Second Burn Cowboy (Second Chance Series Book 6)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  She swallowed, not trusting anything that wormed its way from his lips. Once upon a time, she’d made the mistake of trusting him and it’d been the worst mistake she’d ever made. “You need to go before Deckland gets back.”

  “Believe every word I say. Before long you will be begging to come back home.” He clicked his tongue.

  “Don’t hold your breath. But on other hand, please do.”

  He laughed, and the acid rolled off the sound. “Do you think you’ll ever find another man who wants you? My God, I performed like a star in bed, but you were as cold as ice. You had the excitement of a corpse.”

  His words didn’t hurt as they once did. Before, while they were together, she’d have shed a few tears, begged for his forgiveness for whatever mysterious action she had done to cause his outburst and then tried harder to please him. “Coming from you, I find that a compliment.”

  “Do you think this cowboy you’ve attached yourself to will not tire of your boring ways? I’m sure he’s already seeing the mistake of allowing you into his life. After all, I saw the hot blonde morsel he had attached to his arm when he left. I bet a woman like that knows how to make a man come again and again.”

  “You disgust me.” She cocked her chin.

  “Aw…so you do have feelings for him.”

  “What I feel or don’t feel is no longer any of your business. You’re a pitiful excuse for a man who gets his rocks off by putting people down, but I won’t be the target of your scorn again. You can leave now or I’ll call for one of the ranch hands. I’m sure one of them would be more than happy to toss you off this property. Then a call to the sheriff might be worthy. You don’t own the law around here.”

  Anger twisted his pretty features. “You’ll regret this. Mark my words.”

  “The only thing I’ve regretted is the time I lost lying dormant in your den of evil. But no longer.” She kept her gaze steady with his. “And force my hand and, mark my words, I’ll make your life a living hell. After all, I know where you hide your demons. I wonder if your father would be so willing to support your luxurious tastes if he knew you suffered an addiction to prostitutes and expensive scotch.”

  “I’m surprised you have such bravery without wielding a knife.” He smirked. Holding up his hand, he slid a finger along the thin, white scar. “You’re a psychotic bitch! I wonder what Cowboy would think of your violence.”

  “I no longer need a weapon to protect myself. When will you see that you can’t control me?”

  He shook from head to toe, then turned and marched the direction he came. When he was out of sight, she dropped to the chair and inhaled a calming breath, forcing her nerves to settle. She’d never stood up to him like this before. She’d always cowered under his wrath and today she got an ounce of liberation.

  Threading her shaking fingers through her hair, the hairband fell out and dropped to the cement. She recalled the last time she was with Tom before she walked away.

  He’d come home in the middle of the night, awakened her, smelling of booze and a woman’s perfume, and he’d crawled into their bed, groping Elsa with a sloppy, clammy hand. She’d pushed him away, but his large hand to her throat made her change her mind quickly. Knowing she could just lie there, let him do his business, was much easier than being slammed around. All she’d wanted was a good night’s sleep because she had to be back at the restaurant first thing the following morning.

  At times, she even reminded herself that he hadn’t always been evil.

  When she’d met him, he was sweet, charming and affectionate. And then he’d gotten to know whiskey and, before long, he was drunk more than he was sober. Then the abuse started.

  First the name-calling—whore, slut, trash, cunt—the list went on and on. She’d become immune to his nasty words.

  But once the hits began, she grew tired. She couldn’t blame the alcohol. He bullied anyone he could.

  That specific night, the beginning of the end, she’d done what she’d become a pro at doing and spread her legs for peace control. His clammy hand had crawled up her bare thigh and slipped to her dry core. Her stomach had twirled when he slid a digit deep inside of her. She’d closed her eyes and counted, knowing it’d be over sooner. The unzipping of his zipper had sounded like a gun firing in the dark room. Each tooth being loosened was a reminder of how low things had gotten between them.

  A second later, he’d pressed his soft appendage against her, but against his urgency, nothing happened.

