Cowboy Come Home

by Carly Bloom

  “Two hours, Ford? You only gave them two hours?”

  “It’s plenty of time. He’s twenty-one. It’s about an hour and forty-five minutes longer than he needs.”

  “Ford!”

  Ford turned and looked over his shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And speaking of time, I bet I can get to the old stone chapel before you.”

  “What about Old Chester?”

  “There’s a whole field of clover to keep him—”

  Claire leaned forward in her saddle, clenched her thighs, and Cinder knew what to do.

  Eat my dust, cowboy.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Claire got to the chapel first, but only by a hair. She dismounted immediately and turned to face Ford as he hopped off of Coco. Then she threw her hands up in the air. “I win!”

  For the past several hours she’d worked hard to keep her enthusiasm in check. She had socialized, made small talk, choked down what was probably delicious food, and met Worth’s fiancée, all while wanting to scream that Ford was coming back for good and that she was going to get her store.

  The gallop had gotten her blood pumping, and now she had more energy than she knew what to do with.

  Ford walked over with a grin. “Cheater,” he said.

  That grin. You didn’t get to see it all that often, but when you did, it was worth the wait. It was like a ray of sunshine sneaking through a rain cloud. And speaking of rain clouds, a tiny one was just overhead, darkening by the minute…

  A droplet of water landed on her nose. She glanced up. No thunder or lightning. No flood. Just a light spring shower.

  She laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Somewhere there’s a dung beetle pushing a ball of poop uphill,” she said.

  Ford raised an eyebrow and looked at her like she might be crazy.

  “Ruben,” she said.

  “Ah,” he said, nodding as if he understood. “He says some seriously ridiculous shit.”

  “He’s almost always right, though,” she said. “Him and that soothsaying dog of his.”

  Ford’s face seemed to pale a bit.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “Just tired.”

  The droplet of water turned into a sprinkle, and that quickly turned into a shower, and Claire squealed and held out her hand to Ford. Together they stepped through the doorway and into another time. The floor had long since disintegrated, and their boots crunched on rocks and dirt.

  It was just a shell of a building, but it had part of a roof on the west side, and they huddled beneath it. Even though it was raining, the rays of the setting sun shone through, casting the room in a golden hue.

  Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “I love this chapel.”

  Ford looked her over. “How did you get so wet in such a short amount of time?”

  Claire shrugged. “Forgot my hat.”

  Ford clucked his tongue. “Forgot your hat? What kind of cowgirl are you?”

  “The kind who crunches numbers and orders inventory,” Claire said.

  “And looks damn good in a pair of boots,” Ford said. His eyes traveled up and down her body, and she realized she was wearing a white T-shirt. A wet white T-shirt.

  “I have a blanket behind the saddle—”

  “Oh? And what made you pack a blanket?”

  “A cowboy is always prepared, Miss Kowalski.” He winked and turned for the door, but then he stopped. Turned back around. “I think you should get out of those wet clothes.”

  “But—”

  “Every single stitch,” he said.

  Claire watched him walk off and then she began doing exactly as she’d been told. She peeled off her T-shirt, removed her boots and socks, and yanked off her jeans. By the time she stepped out of her panties, the chill in the air had covered her in goose bumps.

  “My God,” Ford said from the doorway. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  She needed to feel his arms around her. “Come here, Ford.”

  Ford wasted no time in walking over and quickly spreading out the blanket. Claire knelt on it, and then she reached for Ford. She could see how hard he was. How he strained against his jeans. She wanted to taste him. To devour him. But when she touched his belt, he removed her hand.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Go ahead and lie down.”

  Claire leaned back on the blanket, feeling its roughness against her bare skin. Ford lay down next to her, leaning on an elbow and letting his eyes drift lazily up and down her body.

  “I wish I was a painter,” he said, spreading out her hair like a fan on the blanket. “You are a sight to behold. Like a goddess.”

