Home on the Ranch: Rodeo Legend

by Pamela Britton

  “How long have you been here?”

  He smiled wryly. “An hour or so.” He motioned to the paper bag sitting on a chair next to him. “Compliments of my aunt Crystal. Everyone insisted I bring you dinner.”

  Did he hear the way her stomach growled at the mention of food? She hadn’t eaten the mac and cheese she’d made for lunch. No time. Her hands shook, she was so hungry and exhausted.

  “You look ready to drop,” he said, standing. “Maybe I should drive you home.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t have to do that.” But a part of her wished he would scoop her up in his arms and carry her away, and that was so completely opposite of her normal way of thinking that it took her aback. She wasn’t the kind that ever needed rescuing. She could take care of herself. Always had.

  “Come on,” he said, turning to pick up the bag. “We’ll pick up your car tomorrow.”

  “No, really. It’s okay.”

  He released a sigh. “And if you crash on the way home? If you fall asleep behind the wheel? What then?”

  He had a point, but that didn’t make her any less anxious to be alone with him. “It’s only a little ways away. I’ll be fine.”

  “Then I’ll follow you home.”

  She was too exhausted to argue anymore. Her feet even felt heavy.

  The cold night air hit her square in the face. Fog had rolled in while she’d been inside. And as always happened, it was strange to walk outside and realize it’d gotten dark. Midnight was less than a half hour away. Maybe she’d turn into a pumpkin. She’d like that. She could sleep in the pumpkin patch.

  He was parked in the visitor parking lot, which was way closer than the staff parking lot, ironically enough, given how she had to run if there was an emergency. They walked to her vehicle and he helped her into her SUV. Ava had to blink her eyes to stay awake. These were the times when she hated being a doctor.

  The short drive home seemed to take forever.

  He didn’t drive off, though. From her rearview mirror, she watched him pull up behind her.

  “I’m going to warm up some dinner,” he said, rushing to catch her at the front door. “And then I’ll go check on Balto because I can hear him barking.”

  “Carson, really. I’m okay.”

  “You’re dead on your feet.” He took the keys from her and she realized she’d been trying to put them in the wrong keyhole. She hadn’t bolted the lock.

  “Go sit down. I’ll get the food ready and then go feed the dog.”

  “I really just want my bed.”

  That last word snapped her awake a bit. Why did she get embarrassed by saying it? Silly. He hadn’t even noticed. He took off his cowboy hat, hung it on the coat rack before shaking his head. “Sit.”

  The kitchen smelled heavenly in no time flat, like garlic and thyme and maybe rosemary. He disappeared for a moment, reporting back that Balto was fine, just hungry, and that he’d fed him. So was she, she suddenly realized.

  “What are you cooking?”

  “My uncle’s famous tri-tip, my aunt’s green beans and some garlic bread.”

  Her mouth watered. “I think I could kiss you.”

  He looked up sharply and the way his eyes narrowed, the way his eyes grew smoky for a split second, made her breath catch. But then he looked away and she could breathe again.

  “Eat.”

  He set the plate down in front of her and she knew that even if her eyes had been closed, she would have sensed his presence. It was as if there were invisible waves that buzzed between them, like the shimmering on a hot road, something that made her forget for a moment that there was food in front of her and that she hadn’t eaten in hours and that she was so incredibly tired.

  “Bella tells me you forget to eat all the time.” He sat opposite her. “No wonder you’re so skinny.”

  She didn’t feel skinny. She felt plump and self-conscious and older than her years, especially around a good-looking man like Carson.

  “Eat.”

  She ate. And he was right, she needed food. Ten hours on her feet trying to sew and screw people back together had taken its toll. When she’d nearly finished the first portion, he brought her more then headed to the refrigerator.

  “I see you like sweet tea. Do you want some?” He glanced back at her, the door to the refrigerator still open, a questioning look on his face.

  “Yes. Please.”

  She could get used to this, she thought, even though she probably shouldn’t think like that, not about him. It wasn’t that she didn’t want a man in her life. She’d love that. She was just much too sensible to think Carson could fit the bill.

  She looked down at her food, the tension returning again, and with it an awareness that she was alone in her house with him. She hadn’t been with a man in forever. She missed the warmth and companionship, and Carson was about as good-looking as they came, and she liked him. She might try to keep him at arm’s length, but it wasn’t because of his personality. He liked her, too. She had a feeling if she were to make one tiny move, a signal to him in ever so slight a way, he’d know what she wanted.

  Would he take her up on the silent offer? Did she want him to?

  “You feel better now?” he asked, walking back to the table with her drink.

  His eyes were so full of concern she wanted to hug him again. This was what she missed—having someone there for her on those days that she could barely drag herself through the front door. Someone looking after her daughter and shouldering the burden so she could take a deep breath. A man to help her forget the stress of her job, one that could remind her that she wasn’t just a doctor, but also a woman.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” she said softly.

  “You have something there.” He pointed to her chin.

  “I do?” She wiped where he indicated.

  “No, the other side.”

  She wiped again.

