by Norah Wilson
Bullriding! She took another swallow of her wine. “And you did that for how long?”
“Too long. I’ve broken more bones than I can remember, a lot of ’em more than once. But it’s hard to leave. Paycheck’s real good, if you can stick on the bulls long enough to get into the money. But you gotta be young to do it and healthy to win at it. Unless you’re Adriano Moraes.” He shook his head. “That cat musta made a deal with a crossroads demon.”
Lauren smiled. She had no idea who Adriano Moraes was, but presumed he must be the Nolan Ryan of bullriding.
“Anyway, by the time I called it quits at the advanced age of thirty-two, I was neither young enough nor healthy enough to get into the money consistently anymore.”
“So you took your winnings and bought the ranch?”
“Yes, ma’am. My winnings and my endorsement money. Right after I convinced Marlena to be my bride.”
His voice was laced with self-mockery. Again Lauren hurt for him. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“Wasn’t her fault.” He shook his head and laughed. “Man, I don’t know what I was thinking about. I really don’t. The poor woman went from running with one of the top ten bullriders in North America to being a struggling rancher’s wife.” He tipped up his glass and drained it. “The mistake was mine. I didn’t even stop to think what the adjustment would be like for her.”
Lauren could certainly empathize with Marlena, but she couldn’t let that pass. “No more of an adjustment for her than for you, surely.”
“I was more than ready to give up the adrenaline rush, but Marlena wasn’t. I should have left her in Calgary. At that point, she could probably have snagged herself another rising star no problem. Okay, maybe a champion on the cusp of waning.”
Lauren frowned. “If that were true, what’s she doing here now? Why isn’t she on some cowboy’s arm in Calgary?”
“My fault too.” He twisted the stem of his glass. “The rodeo is for young bucks. Young bucks who have their pick of beautiful women. Powerful as Marlena’s appeal is, the truth is there are plenty of dewy-eyed, starstruck eighteen-year-olds out there ready to snap the up-and-coming champs. Marlena was already on what she called the wrong side of thirty when we met. She ran with me for a couple of years, then after we were married, she stuck it out here for another couple. All in all, it was a poor investment for her. She’da done better to have hooked up with some rich guy on the periphery of the sport, a sponsor or a breeder or something. But I had to go and propose to her.” He shook his head. “I still don’t know what possessed either of us to think that was a good idea.”
Something inside Lauren lurched precariously. She’d never known a man so ready to accept responsibility for…well, for everything. She took the nearly empty glass from him, afraid he would snap the stem as he toyed with it. She refilled it for him and passed it back, topping up her own at the same time.
“It seems to me you’ve taken all the blame here.”
He shrugged. “It was my fault.”
“All of it?” she asked quietly, meaning Marlena’s betrayal, praying she didn’t have to spell it out. She didn’t.
“Marlena had no trouble staying faithful when I was at the top of my game.” He stared into his wineglass again. “Even most of the time when I was hurt. It wasn’t until I dragged her out here that our real problems started. And that, as I’ve already said, was my fault. She needed more attention than I was prepared to give her, and…” He glanced up sharply. “Oh hell, how’d I get sidetracked? Marlena’s got nothing to do with why I’m running a dude ranch for yuppie cowboys.”
“Then tell me what does.”
He put his wineglass down. Lauren got the distinct impression he wanted to stand, or pace maybe, but there was no room in her tiny cabin. Instead he slouched back on the sofa and stretched his legs out in a semblance of relaxation.
“Well, since I couldn’t rub the old man’s nose in it anymore by keeping my name in the winners’ column, I changed tactics. I decided I’d get myself a bigger ranch and a bigger herd than he ever managed to build. I sank everything I had, plus everything the banks would lend me, into this ranch and the breeding program. But since then the market has gone from bad to worse. Then this summer I had a run of bad luck. Brush fire in May claimed some animals, and a rash of lightning strikes took some more. The economics are brutal. Fact is I’m teetering on the brink. That’s what led me to the idea of giving this guest ranch thing a try.”
