How to Train a Cowboy

by Caro Carson

  Hell, yeah.

  There was too much skin, way too much skin, in touch with too much skin.

  Complete the mission. You control your body; your body doesn’t control you.

  He just had to ignore her backside in his lap. Her bare backside in his bare lap. Yeah.

  But that bare backside was cold to the touch. He wanted to get her skin in contact with the artificial, electric warmth of the leather seat. Concern for her made it easy to slip out from underneath her and let her lie back in the seat. He couldn’t get that comforter on her fast enough, both for her warmth and his sanity, but he tried. He tucked it in tightly at her thighs, her hips, her waist. He yanked it up over her unbelievably sexy bare shoulders and tucked it in around her neck.

  “There.” He nodded with satisfaction at the mummy he’d created, nothing but her head showing.

  “Maybe a t-towel under my head? In case my hair starts dripping? Since you have my arms trapped.”

  He had to climb over her a bit to grab one of the towels from the wet seat. He tucked it behind her neck, then took another towel and tried to dry her hair a bit. He kind of made a mess of it. He hoped she couldn’t tell.

  She wasn’t even looking at his face. She was looking at his arms flex as he worked. At his shoulders. His chest, as he hovered over her. Fair enough; he’d be staring at her chest, too, if the roles were reversed. He couldn’t stop smiling; she was so damned cute.

  “My eyes are up here,” he said drily.

  “I like your tattoo.”

  He forgot he had it most of the time. It was a single line around one bicep. It looked like a geometric Polynesian design, narrow, only black ink. Most people never realized the design was actually made up of letters that spelled out—

  “I can’t read it. You have to hold still a minute.”

  He fell still. Most people never realized the design was actually made of words, except Emily. Of course, Emily.

  “F-I-F...lots of Fs. What does it say?”

  “Semper Fi. It’s the Marine Corps motto, Latin for ‘Always Faithful.’ And Fortuna Fortes Juvat.” He waited until she looked from the tattoo back to his eyes. “The motto of one of the battalions I was in. ‘Fortune Favors the Brave.’” It had been the battalion he’d had the company command in, deployed to Afghanistan.

  Emily’s lips twitched with humor, not cold. “I don’t think I applied that motto correctly, then. It’s what I told myself before trying to get you to kiss me on the side of the road.”

  This woman, she could affect him so easily. The motto had been relentlessly tied in his mind to sand, to grim victory, to sacrifice. Now he was also going to see a beautiful Texan daring to touch him, to nudge him with her shoulder, to tell him she wasn’t scared of him.

  He needed to put some space between them. He wrapped the damp towel around his waist as he stayed half-standing and eyed the wet chair. He could dry it off and just keep his feet off the cold puddle on the floor. The heater blew lukewarm air over his shoulders, making him shiver more than warming him.

  Emily wriggled like a little caterpillar over to one side, looking so ridiculously cute again, he could shove Latin mottos to the back of his mind.

  “Here, come and get next to me,” she said. “The chair’s getting nice and toasty now.”

  When he didn’t move, she stopped wriggling and looked up at him. “Graham, you’re cold.”

  “Not for long. The engine’s warming up. The air will be hot in a moment. I’ll sit over there.”

  She spoke through a clenched jaw, an angry little caterpillar. “Sit down where it’s dry and don’t be ridiculous.”

  “That schoolteacher voice isn’t exactly a turn off.”

  “I’m not trying to turn you off or turn you on. I just want you to get your frozen butt in this toasty chair.”

  She was right; he’d be ridiculous to disobey her. He wasn’t warming up very fast as he was. He fit himself alongside her, lying on his side to do it, so he was facing the mummy he’d made.

  “All right, my butt’s in the toasty chair.” He was grateful for it, too.

  She wriggled some of the comforter out from under herself and pulled it over his shoulders. “Here, it’s mostly dry.”

  “You’re mostly naked. Not a good idea.” Best damned idea in the world.

