Baby Makes Three: A Brother's Best Friend's Secret Baby Romance

by Nicole Elliot

  My name was announced over the intercom, and the crowd went wild, and I wrung my hand in the rope before I set myself. My shoulders were back, my head was high, and I watched the assistant open the gate before the bull I was riding shot outta the cage like a piston in a car. He leapt forward, tossing me with him, and I shifted my weight just before he dodged to the right.

  I kept my breath even with his kicks, making sure never to try and take in a breath while he was rearing up on his haunches, and when he dropped his front shoulders down to the ground, I flung my weight back as far as I could. This bull was volatile; I’d give him that. Most bulls I rode kept their weight centered while they jumped in the air and bent their backs out, but this bull was dropping every side of him into the ground to try and get me off.

  But just as he was out of control, I was in control, and I had to relinquish the muscle tension in my arms and legs in favor of contracting my core and making sure my torso stayed as stable as it could.

  With every breath I took, I counted the seconds up. My last ride had been just shy of eight seconds, and I was determined to go the full eight. My tan rawhide hat went flying through the stadium, and I saw it hit the ground beside me. But, so did the bull, and when he sharply turned his body, I felt my entire ass slide off to the right.

  I tugged at the rope as far as I could, but I couldn’t get my body back up on the back of that thing. His hooves stomped my hat, and I felt my chaps riding off to the side, and part of me began to panic because I just knew I was about to fall. The clock was only at four seconds, and I had to find a way to hang on for another four while this bull dropped and dodged to try and get me off.

  But I wasn’t losing to him today.

  I closed my eyes and felt the bull’s muscles shift dominance underneath my legs, and when his hind legs made contact with the ground I swung my torso back to the left, and it forced the saddle to slide back into place. I heard the crowd go wild before the bull lunged forward, and when my nose connected with his back, I heard a large gasp from the crowd. My nose ached, and my body felt like it was being pulled joint by joint, but when I caught a glimpse of the clock, I realized we’d just passed six seconds.

  Two more to go, and I’d officially beat my own record.

  My hand was starting to swell, and I was pretty sure I’d dislocated one of my fingers, and as my grip began to slip I clenched my thighs around the bull’s strong back, and he didn’t like that one bit. He flung himself around in a circle, making my body slowly lean off to the side again, and just when I thought my hand was going to give way and throw me to the mercy of this bull’s hooves, I heard that telltale air horn that every bull rider loves to hear.

  I’d made it the full eight seconds.

  I loosened my grip from the rope, and the bull felt me shift. The barrelmen came running out to capture the bull’s attention, and with a swift kick of his back legs, I went flying through the air. I tucked my head and protected my neck, trying to get a good idea of where the ground was before I came down on it, and when I rolled my body away from the bull I heard the stamping hooves of the pickup men.

  But then, the crowd began to scream, and I opened my eyes and saw the bull’s hooves hovering right above my face.

  I threw my body off to the right and rolled out from underneath him just as his legs came down where my neck would’ve been, and I felt someone grab my arms and drag me off to the side before I could scramble to my feet. That bull had come after me and almost crushed my skull, and I knew as I stood up and looked that bull in his eyes that I would be the last person that ever rode it. If it wasn’t clear with the last rider that the bull had intentions of hurting us, it was very clear now.

  “You alright, Mr. Rawlings!?” the barrelman yelled.

  The crowd was roaring and chanting my name, and I panned my gaze around before I jogged out of the ring. My heart was racing, and my hand was aching, but when I hopped the fence, I turned towards the countdown clock one last time before I smiled and shook my head.

  8.4 seconds.

  I’d stayed on that damned bull for 8.4 seconds.

  The barrelman brought me my crushed rawhide hat, and I hooked my legs into the large pen fence before I dusted it off. I put it back on my head, saluted the crowd, and hopped back down before I started towards the back of the stadium.

  And the crowd chanted my name until I got back to my trailer.

  Chapter 3: Flynn

  “Congratulations, Flynn!”

  “You broke your record; how does that feel!?”

  “Is this your official declaration of coming back to the sport, Flynn!?”

  “That was a hell of a ride, buddy. Way to go.”

  The people were chanting behind me in the stadium as I walked through the white hallways of the horse stalls and bullpens, and every time I rounded a corner someone wanted to shake my hand. People were thrusting microphones in my face and tape recorders to my mouth, all wanting a statement that confirmed for them that I was coming back to bull riding full time.

  But I had no intentions of coming back to the sport full time. I just needed a ride every so often to get my rush of adrenaline.

  “Mr. Flynn!? Is it true?! Are you back!?”

