Outlaw Cowboy

by Nicole Helm

  “Christ, you’re going to kill me.”

  “That’s the plan,” she murmured, nipping at his collarbone before she set her own pace. His hands gripped her hips hard, probably hard enough to leave a mark, but she was still free to move at her own rhythm.

  He watched where they met, time and time again, so she did too, chasing the excitement of release. It spiraled from her center to every inch of her. Head to toe. Even the tips of her fingertips flat on the hard ground were pulsing with need.

  “Hurry,” he groaned, urging her faster. She had no trouble granting that wish. She wanted to hurry, to reach the point where pleasure obliterated everything else, but she needed more.

  “Get on top,” she panted, and they rolled together until they’d reversed positions, until he plunged deep inside of her, hitting exactly where she craved. “Yes, that. There.”

  She clutched his shoulders, finding exactly what she needed to hold on to to finish this. To race to the end.

  Anything that had been easy or light or gentle was gone. It was just hard and brutal and perfect, and when she exploded over the edge, he groaned and pushed deep, and she knew he was lost in his own orgasm.

  She couldn’t breathe, wasn’t sure she could manage thinking any time soon, and it was absolutely wonderful.

  Chapter 13

  Half of Caleb’s body was completely warmed by the fire, and the other half was completely warmed by the press of Delia’s slim frame. He’d pulled one of the blankets over her, but it wasn’t big enough to cover him. He found he didn’t need it.

  He should probably go rescue the food he’d shoved into the cooler, but that would require moving and breaking the moment. And once it was broken, he had no idea what was left. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to find out.

  In this moment he was relaxed and happy, and he would be content to stay in that rarity for as long as it could last. Especially if she felt the same. She definitely needed some relaxed, happy time.

  “So.”

  He sighed. Delia was never going to be one for basking. At least she was still lying next to him, allowing his arm to be around her. She was allowing him to hold her close, and that was something. He indulged in rubbing his cheek across her hair, since there was no way she’d let him do it for long. “So.”

  “I guess that wasn’t too bad.”

  He barked out a laugh, squeezing her closer to him even when she struggled. “You killed me dead, and you will never convince me the feeling wasn’t one hundred percent mutual.”

  When he managed to catch her gaze, she rolled her eyes, but her lips were curved, and her cheeks were pink.

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself, hot shot.” She gave him an ineffective shove, but she turned toward him, which allowed him to pull her chest to chest, only the scratchy blanket between them.

  “I don’t have to tell myself anything. I probably have the marks on my ass to prove it.”

  Her mouth twitched against a smile. “What, you want a postmortem of how you rocked my world?”

  “I would not say no to that.”

  “You’re shit out of luck, honey. I think you’ve got a big enough head as it is.”

  “Speaking of big heads…”

  This time she finally laughed and gave him another push. “If you recall, that was the only condom I have. Because you are unprepared.”

  He worked his hand under the blanket between them. “There’s a lot that can be done without a condom.” Her arms pushing him away softened.

  “That so?”

  His fingertips trailed over her stomach and then her rib cage, and as much as his dick was responding to the softness of her skin, he couldn’t get over how damn skinny she was. He reluctantly took his hand out from under the blanket. “But first, you need some dinner.”

  She sighed and her bangs ruffled out with the expended air. “Your mom-ing is weird. Believe it or not, I can feed myself.”

  “Then let’s have you do that so I can stop worrying about how easy it was to hoist you over my shoulder like you were less than a sack of feed.” Because she hadn’t felt much heavier at all, and this right here was the reason he’d tried to keep her so decidedly out of reach.

  He couldn’t help himself from worrying over her, trying to help her, and he knew he was bad at that. But he was making a change. Making that different. Hell, maybe if he could get Delia to let him take care of her, he’d know how to take care of Dad or Summer or Shaw.

  He pulled on his pants, then collected her clothes and tossed them next to her. She watched him get dressed, but there was a frown on her face.

  “I brought some of the casserole Summer made for dinner. We’ll have to heat it up on the burner.”

  She continued to frown at him from the floor, making him slightly regret trying to feed her. There really were a lot of things that could be done without a condom.

  “You have been obsessed with feeding me since like the third grade, and I want to know why.”

  Something uncomfortable and sharp lodged in his gut and he turned away. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” He went to the cooler and began puttering around with everything he’d need to warm up the leftovers.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because the day after you caught me Dumpster diving for lunch, suddenly I’d randomly find food in my cubby.”

  Well, shit, he hadn’t realized she’d ever put that together. He hadn’t even known she’d seen him. And as much as he wanted to be thought of as something other than a total failure, he found he wasn’t all that comfortable with someone acknowledging the random good deeds he tried to accomplish.

  He could hear rustling, like she was getting dressed, but he just kept working on dinner, using the small camp stove to heat up the casserole as evenly as possible. If he poured his focus into that…

  “And, sure, it could have been a teacher. There were a few who tried to help. But they weren’t ever sneaky about it. They straight up, in front of everyone, tried to help.”

