12 Borrowing Trouble

by Becky McGraw

There was that whimper, that needy little mewl that was like a knife in his gut. Dylan flexed his ab muscles until the twinge subsided. “Dylan, I don’t know what’s happening between us. I know you don’t want anything permanent, but I’m not ready to let you go yet. I need you here to keep my sanity until this is over with Chris.”

  “Zane and Joel will be here to help you,” he replied through pinched lips, as he lifted his head to pull his keys out of his pocket. A shot of electricity sizzled down a nerve in his arm to his elbow. It continued buzzing there, as he tried to insert the key into the lock. His hand shook so badly he couldn’t manage it.

  Frustration and anger became so intense inside his head, Dylan felt like it was going to explode if he didn’t do something. He threw the keys on the ground, then stomped on them, before he pounded his fist against the side of the truck.

  “Dammit!” he growled, as he reared back to kick the front tire for added release. “Fucking useless arm.” His chest tightened. “Useless fucking man,” he wheezed, rubbing his chest in the center where it hurt so bad he felt almost like he was having a heart attack.

  “You done with your tantrum?” Carrie asked calmly, folding her arms over her chest, as she leaned against the side of the truck.

  “What?!?” he asked incredulously as he spun around on her, his fists clenched at his sides.

  “No wonder you and Chris get along so well. You’re just like him,” she said with a short laugh. “And no wonder we have trouble communicating.”

  The mother superior tone in her voice told Dylan exactly why she had problems communicating with her son. That attitude wasn’t going to get her anywhere with the boy. With him. “Well, I don’t need a mommy,” he said gruffly, bending over to pick up his keys. “Sometimes I think mine had the right idea.” His mirthless laugh echoed in his ears.

  A soft cool hand cupped his neck and fire shot to his groin. His heart melted like quicksilver and dripped down his body to settle there too. Dylan stepped back to growl, “Save your mothering for your son, and your pity for yourself. You’re gonna need it if you keep time with that Aussie.”

  Her eyebrows lifted, and a light flashed in her hazel eyes. “Oooh, I get it now,” she said with a short bark of laughter. “You’re jealous of Zane Lawrence,” she accused with a shake of her head. “This is a tantrum. When you said it before, I thought it was part of the game you were playing. But you were serious, weren’t you?” she asked with an eye roll. “You are a little boy.”

  Carrie spun away from him, and her floral print skirt swirled around her thighs giving him a flash of black underneath.

  Little boy?!? He’d show her little boy.

  Dylan quickly stuffed his hand into his left pocket and pulled out the remote control to her panties. He fucking owned her, and she was about to know that. He spun the dial on the side to the top, then glee consumed him as he pressed the button.

  She staggered, her body jerked hard, and he could see the tremors shaking her in the material of her skirt, which shook like a leaf in the wind. Dylan held the pressure on the button as he strolled over to her. Her fists were balled at her sides, and her shoulders tense as she pressed her knees together.

  He walked around her, and saw her eyes were closed tight, her teeth clenched. At the side of her throat, her heart beat like a drum. When the little mewls of pleasure started, and her breath hitched, he released the button. Her eyes flew open. Oh she was definitely angry.

  Well she had chosen to wear those panties today knowing he had the control. “Get your pretty ass in that truck,” he grated.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she growled, then started walking again. He hit the button and she jerked to a stop. Damn, he loved this. His dick was as hard as her head. Much, much harder. Thoughts of taking her to his travel trailer which was parked out in the woods on a friend’s property flashed through his mind, and he got harder still. She could scream out there all she wanted and not a soul would hear her. He would make her scream.

  He would take his time figuring out what all those toys he’d tucked into his duffle bag were really for. He started to leave them at the bunkhouse for someone to find, for her to find, but he didn’t want to embarrass her, and he wasn’t about to let her use them with the fucking Aussie later. Thinking about that would drive him insane.

  “You’ll do what I tell you, or I’ll stand here and keep you writhing in the dirt, screaming my name all afternoon. Screw the appointment,” he said patiently waiting, holding pressure on the button until she wailed. He quickly let it go, and she sank to her knees, breathing hard.