“And is it everything you’d hoped?”
“It’s started to turn a profit,” he allowed. “Not enough yet to stabilize the other operations, but it will.” He leaned forward, nabbed his drink, and took a swig. “No matter what I think of this dog and pony show, it’s gonna be my salvation.”
The image of Marlena’s dead body on a rocky outcropping flashed through Lauren’s mind. Cal’s salvation could well evaporate, or stall to the point that he couldn’t hang on to the ranch, if her premonition came to pass.
Cal was still talking. “Then I can concentrate on building the herd. I’ve got land enough to graze twice the cattle, but I’ve got to get through this downswing first.”
Lauren hid a smile. This was a different Cal when he talked about ranching. Gone was the tight look around his mouth. It made her want to keep him talking. “Herefords, right?”
“Nothing but.”
She smiled at his obvious pride. “So why Herefords?”
“They’re about as efficient as you can get.”
“Efficient?”
“They turn grass into pounds faster than any other breed. They’re hardy—they’ll thrive anywhere. They’re gentle-natured and easy to work with. And as a bonus, they make good eating. Nice marbling without excess fat.”
“Gee, why would anyone raise anything else?”
He grinned. “You got me.”
She sucked in a breath. Lord, that smile was deadly. Right up there with Dennis Quaid’s. “Well, cowboy, it sounds like you’ve got it made,” she quipped. “A cattle ranch you love and a sideline to tide you through the market downturns.”
His smile remained, but it no longer reached his eyes. “I wouldn’t quite say I have it made just yet. Ask me again when I’ve doubled the herd. When I’ve found some kind of financial stability.” He raked a hand through his now nearly dry hair, which stood up in spikes.
“That’s how you measure success, then? Financial stability?”
He eyed her appraisingly. “Truthfully?”
“Yes, please.”
“Success to me will be when I can best the old man at what he said I could never do. When I can look him in the eye and tell him to goddamn well choke on it. That probably makes me a sonofabitch, but there you have it.”
The bleakness in his voice dismayed her. Somehow, with his laconic telling of the tale, she hadn’t grasped quite how volatile his relationship with his father must have been. Even more troubling was his apparent inability to savor his accomplishments to date. She groped for the right words.
“Success is relative, Cal. You’ve got a beautiful ranch here. Just because you haven’t surpassed your father’s stature as a cattleman—yet—doesn’t diminish what you have achieved.” She laid a hand on his forearm, the better to impress her words on him. “You can’t let someone else define success for you.”
He surged to his feet. Two strides carried him across the room. “Haven’t you been listening? I am defining my own success in the clearest of terms. It’ll be enough when I beat the old man at his own game.” He pivoted to look out the window, though there was nothing to see but the lights of the main ranch house. “Some things are easy to measure, and this is one of ’em.”
His short hair stood boyishly on end from shoving his hands through it. Unbidden, a picture sprang to mind of a younger, more vulnerable Cal, a boy who’d had to make do without the tenderness of a mother’s love.
Click. She saw him again in her mind’s eye as a rebellious young man, chafing against his father’s cold aut
hority.
Click. Another mind picture, this time of a handsome bullrider whose beautiful girlfriend was faithful when he was winning and “mostly faithful” when he was broken.
Her heart squeezed painfully, but not with pity. More like amazement for the man that he’d become in spite of those things. In that space of those few short seconds, she made her decision. She knew it was probably foolhardy, but she wanted this man. She wanted to give him everything that she had tonight.
And he wanted her. He’d made no bones about it. He wasn’t looking for forever; he knew she had to go home eventually. So where was the harm in it?
Suddenly she couldn’t remember.
Before her courage deserted her, she stood and crossed the worn, painted softwood floor to where he stood. Heart trembling at her own audacity, she slid both arms around him from behind. He drew his breath in on a hiss, and for one horrifying second she thought he’d pull away. Then she felt the angry tension in him change to something else. His hiss turned to a groan when she pressed herself against his back. She smiled her relief into the soft fabric of his shirt.