  A grunt had sounded from deep within his chest, and she’d breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t perform, and that meant he’d leave her alone. As she’d started to roll across the mattress, she was caught with a strong hand to her shoulder and tugged back. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I need sleep.”

  “No, what you need to do is please me,” he’d growled next to her ear.

  “You’re drunk, Tom.”

  His hand had jetted up to her neck, pressing against the sensitive skin. “What’s that supposed to mean? That you’re not obligated to behave as my wife because I had a few drinks?”

  “I’m only saying that you’ll get aggravated and things will get out of control.”

  His fingers had tightened. “For the last time, please me!” he demanded.

  “Move your hand!” After a brief hesitation, he moved. Sickened, she’d lifted onto her knees and found his limp tool. She’d held the lifeless part, rolled it around her palm and with lack of interest, she’d squeezed. The muscle had jerked twice, but still nothing happened.

  “You’re worthless. Look at this. My body doesn’t find you desirable any more. The others don’t have a problem with exciting me.” His malevolent laugh had been an acid wash over her skin.

  “Then you should have spent the night with one of your whores.” She’d removed her hand at about the same time his palm fell across her cheek, sending her backward on the bed and sliding off the edge onto the cold floor. As always, she’d been quick with gathering her senses, getting up on all fours and crawling through the darkness. Hiding was useless, she’d known, but she had to try. She’d been hoping he’d forget her in his drunken state.

  But hearing the springs pop in the mattress, followed by his heavy steps, she’d cuddled against the wall in a fetal position. The light came on and she’d watched him examine the room and come to a dead pensive stare on her.

  He’d stumbled across the distance between them and had tangled his hand through her long hair, dragging her across the floor to stop in the middle of the room. As if in automatic mode, she’d brought her arms up to protect her head as beefy fists came pummeling down, attacking her body in heavy blows.

  He was the finest of manipulators and knew how far he could go to prevent any broken bones. He was a man who much preferred breaking another’s spirit.

  Once his taste for abuse was satisfied, he stomped back to the bed and dropped. His light snores had filled the air. When she knew it was safe, she had stood up. Her arms and legs ached from his hits.

  For the longest time, she’d stared at his motionless body. Anger had spiraled through her, ripping through her like sharp blades. She had known she couldn’t live that way another second.

  “Elsa?”

  The husky voice jerked her out of her thoughts and back to reality. Shaking her head, as if she could dislodge the poisonous thoughts, she stared at the worn boot tips and slowly dragged her gaze upward until she reached the curious gaze of Tucker. “I-I didn’t hear you. I guess I was in deep thought.”

  “I saw your ex leave. He wasn’t driving the same car. I came as fast as I could. Are you okay?”

  Threading her fingers through her hair, she focused on his words. “I’m okay.”

  “Oh, all right.” He tipped his hat.

  “You’re a good friend to Deckland, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “I’d consider him a good one.”

  She figured many people would consider Deckland a respectable friend. “T
ucker, I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Yes?” A thick brow lifted.

  “I’m not asking you to lie, but don’t tell Deckland about this.”

  “It’s time you told him, Elsa.” He shifted his boots against the cement.

  She nodded. “I’m afraid of what my ex will do. He thinks he’s above the law.” Her lips quivered.

  “You seem like you need a sounding board. I’m good at listening. And maybe I can ask your advice too.”

  Her mind calming, she sighed. “Do you like sweets?”

  One corner of his mouth curved. “Who doesn’t?”

  “There are people who don’t, but I’d say they have a screw loose. I’m testing out a new recipe for tarts and I was wondering, that is if you don’t mind, if you’d sample a couple tarts and give me your honest opinion? We can talk while we eat.”

  “A man never turns down a sweet offer.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DECKLAND STEPPED THROUGH the screen door and came to a dead stop. His chest tightened and his stomach turned.

  Elsa was in the kitchen and she wasn’t alone. Tucker was leaning over the counter, sampling one of her goodies.

  Jealousy ripped through him like a lightning bolt, and he didn’t like it, not one bit.