  She didn’t quite know what to say to that. “Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?”

  “In due time,” he said, running a finger over her breast, just barely missing her nipple.

  He leaned over and kissed her, deeply and thoroughly, letting his body rub against hers. His fully clothed body. The chambray cotton of his shirt brushed her nipples, and the denim of his jeans rubbed against her thighs.

  She longed for the warmth of his bare flesh, and yet…

  His belt buckle grazed her sensitive mound. She gasped.

  Ford moved his hips, lowered his chest, and spread her legs with his thighs. Being caressed by his clothed body, while she was completely nude, introduced delightful new sensations to her heated skin.

  His mouth left hers and trailed down her neck to her collarbone. The button on his shirt pocket flicked across her nipple, and she nearly came undone. Ford moved so that it happened again.

  The man was using his shirt as a sex toy.

  She pulled at his hair to get his mouth back to her breast, where she wanted it, but he refused and playfully pinned her hands above her head.

  “I’m in charge, sweet thing,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “Okay?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Just get back to whatever it was you were doing.

  His tongue flicked her nipple, then his mouth encompassed it, sucking and tugging. She couldn’t tell who was moaning, him or her. Maybe it was both of them.

  “You have the most perfect breasts,” he said. “I love the way they move, the way they feel, the way they taste.”

  He moved to the other breast, giving it the same treatment as the first. He let go of one of her wrists and trailed his fingers down to her hip. He removed his thigh from between her legs and she moved to close them, but he lifted his head and said, “Keep them spread.”

  Claire opened her legs, wanting to pull him back on top of her to get that delicious friction going again, but instead, Ford parted the folds of her flesh with his fingers. He looked into her eyes while his thumb found her swelling nub.

  Her eyes drifted shut. “Oh, Ford.”

  “I don’t have a condom,” he said.

  Claire’s eyes snapped open. “Again? What happened to a cowboy always being prepared? We can’t—”

  He thrust a finger inside, and her eyes opened wider.

  “Oh, I’m fully prepared, darlin’. Get ready for the best orgasm of your life.”

  Claire wanted to say Ha! but he’d added a second finger, and it disengaged her vocal cords.

  He crooked his fingers inside her and…holy cow. The pressure sent a tingling surge of pleasure all the way to her toes. Her eyes rolled back in her head.

  Ford had hit the bull’s-eye.

  And he kept doing it, over and over, shaking her whole body while breathing heavily against her neck, or sucking on a nipple, or biting at her lips. She clawed at his arm, spread her legs wider only to close them again in a frenzy, squeezing his hand between her thighs and rocking her pelvis.

  God, she was frantic. Ford was driving her up the side of a swell, and although there had to be a crest, it remained just out of reach. She panted and moaned and cried out his name as his fingers finally hit with just the right amount of pressure to bring her hom
e.

  “Oh my God,” she sighed. “Ford…”

  He kissed her neck.

  “That was amazing.”

  He gently removed his fingers and flicked her nipple with his tongue.

  But she was too sensitive. Her entire body was too sensitive. Every nerve was screaming enough!

  Ford ran his fingers through her hair and smiled. “You didn’t even miss my cock, did you?”

  She wanted to melt. To just close her eyes and drift away. But if there was ever a man who deserved a reward, it was this one. And besides, he was wrong.

  She missed it plenty.

  “Get those jeans off, cowboy. I need a taste of you.”

  * * *

  Ford’s body felt heavy and warm. Claire had just outdone herself, and he could barely move. He didn’t want to move.

  He breathed in deep and slow, infusing his body with the scent of green things and with what could only be described as memories—prayers, tears, joy—that had seeped into the rock walls of the old stone chapel.

  And flowers. He smelled them every time he inhaled. He didn’t know if it was bluebonnets or Claire. She always smelled so damn good.

  His stomach tightened beneath her trailing finger. She was going straight to that sensitive spot just inside his hip bone. The spot that made him—he grabbed for her hand but was too slow—giggle.

