Sweet on You (Sweet on a Cowboy)

by Drake, Laura

  He took it into his mouth and nipped. Her hips bucked, and he entered her, just an inch.

  She panted. “You don’t fight fair.”

  His fingers tightened, holding hers captive. “Neither do you.”

  She slid down him, inch by delicious inch, until she could take no more of him inside. There she hovered, waiting.

  He closed his eyes, vibrating with an effort of stillness, sending silken ripples into her, loosening her muscles, allowing her to take more until her pubis bumped his.

  He began to move with a slow swell of power that liquefied her core. Her body melted over him in a warm rush. When her arms could no longer hold weight, she sunk to his chest. He captured her lips, and his tongue matched the rhythm of his body, their shared strength stronger, pulling her in, deeper, closer.

  She rocked against him, every upward stroke lifting, every downward stroke tormenting. Every ounce of energy poured into him, and his replenishing strength surged back. And she passed it back again. Faster, harder, closer until they fused together, hands, bodies and lips, crying out into each other.

  Cam lay with Katya snuggled against his chest. Spent yet energized, he sighed. “Bring on Bone Dancer. I’m ready.”

  She chuckled. “You may want to give it a few minutes, big guy.”

  He was half serious. Sex had always been good, but with Katya, it was amazing. He struggled with a nebulous thought just outside his grasp. Sex for him had been about taking—he’d always made sure his partner was satisfied, but it had been a journey they traveled together, yet separate.

  Sex with Katya was a back and forth sharing he’d never felt before. As if they shared the same journey, he got inside her skin, seeing things through her eyes, and she, his.

  Last night, he’d glimpsed the dark in Katya’s soul. This morning, he’d watched her put it aside, grab hold of life, and dig in. The strength that must have taken humbled him. He only got on bulls that wanted to kill him. She walked places that were more dangerous.

  Last night was a slap-in-the-face reminder. She intended to go back to the army. The clock was ticking not only on his career, but to the day she’d leave to fly into danger. The day she’d leave him.

  He knew it in his head, his heart, in the part of him that lived in her. If it were within his power, she wasn’t leaving. Seeing her pain brought out a fierce protectiveness he’d never felt before. He couldn’t live with the reality of Katya in harm’s way. Not without deploying every weapon in his own personal arsenal.

  This is war.

  Turning on his side, he propped his head on his hand. He wanted to see her eyes. “What are you doing during the two-week break before the finals?”

  She rolled toward him. “I’ve been so focused on Anaheim, I hadn’t really thought much about it.” Her mouth turned down. “I guess I’ll go see my parents in DC.”

  He knew she enjoyed the world of the PBR, but she hadn’t seen what else his world had to offer. He wanted to touch her, to cradle her cheek. But he didn’t want to telegraph how much this meant to him. “How about coming home with me, instead?”

  “Home? Where?”

  “I’m stopping in Fort Collins at my parents’ farm, then home, to Bandera.”

  She was quiet a moment, then cocked her head and squinted at him. “You want to take me home… to meet your mother?”

  Heat pounded up his neck. The tips of his ears burned. “Well, you’ll meet her. But I’m not talking a capitalized ‘Meet.’ ” At least he didn’t think he was. “My mother would tan me if I didn’t pay her a visit on the break. She needs some help with her bees, and Dad—”

  “I’m only kidding, Cam. I’d love to go.”

  Joy burst in his chest, and coursed through him. He felt like he’d just scored a ninety-three-point bull ride. “Sweet.”

  She sat up, pulling her wild hair into her fist. “Come on, cowboy. We’ve got time for a shower and breakfast. You didn’t eat last night. I’ll feed you before you head to the airport.” She slid off the bed and stood without shyness, breasts high, skin glowing.

  He climbed out of bed. “A shower—now that could be entertaining.” He smacked her butt on the way by, and they raced to the bathroom.

  CHAPTER

  23

  Katya lowered the window and Indian summer wind blew in the car, dry, with the scent of fresh hay from the field on her right. On the ten-hour drive to Kansas, she had plenty of time to think, but not the ability. Her thoughts danced from one topic to another, never settling long enough to solve anything. And she still had to call the doctor. A ball of ice formed in her gut, the cold leaching outward. Her skin dimpled and she shivered.