  Elsa brought her chin up and their gazes met. Her eyes widened slightly as she moistened her lips. “Deckland, how was your afternoon? Where’s Aspen?”

  Did he catch a cutting tone? “Great. Aren’t you supposed to be working, Tucker?” He didn’t care that his own harsh tone echoed off the walls.

  Elsa’s brows knitted. What right did she have to give him a look as if she could take a switch to his back?

  Tucker pushed away from the counter and headed toward the door. “I’m on my way. By the way, the irrigation system is on the fritz.”

  “I’ll be out in a few. In the meantime, turn off the main valve.”

  “Already done.” With a quick nod, Tucker was gone.

  Deckland turned to Elsa and scrubbed his tight jaw, keeping his eyes from falling to the swell of her breasts behind the bikini top.

  “Was that necessary?” Her gaze turned cold.

  “Was what necessary?”

  “The rude tone? One would think you’d walked in on us making out,” she huffed.

  “Close enough.” He stomped to the fridge, opened it and reached for a bottled water.

  “What did you say?” She cocked her chin in a saucy slant.

  “I said ‘close enough.’ He uncapped the bottle and downed half in one gulp. It did nothing to ease the scratchiness in his throat.

  “That is absurd! I asked him to taste my tarts.” She cleared her throat. “My apple and lemon tarts.”

  “Look, you can feed your tarts to anyone you wish. But Tucker is my hand supervisor and he has a job to do. I don’t pay him to hang out here, with you, helping you decide what treat you like best!”

  Her eyes glistened with anger. “He was here all of five minutes, and he was asking me a question about his ex-wife.”

  “You’re suddenly his therapist?” He finished his water, screwed the cap back on and crushed it in his fist.

  “You’re jealous. That’s obvious.” Her shoulders slumped.

  “No. What reason would I have? After all, you aren’t looking for a relationship, right?” His words reeked of agitation and he couldn’t control it.

  “That stinks of sarcasm. Interesting, didn’t Aspen work out your kinks last night?”

  He chuckled. That’s about all he could manage. Throwing his bottle into the trashcan as he walked past, he continued out the door. He’d explain his relationship with Aspen, but what good would it do him?

  ****

  Elsa couldn’t believe her luck. She pulled her van to the side of the road just as the engine made a sad grinding noise and stopped. Turning the key, nothing happened.

  Climbing from the driver’s side, she straightened her shirt, tugged it down her waist as she looked up and down the lonely road. The sun beat down and she’d guarantee she could fry an egg on the asphalt.

  Sighing, she grabbed her purse from the passenger seat, dug her cell out and touched the screen. Again, just her luck. No bars. Tossing it back in the car, followed by her bag, she slammed the door. She had no choice but to walk back to Brooke Creek in heels, guessing she was about two miles away.

  The only regret she had at her moment of disdain was that she hadn’t traded the hunk of junk when she had the chance. Possibility was, it was a goner and she’d get nothing out of it now. Just when things started to look up, she was always knocked back.

  Then she reminded herself that things could always be worse. Hell, they had been at one time.

  Elsa was thankful for her life. Money was scarce and her business burnt down, but at least she could consider herself independent—unless she counted the fact she was living in Deckland’s house. Her ego tarnished.

  So much for going into town and desperately finding a place to call home temporarily.

  Tossing a wishful glance toward the van, she groaned. Maybe she could fix it.

  After lifting the hood, she was engulfed with an overwhelming smell of grease and oil. She wasn’t dressed for this. In white silk top, dark skinny jeans and heels, she’d been outfitted for anything but working on an engine—and working on it was a longshot.

  Looking down into the metal maze, she shook her head, hoping to wipe away the cobwebs. She had no clue. Just admitting she was stuck, without phone service, would be the best thing.

  Closing the hood and hitting the lock button on the keypad, she started walking.

  She heard the low hum of a vehicle before she saw it approaching. The sun reflected off the black truck and she didn’t see who was driving until he stopped. Tucker gave her a wave and rolled down the window. “Need some help?”

  “Can I catch a lift?”