  “Here.” He got up and his nearness made her as nervous as the day she’d interviewed at Via Del Caballo General. Every muscle in her body went on alert. Her heart rate sped up. She had to force herself not to move.

  He used the thumb of his good hand. “You kept missing it.” He smiled gently.

  This was ridiculous, she told herself. She was a grown woman. She didn’t need to melt at his feet, which was about what she felt like doing.

  “Thanks.”

  His hand didn’t leave her face. She waited for him to...what? She didn’t know. Just waited, the energy between them like a physical tug, an invisible force field that she could feel but not see.

  “I really want to kiss you again,” he said softly, his thumb swiping the line of her jaw.

  Okay, so now was the time to stop. Except...she was too tired to resist. Or maybe she just didn’t care, or want to think anymore.

  “May I?” he asked.

  No. Don’t. Big mistake.

  She felt herself nod and it was strange because the thought of him kissing her should send her into a panic. Instead it felt absolutely right.

  “Come here,” he said, reaching out for her.

  She felt shy all of a sudden, ducked her head, took a deep breath. This was it then. The moment when she put everything aside and gave in to her desire. That was all it was. Sexual attraction. She wanted him. He wanted her. She knew what would happen if she stood, told herself that it was okay. They were two adults. She had a right to enjoy a night of passion with a man, even one who was under her care, a good man, someone who clearly cared about not just her, but Bella, too.

  She stood.

  A crooked little grin spread across his mouth, one that tugged at her heartstrings and made her want to smile. But then he lowered his head and she closed her eyes, and when she felt the first tentative touch of his lips on hers, she sighed.

  She wasn’t tired anymore.


  His hand slipped around her, drew her to him, the pressure of his lips increasing until she did as he silently asked and opened for him. He tasted sweet, like the tea he’d just gulped down. The angle of his head changed and he explored the depths of her mouth even more deeply, his tongue stroking her own in the same rhythm as his hand on her back. Desire gave her the courage to see this thing through. She pressed her palms against his chest, careful not to touch his wounded arm, part of her wondering how they would manage this when he still wore a splint, but then she stopped thinking because the hard contours of his body had her thinking about other things. Damn, he was fit.

  He broke off the kiss. She sagged against him.

  “Can I take you to bed?”

  She throbbed. Her pulse rate escalated all over again. Should she? Dare she?

  She leaned her head back. It was the look in his eyes that did it for her. She saw uncertainty there. And hope. And longing. All things she felt, too.

  “Yes.”

  He smiled, bent and kissed her again, then took her hand and led her up the stairs.

  * * *

  Carson had never been more nervous in his life. Not even during the third round of the NFR last year, when he’d been poised to win it all. He’d never felt so out of his depth as he did leading her up the stairs.

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked when they paused outside her bedroom door.

  Could she really want him? An injured cowboy with a question mark future, who made a tiny fraction of what she did in a year. She answered with a nod and a tiny half smile that made him feel kind of funny inside.

  “I’m sure.”

  So he took his courage into his own hands, told himself he was up to the challenge, leading her into a room that was a mass of contradictions. Frilly where Ava was no-nonsense. Warm where Ava projected an air of cool confidence. Whimsical with its stuffed animals and cartoonlike pieces of artwork on the walls.

  She had stopped by the bed and, for such a confident woman, she suddenly seemed awkward, but he knew how she felt. His hands shook he was so nervous.

  She had changed earlier, the baggy pink T-shirt she wore making her seem younger. Or maybe it was the trousers. They were baggy and had a striped pattern to them. Hardly sexy attire, but to him she looked adorable.

  “This might not be easy,” he said, glancing down at his wounded arm.

  “How did you get your shirt over it?”

  He shot her a wry grin. “Well, it’s actually a size large, and then I looped a rubber band through the buttonhole and then around the button.” He held his arm up so she could see.

  “Ingenious.”

  “Desperate to impress you.”

  He saw her eyes soften at his words, saw the way she licked her lips and yet she also seemed flattered, as if she hadn’t expected him to want to try to impress her. If she knew how insecure he felt standing next to her, she’d never doubt his words again.

  “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?” he asked. “How hard it is to stand here and think, what in the heck does she see in me?”

  She dropped her gaze. “You don’t have to try and flatter me.”

  He lifted her chin. “I’m not flattering you. It’s true. You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. And if you doubt me, here—” He pulled her hips up against him so she could feel what she did to him.

  “No.” There was an intensity in her eyes, a sincerity that he couldn’t doubt. “If you knew how often I’ve thought of you over the past few days, you would never say that.”

  So she felt it, too. That crazy attraction between them. Before he could change his mind, he bent and kissed her again, and it was just like the first time. Exciting. Exhilarating. Unnerving. She tasted like sugar and exotic spices and he could have stood there all night just kissing her. But when she groaned, it did something to him, something that made him want to please her even more. He wanted to impress her, to make her cry out with pleasure, to leave an indelible mark on her that she would never forget.

  His hand slipped beneath her shirt, sliding up her rib cage until he found her nipple. He hated having one hand. Wanted to pick her up and put her on the bed, but he couldn’t, so instead he lifted the shirt, pulling his mouth away so he could taste her in another way.