  Her memories of this morning with Cam kept intruding. They’d made love in the shower, and the memory of her hands sliding over his muscles, slick with soap, made her stomach jump. She’d explored every curve and angle of him, licking water from his skin. She’d bit his shoulder when he pounded into her—

  Stop.

  Those thoughts banished, yesterday’s memories battered the walls she’d erected to hold them at bay, pounding at her temples.

  “Oh, screw it.” She turned off at a roadside rest stop. Talking about it couldn’t be worse than dreading talking about it. Could it?

  She parked in the almost empty parking lot. Beyond the restrooms a few picnic tables stood lonely in the stark afternoon sun. When she shut down the engine and got out, the wind lifted her hair, blowing it around her face. She strode to the picnic area. Time to soldier up.

  When Dr. Heinz came on the line, his tone was somber. “Lieutenant Thibodaux notified me of the accident at Role 3. What are you feeling?”

  “Lost.” It came out at the end of her sigh. “I used to be so sure, after nine-eleven when I enlisted, and when I reupped. I was protecting my country. I knew who the enemy was.” She took a breath. “Now, I’m not even sure I know who I am.”

  “How so?”

  She tightened her stomach muscles, to protect her core from the blow to come. “That avenging soldier is still there—the champion of freedom. But there’s also a confused, jaded woman who witnessed the gore and bloodshed on both sides, who knows that future zealots are being born even now. That my home is no safer. Is all that sacrifice worth it? What have we really changed out there in the desert?”

  The doctor wasn’t going to give her the answer. He waited for her to go on.

  She’d known when she pulled off the road that it would come to this. She took a deep breath, stepped off her soapbox, and forced the deepest truth past her locked jaw. “And then, there’s the traitor, who turned her back on her friends. She let herself be sucked into a world full of bulls, hard men, and cowgirl boots.”

  She wanted to stop there, but once started, the flow of words wouldn’t stop. After all, there was more than enough blame to go around. “And you’re not helping. Your idea of therapy is for me to act like a teenager.” She snorted. “I’m trying not to get involved here. I’m failing dismally.”

  “That may have been your goal, but it was never mine.”

  “What?” The bite of betrayal burned.

  “I’m here to help you work through the survivor’s guilt and the PTSD that comes with a trauma like you experienced. My job isn’t to return a soldier to duty. My job is to heal you.”

  Her eyes filled, but she wasn’t sure why.

  “You see, the treatment is twofold. The first is through exposure therapy. Certain pictures, smells, or sounds may bring about thoughts and feelings connected with your traumatic event. By confronting and dealing with the fear and anxiety connected with these reminders, you’ll learn that it will lessen with time. This, paired with the relaxation techniques we talked about, will help you cope until these feelings fade. And they will fade.

  “You know, it’s really quite remarkable that you managed to choose the perfect job to confront your fears.”

  “Yeah, remarkable.” She rolled her shoulders, and practiced deep breathing. Trace has a minor in psychology. I wo
nder…

  “Victims also have a tendency to isolate themselves. They feel guilt for not preventing the incident they lived through, and they fear the judgment of others. But isolation only escalates the depression and other symptoms. So the best treatment is reengaging. You’re doing that. And you’re doing it well.”

  “So what? You’re granting me absolution?”

  “No, Katya. Only you have the power to grant that.”

  Something bit into her palm. She looked down to see her hand fisted around the dog tags on the chain around her neck. She dropped them.

  “In spite of how you’re feeling right now, you’re making remarkable progress. I believe you’re not far from a breakthrough.”

  Or a breakdown.

  “Now, let’s talk once more, about your guilt and Kandahar. Reliving the memories and discussing them out loud will take away their power.”

  “I’ll try.” She squeezed her eyes shut. Why is it that the hardest thing isn’t hanging on, but letting go?

  The following Saturday, Cam stood in the parking lot of the Honda Center, phone in one ear, finger in the other. “Mom? Did I lose you?” Traffic on Katella was constant and horns blared on the freeway, a parking lot away.

