by Gigi Thorne
And then the scenery changed. There was no backdrop. There was Sami with a tear-stained face, sitting on a rumpled bed inside the motorhome. He listened and felt his life pass before his eyes.
“So yeah, we, uh, did it. I went to the bunkhouse like I planned.”
Her hands were twisting a corner of the linens. He saw the territorial hickey he’d put on her neck and cringed. Obviously, this section was filmed after the scene at the bunkhouse. Suddenly, his stomach didn’t feel all that great.
She picked at the blanket and shrugged. Everything about her appearance, tone, and posture suggested misery.
“Found out the hard way that playing a role and acting out a scripted scene in no way is preparation for doing it in real life. Marched in there all full of myself.”
She snorted and shook her head. The tears swimming in her eyes made him want to puke.
“I thought all I had to do was flash the girls and shake my butt. Jesus. Can you believe that? Got what I deserved.”
The tears started streaming down her face, and the horrified anguish in her voice tore up his heart.
He heard Sami's gasp and looked up in time to see her dashing forward. “What are you doing?” she shrieked. “Stop right now.”
Blocking her attempt to shut down the video, he reacted with an anguished bark.
“Sami. I have to know.”
On the screen, she was beginning to wail. He didn’t know which was worse. Her stricken face watching as he invaded her privacy or watching her fall apart because of him.
“I knew what was going to happen the whole time we pretended to be civil. It’s what I wanted, right? My god, I was stupid to imagine we could pick up where we left off.”
In the damning video, she sniffled and wiped a hand back and forth on her nose.
“It was awful,” she whimpered.
He was sure his heart was going to break hearing those words. Awful? Oh my god.
By this point in her story, she was openly sobbing.
“Cowboy and me, well, we’ve always been wild between the sheets. And this was a wild session worthy of the record books, but it was so horrible. Before, even when it was raunchy, there was love. Yeah, we fucked, but it was just one way we made love.”
She choked on some sobs. “There wasn’t any love; hell, there wasn’t any emotion except his anger. Afterward, he withdrew inside himself and made me feel like crap. Didn’t say a word. And to make it worse, I experienced my first walk of shame, and yeah, along with that comes a raft of confusing feelings.”
That was when she broke. “Oh my god, the way I behaved. I’m nothing but a slut.”
With that damning declaration, she flung herself onto the bed and sobbed uncontrollably. He was going to be sick.
The video played on. It was evident on the screen that at some point she’d forgotten about the camera. When her tears were drained, she sat up and blew her nose. She murmured, “Oh,” and lifted a small remote and aimed it at the camera. Then the screen went black.
He looked at her. She was white as a ghost. And then she turned around and ran into the motorhome.
For a good minute, he was frozen and didn’t move. Her admission that she went to the bunkhouse to seduce a reaction out of him was no surprise. What stunned him was how she felt after they did it.
His sanctimonious attitude and pathetic belief that he could fuck her out of his system had made her feel like a whore.
He accepted his one-way express ticket to hell, stood, and went after her. Enough was enough.
She was pale and trembling when he found her. There were things he wanted to say, but first, there was something they needed to do.
Stepping into her body space, he put his hands on her face, kissed the tears away from the corners of both eyes, and then covered her quivering mouth with his lips. The tender kiss was pure emotion on his part. She was the only girl he could ever love, and his pride was keeping them apart. If he wanted that to change, he had to own his part of what happened.
Gathering her close, he crushed her small body against his and deepened the kiss. It took a considerable amount of restraint to stop the kiss from spiraling out of control. It wasn’t about sex right now. It was about being honest and reconnecting the way they should have before a lot of unpleasant emotions ruined everything.
She didn’t resist, but she also didn’t do anything other than receive. As gently as he knew how, Wyn coaxed her mouth with teasing strokes of his tongue. He felt it when she started to give in. His heart filled with happiness and relief. There was still a chance.