  “You can’t do this,” she said breathlessly. “I’ll take the panties off.”

  He made clucking noises, and her eyes swung up to his. He lifted a brow and grinned.

  “Bastard,” she ground out as she scrambled up to her feet.

  “You got that right, sweet cheeks. You’ll be calling me that many times before the sun sets today, and I drop you back off here. Now get your ass in the truck.” He held the remote out to her with his thumb on the button. She whimpered, shot him a hot glare, then reversed direction to walk toward the truck.

  Dylan laughed, his chest loosening a little as he followed her. He stopped at the bunkhouse to let Zane know Carrie was going to the doctor with him and Terri should watch Izzy, because he had no idea what time she’d be back.

  Very, very late if he had anything to do with it. Too late for the bastard’s birthday party, at the very least. Dylan was going to have a party of his own with Carrie Collins, before he let the little spitfire go. When he finished with her, there would be no doubt in her mind he was not a boy in any sense.

  Maybe if he got bad news from his doctor, this day wouldn’t be completely shit.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Dylan drove for a little while with a silent Carrie sitting on the other side of the truck. Her body language told him she was still pissed. Having the tantrum that she had accused him of having earlier. “Scoot over here,” he said gruffly. She didn’t move, so he glanced over there again. Her chin had drifted upward, and she had shifted her body more toward the door. “Did you hear me?” he asked, his tone a little louder.

  She didn’t move, instead she asked, “What are you going to the doctor for today?”

  “A release so I can go back to the rodeo,” he fired off confidently. Come hell or high water he was getting that release today.

  “But your shoulder is still hurting isn’t it? Didn’t you hurt it again at the bar? How can you go back?”

  “If the doctor releases me, I’m going back,” he replied, his jaw tightening. “Do not mention to him that I hurt my shoulder again.” Maybe bringing her to the appointment with him wasn’t a good idea. If she slipped up and said that in the office, he was screwed. That would open a whole new can of worms. The doctor would definitely be pissed if he found how he’d reinjured himself.

  “You’re going to lie?” she asked finally, spinning on the seat to glare at him.

  “I’m not lying about anything, I’m just not going to tell him.”

  “There’s no difference. Lying by omission is lying. You’re not doing yourself any favors doing that. You could really hurt yourself, if you go back before you’re ready.”

  There was caring and concern in her tone, but something else too. Desperation almost. He glanced at her then back at the road. “I could, but I’m not going to. I’ll be riding left-handed from here on out.”

  She chewed on that for a minute, then crossed her arms over her chest. “So you’re really leaving today?” The wobble in her voice had him slowing the truck, so he could find out what was going on with her.

  “Yeah, I’m leaving. Even if the doctor doesn’t give me the release, I’ll probably stay out at the trailer until he does. Or maybe drag it to wherever the circuit is and hire on for some other job. Even shoveling bull and horse shit would suit me, until I can find a doctor who will give me my release,” Dylan said, with a shrug. “That’s all I’ll be doin
g at the R & R soon with the Aussie there now.”

  “You really are intimidated by him, aren’t you?” she said in a surprised voice.

  It was Dylan’s turn to be surprised, and he snorted. “Hell no, he doesn’t scare me.”

  “But you’re jealous of him,” she accused. “You’re just giving up, because you think he’s better than you are.”

  The nail she hit resonated in his skull, rolled around then pierced his brain. Anger shot through him. “There’s not a damned thing about that asshole that’s better than me. I could outride him, out work him, out man him any day of the fucking week.”

  “Then why are you running away?” she asked quietly.

  “I’m not running away,” he replied defensively. “I’m reclaiming my old life. I want it back. That’s what I’ve been working to do for a year and half.”

  “Was it so good then? Going from place to place without any kind of tether? Without roots? I’ve never had that, so I wouldn’t know.”