  “Did I just hear my son ask if he could bring a girlfriend to visit?”

  He heard his sister’s piercing whistle through the phone. “Way to go, PBR Confidential!”

  “Mom, you tell Chrys to get it all out now, because if she says anything to Katya, I swear I’ll turn the runt over my knee.”

  “Really?” Her tone said more than he wanted to hear.

  His heart pounded like a runaway horse, but spilling his guts would be worth it if he could get his mom’s help; she would be a formidable weapon if she were on his side. “I love her, Mom.” He closed his eyes, pushing past the embarrassment. “She’s not like any woman I’ve ever met. She’s strong and brave and smart and… confused.”

  “Whew. Let me catch my breath a minute, hon. You’d better start at the beginning.”

  “Well, she’s a physical therapist with the sports medicine team, and…” He went on to tell his mother everything he could about Katya.

  A half hour later, Cam showed his badge to the guard at the door and was directed to the locker rooms. Several small rooms opened off a huge cement corridor, but he pulled open doors until he found Doc Cody lounging in the Red Room. It looked like a star’s dressing room, complete with a lighted mirror that reflected a red upholstered sofa and chairs.

  Cam stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Well, you’re coming up in the world, I see.”

  Doc looked up from a medical magazine. “You can tell that we’re just down the freeway from Hollywood, huh? Next thing you know, the bulls will have their own hairdressers.” He put his elbows on his knees. “You’re early, Cam. What’s on your mind?”

  Cam dragged one of the cushy chairs closer and dropped into it. “Do you think Katya has a shot at a career in the PBR?”

  Brow furrowed, Doc tossed the medical journal on the coffee table. “She needs to prove she can perform under the pressure of an emergency.”

  He had to tread a fine line. It wasn’t his place to air Katya’s plans, or problems, to her boss. “Let’s assume she can. Would you want her to stay on? You think she’s a good employee, right?”

  Doc looked him in the eye. “You want to tell me what’s really going on here?”

  He shifted in the prissy chair. He hadn’t planned this far ahead. But Doc could be another weapon in his arsenal.

  This is a war. What the hell, pride is overrated anyway.

  “I’m in love with her.” He swallowed. Best say it fast and get it done. “If she stays on tour, I’m hoping she’ll get hooked on the job, the way of life, the cowboys.” He studied the scar in the leather of his right boot. “Well, not all of them, just me.”

  Doc fell back against the cushion. “Well. That’s some speech.”

  “I’m serious, Doc.”

  “I can see that you are. Look, Katya is a wonderful therapist. I hope to keep her on. But it’s really up to her.”

  “I get that, I just wanted your opinion.”

  Doc picked up the magazine and rolled it in his hands. “If she can’t handle the trauma, she could make a living selling those salves she makes. The riders all swear by them.”

  He clapped Cam on the back and stood. “Now, are you ready to go to work?”

  Boom!

  Like a starter’s pistol, the percussion of the opening pyrotechnics shot adrenaline into Katya’s system. Sweat popped on her forehead. She wiped it with shaking fingers. She shot a look around; there was only one other remaining in the training room.

  “You’d better get going.” Dusty’s soft eyes held sympathy, his hands held the trauma kit.

  She wiped her hands on her jeans, took it, and tried to smile. “Lions and tigers and bears, oh my!” Thank God this last event before the break was only for one night. She couldn’t imagine dreading this two nights in a row.

  He touched her shoulder. “You’re going to do fine. You care about these guys. When they need you, you’ll be there for them. I know you will.”

  Little did he know that her caring pretty much ensured failure.

  He reached in his back pocket, pulled out two candy bars, and tucked them in her shirt pocket. “Besides, like the Duke said, ‘Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway.’ ”

  “Well, who am I to dispute a learned philosopher?” She took a deep breath. “Thank you, Dusty. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.” She patted his hand, straightened her spine, and marched for the door to finally get the answer to the question that had been hanging over her head for weeks.