  That’s the thing with the media: if you don’t give them an answer, they just make up one to get you to confirm or deny. I enjoyed owning the animals I did, especially the horses and bulls. I had a couple of dogs that helped me run around and field the few chickens I had, but my main animals were the rough stock for the exact rodeos I used to ride in. I’d had a few close calls in my time, and although it never stopped me from riding, I also knew that I didn’t wanna die with the last thing I saw was some bull’s balls in my face.

  Who the hell wants to die with balls in their face?

  So, I took to raising rough stock and training new riders. I took on horse riders and bull riders, and trained them on the same rough stock they would then use in the rodeos and roping contests. Some people tried to challenge and say that was illegal, like giving a member of a baseball team the chance to play with their competitors before the actual game. But all I did to navigate around that was enter in different livestock animals than the ones they trained on during the off-season.

  Problem solved, and I got to keep my lucrative business.

  I didn’t make a ton, but I made enough to keep myself and the ranch afloat. A man like me doesn’t need a fancy vacation or nice-looking clothes all the time. Who the hell is gonna feed the chickens in a three-piece suit?

  I looked at the woman staring up at me, with her blonde hair and her blue eyes, and all of a sudden, I wanted to get back my trailer.

  “Well? Are you, Mr. Rawlings!?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am. I ain’t coming back to the rodeo. Just wanted to remember what it felt like to be in the ring again.”

  “Will you ever let us see you ride again?” another reporter asked.

  “Will you ever reconsider!?” the blonde woman asked. Her skin was silky smooth, like ice cream in a milkshake, and her eyes burned with the ferocity of a dedicated fan. She reminded me of someone I wanted to forget, and suddenly I felt an anger surge within my gut.

  “I’m happy training and owning my animals. If you’ll excuse me, ma’am.”

  I turned my back on her and walked away as memories of that night flashed behind my eyes. Memories of Chelsea tangled up in my sheets and the sounds our skin made brushing against one another. Memories of the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head and how her wet, silky pussy felt tightening around my cock. The night before she left me was the first night I’d really felt like I’d understood how emotions played into sex, and I knew I’d want to bury myself into her for the rest of my days if she’d let me.

  I sighed a deep breath of relief when my trailer came into view, and I ripped the door open before I leaped up and pulled it closed behind me. The sounds of the stadium were swallowed by the metal frame of the moving home, and I flopped myself down onto the couch before I presse
d the heels of my hands into my eyes. Even today, I could still conjure the way her legs felt shaking around my head, and it made my vision tremble just thinking about it. I groaned and put my elbows on my knees and started my deep breaths, trying to rid myself of the anger in the pit of my stomach as well as the tension growing behind my pants.

  It was enraging, how the memory of her could shake me to my core while still churning the fire in my gut.

  The truth was there had been no one like her since. Her big, bold eyes carried a certain independence that every farm girl around here seemed to carry, but her long blonde hair and her apple cheeks always lent her a face that seemed a bit younger than she really was. She had all the curves a farm girl developed: thick muscular thighs from riding horses bareback, a strong back and broad shoulders from throwing hay on the backs of trucks, and a tapered waist from twisting and heaving an ax through the air before bringing it down onto part of the trunk of a tree.

  But my favorite part of her body was the paunch of fat she had sitting right behind her belly button. She always complained about that damn piece of fat, but I absolutely adored it. It fit the curve of my hand just right, and there was something about a hard-working woman with an appetite to match that set my pelvis roaring to life. She’d always shrug me off, but when I got her naked every single evening I could, I’d suck marks right onto that little bit of jiggle while she writhed and bucked underneath me just so she’d know exactly how much I loved it.

  That was another thing about Chelsea that drew me to her, and that was her inability to keep control in the sack. She’d buck and drop just like every other animal I’d ridden on, and my practice with bulls in the ring helped me to ride with her instead of delaying her pleasure by making her lay still. See, most men can’t handle a woman like that: a vocal woman whose body lost control. They think a woman’s supposed to lay there and make these cute little squeaks before doting on how big his dick is.

  But not Chelsea.

  Her tongue was sharp, and her words were dirty, and her body would shake shimmy, and rock just as hard as mine in the bed. Sex with her was primal, like two animals stalking each other in heat. Chelsea knew what she wanted, she knew how to get it, and she let her body take control in order to see it through to the end.

  A knock at my trailer door ripped me from my thoughts, and all I could do was groan before I leaned myself back into the couch. Some fucking reporter was still trying to get some statement from me, and my mind automatically went back to the reporter with the blonde hair and the blue eyes. Damn it, she looked just like Chelsea, and something told me that’s exactly who was banging down my door. The knock started soft, but it slowly grew in volume, and I knew that if I really wanted to be left alone, I’d have to get up and answer it.

