Sweet on You (Sweet on a Cowboy)

by Drake, Laura

  His attraction to this woman was more than sexual. It must be, because he’d never told anyone the details of his marriage that he’d just babbled to Katya. He’d wanted her to know him, not “Cool Hand,” but the Cam Cahill behind the painted prop. He wanted to know her too; to dive into her mysterious waters and discover what was beneath. He wanted to absorb her into his skin.

  But she was leaving. That hurt. “I was right, that first day, when I heard you on the phone. You’re using this job.”

  A bolt of guilt flashed like the flicker of lightning in her eyes before they went cool, the gray-green of the ocean on a cloudy day. “You have to understand, Cam. I’m a soldier.” Her throat clicked when she swallowed. “It’s what I do. Since I’ve come stateside, it’s like I left a chunk of myself back there.”

  The still pink scar that spanned half her waist told him the chunk wasn’t just figurative. He had to give her credit for honesty. She held his stare.

  “Surely you won’t hold service to my country against me?”

  That one zinged home. He was sure she meant it to. “Yet you’re not there now.”

  “No.” She looked down at her hand.

  “Why not?”

  She fell back to lie staring up at the ceiling. “I lost my healing.” Her voice cracked on the last word, like ice, when hot tea is poured over it. “It tears me up, the soldier’s pain. I fall apart. Useless.”

  The hopelessness in her voice hurt him, even as his lips twisted with the bitter taste of jealousy, for a world she wanted more than his. “I see. But you’re fine here, because cowboys don’t matter.”

  She broke her gaze at the ceiling to drill him with a stare. “Given my performance in the arena last weekend, I think that’s probably open to debate.”

  Understanding broke like dawn. She wasn’t sure if her passing out was low blood sugar, or her reaction to the trauma. Which means she did care about them. Maybe. He bit his lips to stop a smile before it formed. No doubt he was an awful person for hoping she wasn’t healed. At least until he had a fair shot at showing her she could have a place here, with him. Because tonight, during dinner he realized that was what he wanted. Her, in his world.

  “Okay. You’re leaving. Sometime.” He draped his arm across her waist, and pulled her to him. “In the meantime, is there any reason why we can’t…” He lowered his head, kissing the slope of her long neck. He felt her skin pebble beneath his lips, and she scooted a few inches away.

  But when she looked at him, her eyes were dark with want. “A friend? With benefits? How is that different than a buckle bu—”

  He halted her with a kiss. A long, searching kiss, full of questions. When he ended it, her breathing came faster. He whispered against her lips, “How about we don’t label it for now? Let’s let it be what it is.”

  Beneath his, her lips stretched in a smile, and her arms came around his neck. “That feels just about right.”

  He lowered his head, and began the kind of talking he really enjoyed.

  The nonverbal kind.

  CHAPTER

  19

  The last day of the event in Charlotte, the sport medicine team worked their way through the waiting line of cowboys. Doc Cody moved from assessing Tucker’s hip to his next patient, and Dusty moved in on Tuck with a TENs machine, an electrical nerve stimulation device that helped with pain.

  Funny how we’ve fallen together as a team, almost like Kandahar. Katya’s hands moved over Tommy Seaver’s thigh. Doc and Dusty had taken her advice to rearrange the room for better workflow; massage near the whirlpool, triage closest to the door, for easy transport. They had their steps choreographed like a dance. She smiled as Dusty waddled by, imagining him in a tutu. Well, an assembly line, then.

  Raucous laughter rolled in from the locker room next door. The riders were always rowdy before the event, burning off nerves and high spirits. She had to admit to a bit of that herself. She hadn’t seen Cam since he left her room in the early hours of morning. Her face heated, remembering his beard-stubble kisses, while he lingered at her door. They’d have wound up in bed again if she hadn’t pushed him into the night with orders to get some rest.

  She patted Tommy’s thigh. “You’re ready for prime time, cowboy.”

  He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the table, pulling down his cut-off sweats. “Thanks, Katya. That feels better. Like the smell, too.”