Her small hands caressed his neck and made him shudder. She wrapped her arms around him and clung. That was the moment he knew everything was going to be all right. Eventually, he lowered them to her bed and alternated between soft kisses and full body embraces.
There was no talking. That part would come later. Right now, he just wanted to be with her. Hold her. Show her through some impressive exercising of restraint that she was so much more to him than someone he fucked.
The evening slowed the way it always did. Wyoming at nightfall was a magical time. Without removing a stitch of clothes, not even their shoes, they held each other in her bed. She fell asleep in his arms with her warm breath on his skin.
They weren’t quite there yet, but they would be soon. She was his, and he was hers. Pretending otherwise was just plain dumb.
The last thing he thought about before drifting to sleep was how fast he could put a baby in her belly. They’d wasted enough time.
* * *
“Baby, wake up. I gotta go.”
She complained and squirmed. “Huh?”
“Sami, baby. Wake up.”
Prying her eyes open, she found Wyn’s handsome face just inches from hers. He was grinning, and there was a joyful gleam in his eyes. He bent down and kissed her awake.
“Why are you leaving?” she grumbled.
“Have to, honey. Sorry. Me and Burke are flying north this morning. The old Buchanan ranch is finally going to auction, and we aim to buy the bottom quarter of land. Perfect for a campground.”
She sat up and pushed hair away from her face. “I have to pee,” she announced before bolting off the bed and around him to get into the teeny tiny bathroom.
Her reflection made it abundantly clear that she looked like shit and don't get her started about the ripe aroma coming from yesterday’s clothes.
“Oh crap. Well, nothing to do but a quick saloon girl’s bath.” She filled the tiny basin with warm water and went about washing up as best she could.
When she rejoined Wyn, he was in the galley kitchen at the stove.
“Made you breakfast,” he told her as she sat down at the little table. The moment she was situated, he bent down and kissed her. “Good morning, beautiful.”
What the goddamn hell was going on?
“Oh, uh, good morning. Did you sleep okay?”
“Fantastic,” he replied. “A bit crowded in a queen bed but cuddling with you made it comfortable.”
Her eloquent comeback? “Oh.”
“Cheesy eggs – done the way you like them.” He stopped in the middle of sliding the fluffy pile onto a plate and looked at her. “You still eat ’em, right? Cheesy eggs.”
She smiled. “If you hand me a fork, I’ll eat whatever gets set in front of me.”
He fussed over her, and before she knew it, a glass of orange juice was shoved into her hand along with a hunk of homemade cornbread that was easily the size of her head.
After two bites, she asked, “Did you say you were flying?”
“Yep. We’re catching a ride with the toad man. He’s the go-to lawyer 'round here for stuff like this.”
She nearly choked on the eggs. “Frank Todosky is a lawyer? The guy who swore he was going to live off grid and become a hermit?”
“I know, right?” Wyn said with a chuckle. “His folks kind of forced the issue, and you know how that goes. But once he passed the bar exam, he quickly realized lawyer
ing sucked. He’s living in a shack down by the river.”
The old joke got them howling with laughter. This was what she liked about being with Wyn. When they weren’t snapping and snarling, their easy friendship came with a lot of laughs.
“A shack by the river comes with a helicopter?”
He smirked. “Yeah, especially when the shack has five bedrooms and a hot tub. Plenty of city-shy cowboys prepared to drop a wad of cash for their legal shit to get handled. Toady is doing okay for himself. He’ll be at the shindig. You’ll get to meet his wife. Shanna. Nice girl. She manages the homeschool network.”
The idea of Wyn helicoptering around Wyoming with Frank behind the controls and Burke being an annoying shithead filled her with unease. “I don’t like helicopters.”
“Ever been in one?”
Sami shuddered. “Ugh. Yes. Five hours strapped into a harness to film a thirty-second shot. I was scared shitless.”
“Well, don’t worry. Frank isn’t a daredevil. He and Shanna have a baby on the way, so I'm sure safety is a top priority.”