  Dylan thought about that for a minute, even though an immediate hell yes laid heavy on the tip of his tongue. Flashes of his former life shot through his mind. The grind of packing and unpacking his gear, long arduous drives from one venue to the next, taking showers in the small confines of the bathroom in his trailer, long lonely nights staring at the ceiling above the bed in his trailer when he wasn’t there with a buckle bunny whose name he didn’t even remember the next morning. Definitely not glamorous, but it had been his life for a long time. That was his comfort zone. “I’ve never had roots, so I guess we’re even. I have no idea what it’s like not to be a tumbleweed. I have no answer for your question. It’s my life.”

  “It doesn’t have to be. You could have roots if you wanted them,” she said, scooting across the seat a little closer to him. “You have people who care about you at that ranch. They think of you like family, and you’re making a mistake by leaving.”

  That feeling came back to his chest, the tightening around his heart that slowed the rhythm a to a dull, uneven thud. “Family is something else I don’t know a damned thing about. Don’t want to know about it. I’m perfectly fine on my own. I don’t want people to care about me,” he growled, his fists tightening on the wheel.

  “Well that’s too damned bad, they do. I do. And I’m damned worried you’re making the biggest mistake of your life.”

  “It’s my mistake to make,” Dylan replied, taking the turn onto the dirt road that led to his trailer. Dylan was done talking about it, and he was finished with her preaching. “I told you I don’t need a mother, sweet cheeks.”

  With a sigh she sat back against the seat and folded her arms over her chest. “Will you at least wait until after Chris’s visit this weekend?”

  “Why?” Dylan asked.

  “I need you to talk to him. I think he’ll tell you why he took Trace’s truck and gun. I don’t think he’ll tell Sharon and Billy anything. Something is going on with him, and I have this sick feeling inside it’s going to happen again if we don’t do something.”

  We? So now he was a part of her solution to things with her son? He’d only put himself in the middle to help her get things going in the right direction. He wasn’t going to stick around until she figured things out. He wasn’t her children’s father. Definitely did not want to be.

  “Um, Carrie, I, ah…” he said with a shake of his head.

  She turned toward him, grabbed his bicep and her small fingers dug into his skin. “Please help me, Dylan. I need you to help me. Nobody else has been able to get through to him since Sean died. I think he’ll talk to you.”

  He should have left her at the ranch. This wasn’t how he thought this final hoorah with her was going to go. Not the way he wanted it to go for sure. Dylan had other plans that did not involve talking. “I’ll think about it. Let me see what the doctor says this afternoon,” he said evasively.

  She smiled, then leaned up to kiss his cheek. Her scent teased him and he tasted vanilla on the tip of his tongue. Weird little flutters danced over his upper body to settle in his stomach.

  “Thank you,” she said sitting back on the seat. She scooted even closer, and put her hand on his thigh. Blood rushed to his dick and he bit back a groan. Something about Carrie Collins lit him up like no woman he’d been with before. All she had to do was look at him, and his dick was hers. Ready and waiting.

  Trying to deflect her from coming up with another topic of conversation in the same vein, he said, “Tell me about your toys. What do they do?”

  Hearing her describe how those things were used would be torture he knew, but it would be pleasant pain. He wanted to know the level of kink this woman expected when they got to his trailer. Dylan definitely planned to accommodate her, and satisfy his own curiosity at the same time.

  She groaned and her hand gripped his thigh. “I have no idea what they do,” she said quietly, a strange sadness in her tone. “They were never used.”

  Why would talking about sex toys make her upset?

  She seemed to like the panties well enough. So did he. That made him anxious to explore the other things in that toy bag with her. Lord knows what he could come up with. Probably the best sexual gratification in his life. There was a little nubby ring in there with a small silver bullet vibrator attached that piqued his interest. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what it could possibly be used for, and why none of that stuff had been used. It had to be expensive.

  “Why didn’t you use them?”

  “I only bought them because I thought I was boring my husband. It had, ah, been a while since he wanted to have sex with me. I bought them to spice things up,” she admitted shyly. “He was upset I spent the money, then he died before we could, ah…”

  Dylan laughed, because he couldn’t stop it. “He must’ve been blind or castrated then, because I can guarantee it wouldn’t take a bag of sex toys for me to want to have sex with you. You just bat those big brown eyes at me and I’m ready to go.”