  She’d been experimenting, trying out more masculine scents in her oils: sage, sandalwood, patchouli. Her patients now requested her concoctions, rather than the off-the-shelf ones.

  “Can you fix me up some of that liniment you made for Jody? He said it really helps his back, and mine is sore after a ride.”

  Holding back a smile and a secret thrill, she retrieved from her bag a small jar that she’d made, just in case anyone asked. “Here you go. Rub it on before you go to bed. It should help.”

  “Thanks, Katya.”

  The door to the hall opened and Buster walked in, gear bag in hand, a bandage covering half his forehead. His other arm rested in a sling attached to a band of Velcro around his chest to stabilize the shoulder.

  “Hey, Doc. Hi everybody!” He looked like he’d survived a firefight, but his happy-kid grin hadn’t changed.

  At the sound of his voice, cowboys in various stages of dress walked in from the locker room, including Cam. His gaze searched the room, until it landed on Katya. When the corners of his mouth lifted in a small, shy smile, her internal furnace kicked on.

  Tucker snorted at Buster. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see if Doc Cody would clear me to ride. He says I can’t. Not this weekend, anyway. But I’m coming to every event until I can.”

  Cam shook his head. “Its three weeks to the finals.” He nodded at Buster’s arm. “That’s a three-month recovery time. I know, because I’ve done it. You need to listen to the doc, kid.”

  Buster’s smile didn’t falter. “Doc wouldn’t clear me because of the concussion, not this.” He flexed the fingers on the anchored arm. “The shoulder won’t stop me. I’ll just ride with my other hand.”

  The riders in the doorway burst into laughter. More crowded behind them to see what the joke was.

  “You can’t ride with your off hand!”

  “Yeah, right. That would be like Cy Young winning a game pitching southpaw!”

  “You’re doing some crazy drugs, dude.”

  Buster tipped his head back and his jaw got hard. “I can do it.”

  Tuck said, “Maybe on your momma’s milk cows. Not on these rank bulls, you can’t.”

  “I can.” Buster’s face flushed crimson. “And I will, as soon as the doc clears me.”

  Cam shook his head. “Dream on, kid.”

  The riders trailed Cam back to the locker room. Buster took a seat at the end of the line for treatment.

  A half hour later, the riders filed out for the opening. Doc and Dusty followed with the emergency kit and the stretcher, leaving Katya and Buster alone.

  Katya patted the table. “Looks like it’s you and me, big guy. Let’s see what some massage can do for that shoulder.”

  Buster stood, unsnapped his shirt, and walked over, his sunny expression turned stormy. “I can do it, you know. When I was a kid, I got bored with riding the local bulls back home. So, to make it harder, I started riding with my left hand.” He eased up on the table, taking care that his boots hung off the end. “It got so I could ride just as well with either one.”

  Katya removed the neck strap of the sling, pulled his shirt off his freckled shoulder, but left the rest in place, to keep the shoulder secure and relaxed. “If you say it, I believe it.” She wanted to give Buster the best. She reached for Grand’s special oil. “I can’t believe your parents let you come back to ride so soon.”

  “I have my own money. I’m a grown man.”

  She guessed from his taut lips that there had been some discussion around the dining room table about this. Probably heated discu
ssion. “Buster, you’ve got years ahead of you. This doesn’t have to be a sprint. Can’t it be a marathon? If you let yourself heal—”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, it’s both. I could have a career-ending injury the next time I get on a bull. I’ve got to make the most of every single ride, if I want the kind of career Cam had.”

  She rubbed the oil onto her hands, and ran her hands over his shoulder, front and back, assessing. “You’re right. I don’t get it.”

  “All I’ve ever wanted from the time I was little, was to compete at this level. I’d hang around the chutes at the local events, getting underfoot, just to see the riders close up.

  “I’m not letting a stupid shoulder keep me from my dream. My goal this year is to win the Rookie of the Year at the finals, and if I don’t make it, it won’t be because I’m sitting in the stands.”

  “Well, if trying has anything to do with it, my money’s on you. Let me know if I can help—”

  “You can. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He shifted, and his fingers worried the paper cover on the table.