  “I also brought cheese,” he announced, deciding that completely ignoring her was the only way to get out of this situation.

  “Of course you did. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had half of Felicity’s grocery section in that tiny thing.” She stomped over to him, but he kept his eyes on the food, his expression neutral. “Why? Why are you so damned determined to feed me?”

  He fidgeted against his will. “I don’t know.” He forced himself to look up at her, to be as dismissive as possible. “There has to be some magical special reason?”

  Her dark eyes held his, and only because she would read something into him looking away did he keep his gaze steady. She couldn’t figure him out just by looking at him, no matter how perceptive that eye contact felt.

  “Why…” She dropped her gaze first, picking a piece of broccoli out of the corner of the dish. “Why me?” she muttered before popping the vegetable in her mouth.

  “Why not you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, no one ever felt much need to help out secretly, Caleb. I find it suspicious a little boy did, and a big boy does.”

  He handed her a camping fork from the box of supplies he’d given her the first day. He took the spoon for himself and took a bite. Funny, just hours ago it had tasted like nothing, but now he could recognize the flavor of the cheese, the rice, the broccoli. It wasn’t even hard to swallow.

  “You know…” He cleared his throat. Why was he tempted to get into the heart of this? He should be brushing it off, making her eat, then making them both forget for the rest of the night. But that she thought no one could or would care… Shit.

  “When my mom left, things were…hard. But Dad fed and clothed us and got us to school every morning. No matter how much of a tool I was, no matter how many things I did wrong…I had a meal and a place to sleep, and I was safe.” The people around him weren’t safe
from him, but he’d been safe.

  Delia shoved a bite of casserole into her mouth, and he’d talk forever if she kept doing that.

  “It doesn’t take a saint to notice when someone much more deserving of a decent life doesn’t have one. It certainly wasn’t anything for me to sneak some food in your cubby or locker or bring this casserole out to you.”

  Her eyes lifted to his. “You’re a shitty saint, if you are one.” Her gaze dropped again. “But you’re a pretty decent guy. I guess.”

  It was his turn to look down at the casserole. Decent wasn’t the word. Decency was something innate. He had to work his ass off to be decent, but it was time to try for more than a few weeks or months. “So, you trust me yet?”

  She took a bite and chewed, stalling, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until she ate at least a good chunk.

  “I don’t know. People change. People have their own shit crop up. Trust is asking way too much. But I don’t…actively distrust you, I guess.”

  He’d work on that. That was his goal. Shaw, and Delia’s trust. He could do it. With a solid goal, he could do this. Be the good guy. Prove that whatever was inside of him didn’t have to win. “It’s a start.”

  She poked at the casserole with her fork, frowning at it. “You’re really going to help me get Steph out?”

  Something clutched in his gut. That little voice telling him not to attempt something decent wasn’t quite dead yet, but he’d kill it one way or another. “Yes. What do you need?”

  She shrugged. “That’s the problem. I don’t know how to get her out. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her once I do. I need more time that I don’t have.”

  She’d probably balk at a hug or any kind of placating words—he would in her position. So he did his best to nonchalantly rest his hand over hers. She might not want physical comfort, but it couldn’t hurt.

  When she didn’t fling his hand off and kick him in the shin, he counted it a major victory.

  “So what you’re saying is we need a plan.”

  “And money. Which neither of us have to spare.”

  He didn’t. But he had access, so to speak. Which would mean opening up a whole huge can of worms. He couldn’t…

  “I have been wracking my brain for days.” She scratched her free hand through her unruly hair. He had the strangest urge to run his hands over her hair, squeeze her hand, or rub her back. Offer her anything simple that might give her some measly ounce of comfort.

  Considering he usually sucked at the physical aspects of affection, he didn’t know what to do with the impulse—the hand-over-hand thing was about all he had in his arsenal. So he kept his hand on top of hers, his other hand resting next to the dish on the counter.

  “So, anyway, sex was a nice distraction and all, but Steph is there until I can find some way around reality. And the reality doesn’t seem to be changing, no matter how I try to work it.”

  She tried to pull away, but his fingers tightened on her wrist. There was something to be done. There was some way around this—and it could not come from her, which meant he had to bend a little.

  He was helping. To prove something. So that meant doing things he wouldn’t normally do. He cleared his throat, ignoring her threatening scowl at his hand holding her in place. “I know you don’t want your dad to know you’re here, but I have an idea. You’ll have to let me tell Mel, though.”

  She jerked her hand away from him hard enough to break free. “No.” She walked away from the counter, beginning to pace the kitchen. “Not only no, fuck no.” She whirled on him. “Are you crazy?”

  “Her husband is loaded, and they’d both donate something for a good cause. If we could find a way to tell them about Steph’s problem without letting on you’re—”

  “You didn’t want to take their money for the ranch, but now I’m supposed to?”