“You’re absolutely right,” she murmured, taking heady pleasure in the small shudder that went through him. “Some things are easy to measure, like how much I want to make love with you.”
Cal almost came out of his skin when she slipped her arms around him. Only the soft crush of her breasts against his back stopped him from breaking away. Then she said it, the words he’d been aching to hear. I want to make love with you.
As he’d shaved tonight, he’d practiced the words of seduction he’d use on her to bring her to that confession, but now he didn’t know what to say. His words had deserted him.
With a wry smile, he lifted her right hand and settled it palm down in the center of his chest. “Can you feel that?”
She trembled slightly. “It feels like it’s going to explode,” she breathed against his back.
“Only if you don’t let me turn around.”
“Oh. Of course.”
The warmth of her body retreated. She tried to drop both hands too, but he kept the one he’d pinned to his chest. It made for an awkward turn, but no way was he letting her go now.
His breath caught again at the look on her face. Desire sharpened every feature and put a flush on her cheekbones. It also made her very soul shine out of those blue eyes. Her warm, generous, fix-the-world soul.
She’s too good for you.
The thought blindsided him. He’d had his share of success with women, but they’d been much like him, just looking to get themselves through. Lauren was different somehow. He didn’t know how he knew—hell, she wrote erotic stories for money!—but he knew. Those other women understood exactly what they were getting in him. And more importantly, what they weren’t getting. He seriously doubted Lauren did.
Dammit! He was going to give her a chance to back out. He could feel the words welling up in him. To stop them from bursting out, he tipped her head up and pressed his mouth to hers. Damn, she tasted good. Like sin. Like red wine and night and woman.
He lifted his head and the words escaped despite the desire burning in his gut. “Are you sure?”
She slid her hands down to ride the waistband of his jeans. “I’m sure.”
He rested his forehead on hers, breathing heavily. “You understand it’s just sex? No bride and groom on a wedding cake, no happily-ever-after?” He felt her nod, but he had to have the words. “Still want to?”
“Only as much as my next breath.”
That was all he needed to hear. Taking her at her word, he hauled her against him again and cut off her next breath with his mouth. It was not a tasting, testing sort of kiss. It was a devouring. For long moments, there was nothing but the pounding of his heart and the harsh sound of their breathing.
When he released her mouth at last, she sagged against him. “Take me to bed, Cal.”
He didn’t need another invitation. Hoisting her high, he let her slide down his body, the exquisite friction making him tremble. “Put your legs around my waist,” he urged hoarsely, and when she complied, he groaned. “There’s one fantasy down. You don’t know how much time I’ve spent imagining the feel of your legs around me.”
“Glad to oblige.” She’d wrapped her arms around him too, and the soap scent of her rose up to further torture him. “But I hope that’s not the only fantasy you’ve been entertaining.”
“No, ma’am, it’s not,” he assured her as he headed for the small bedroom at the back of the cabin.
“Good, ’cause I’ve got a few fantasies of my own.”
His legs almost locked at that. Chrissakes, she wrote erotica! Heaven only knew what shape her fantasies took. His probably looked pretty vanilla and unimaginative compared to hers.
He reached the bedroom, and suddenly he didn’t know what to do with her or what to do with his own self-consciousness. Drop her on the bed and follow her down? Stand her on her feet and ravage her mouth? He’d never been accused of a lack of imagination in the bedroom, but what would she expect? Mother of God! This was a helluva time for a crisis of confidence. Despite his near panic, he wanted to laugh.
Well, one thing was for sure—he couldn’t hold her forever. She was no lightweight. Unlocking her legs, he let her slide down the length of him. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she went for his mouth, and that was his salvation. He forgot his indecision in the fiery heat of her. In a move that was pure instinct, he gripped her bottom and pulled her closer, taking a savage satisfaction in her gasp.
She broke the kiss to scrabble at his shirt. “Get this open. I want to touch you.”
“Gladly.” His fingers flew over the buttons. With each one he freed, she spread the shirt wider, her cool hands sliding greedily over his exposed chest. When he’d undone the last button, he reached behind himself, intending to yank the damn thing over his head by the collar, but she stopped him.