  “What Buster?” There. She felt the damage in the deep tendons around the socket. That had to hurt. But he acted as though he hadn’t felt a thing.

  “If I’m going to have a chance of making the buzzer, I’ve got to be in top shape. And I’m not going to be able to get on practice bulls until I’m cleared to ride. And I’m not going home until the season is over. So I was wondering. Would you train me?”

  “On the road? There’s no equipment. No weights, no machines, nothing.” Her hands stilled. “And I haven’t trained an athlete since college.”

  He covered her hand with his good one. His earnest green eyes petitioned her, making arguments he didn’t voice. She could see in those eyes how much this meant to him. Those eyes, so much like Murphy’s.

  “Ma’am. I don’t have much money, but I’ll pay you. And if it’s not enough, if you trust me for it, I’ll pay you over time.”

  She pulled her hand from under his, and grabbed a towel. She couldn’t afford to get attached to this world, or anyone in it. “It isn’t about money. I wouldn’t want payment. It’s impossible. I’d need equipment to target muscle groups, and—”

  He sat up, still targeting her with those eyes. “You’re smart. Doc Cody told me you have two degrees. We could make do with the stuff at hand. That’s how the early riders did it. They worked on ranches, they were strong and wiry.”

  This is a crazy idea. But his entreaty pulled at her. He had no way of knowing that the memory of a face that looked like his made a stronger argument than words ever could. She owed that memory, even if it cost her more than she could afford to lose.

  “I don’t think this could work.” Yet, even as she said it, her mind picked at the knotty problem. You have resistance bands, and there are hay bales, and…

  He must have seen her thinking on her face, because the sun broke in his smile. “You’ll do it?”

  Hmmm. “I can try. Let me see if I can work something out.”

  “Oh, Katya, you have no idea what this means. It’ll make the finals possible for me.”

  She held up a hand. “I’m not promising anything. This may not work. But call me when you get to Chicago. We’ll see what we can do.”

  He grabbed her in a one-armed hug. “Thank you.”

  She hugged him back, wishing she was hugging Murphy, but feeling better about herself than she had in a long time.

  “How are you doing with the homework?” Dr. Heinz’s calm voice came from the speakerphone of Katya’s Chicago hotel room Thursday night.

  She paced her carpeted confines.

  Everything the night of her and Cam’s date had simply flowed. The sharing of their wars; hers in Kandahar, his with Candi. It seemed so natural to give in to the sultry pull of him, and sex was more than a culmination of giving in—it brought them close. Her hands jittered over her hair, smoothing it.

  Maybe too close.

  Cam had been in her head ever since. The sunrise over a fresh-mown Illinois hayfield was the exact shade of his hair. The sky, at its edge, matched his eyes. Those sixteen-year-old’s thoughts were embarrassing, but the others were more disturbing.

  She wanted to share her nightmares with him. She wanted to tell him her fear. She longed to lean against the solid weight of him and unburden herself.

  But she wasn’t ready to speak of this. Not to a doctor and not to herself, a tangled mess of emotion writhed deep in her chest.

  “Katya? How did it go?”

  She took a breath. There’d be no returning to her squad until she got a grip on her problems. It was time to soldier up and swallow her pride. “I’ve always been an overachiever.”

  “Well, that sounds promising. Tell me about it.”

  She wiped her sweaty palms on the legs of her jeans. “I went on a date.”

  “Young women do that. It’s a great first step.”

  “Yeah, but I kind of skipped steps two, three, and who knows how many others.” She plopped on the bed and rested her elbows on her knees. “I slept with him.” She covered her eyes, as if she could hide behind them. “I’ve become a buckle bunny.”

  “A what? I’m not familiar—”

  “The semantics don’t matter.” Braided-wire tension came with her words. “The point is this ‘homework’ isn’t working.”

  A rumbling noise that might have been a chuckle came from Dr. Heinz. “On the contrary, I think it’s working exceedingly well.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  At six a.m. on Friday morning, Katya stood with one foot on the indoor arena pipe corral, watching a bull munch his breakfast. She shivered in the cool air and spandex, but knew that she’d be more than warm soon.