  No, no. It wasn’t a goddam giggle. It was more of a manly snort.

  Claire giggled. And it was a soft, musical sound like a bubbling brook.

  He squeezed her hand to keep it from more mischief and grinned as his eyes drifted shut again. Endorphins, or whatever the hell it was that the body produced after sex, were dangerous. If a mountain lion showed up right now, he’d gladly lie here and let it eat him.

  Claire’s fingers made their way to his softening cock.

  “Give it up, honey,” he muttered.

  “Never,” she said, gently cupping his balls.

  “It’s already dark. The rain has stopped. We need to get going.”

  “It’s a full moon. We’re fine.”

  It was going to be a gorgeous ride back to the house.

  He pulled her hand back up to his chest, covered it with his own. “Do you think Worth is out of my place yet?”

  Claire sat up and looked him over with heavy-lidded eyes, mussed hair, and swollen lips. “I don’t know. But if not, we can spend the night in my trailer.”

  “I have maybe three brain cells left. I think I should hold on to them. We’re spending our last night at my place.”

  She stroked his face. “Last night?”

  “Just for a short while. I’ll be back before you know it.”

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave.”

  “Me, too. But I promised Mr. Barre that I’d lead the roundup, and I don’t break promises. It’s only three weeks.”

  “I’ve half a mind to grab that rope you’ve got on your saddle and tie you up to keep you here.”

  Ford crossed his ankles and put his hands behind his head. He thought about Claire getting after him with a rope, and he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. But not tonight.

  “I’ll give you ten more minutes here,” he said. “Then we’d better get going.”

  “You’re going to dole out minutes like candy?”

  “Take it or leave it.”

  Claire folded her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up and out in a way that made him think maybe he could offer her thirty minutes or maybe twelve hours instead.

  “I’ll take it,” she said. “What can we do in ten minutes?”

  Ford thought about that.

  “The clock is ticking,” Claire said. “If you can’t come up with something, then I’ll have to.”

  “Sounds good to me. I’m pretty pooped. I think I’ll just lie here and leave the activity planning to you.”

  Claire was as sweet and innocent as a cartoon princess…on the outside. On the inside, well, the woman had some dirty thoughts. She glanced at his cock with a raised eyebrow, probably trying to decide if she could resuscitate it in the allotted amount of time.

  “I’m kind of hungry,” Ford said with a fake yawn. “It’s been a while since you brought me that plate.”

  “You’d better not ask me to make you a damn sandwich,” Claire said. “Because that’s not going to happen.”

  “A sandwich would be nice”—Ford looked around the empty chapel—“but it seems unlikely.”

  Claire rolled her eyes.

  “I was thinking of something sweeter. Something I could eat while lying flat on my back.”

  Claire’s eyes widened and then she blushed deeply in the moonlight. “I’m not going to do that, either.”

  Damn, it was cute when she got shy. Especially when it was right after she’d had a good old time sucking the life out of him.

  “Come on, now. All you have to do is sit on my—”

  “Ford!”

  “What?”

  She just kept staring at him. And blushing. “I’ve never done that before. Not from that…angle, anyway. I’ll be so—”

  “Exposed?”

  Claire nodded.

  The idea of that had him getting hard again. “Down to nine minutes now, buttercup. And I’d say I need at least seven or eight to get the job done. Although, heck, if you want to sit here wasting time, I might have to do it in five.”

  “Ha! You’re too confident.”

  “Remember that night in the horse barn? You might not, since you were fairly out of your mind at the time, but I pulled that humdinger off in under five—”

  Claire swung a thigh over Ford’s head and rose up on her knees. He figured, if nothing else, she was trying to shut him up. And it worked. He was totally silent. Completely enraptured with the vision in front of him.

  Claire leaned over, and her breasts tickled his abdomen.

