by Becky McGraw
Carrie’s hips stopped gyrating, and she realized the song had ended. She felt the imprint of each of his ten fingers, which gripped her ass tightly to hold her against the rock solid erection nestled at the apex of her thighs. Carrie was appalled to realize she had been rubbing herself against the man like a cat on a scratching post. Heat flooded her body, and she knew her cheeks must be bright red, as the lights came up a little.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, trying to push away from him.
Dylan smiled, but he held her tighter against him. “You’ll have to give me a minute,” he said with a laugh, as a faster song started playing.
It didn’t look like he was going to get that minute though, because a dark shadow fell over her face, and she looked up to see one of the men she had turned down earlier standing beside them. “Looks like you’re feeling up to dancing now, love,” he said to her, then turned his gaze on Dylan. “It’s my turn for a spin, mate.” The smooth, melodic quality of the man’s thickly accented voice tickled Carrie’s ears.
Carrie could swear Dylan growled. It rumbled in his chest and his arms tightened more, before he said gruffly, “I don’t think so, mate. Take a hike.”
The tall cowboy, who was probably twice as broad as Dylan, laughed. “You need to share, mate. I asked her first. You’ve had your spin.”
“And you’ve had your chance. She said no,” Dylan said, with unmistakable warning in his tone. If the foreign cowboy missed it, he must be a little slow. Carrie felt like a juicy t-bone tossed in the middle of two pit bulls. She couldn’t say she liked the feeling.
“I think I need a break,” she said, pushing against Dylan’s chest, but his arms held her firmly to him. One of the couples dancing around them bumped into the other cowboy. He stumbled into them, Dylan’s arms released her and Carrie staggered backwards. Before she knew what was happening, the two men were a tangle of arms, fists and curse words on the floor. The dancing stopped, but the music blared on. A crowd circled them as they rolled and fought for control. Excitement buzzed, cheers and whistles became deafening, then Joel pushed through the crowd to grab Dylan by the back of the shirt. “Zane, get your ass back to the ranch,” he growled as he tried to pull Dylan up to his feet.
Terri put her arm around Carrie and squeezed, just as a stray fist clipped Joel’s jaw. He grunted as he flew backwards, the crowd parted and he landed on his butt looking stunned. Terri gasped as she ran over to him. Dylan and Zane sat up to look at each other, then Joel sat up too. Dylan scrambled to his feet first. He wiped his arm over his mouth, flinched then grabbed his shoulder. The larger cowboy was slower to get to his feet, holding his head back as he pinched the bridge of his nose, which was bleeding.
“I think you broke my fucking nose, fuckwit,” he said in a nasally tone.
“Well, I think you just fucked up my chances of getting back to the rodeo, so we’re not even close to even,” Dylan replied with a groan.
“Well, I think both of you got what you deserved,” Carrie ground out as she stepped between them. She shook her head then glared at each for a moment. “Dumbass rednecks,” she grumbled. That was meant for not only the two cowboys, it was meant for the crowd of smiling spectators surrounding them too. Carrie wasn’t going to stick around to entertain them any more than she already had. With embarrassment baking her face, she walked over to Terri to ask, “Is Joel okay?” Terri glanced up at her, not looking any happier than Carrie was. She nodded. “Good, then I’m going to wait outside by the truck.”
Or maybe she’d keep on walking until she got to Trace’s ranch to get her kids, she thought, as she pushed her way through the crowd. Carrie missed them, and the normalcy they gave her. Coming here tonight had definitely been a mistake. There was nothing wrong with her or her life. Trace was wrong and Terri was wrong. This type of place was not her. She realized now she hadn’t missed a damned thing getting married young and being a stable wife and mother. Even though she wasn’t a wife anymore, it didn’t mean she had to find something or someone else to occupy her. Her kids were enough. Being the best mother to them she could was enough.