“Not so fast.”
She pushed the shirt back so the fabric confined his arms, her hands like delicate birds on the points of his shoulders. For agonizing moments she just looked at him in the dim light cast by the small bedside lamp. Then she pushed the shirt all the way off his shoulders. One shrug and it fell to the floor.
Cal couldn’t take his eyes off hers. And Lauren, it seemed, couldn’t take her eyes off his chest.
“Perfect.”
Her breath stirred against his chest, making him shudder. “Perfect? I think you need another light in here, sweetheart.”
She lifted one hand and trailed it across his pectorals, light as the brush of a butterfly’s wings. He sucked in a breath and the muscles of his stomach contracted. That ripple of motion drew her other hand, which seemed intent on mapping the ridged terrain of his abdomen. Then her fingers stopped. They’d found the hard diagonal furrow under his rib cage.
“What’d I tell you?” he said. “Not perfect after all.”
“Scar tissue?”
“A shaving nick.”
Her hand was moving now, measuring it. “I’d say it was a little more serious than that. What happened?”
“Souvenir from my bullriding days.” Her hand hovered over the spot, the merest kiss of flesh on flesh, and damned if he didn’t feel a soothing energy flowing into him.
“A bull gored you?”
“Not intentionally. Not that some bulls won’t try to stick a horn in you, but that time it was my fault. I got my hand stuck in the bull rope. He was just trying to shake me loose.”
She lifted her gaze to his face at last. “Are there more?”
“’Fraid so.” He covered her hand and guided her fingers to another scar. “This one’s a lot smaller, but it was a more serious injury.” Her fingers seemed to freeze, and a ghastly thought struck him. What if she were squeamish about that kind of thing? No, surely not. She was a vet, after all. And an EMT to boot. On the other hand, maybe she had expected perfection. She could sure as hell command it.
“You know, Lauren,
now’s the time to bail if you’re gonna.”
“Bail?” Her eyes sprang wide. “Why would I want to bail?”
“If the scratches and dents bother you…”
She stepped back and pulled her sweater over her head. “They don’t bother me.”
“Apparently not.” His voice was little more than a croak. She stood before him, her short-cropped hair black and glossy as a raven’s wing, blue eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed. He dropped his gaze to her midriff, bare above the waist of her jeans, taking in her small breasts cupped lovingly by white lace. Cal took one step backward and sat down on the bed.
“Come here.”
She just smiled a slow, sexy smile, then reached behind herself to unhook her bra. Cal held his breath as she peeled it off and tossed it aside. He’d always liked large-breasted women, but hers were incredible, small, high, and firm, their nipples dark. Lord, how long had it been since he’d been with a woman? And how much he wanted this one.
“You are so beautiful,” he said when he remembered to breathe again.
“You like?”
“I like.” Cal didn’t know how much more of this long, slow buildup he could stand. “Come here and I’ll show you how much.”
She did close the distance between them then. He circled her waist with one arm, pulling her close between his legs. The other hand he used to shape one breast, to learn its texture and weight. Slow, he reminded himself at the leap in his groin. She wants to take it slow. With deliberateness, he nuzzled his head between her breasts, watched her nipple stiffen. For long minutes, he tortured her with his breath and his calloused fingers, the hitching of her breath in the silence his reward.
She broke first. Her hands grasped his head, guiding him to her thrusting breast. Gripping her hips, he closed his lips around the tight bud he’d been tormenting. The sounds she made were a prayer of relief and gratitude. He didn’t know if it was the sweet noises she was making or the taste of her that did it. Either way, his own self-control was swept away like a twig in the flash floods that raced down from the mountains in spring.
He pulled her down on the bed. The delicious shock of chest-to-chest contact was enough to slow them, but only for a moment. Then they were rolling, tangling, mouths mating, hands seeking, finding. He undid her jeans, dragging them off without ceremony, leaving her with just a small triangle of white cotton. Then, as he watched, she peeled the last barrier away herself and tossed it on the floor.