally settled on only a couple horses and some goats. The maintenance was low, and we could rotate them out regularly to the property that was owned by the company out in the hills so that the animals wouldn’t get over exposed to the people coming and going around the hotel.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Montgomery,” Carson greeted me as I approached the barn. Just the smell of the old wood and hay had me missing home like crazy. What I wouldn’t give to pick up a pitch fork and jump to work. Nothing like shifting a few hundred bales to really clear your mind.
“Afternoon,” I said gruffly. Less gruffly than I normally would have said it, but give me a break; I was still me. “Is everything ready?”
“Absolutely,” he said, handing me an envelope. “Inside are directions to the property and the standard information packet that all guests using the Trail Ride Experience will be receiving. I talked to Smitty out at the ranch and he said the place is yours for the day. They’ve got everything you asked for ready to go,” he added with a knowing smile. I wasn’t going to let him make me second guess myself.
“Excellent. Appreciate it, Young.”
He shook my hand and headed back to the hotel proper. Tucking the envelope in the back pocket of my jeans, I wandered over to the fence, leaning my elbows on the top rail and watching the pretty mare as she explored her new digs. With just a few weeks until guests would be arriving, Carson and Smitty, the ranch manager, and suggested that we begin rotating the animals in now, allowing them to warm up to the sights and sounds of the hotel. By exposing them to the place now, and having them present as it ramped up, we all hoped it would ease their transition into being part of our facility here. If any one could appreciate the amount of effort that went into properly working with animals, it was me, so Carson and I went to great lengths to ensure we had the best care team in place, including a dedicated veterinarian and health center at the ranch.
I heard Penelope’s footsteps coming up behind me, quiet and quick, and turned slowly to take her in. Her blonde hair, in its typical bun, glowed in the afternoon light. Her eyes were bright as she smiled at me, causing them to crinkle a bit at the corners. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved top, as I’d requested, and she looked beautiful, her happiness and curiosity shining through.
“Mr. Montgomery,” she said, her mischievous smile giving away that she still wanted to keep things as professional as possible at work, but that she remembered that outside this property, she called me Stone. Loudly. And often.
“Afternoon, Miss Lund,” I said, tipping my hat. I had been wearing my regular clothes more and more these last two weeks. Today I wore worn jeans, a long-sleeved button-down shirt, my boots, and my black Stetson. “I see you’ve almost dressed to the specifications of the memo I sent you yesterday.”
Penelope frowned, glancing down at her attire. “What have I missed, Mr. Montgomery?”
I smirked at her, then nodded to her feet. “Don’t you own a pair of boots, Blondie?”
“You know I don’t, Cowboy.” She relaxed her formalities seeing as we were the only people around this part of the property. “I wore flats. That’s the best I could do.”
“They’ll do just fine, Penelope. You ready?”
“I don’t know,” she sassed, placing her hands on her hips. “You won’t tell me where we’re going, so I can’t say if I’m ready to go there.”
I laughed, which was something else I was getting used to. Laughing. Relaxing. These weren’t typically things that I did, at least not with anyone other than Silas and my mom. But Penelope seemed to be able to get me to drop some walls, at least a little. Being around her just made everything seem lighter.
Glancing around quickly to be sure there are no other staff members around, I reached down and grabbed her hand to start towing her to the parking lot. Penelope gave a soft giggle, then hurried to follow me. When we reached the truck, I tugged her close, pulling the keys from the pocket of my jeans.
“Do you want to drive?” I had spent the last two weeks getting her comfortable behind the wheel again, having her drive around the quiet residential streets of Summerlin and gradually working her way to busier and busier streets. She was hesitant with the truck at first, but I hoped to get her driving it confidently before I moved her to the standard transmission Mustang.
Eyes wide, Penelope shook her head. “On a real road? I don’t think so, Stone. I’m not ready.”
“Sure you are. You’ve been doing great.”
Penelope bit her lip, working the flesh between her teeth, her face scrunched up in concentration as she stares at the big truck, and I give her the time to think it over. I watched her quietly as she looked from my face to the keys, leaning back like they might bite her. Finally, I see her eyes change, going from wide and frightened to narrowed with determination. Reaching out, she snatched the keys from my fingers and clicked the button, unlocking the big truck with a beep.