  “Sure. I was heading to town, but I can take you back to the ranch—”

  Before she made her next action a debate, she shook her head. “You can drop me off in town, if that’s okay.” He hesitated a second and she understood his reluctance. Deckland had verbally thrashed him earlier for no reason. “It’s okay. I can always walk back to the ranch.”

  “No, I can’t have you doing that. It’s too far and you’ll fry before you reach the property. Climb in.”

  Opening the door, she slid into the leather seat. Once they were heading down the road, she knew they needed to clear the air. “I’m sorry I got you into trouble earlier with Deckland.”

  He shrugged. “Hey, I don’t blame him. He’s watchful with what goes on around his place.”

  “Where are you heading in town?” she asked.

  “Starkey’s. Some boys and I are meeting up and playing a couple games of darts, drink a couple beers, you know, wash the week’s work away. After our talk today, and your advice about Hope, I need to ease the tension.”

  “I hope it works out, but if you’ve heard she is getting married, that’s serious. But you know what, a beer sounds good. Maybe I’ll join you, that is if I wouldn’t cramp your style.” She laughed.

  “Hell, I no longer have a style. Hope destroyed that for me. But I can take you anywhere you wish to go. If it’s Starkey’s, then so be it.”

  She sensed his apprehension but she wasn’t going to allow Deckland, or any man, keep her from freedom. “It’s okay, Tucker. Deckland and I aren’t a couple and it’s not as if you and I are on a date.”

  He chuckled. “Then to Starkey’s it is.”

  ****

  Deckland climbed out of the shower, dried off and went to his bedroom to dress. His blinking cell phone on his nightstand drew his attention. Reaching for it, he had three missed calls from Tucker.

  Hitting call, he answered after the second ring. A lot of noise rattled the phone. “Where the hell are you, Tucker?” Deckland asked.

  “Starkey’s. I thought you should know that Elsa is here too. I’ve tried to get her to let me take her home
, but she insists on staying. I don’t want to leave her and I figured you’d be the only one who she’d listen to.”

  His grip tightened on the phone until he heard the plastic crack. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Clicking off and dropping the phone, he pulled on jeans and a black T-shirt.

  Twenty minutes later, Deckland stepped into the bar and found Elsa at the jukebox. He crossed the floor, watched her drop several coins in the slot and push several buttons. Once the slow song oozed from the large speakers, her hips swayed to the beat. The tight jeans fit her curves snugly, leaving little to the imagination. His pulse quickened and, out of the corner of his eye, he caught two drunken cowboys ogling her like a rack of spare ribs. He gave them each a side-glance and their laughter fizzled.

  He’d like to wring their skinny necks for staring with their tongues hanging out.

  She whirled and spotted him, her mouth dropped as her eyes widened. He guessed she was as shocked as he felt. “Deckland, what are you doing here?” She blinked.

  “Maybe I should be asking you that same question.” He lifted a brow.

  “You make no sense. It’s a public place. All of the folks here want a good time.”

  “And that makes sense?” He crossed his arms and sighed.

  “Where’s Tucker?” After a quick scan of the room, her gaze narrowed. “Did you chase him off?” she accused.

  “It appeared you tortured the poor cowboy. He’ll be no good at work tomorrow. He left on his own accord. Now, let’s do the same,” Deckland urged.

  “But I don’t want to. I want to dance.” She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled.

  “You can barely stand and you think you can dance?”

  “I can stand just fine. I’m not drunk. Go home, Deckland.” She shook her head.

  He wanted to do just that. “You’ve been drinking and I’m going to take you with me,” he demanded. She brushed past him and he gently grabbed her elbow.

  “Why is everyone always trying to tell me what to do? I’m a grown woman, for goodness sake.”

  “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m helping you. Big difference.”

  “Stop helping me.” Her glare dropped to his fingers and then she tugged her arm away. She straightened her spine and her eyes sparkled defiance. “I just paid for two songs and, by golly, I’m going to listen to them.” She moved and stumbled. He caught her and smiled.