After snatching her purse from the table, Carrie headed for the front door. When she got outside, the cool night air soothed her heated cheeks. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then heard the sirens cut through the night air. That had to be the police coming to take care of the disturbance inside the bar. To take care of the two men who caused it. Maybe a night in jail would make those two think about starting a barroom brawl again. She’d like to kick their butts herself. Stupid men.
Carrie leaned against the truck door and crossed her arms over her chest. Gravel crunched, and Carrie assumed the police had arrived. Suddenly, someone grabbed her arm, and dragged her after him across the parking lot. She tried to put on the brakes by digging in her heels. “Stop it!” she yelled, stumbling as she followed, because she had no choice.
“I need you to drive,” Dylan said gruffly, as he stopped beside a big black truck on the next row. He turned her loose and shoved his keys at her, glancing back over his shoulder. “Hurry, I need to get out of here,” he growled.
She didn’t take the keys, she folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not helping you escape,” she said firmly.
“I can’t drive, my shoulder is out of joint,” he informed in a pained tone. “And I’ve been drinking,” he added as if she didn’t know that.
Carrie snorted, and pinned him with a glare. “Then you’re just going to have to stay here and take your medicine, mister. You should have thought of that before you got drunk and got into that fight.” That she had to repeat the same words she’d said to her son a time or two to an adult man who should have known better, just enflamed her more.
“You sound like my fucking mother,” he grated with a roll of his eyes. “Just get in the damned truck and drive, will you?”
Carrie lifted an eyebrow and leaned against the truck. No way was she going to do what he asked, especially the way he asked. After a second, Dylan fumbled with the keys and inserted a key into the lock with his left hand. He managed to unlock the door, and opened it wide. He put a boot on the running board, and tried to hop up, but was unable to get inside. He jumped back down and walked around to the back of the truck. Carrie followed him and watched as he grabbed his elbow and held his arm to his body. Sucking in a sharp breath, he rammed his shoulder into the tailgate. It rattled, and a low long groan came from him.
Carrie felt his pain in her chest as he cradled his elbow close to his side. With another sharp breath, he leaned away then rammed it again a little lower. He whimpered this time, his breathing short and shallow, as he leaned there hugging his arm to his body. Finally, he pushed back upright and eased his arm to his side, then staggered back to the front of the truck.
“I’ll drive,” she offered, putting her hand on his arm. If she didn’t, it looked to her like he was going to try and drive himself. He wasn’t in any shape to do that. If he killed himself it would be her fault.
He just stood there a minute, and Carrie thought he would ignore her when he heaved himself up into the driver’s seat. She breathed a sigh of relief when he slid over to the passenger side. The truck was tall so it took a little effort for her to get up into the driver’s seat. She shut the door, then without looking at him, held her hand out for the keys. After a second, he dropped them into her palm.
“Do you know how to drive a stick?”
“A little late to be asking that, isn’t it?” she replied smugly, as she shoved the keys into the ignition and reached for the clutch. “The seat is too far back, I need to scoot it forward. My legs are short,” she said, fumbling for the lever under the seat.
He grunted. “Your legs are perfect,” he grumbled.
Nobody had ever said anything was perfect about her. Not even her husband. Because nothing about her was perfect. Her legs well-shaped, but short and stubby. That came with being petite. Carrie fought the pleasure that his words brought, and jerked the lever. The se
at slid forward, and she let it lock back into place then depressed the clutch and put the truck in first gear. It had been a long time since she’d driven a truck, and a little anticipation surged through her. Her father’s old farm truck is what she’d learned to drive in, and she had loved that old truck, but it had been a heck of a long time since then.
She hoped she still remembered how this was done. Dylan leaned over on the seat to glance in the rearview. “Hurry up, will you?” he growled, then collapsed against the seat back and slid his body down.
Carrie looked into the mirror and saw what he’d seen., two uniformed policemen walking across the parking lot. They stopped at the first row to scan the lot, then their way was blocked by a few trucks leaving the bar. Carrie quickly cranked the truck and eased the clutch up. The truck lurched forward and Dylan groaned.