I smiled at her, opening the driver’s side door and helping her up. Penelope is not short, standing about five and half feet tall, but the truck is huge, and, besides, I like finding excuses to touch her.
By the time I’m in my own seat, Penelope has the truck started and the air on; even this early in the year, the sun makes parked cars unbearable in a very short amount of time. She turned the satellite radio to the alternative rock station we both like, then smiled up at me. “So, where to, Cowboy?”
“I’m still not gonna tell you,” I teased, plugging the address into the built in GPS on the dash board. The computer did its thing, and the snooty voiced chick came over the speakers, directing Penelope on her first turn. Putting the truck in reverse, she slowly backed us out of the parking stall and then headed out of the lot and onto the busy Las Vegas streets.
She was quiet, only occasionally asking for direction or confirmation in her actions, but I was glad because it gave me an excuse to just look at her. She was so different at work than she was around the house. At the office, she was all buttoned up; from her tight bun to her pencil skirts, Penelope was always the epitome of professional chic. But once we got to the house, she transformed, letting her hair down in both a literal and metaphorical sense. She had a lightness about her that was both addictive and contagious. Her smile was always genuine, and when you talked to her, you could see that she was really listening. She cared about the things I told her, and I found myself wanting to tell her more. Like my relationship with Harold, or how I always felt like I had to protect my mother, even if she didn’t really need it.
Penelope took in what I have to say, and she made me believe that I mattered, like my thoughts and my feelings were just as important to her as they were to me.
And that terrified me a little, because with every interaction we have, no matter how much she seemed to be working her way inside my fortified walls, there was still an expiration date for her and I.
I was finding that I hated that.
The GPS lady had guided us through town and out, the traffic dwindling as we went. When we passed the first sign for the Hoover Dam, Penelope’s eyes lit up.
“You ever been to the Dam, Blondie?”
“Stone,” she scoffed. “I’ve never been anywhere. Heck, that day we collided at the airport was my first time on a plane.” She shook her head. “It was memorable, that’s for sure.”
I laughed lightly, letting the matter drop, but as we turned off the interstate, which had only caused her to mildly hyperventilate when she realized I expected her to actually drive on it, I started thinking that I’d like to show her Hoover Dam one day. I’d like to show her the beaches of the Gulf Coast at Galveston, where I’d gone for weekends away with my mom. I’d like to take her to San Antonio and show her the real Alamo. I’d like to take her to San Diego and watch her eyes light up as she explored the zoo.
The list went on, but one fact was evident through all my thoughts: I wanted to keep Penelope Lund.
I just had to figure out how to do it.
As we cruised down the small two-lane road that was State Highway 165, Penelope pulled me from my daydreams about her when she sighed.
“I just can’t believe all this space,” she said, gesturing to the miles and miles of Nevada desert that surrounded us. “I’ve never seen anything like it. There is just…nothing. It looks like it goes on forever.”
“I guess it’s pretty different from what you’re used to.”
“It’s the complete opposite from what I’m used to. In New York, even out in Queens, there’s nowhere you can look that you can’t see another person. Maybe they’re walking past you on the street, or maybe they’re sitting on their balcony four stories up, but there is always someone near by, living their life right alongside you. It’s comforting, in a way, to know that you aren’t alone. But there is an element of suffocation that I feel sometimes, knowing that there is always someone near, for good or for ill.
“But out here,” she paused, looking around again and the low hills with their brick red coloring and the smattering of low brush. “Out here it’s just you and the desert.” The look on her face was pensive, like she was discovering something she’d never imagined. As I stared at her beautiful face, so lost in thought, I tried to picture what seeing something like this for the first time would feel like, but I couldn’t seem to put myself in her place. “Out here,” she went on after a time, seeming to have come to a conclusion about how it all felt. “I’ve never felt so…free.”
I had no response to that, and she didn’t seem to expect one, so we continued on in silence as the hills crept closer to the highway, penning us in as we continued along our computer guided route. When the thing finally announced we had arrived at our destination, I could hear Penelope’s quick inhale.
“A ranch?” she asked excitedly as we parked and climbed out of the truck. “You brought me to a ranch?”
“Not just any ranch. This is Pennington Ranch.”
The Cowboy and the Bombshell Page 18