  “Carson,” she sighed.

  Her skin tasted as sweet as her mouth, his tongue swirling around first one hardened nub and then the other. Somehow, maybe he did it, maybe she did, they were at the side of the bed, Ava slipping onto the mattress. Only, he couldn’t join her because he’d have to lie on his bad side.

  Her gaze met his, her expression puzzled.

  “I’m like a chicken with one wing,” he said, frustrated with his handicap. He wanted this to be the best night of her life and already he was falling down on the job.

  “It’s okay,” she said with a soft smile. “Lie down.”

  He drew back in surprise.

  She patted next to her on the bed. “Come on. Don’t be shy.”

  Shy? Him? She didn’t know him very well, but that didn’t mean he liked her taking charge. He wanted to be the one to set the pace, to take charge, to rock her world.

  She lifted a brow.

  He sat on the edge of the bed. He didn’t want to, but he lay down, his good arm bearing the brunt of his weight. Ava scooted over a bit so that she could lean over him, and suddenly she was the master and he was the student.

  “I’m going to undress you,” she said with a seductive smile. “And then I’m going to do other things to you.”

  For the first time in his life, a woman took charge and, to his surprise, it sent a charge of arousal through him unlike any he’d felt before. When her hand grazed his zipper, he sighed. When she went from shy schoolgirl to experienced seductress he could barely lie still. When she unsnapped his pants, then worked the zipper down, he groaned.

  Lord, she’d be the death of him.

  “Shirt next,” she said, leaving his pants open, which was a torture all its own. Her hands made quick work of the buttons on the one arm, and the loops on the other, but she leaned forward to undo his shirt. She smiled at him crookedly as she parted the material, leaning back to stare at him.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this since the first moment I saw you in the exam room.” Her hand lifted to his chest, her palm warm, her fingers leaving goose bumps as she followed the curve of his pectorals and then his abdomen.

  “You are one naughty doctor,” he gasped.

  The light in her eyes dulled for a moment and he knew she was thinking about the fact that he was still her patient.

  “You’re also the sexist woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Her rib cage expanded as she stared down at him and then her eyes slid over his body, growing heated, and Carson knew she’d put aside her concerns. He surrendered himself to what she did next, and it was a first for him. Usually he was the one taking the lead. Not tonight.

  She gently helped him slip his arm out of his shirt, and he hated that he couldn’t do it himself. He couldn’t have looked all that great with a black splint on his arm. Granted, she was used to seeing the L-shaped device, but it wasn’t like he could reach for her with both arms, which was something he’d really like to do because, for the love of God, he wanted to pull her shirt off. Only, he couldn’t because—damn it all—he had only one functional arm.

  “Better?” she asked with a soft smile when she’d pulled the button-down all the way off.

  He smiled wryly. “I can think of something else you could remove that would make it infinitely better.”

  She cocked a brow at him. It made him want to smile. His professional doctor, alas, not so doctorly tonight. She helped him pull his jeans off and, even with his injury, he could use his left elbow to lift his hips and indicate the black boxer shorts he still wore.

  “You match,” she sa
id with a smile.

  It took him a moment to understand what she meant, mostly because she had driven him close to insanity with the gentle brush of her fingers against his thighs. She meant his black shirt matched his boxers, he realized, closing his eyes because her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his underwear.

  “You’re going to be the death of me.”

  He felt her pull the cotton fabric over his hips and then thighs. And it was so bizarre to simply lie there and do as she bid. It aroused him in a way he’d never experienced before. When she pulled his boxers over his feet and then shifted on the bed, her lips...

  “Oh, damn,” he groaned because her mouth had found him. He’d never felt so turned on in his life. The feel of her around him did things to his insides he wouldn’t have believed possible.

  “You’re killing me.” He gasped.

  Where had the prim and proper Dr. Ava Moore learned such things?

  Her lips moved away. His eyes popped open because he wanted more, but she was pulling her shirt off, releasing the catches of her bra next so that her pert fullness begged for his attention. He lifted a hand, touched her. She smiled, raising herself on her knees and unsnapping her jeans.

  She would go through with it. There was a part of him that’d wondered if she’d get cold feet, but no. All too soon she was naked over him and tasting him again, and he didn’t think he would last if she kept it up.

  “Stop.” He gasped. “Dear Lord, stop.” But he was smiling when he used his good hand to draw her up to him.

  “Wait,” she said, moving off to the side.

  It took him a moment to realize what she was doing, and he found himself surprised that she had protection in her nightstand drawer. She took care of business so quickly that he hardly noticed, picking up right where she’d left off. Thank the Lord for that because he wouldn’t have been able to resist if she’d kept it up. It felt too good. And, oddly, it wasn’t just the pleasure she gave him that caused him to toss his head back and lose himself in what she did to him, it was the way she controlled everything. He loved that she wasn’t shy. That she didn’t mind kissing him so intimately, and that as he urged her up, she trailed her mouth along his stomach, her hand taking over where her mouth left off, but not for long. Oh, no. Her fingers fell away and then...