“You okay, or should we go to the emergency room?” she asked as she drove toward the exit. Nonchalantly, she squeezed into the exit line at the edge of the lot, then out onto the road, trying not to bring attention to them. If the cops followed them, she would draw the line at running from the police. If she saw lights behind her, she was going to stop. Even if it meant he was going to jail tonight.
“Just go back to the ranch. I need to pack up my stuff and clear out,” he said with resignation. He sat up on the seat and leaned forward to peer over the dashboard. “Let’s get off this main road. About a mile down there’s a turn-off to an old fire road to the right. Take it.” He eased back down in the seat and rested his head against the back.
Carrie drove the mile and saw the road, which could barely be called a road, and made a right turn. She gritted her teeth as the truck bounced through several small ruts before leveling out. “What do you mean clear out?” she asked, leaning forward to peer over the wheel to try and avoid the ruts.
“Joel is gonna fire me now for sure,” Dylan grated through his teeth.
Carrie hit another pothole and flinched when Dylan groaned. If they would’ve stayed on the main road, there wouldn’t be so many bumps. If he was in pain, it was his own damned fault. But she downshifted and slowed down a little more. “Joel doesn’t seem like the kind to fire someone like that? Haven’t you worked there a while? Aren’t you a manager of some kind?” Carrie had asked Terri about him, and she said he ran the bull riding adventure at the ranch.
“I’ve given him a year and a half of my life. Put blood, sweat and tears into making that bull riding adventure at his ranch a success,” he replied with a huffed breath.
“That’s a good while. I’m sure he appreciates your efforts,” Carrie said with another glance at him. The flatness, hopelessness and frustration in his voice bothered her. “Are you sure you’re not misunderstanding the situation?” Terri and Joel Rhodes seemed like caring people. Surely one misstep wouldn’t get him fired, but maybe there was more he wasn’t telling her.
“Not much to misunderstand. I gave Joel a year’s notice I was leaving to go back to the rodeo next year. I think he hired that Aussie to replace me before I even gave him notice. He’s ready to see the back of me.” Dylan shut up, seeming to be in thought for a moment. “The only one I told I might be leaving was Sheedy. He could’ve given Joel a heads up months ago to get brownie points, I guess. I thought he was my friend, but evidently I made a mistake trusting him too. Made a mistake trusting any of them. Now I don’t have a job, and I can’t go back to the rodeo, because my arm is busted again.”
“I think you’re overreacting. They seem to be good people. You should talk to Joel before you just give up and leave.”
“I’ve done all the talking I intend on doing. I haven’t misunderstood anything,” he replied then shot her a hot glance. “Except the signals you were sending tonight.”
The truck bounced violently, Dylan moaned and Carrie heard a loud hiss before the truck became almost impossible to control. Somehow she managed to guide it to the side of the road.
“I think we have a flat,” she said calmly, although the darkness of the woods surrounding the road seemed to be closing in on her. The headlights were on bright and seemed to be illuminating nothingness, a black hole lined by trees. “Do you have a spare?” she asked, not looking forward to trying to change a tire out there. “And maybe a flashlight?”
“You can’t change that tire,” Dylan replied with a dry laugh. “That thing probably weighs more than you do. It’s bolted under the bed in the back, and probably rusted there. I’d even have a hard time getting it loose.”
Carrie sat against the door and looked at him. “I’ve changed a tire before,” she informed defensively. She’d changed more than her share on the beat up sedan she’d driven for ten years. They hadn’t been able to afford a round of tires, so she’d driven on maypops for several years. When one went, she just dealt with it, just like everything else in her life.
“You haven’t changed an oversized truck tire,” he fired back. “And I can’t do it either in the shape I’m in.”
“Call Joel and he’ll come get us,” she suggested.
“The service out here is spotty. I’d almost guarantee, between these thick trees and the area, I won’t have service.”
“Look,” she said shortly. “I don’t want to spend the night out here.”
Dylan didn’t particularly want to stay out here all night either. He wanted to get back to the ranch and get his things together then ride off into the sunset. That was going to be tough to do though without his truck. He’d get Sheedy to give him a ride back out here tomorrow morning to fix the tire, so he could leave.