  “You okay back there, cowboy?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Damn, baby. I’ve got the best moonlit view in Texas.”

  And that was the last thing he said for the next half hour.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Claire parked in front of Petal Pushers. For once, the big SALE! signs covering the windows didn’t make her want to cry. Well, her eyes actually did sting with a few sweet tears of nostalgia, but mostly, she was just pretty dang excited.

  Today was the last day that Petal Pushers would be in business. The next time Claire flipped the OPEN sign, it would be for her own shop!

  She hadn’t talked to the bank yet, or her dad. But she had a detailed business plan, and as soon as Ford was back on the ranch, it would just be a matter of ironing out the details.

  She shifted behind the steering wheel as a little black cloud of unease took up residence in the seat next to her. Good Lord, that thing sure had enjoyed following her around the past few days.

  Something was going on with Ford. She could freaking feel it. Cell coverage was spotty on the desolate Sun-Barre Ranch, but he’d still managed to chat with her almost every day the first week. But by the third week, he’d been mostly radio silent, and when she had managed to talk to him, he’d seemed distant.

  It was that goddam curse. She just knew it.

  He was in an isolated spot, probably with a bunch of like-minded superstitious dumbasses, and he was succumbing to their nonsense. She almost laughed. The poor man was going to need reprogramming by the time he got home.

  She got out of her car and straightened her shoulders. Shook off the bad feeling. Because by this time tomorrow night, her dad would be recovering from his surgery and she’d be in Ford Jarvis’s arms, un-cursing him in every position imaginable.

  There were several cars in the parking lot, even though there wasn’t much left to buy but the fixtures. She grabbed a stack of catalogs off the seat of her truck and headed for the door.

  The little bell jingled cheerfully as she entered, and Maggie’s dog, Pop, barked his irritating high-pitched yaps until he recognized her. Then he turn
ed on his heel and walked back to the counter, where Maggie sat.

  “Look who’s here!” Maggie said. “The future owner of Petal Pushers!”

  “Shh,” Claire said, setting her bag on the counter. “It’s not a done deal yet. We don’t need the whole town talking about it.”

  “Oh, I’m quite sure it’s too late for that,” Maggie said. “You know how stuff gets around.”

  “Possibly because you’re shouting things like the future owner of Petal Pushers! every time you see me.”

  Bubba came around a corner, pushing a big flat cart with nothing on it but two kids. “Who’s the future owner of Petal Pushers?”

  Alice popped her head around two big empty shelves. “Claire is!”

  “I told you stuff gets around,” Maggie said with a little shrug.

  The bell on the door jingled again, and Anna walked in.

  “Hi, Anna,” Maggie called. “We don’t have much stuff left, but that little fountain you had your eye on last month is still here.”

  Anna breezed in like a woman on a mission. “I’m not taking something nobody else wants. I just figured I’d have one last look around—”

  “Aw, Anna. That’s sweet!” Maggie said.

  “Before a new owner turns it into something tacky.”

  Claire cleared her throat loudly. “Maybe you are the only person in Big Verde who hasn’t heard, but I’m going to be the new owner.”

  “Oh, I heard,” Anna said. “And actually, I don’t care about any of this. I’m dropping off DJ quotes and menu pricing for the Boots and Ball Gowns Gala.”

  Alice scurried over to the counter. “Can I please have a look at—”

  “I’m going with Cumbia Outlaw for the DJ, and you’ll see that I’ve put check marks on the appropriate menu items on the catering brochure.”

  There was literally no reason for Alice to look at any of it. Anna had already made up her mind. And while it might be making Alice anxious, Claire was thrilled that Anna was taking charge and getting shit done. Because if one more thing were dumped on Claire’s plate it was going to crack.

  “So,” Anna continued, looking at Claire. “What are you going to sell here? Farm equipment?”

  Claire climbed onto a stool next to Maggie and plopped the catalogs on the counter. “Rancho Cañada Verde products.”