  At the out gate, she dropped the kit next to the stretcher then moved aside when the riders filed in for the introductions. She searched for a flash of red hair until she remembered Buster was in the audience. Thank God he’d heeded Doc Cody’s recommendation that he heal and save himself for the finals. She didn’t look for Cam. She knew he would be climbing from the spotlighted platform high above her head.

  On his way by, Tuck tipped his hat to her and winked. Had Cam told him she’d be visiting? Or was that just paranoia? The lights came on and Doc Cody gave her a thumbs-up from the catwalk above the bucking chutes.

  To keep herself from visualizing a fail more mortifying than her last, she busied herself by checking her equipment.

  The next hour and a half passed in a haze of jangled nerves. They’d all been lucky so far; no major injuries.

  But the final round is the rank bullpen. Saying a prayer for Cam, she took a cleansing breath and searched within for a speck of calm. Be with me, Grand.

  During the TV time-out before the last ten riders, she unwrapped the second Kit Kat and ate it. Cam had a good ride in the first round, but the bull wasn’t much, so he was in tenth place. He’d be the first to ride in the final round. He’d had good and bad luck in the draw, getting Max and Bree’s bull, Beetle Bailey. Good, because Beetle was a sweetie. He wouldn’t try to run down Cam on the get off. Bad, because Bailey was a contender for bull of the year—unridden in his last fifteen outs.

  Cam would buck out of the chute closest to her gate. Katya watched him straddle the chute. She’d love to capture this scene for Trace’s Hunk of the Month Club. Cam’s chaps flared at the bottom, making his hips look tiny. His shoulders, set off by his flak jacket, were broad and strong. One sleeve of his bright red shirt was rolled tight against his bulging bicep. But it was the fierce look of concentration that she longed to capture. Under his straw cowboy hat, his face was hard, as if chiseled from quartzite. Except for the muscle working in his jaw. While he tugged his glove tight, his eyes darted, assessing every movement of the bull.

  Here is a man.

  She stood, elation swelling her chest. She was so damned proud to know this man, who lived life on the only terms he’d accept. His own. He’d set out to accomplish an almost impossible task and th
rough strength, guts, and sheer courage, had done it. Twice.

  With that amazing strength of body and mind, he also had a gentleness of spirit. He’d held her, singing her back from a very bad place.

  Something else bloomed, rising to fill her head, and her eyes. Love? She brushed her hand over her lashes. It was true. She couldn’t deny it. She loved him.

  Oh no. She couldn’t afford to be in love with him. She was leaving.

  But it would be a sweet dream, just the same.

  She’d enjoy every minute she had left with him; drink him in, for the long, hot, dry spell awaiting her in the desert halfway around the world. If she’d learned anything the past year, it was to take what blessings fell her way and be glad of them. They would be the glue to sustain her when the bad memories tried to rip her apart.

  Cam lowered himself onto the bull and out of her view. Tucker balanced on the slats and pulled Cam’s rope, while JB Denny recited Cam’s, then Bailey’s, accomplishments over the sound system.

  Her own fear took a backseat to her fear for him. Strong as he was, he was still only flesh and sinew. She crossed her fingers, stepped to the out gate, and peered through the slats, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She glanced down to be sure the trauma kit was at hand.

  The gate swung, and the bull turned right, bucking so close to her she could have tapped its nose. Freeze-frame photos burned into her memory: the bull’s white rimmed eye, saliva flying from his mouth as it spun. The fringe on Cam’s chaps dancing as he spurred the bull. Intense concentration marked his face as he balanced perfectly, making it look easy.

  The crowd was on its feet, roaring. Cam smiled, reached down with his free hand, grabbed his hat, and tossed it like a Frisbee at Tuck, who hung over the back of the chute, screaming encouragement.

  The buzzer went off and the bullfighters moved in to distract the bull. Cam reached down and pulled the tail of his rope. His hand popped out and he was slung, landing on his side. He rolled, then he was up, scrambling for the fence. Bailey trotted to the exit gate like the refined gentleman he was. Cam sprung onto the fence in front of the crowd, pumped both fists into the air, and yelled, the words lost in the roar of the crowd yelling back.