  “I’m present and accounted for, ma’am.” Buster strode toward her wearing shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, his arm still in a sling, but the bandage gone from his forehead.

  “Good morning, Buster.” She straightened and squinted up at him. The stitching was done well, but he’d have a scar. A cog clicked-clunked into place in her mind.

  You’re helping him get back to a career that could kill him.

  “That’s nothing that will keep me from riding. Doc Cody won’t let me ride today, but I’m ready to work.”

  “Buster…”

  “Yes ma’am?”

  This is the life he’s chosen. The one he wants more than anything. Who are you to try and talk him out of his dream? You’re not God. You don’t get to choose.

  Something in that thought echoed deep in her mind, like a stone dropped into a dry well. She’d need to think about this, later.

  Besides, who knew? Maybe her training would help him stay safe. “You’d better call me Katya. By the end of today, you’ll have other names for me, I promise.”

  She’d arrived an hour ago and had been surprised by what she’d found to work with in the arena, once she looked at things from a training point of view. She had resistance bands, of course, and her own personal hand weights, but she’d also commandeered hay bales, buckets, wooden poles, ropes, and a new truck tire.

  “First up, strength training. Have a seat on that bale right there.” When he did, she wrestled over a bucket full of dirt and set it at Buster’s feet. “You need strength in your forearms and biceps, to pull up on your rope and keep your balance, right?”

  Buster nodded.

  “Give me fifty bicep curls, then rest a minute and a half, then another set, to start.” She lifted her stopwatch. “Ready? Go.”

  From the look on Buster’s face, the first set was easy. By the fourth, his face was scarlet. “Don’t forget to breathe.”

  He grunted as he lowered the bucket for the last time, dropping it with a thump. “Piece of cake, ma’am.” A rivulet of sweat rolled down his neck.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” She lifted the harness she’d fashioned from rope. “We’ll alternate strength training with cardio. Heft that tire and follow me. You’re going to wa
lk the arena, dragging that truck tire by your waist.”

  He looked at her, disbelieving.

  “Preferably double-time.”

  An hour later, Buster stood with one ankle in the loop of rope that stretched over a pipe fence, the other end tied to the handle of a bucket of dirt.

  “One more set, let’s go!” she barked.

  His T-shirt was dark with sweat, and hay stuck to his damp, quivering legs. He huffed.

  “Come on, cowboy! Do you want that gold buckle or not? This is where you earn it!”

  He gritted his teeth and began the reps.

  “You know a bull rider is nothing without strong groin muscles. Don’t pull with your back, tighten your core. Come on, Buster, only ten more.”

  He finished the last rep with a mighty heave, and the bucket fell, overturning and spilling the heavy, wet dirt.

  “Good job.” She bent and removed the loop from his ankle. “We’re done for the day.”

  “Thank God.” He plopped onto a hay bale. “I don’t think I could do one more rep.” He paused to catch his breath. “Of anything.”

  “Does your shoulder hurt?”

  He groaned. “That’s the only part that doesn’t hurt.”

  “Then it was a perfect workout.” She smiled. “Follow me. I’ll give you a massage, and we’ll get those legs in the whirlpool.”

  Before she took a step, her breast pocket vibrated. She retrieved her phone and motioned for Buster to take five.

  “Hey, cowgirl.” Bree’s voice chirped. “We just pulled off the interstate. I feel the urge to boogey tonight. Are you up for some dancing after the event?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m there.” She thought about Cam’s shy smile. “Is it okay if I bring a date?”

  “Hon, if you can find a good man, you bring him on. Oh, and I’m bringing you a present, express delivery via a cattle hauler. Don’t you get your heart set on a blouse to wear tonight, y’hear?”

  After discussing the details, Katya hung up. “You ready for that massage?”

  Buster put his hands on his knees. When he stood, she caught his glance, just for a microsecond, long enough to see the loneliness. But his features remained nonchalant, only tightness in his jaw hinted at the strain it took to keep it that way.