  “I’m all the way naked, and I’ll let you know when I’m trying to turn you on. This isn’t it. Besides, you’re wearing a towel.”

  “It’s a towel, not a chastity belt.”

  Emily kicked a little until she’d gotten some of the comforter over his feet, too. “There, now you’ll warm up faster.” She smiled at him once she was satisfied, a smug little grin over the comforter.

  “What are you so pleased about?”

  “I’d just like to point out that my schoolteacher voice works better on you than your scary military voice works on me.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her challenge. “I bet I can make you take that back.” In bed, when you’re begging for me again.

  She blinked, reminding him suddenly of the way she’d first looked at him back at Keller’s bar. That’s right, sweet girl, you’ve got all my attention. All of it.

  The interior lights timed out, shutting off and leaving them in the dark. He waited in silence for their eyes to adjust, listening to the way her breath was a little shallow, a little quick, the way it had been when he’d had her body under his hands in the front seat. That little taste of his addiction hadn’t been enough, not nearly enough to last him for the next three months—but it needed to be. There could be no repeat in the back seat. If I have you once, I’ll never stop craving you. He’d tried to dismiss that thought when she’d had the steering wheel at her back, but of course, it had been true. Too true.

  He needed to lighten up in the dark, for her and for himself. “If my commands don’t make you stop, your own common sense should. What were we supposed to prove by taking that little swim?”

  “That we’re officially in the polar bear club.”

  He rolled his eyes and started to turn away.

  She laughed in the dark. “That our parents were right and we shouldn’t go swimming in January?”

  “Let’s go with that.”

  She propped herself up on one elbow, looking down at him in the gray dark. She was all smiles. He wanted her badly. He wanted to pull every last smile into himself, wanted to use her to fill up all that emptiness he’d been carrying around.

  He closed his eyes against that blinding truth. Emily needed to keep running away from him if he ran toward her. She didn’t need a man who needed her so badly.

  “We weren’t proving anything,” she said, oblivious to the serious turn of his thoughts. “We were celebrating. We’re happy that I’m not going to waste another half a year of my life at Oklahoma Tech. You’re happy that you aren’t working at some job that pays well but sucks.”

  “Happy.” He laid back and used one hand to rub his forehead in the sudden silence.

  “Aren’t you looking for happiness?” Her voice was a little more subdued.

  “Happiness might be overstating it. I just crossed the border into Texas this afternoon. I wasn’t coming here looking for happiness.”

  “What if you found it, anyway?” She rustled over him in the dark, settling her chest onto his as gently as feather down. Her skin was still cool to the touch. Her breasts, unbearably soft, gave against his hard chest. “You came here to reboot, which isn’t the same as being happy. But what if, on the very first day you arrived in Texas, you found out you could be as happy as you’ve ever been? No broken hearts. No regrets. Could you let go of your worries and just enjoy being happy?”

  Emily’s question was simple on the surface. Graham lay underneath her, aware that she had depth and wisdom and a sensuality about her that we
nt beyond bare skin and a buoyant personality.

  He valued her all the more for it. Hearts and regrets and the future mattered more than ever, when they were hers.

  Her hair dripped on his shoulder, as cold as ice.

  “Let me get you that comb you wanted.” It was a gutless change of subject, and he knew it.

  He felt her cool hand as she cupped his cheek. She kissed him once, softly, a kiss as if she—as if she felt sorry for him. “I’ll get it. Where is it?”

  He raised his head, thinking to get up to get it for her, but it was a useless reflex, an automatic courtesy that served no purpose. He’d have to make her move and then he’d have to climb over her to get it. “In the gym bag. There’s a shaving kit.”

  She plopped the bag on the center console and dug out his comb. Keeping the comforter in her teeth so it covered up her front, she pulled an already damp towel around her shoulders and then started combing her hair out, starting at the bottom, working her way up. Graham was glad the heater was blowing hot now, because the towel had to be cold as it caught more water.