What April had said about the unexpected made her frown with worry. Wyn, on the other hand, was grinning like an idiot.
Her brow arched. Just the one. “Is something funny?”
“You’re worried about me. Not funny but damn amazing. Considering.”
She was through playing games or being subtle. “Considering that I’m hopelessly in love with you and willing to do anything?”
The grin disappeared. “Right back atcha, darlin’.”
She gaped at him, jaw dropped and wide-eyed.
“Gotta go,” he said as he checked his watch. “Can we get together later? I think there is some shit and a bunch of stuff we need to discuss.”
Shit and stuff. God. If that didn’t describe the current state of things, she didn’t know what would.
He kissed her – twice. “Come to the bunkhouse at dusk and wear something pretty.”
And then he was in his truck and driving away before she knew what happened.
6
Wyn paced the walkway in front of the bunkhouse and watched the sun start to set. Where the hell was she?
He rechecked his watch and kept pacing. Finally, he caught a faint sound on the breeze and peered into the woods. Before long, he saw a pair of headlights bouncing around as a vehicle drove the bumpy access lane.
Sami.
She pulled her shiny blue truck next to his and switched off the lights. He was at the driver’s door to help her out when she turned the key, and the engine stopped.
He felt like a teenager on a first date.
“Hi.” He checked her out from head to toe. “You’re beautiful.”
She was wearing a summer dress that hugged her tits and swirled around her thighs. The heart-stoppingly sexy heels had strappy things wrapped around her ankles and made him think a dozen dirty thoughts.
“Oh, Wyn. Don’t you look handsome?”
Did he? He shrugged. White shirt, black jeans, nice boots, cool belt buckle – his best and only sartorial move. Although he had shaved the scruff off his face and managed to tame his hat hair.
“Are we going to prom?” She giggled.
Every worry he had, every speck in every shadowy corner of his heart and mind faced imminent defeat the minute Sami Colton came home. Her husky giggle gave all his doubts a hefty boot kick to the curb.
He learned two important things from her cowboy confidential diary. First, that she never stopped loving him, and second, that she was easily hurt by his attitude. His granddad used to say that ’tude was a man’s worst enemy when it came to the ladies. Too much and they called you an asshole – too little and they passed you by. Wyn wanted to add a third category – angry ’tude. That particular ’tude was a dead end and should be avoided at all costs.
“Nah.” He chuckled. “Got something way better than a homeschool prom. Come on,” he said as he took her hand. “Check it out.”
She took two steps and nearly face-planted. Sexy heels and rough ground weren’t meant to be friends.
He caught her right away and swung her into his arms. She laughed and cracked bad jokes as he marched her to the bunkhouse door.
“Now this is what I call excellent valet service.” She giggled and kept going. “In LA, they’d call this grubbing for tips.”
The grin on his face extended into his soul. He put her down and made a production out of smoothing down her dress. She smacked his hands away when they started an exploratory mapping of her thighs. The part of him that wanted to ask what she wore for underwear accepted being sidelined and melted to silence. Now wasn’t the time.
He pushed open the door with a flourish, said, “Voilà,” and stood aside to let her enter. The soft gasp when she got her first look told him he’d done okay.
“Wyn!” She sighed. “This is fantastic.”
Yeah, it is, he thought as his eyes swept the room. Candles in glasses and Mason jars were scattered everywhere. The flickering lights gave the cabin a romantic feel. In the reconstructed hearth, a small fire crackled and popped. The table was set for two using his mom’s funky stoneware.
He saw her glance at the futon bed. He made damn sure to put it in its sofa configuration and even added some throw pillows. This wasn’t about sex, and he wanted her to know that going in.
“Waaiit a minute,” she murmured. A cute sniff followed by a pause, and then she was pounding on his chest with her palms and excitedly hopping up and down.
“I smell Italian! Is that what I think it is?”
She rushed to the stove, but he jumped into her path. “Nope, nope! Chill your pretty tits.”