  She sighed, and her hand drifted closer to his cock. Dylan sucked in a breath and scooted a little closer to the door. And then the sex toy conversation somehow reverted back to darker territory. “Sean was a very good man, a good husband and father. Izzy was really sick when she was born. It took a toll on both of us…on our marriage. He was working day and night trying to make ends meet. I was battling problems at home with the kids, trying to figure out how to stretch the money he was killing himself to make far enough to pay the bills. We were both worn out, and the last thing he wanted was sex.” She laughed bitterly. “By the time he died, Sean probably welcomed it, because he could finally get some rest.”

  “And that’s why I don’t want kids,” Dylan grumbled and Carrie’s eyes flew up to his. She slid her hand off his thigh, and scooted toward the middle of the seat. The thought of their slip up at the lake slammed into his brain. Panic squeezed his chest as he braked a little to glance at her. How could he have forgotten about that? “Um, have you found out if you’re pregnant yet?”

  Her eyebrows lifted and she laughed. “What if I was?”

  “I’d do the right thing,” he growled, looking back at the road with his heart pounding like a hammer in his chest. God, please don’t let her be pregnant.

  “And what do you think that would be?’ she asked, sounding like his third-grade teacher.

  “I’d take care of you and the kid,” he said in a tone an octave below normal.

  “Take care of us how? From the road? Will you call on a pay phone when you stop at the next rodeo show?” she asked, her voice a little too even.

  The air inside the truck got heavier, his chest tighter, with every second he didn’t respond. He finally dragged in a painful breath. “I’d quit the rodeo and get a regular job, so I could see the kid. I had an absent father and that’s not how I want my kid to be raised.” Dylan looked at her. “I wouldn’t lay off all that on you either. It’s my responsibility too, so I’ll man up.”

  Flashes of him holding Jayden Rhodes f
lashed through his mind, and he wondered if his kid would have dark hair like his mother’s, or blonde like Izzy. Would the kid be proud to call him daddy? An unexpected yearning to find out hit him in the center of his chest, stopping his heart. Could he make a kid proud to do that? His breath came out in a rush. He would do everything in his power to make that happen.

  “I’d do my best to be a good father,” he said with determination as emotion clogged his throat. “Whatever that takes, I’ll do it,” he finished in a raw voice.

  The air thickened even more, his heart finally returned to a regular rhythm, but he couldn’t breathe any better when the silence in the cab became deafening. Her words when they finally came were sharp and vivid. “I’m not pregnant, Dylan. I’d just had my period before we had sex at the lake. I don’t ovulate for two weeks after. You’re safe.”

  He was safe. Carrie wasn’t pregnant. Bubbles of giddy relief carbonated his veins, until they were suddenly popped by disappointment at never getting to meet that unnamed child, his child. They fizzled and settled like flat soda in his gut.

  Good lord, what had this woman done to him?

  Carrie sighed, then said, “I’m relieved too. The last thing I want is to raise another kid alone.” Dylan glanced over to see her lips were pinched and her face a little flushed.

  “I told you I would have helped you.”

  “Until you got an itch to take off,” she accused, folding her arms over her chest. “Or if you didn’t, you’d resent me and your child for tying you down. That’s not how I want to live.”

  Anger and indignation boiled up inside of him. “Bullshit. I’m a man of my word. I would’ve taken care of both of you!”

  Carrie turned toward him. “You’re right. You are a good man, you just don’t want the world to know that do you? You’re scared people will get attached to you, want you to feel something for them too. That scares the hell out of you doesn’t it?”

  Damn, this woman was better than Sharon ever hoped to be. He thought his foster mother had dragged things out of him he had no intention of telling anyone, feelings he never even knew he possessed, anger he had repressed. This woman was even more gifted at it. She knew exactly which buttons to push, even better than Sharon had.