  He watched her in silence as she combed out her hair in the moonlight, a siren, a mermaid. He’d crossed oceans by carrier without seeing a mermaid. He’d needed to come to this little landlocked pond to find one. The thought came and went as he admired the grace in her movements, the unhurried efficiency that came from having done this same task year after year. It was such a womanly thing to comb out her long hair, as much yin to his yang as her smooth face was to his day’s beard.

  “You are beautiful.”

  She paused.

  Then she took one more stroke with the comb and tossed it back in his shaving kit, tossed the wet towel onto the other seat, and tucked the comforter under her arms. Her bare shoulders were pearlescent in the gray light, her face an opal as she sat and looked out the window.

  Graham ached for her, his body hard, aroused by her quiet beauty as much as he’d been aroused by more basic desires tonight.

  She sighed as if she were completely satisfied. “This is the best night of my life. It already was, but it just keeps getting better. That was the most genuine compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

  “You must have had other men say you were beautiful.”

  She kept her eye on the stars. “Not like that.”

  Graham was silent.

  “Do you remember when you said my prom date must be kicking himself now for passing up the chance to hold a beautiful woman?”

  She asked the question as if they were having a casual conversation.

  They were not.

  “For the rest of your life, whenever you remember Graham and Emily by the lake that night, do you think you’ll be sad that you have memories of making love to her?” She turned her gaze from the stars back to him. “Or will you only have regrets if you don’t?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Graham and Emily, down by the lake that night.

  He knew she was absolutely right. The memory of this night should be wrapped around lovemaking. The laughter and the skinny-dipping, being alone under the stars, telling their life stories, kissing, kissing—wet towels and bucket seats—everything that went with this night outdoors should be linked to deep desire, his first night in Texas, with Emily, down by the lake.

  Emily brought all her hair to one side again, combed it into sections with her fingers, and started braiding it, her fingers and wrists graceful as she created one thick plait, beautiful in its tight symmetry. He hadn’t known a woman braiding her hair would sharpen his craving to this point. The comforter she’d tucked under her arms was secure on one side, but her other arm had to reach farther to work on the braid, and the comforter slipped a little lower. And lower, exposing a perfect curve, still hiding the perfect nipple he’d seen at the dock, in the dark.

  “By the way,” Emily said, her smile coy once more, “this is the part where I try to turn you on.”

  “Done.” His heart hurt. His body hurt. He didn’t know how he was going to keep breathing, but he managed that one word.

  “I saw this when I got the comb.” Done with her braid, Emily reached into his shaving kit and pulled out, very delicately between finger and thumb, one shiny foil packet.

  Thank God he had a condom.

  She lifted her hand higher. A second packet was attached to the first. Then a third packet. Emily’s laughter filled the back seat as she whipped out the rest of the strip.

  Thank God for the laughter, too. Graham couldn’t take much more raw emotion, not after the years he’d spent feeling empty.

  “You said I’d be a nymphomaniac if I pulled a whole strip of condoms out of my cowboy boot.” She was all smiles, the strip dangling from her fingers. “What does this make you?”

  “A happy man.” He grabbed the strip from her and tore the first one open with his teeth.

  She knelt over him once more, a knee on either side of his hips. He shoved aside the towel, the comforter, and they were bared to each other completely, that quickly. His senses were overwhelmed. He couldn’t look enough at her, couldn’t feel enough of her as her body touched his in a dozen places at once, her fingers curved around his bicep like a tattoo, her toes tucked under his knee. He could barely take his eyes off her long enough to turn his head and spit out the torn foil as he tossed the rest of the strip aside. He sheathed himself with a trembling hand.

  “This is going to be so fun,” Emily said in a purr that was far cuter than she knew. “We’re naked this time.”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  But bucket seats had their limitations. He had to give her quiet directions, let me slide down a bit, you slide up, keep your knee there, sweet girl. He kept a hand on her lower back, guided himself into position, pressed her down as he thrust upward—and nearly died from the perfection.