Without missing a beat, she grabbed her tits and jostled them. “They are nice, aren’t they? All natural. No modification, thank you very much.”
She looked around some more, squealed, “Ooh! Onion dip,” and then zeroed in on a dish of old-school potato chips and dip. “Areweonadate?”
“Huh?” He couldn’t decipher her words while her mouth was stuffed with dip.
“I said” – she smirked after some mouth wiping – “are we. On. A date?”
“Well, yeah.” He snorted with a wave at the effort he put out. “I don’t do this shit on the regular.”
Sami’s outrageous laugh – the one that he heard in his dreams, the one he thought was forever gone from his life – filled the old bunkhouse.
She rocked her sweet hips on a quick dash to the refrigerator. “Is there wine?”
He all but tackled her to the floor to keep her from opening the refrigerator. The fancy silver bucket thing his mom provided was on the shelf with a very expensive bottle of champagne tucked inside. Champagne wasn’t an everyday thing so … no peeking.
“There’s clearly a script that I haven’t read, so why don’t you tell me what part I’m playing.”
She asked this question with chick-snark hanging on every word. Sami did awesome chick-snark. He tried for stern but ended up laughing. “How ’bout you sit your pretty ass down and give a guy a chance. Jesus, Sami. I’m trying to fix things, and you’re not helping.”
Oh man! She totally let him know she wasn’t a teenager anymore by making an entire production out of strutting on those killer heels up to a seat, bending provocatively from the waist – while flashing her panties – brushing unseen dust off the chair, and then lowering into a cross-legged pose best described as the Queen meets Hooker Hannah. Royal wave, naughty lip bite, and all.
Her “I’m going to eat you alive” facial expression turned him inside out. She was the perfect combination of sweet and dirty – just the way he liked it.
Now that she was in one place and not able to cause trouble, he offered her a glass of wine from a bottle of Chianti that Mom insisted was the only thing to drink with the meal she threw together.
Sami eyed it as though he was pouring arsenic. He seriously wished throwing her on the floor for a hard fuck was in the realm of possibility for the evening’s activities. However, the
box burning a hole in his pocket stopped him from being a dick.
He reviewed his options and went with sweet-talking. She played along.
They had a perfectly lovely, civilized, grown-up discussion about the auction, helicopters, why Burke never seemed to grow up, and the winter weather prediction from an old almanac the ranchers swore by.
It wasn’t them. Lovely, civilized and grown-up kept the peace but didn’t move the ball downfield. Wyn was at the stove, getting ready to plate their dinners when she walked up from behind and rather boldly palmed his butt.
He told her to behave. She pouted and informed him with an indignant sounding sniff that he was no fun.
Wyn didn’t know everything in life, but where Sami was concerned, there was a thing about her that he knew quite well. She was a bitch when she was hungry, and the best way to affect an attitude adjustment was by feeding her – so he did.
She put away an entire plate with no effort.
“Your mom is the best cook,” she purred. “She’s gonna have to show me how she makes this. What’s it called?”
He felt waves of emotion coming from her, and the look in her eyes bounced back and forth between innocent seduction and heart-melting tenderness. Ten painful years faded to nothing. The love they shared was too strong for any barrier – real or imagined.
“Dad calls ’em stronzate. It’s a made-up name in Italian that I believe roughly translates to shit turds.”
She lost it with laughter, so he did his best mom-in-the-kitchen comedy routine.
“I mean, come on. He’s right. A strip of beef, stuffed, rolled, and tied with string does look like horse droppings. Swimming in a bubbling pot of Mom’s Italian gravy for a couple of hours makes ’em all gooey and tender.”
“Ew! Gooey!” she shrieked.
It went downhill from there. The flood-burst of hilarity ushered in an evening of absolute perfection. They ate, drank, laughed, and ate some more. He told her about Burke getting banned at the Vegas casino. She asked if he wore the cowboy hat on his head or his wang. He nearly died laughing at her choice of words.