  “This is different than Shaw. It’d be…just money—not ownership and stuff. And we wouldn’t have to tell Mel everything. We could work on a story. We wouldn’t have to let her know you’re here.” Which was at least partially selfish on his part. While Mel might not go tattling to her ex, she wouldn’t like Caleb hiding things from Tyler while they had a deal. Not that she’d like the safeguards Tyler had put into the lease or Caleb agreeing to them when he could just take Dan’s money.

  “I don’t need charity.”

  Frustrated by how familiar that sounded, he crossed his hands over his chest to keep them from reaching out and shaking some sense into her. “It sounds like Steph does.”

  Her head snapped back. “Don’t tell me what my sister needs.” She shook her head, taking steps backward and away from him.

  He walked toward her, wanting to soothe, wanting to comfort, but not having a clue how. “I’m trying to—”

  “Sorry, if you thought swooping in and sticking your dick—”

  He grabbed her by the wrists, holding them together between them. “Enough.”

  She gave her wrists a jerk. “Stop manhandling me, asshole.”

  He dropped her hands, everything he’d managed to eat turning to acid in his gut. Christ. He was already messing it all up, and he hadn’t even tried to help yet. He’d been grabbing her and manhandling her and telling her what to do all damn night. That was how he did things. He didn’t know how to do it any other way.

  But she’d been manhandled her entire life. She’d been mistreated and bulldozed, and what the fuck was he doing acting the same?

  She pushed his chest hard enough that he had to take a step back. “Oh, you asshole, I don’t want to defend you right now, but it’s not nearly the same. So don’t get that horrified look on your face. Okay? Holding my wrist or yelling at me when we’re fighting? It’s not the same as being beaten. You try to beat me, I’ll cut your balls off.”

  “I…” He had to clear his throat to finish the sentence. “I just want to help.” And he was already screwing it all. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t—

  Delia’s arms came around him. “I want to punch you. I want to scream at you.”

  Yet her arms were around him, holding him, and there was some weird comfort in the complete opposite of her words. Especially when she leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “But you are helping.” She expelled a breath that sounded damn exhausted. “Asshole.”

  He wanted to believe that. That he had a chance in hell of helping and not screwing this up even worse, and with Delia hugging him… He could almost believe it.

  * * *

  Delia disentangled herself from Caleb. It felt all weird and mushy, and she couldn’t live in the mushy moment any more than she could stand when he looked like he’d done something monstrous.

  She’d seen that look before. After he’d saved her from her father. Other times too, but that was the one that stood out. He’d saved her, and he’d looked so horrified by his own surge of violence.

  She hadn’t been horrified. She refused to be guilty about it either. She’d wished Dad was dead, and the only reason she was glad he wasn’t, was that Caleb would have had to live with killing him.

  Considering she’d thought about it, in the moment, and rejected actually doing it, she couldn’t wish he had.

  Especially not when he made that face. She wanted to show him how good he was, underneath all his baggage.

  She’d never heard him talk about his mom leaving before. She’d only known he’d had a mother and she’d left because people in Blue Valley always compared things to other things that had happened. Someone disappeared and it was all remember when Linda Shaw hightailed it out of Montana like she was too good for this place?

  But there was something there, in the way he did talk about it. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was more to that story, more to his story than she’d ever understood. Because if he’d been safe and fed and loved, why did he
fancy himself such a bad boy back then? Enough to burn all his bridges to have to make a crappy deal with Tyler Parker?

  She didn’t know what to look at, what to say, so she focused on eating as much of the stupid casserole as she could stomach. Not for him, but because she did need to build up her strength. She still had a long road ahead of her, even if they did manage to come up with a way to get Steph out.

  She was a wanted woman, and the man who was trying to help her didn’t have a clue. The food stuck in her throat, but she forced it down. He wasn’t eating, and the more she did and he didn’t, the more she felt like she needed to break the silence.

  “You know we can’t bring Mel into this.” She looked over the counter at him. “You know we can’t.”

  “She has money. Lots of money.”

  “Her husband does.”

  “Trust me when I say Dan would do anything Mel asked him to. Any damn thing. The guy is…” He trailed off.

  “Whipped?” she supplied.

  Caleb made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I was going to say ‘in love,’ but, yeah, whipped. That’s probably better. Love is kind of a bullshit thing.”

  The food in her stomach did an unpleasant roll at the word love. She’d never been overly comfortable with that word, even with her sisters, whom she did love. But love had a lot of strings and pitfalls, and she didn’t like to dwell too much in it. “You don’t…believe in love?”

  Oh, fuck her, had those words just come out of her own mouth? This wasn’t about love. She didn’t even think it was. She wasn’t going to fool herself like that, but it didn’t mean she didn’t believe love existed or that some people could be good enough for it.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. How do you believe in love? All I’ve ever seen it do is disappear.”

  “But you love Mel and Summer and your dad.” And she loved being an idiot, apparently.

  “Sure, but that’s blood. And I’ve seen blood walk away too, so what does that even mean?” He made a noisy exhale. “Are you telling me you believe love conquers all?”

  “No. But, I mean, it exists. For some people. I do love my sisters.”