But then he remembered Sheedy wasn’t his friend anymore. He’d have to come up with another plan. And he also remembered his cell phone was in his right pocket. “You’ll have to get it out of my pocket, if you want to check. I can’t do it.”
A long heavy sigh came from the other side of the truck. He heard rustling, then felt her heat beside him. It was too damned dark in the truck to see anything. But he sure smelled her. And felt her small hand pat his left thigh, then skim across his fly. Dylan’s dick went rock hard behind his zipper and he jerked his hips to the side.
“Wait,” he said hoarsely. He waited a second, then lifted his hips, turning his right pocket toward her. Her scent engulfed him as she leaned across him to shove her hand into his pocket. Vanilla. She smelled like Penny’s sugar cookies, and those were an addiction for him. That smell made him want to lick her neck, lick her whole damned body to see if she tasted the same as she smelled. The side of her hand brushed his cock through the thin material inside his pocket. “Don’t be fishing around in there, just get the damned phone,” he said gruffly.
She sat back down beside him, but didn’t move away as she pushed a button on the phone. Light filled the cab for a brief second, and then went dark. She sighed, and he felt her arm drop to her thigh. “No service, and you have very little battery left anyway. I guess we’ll have to walk back to the main road.”
“It’s about five miles to the ranch, if we take the road,” he informed. “Our best bet is to take this service road to the dirt road through the woods. It’s only three that way.”
“Maybe we could flag someone down to give us a ride on the main road.”
“Or we could have to walk two extra miles, because you’re hardheaded,” he volleyed back. “And we’re already a mile from the main road, so that’s six miles.”
“Fine,” she said sliding back over the seat to the driver’s side. He heard the keys jangle, as she took them out of the ignition. “Do you at least have a gun in case we run into a bobcat or something in the woods?”
“You know how to shoot?” he asked incredulously. This woman looked like a white bread city girl to him. She’d probably wind up shooting herself or him. His arm was messed up, so shooting wasn’t going to happen for him, unless it was from the hip. No his gun would stay right where it was behind the seat.
“Won’t you take off down that road, and let’s find out?” she suggested with a snort.
&nb
sp; “How do you know how to shoot then? A shooting range at the country club? Skeet practice?” he asked snidely.
“My daddy taught me to shoot on our ranch, and my husband was a cop. They made sure I know how to protect myself.” There seemed to be a warning for him in her words. “I only left my pistol at the R & R because we were going to a bar.”
That brought up another question Dylan wanted an answer to. When he first saw her at the bar without her wedding ring, he had thought she was messing around on her rich husband tonight. Now he knew the man was a cop and he was dead.
“How did your husband die?” he couldn’t help but ask. When he thought of a widow, he thought of an old gray-haired crone, not a gorgeous thirty-something woman who smelled like sugar cookies. There was a long pause, and he thought he heard a whimper, which made him feel like an ass for asking her. It really wasn’t his business. “I’m sorry, if it’s too painful—“
“He was on an undercover drug operation and was murdered,” she spat out each word like it tasted bitter in her mouth.
Dylan couldn’t come up with any words of comfort. His throat closed off in sympathy for her situation. At her age, that had to be damned hard to deal with. And he had been a first-class ass for accusing her of cheating on the man. That explained why she was still wearing the ring, and it explained her hesitance to dance with him or anyone else.
Who knew, maybe it was still fresh, hadn’t been long since he died. “That must have been tough. How long, um…when did it…”
“Three years, four months and seventeen days ago,” she replied in a trembling voice. “If the time on your phone is right and it’s after midnight.”
Dylan knew without looking that his phone was correct, and he knew without thinking about it, this woman wasn’t over her husband’s death yet. Even though it had been three years, she was still grieving for him. He hoped she didn’t end up like his mother who grieved for five years before killing herself. Dylan always thought she died from a broken heart, as much as the bullet that ended her life on what would have been her fifteenth anniversary.