  There was nothing light about it, nothing cute or funny, just intense pleasure. The sound he made deep in his throat was one of surrender to the hit of pleasure. He couldn’t stand the pleasure, not when he was trained only to withstand pain.

  He needed to finish this before it finished him, a desperate man who was desperate to end the pleasure. Emily—Emily, perfect Emily—moved with him, helped him, cried out with him as they brought the pleasure directly to its crashing, crushing finish.

  Graham held Emily tightly to his chest.

  He couldn’t speak. He’d never be able to explain how hard it was to have his body, heart and soul all register bliss instead of agony. It was certain bliss to be with the right person in the right place. He needed to make this work between them. He’d find a way to make their lives mesh. But God, he couldn’t speak right now. He felt too close to crying.

  Emily regained her breath first. Her hand grew steadier as she smoothed his hair back. When she lifted herself a little way off his chest, he had to close his eyes.

  “Graham...”

  Don’t tell me how you feel, don’t ask me how I feel, I can’t talk, I can’t cry...

  “Graham, how many condoms are left?”

  It wasn’t the question he was expecting. He was so grateful it wasn’t the question he was expecting. He managed to let go of her with one arm to pat around the edge of the seat until he found the strip. He held it up and opened one eye to squint at it over Emily’s shoulder and her thick braid. “Five.”

  “In that case,” she said, pushing herself up far enough to look into his vulnerable face, “I’m not nearly done welcoming you to the great state of Texas.”

  And Graham found that he didn’t need to cry. He could laugh.

  * * *

  It would be dawn soon. The world was becoming a lighter shade of gray. The first color would appear, and he would have to disappear from Emily’s life. For a while. For too long.

  She slept on his chest, tired out from happiness.

&n
bsp; It felt so serious. It all felt so damned serious.

  Wake up, Ben.

  He was awake now. It only amazed him how long he’d been in a fog. Before grad school, before the corporate jobs, he’d been losing himself, fading away during the last year in the Marines. He’d been wasting time, wasting money. That one semester of grad school had sucked fifty thousand straight out of his bank account, the price of an elite institution. He still had some money, but he couldn’t keep this up, drifting from job to school to job, not if he wanted to be a permanent part of Emily’s life.

  That was exactly what he wanted to be.

  He’d come to Texas hoping the empty space would match his empty soul, but now he needed those three months to get his act together—to reboot, to reset, just as Emily had said. If he’d thought earlier tonight that he’d met her too late, he’d been wrong. He’d met her too soon. Three months too soon.

  He needed that reboot, and he knew it. He’d also known that if he had Emily once, he’d be craving her forever. Well, he’d had her. Now he’d pay that price and miss her every day. He kissed her as she slept. He kissed her while he still could.

  It had been worth it.

  She had her own life to square away. Would she be missing him as much as he’d be missing her? He hoped to hell she would, so she’d be waiting for him. He hoped to hell she wouldn’t, because he didn’t want her to be in pain, not the girl with the easy smile.

  These were his thoughts as dawn approached. With the light, color returned. He watched her hair turn from charcoal to warm brown, her white shoulder turn to pale gold. He woke her, so as her ruffled dress turned blue, she could put it on. Then they drove back to her truck, parked by the bar that stood all alone on the side of the road.

  She seemed more delicate in the dawn. During the night, she’d taken the lead. He’d been at her mercy, unable to do anything but accept the smiles she gave him, to laugh when she made him laugh, to feel all the pleasure she poured into him, even when it overwhelmed him. But now, with gravel crunching under their boots as they walked from his vehicle to hers, Graham felt all her vulnerability. Defying her parents was going to take a toll on her. Graham knew it, even if she did not. In the end, he hoped it paid off. Either it would work, or it wouldn’t.