  “Just a sec!” I called out.

  I heaved myself up from the couch, and I winced before a pressure descended between my legs. My pelvis was aching, and my bulging dick was straining against my chaps, and I figured I needed to go ahead and remove them if I was going to situate myself before throwing my trailer door open to someone. I ripped my chaps off as I ran through different things I could say to the woman, and I jammed my hands down into my pants and pulled my chub up against my body before I sighed in relief.

  But then, the knocking became harder and more persistent.

  “Jesus-... can y’all hold on a second!?”

  I was gonna play nice, but this knocking was getting on my nerves. I heard the muffled sounds of the stadium roaring, and it was probably some other person who’d been thrown from a bull or something. See, there are three kinds of noises a stadium watching bull riding competitions makes: there’s the winner’s cheer, the “oh!” sound of someone falling off, and the shocked gasp when someone is about to get hurt.

  I’d heard the winner’s cheer and the shocked gasp, but the sound the crowd was making now told me someone was falling off their bull.

  And then, that damn knock turned right into a fucking police fist bang, and I’d had it with whoever was at my door.

  “Now, I told you very nicely to hold on, and all you got to give me in return is-”

  I ripped my door open and felt the breath leave my lungs. It was like someone had slapped me right across the face with a baseball bat full of nails. I clenched my jaw, and my fist bared down on the handle of the trailer, and as I studied the honey blonde hair and big, blue eyes in front of me, my mind suddenly went blank.

  It’s wasn’t a reporter, and it wasn’t a fan. It wasn’t the bull inspector or a student, and it wasn’t even an assistant offering me another chance to ride for the crowd.

  It was Chelsea.

  Chelsea fucking August.

  “Hey there, slugger,” she smirked.

  And all I could do was stare.

  Chapter 4: Chelsea

  The shock on his face was evident, and I really couldn’t blame him. The butterflies were flying so hard through my stomach I thought I was gonna heave all over him, but when I saw the advertisement for the rodeo, I just knew he would be here. Some of the advertisements showcased the fact he was riding, but some of them were just handouts, and before I even knew he was riding I just knew I had to come.

  I had to see him again.

  I stared at him for a long time, and I couldn’t help but notice how wonderful age looked on him: his dark brown hair held the very first hints of gray at his temples, and his green eyes still sparkled with that independence I never could figure out how to wrangle. He had been impressive on the back of that bull, and I knew when he trotted off behind the stadium that I had to find him.

  I had to talk to him.

  “Come on in, Chelsea,” he said lowly.

  He stepped aside, and I brushed passed him, and I couldn’t help but relish in the warmth his body temporarily provided. I eyed the couch and decided I’d sit there, hoping that maybe he’d sit down beside me. But when he shut the trailer door and turned around, all he did was stand on the steps.

  The silence hung heavy in the air, impregnated with so many unanswered questions, and I knew I owed him answers to things he probably was asking himself many times over the years. What I did to him in college was wrong, but I knew if I would’ve told him about the job in Paris he would’ve figured out a way to make me stay. A guy like him didn’t belong in a city like Paris, and a woman like me didn’t belong in a town like this, and I knew I’d never get him to understand that. I knew he’d try to talk me into staying, into being by his side and working in one of the boutiques in town. Maybe he would’ve encouraged me to open a shop of my own and sell my own fashion line for the rest of my life, but I wanted something else.

  Something bigger.

  Something more…

  I knew if I told him about the offer, he’d talk me out of it; and I knew that if he tried to talk me out of it, that I would let him.

  I knew I’d give up my dreams for him, and I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t do that to myself like my mother had.

  I eyed him carefully and watched him look at me. He’d always been a good-looking boy, but what was now in front of me was a burly, handsome man. The stubble on his cheek burned the inside of my thighs, and his sea foam eyes raged with the confusion he was probably feeling. He was a lanky boy in college, but riding bulls and raising his own animals etched his body well, and his broad shoulders now held a rigid and chiseled chest that my fingertips wanted to sink into. His hips were strong, and his legs were taut, and I felt my entire body begin to shiver on the couch.

  My god, he’d filled out his body well, and it took all the energy I could muster not to stare.

  “What’re you doing here, Chelsea?” he asked with a guarded tone to his voice.

  “Well, uh… I’m visiting my family, and I saw the advertisements for the rodeo,” I answered lightly.

  “Having fun?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You guess?” he asked.

  “Well, I just… was really hoping I could see you.”

&nbs
p; “Mission accomplished.”

  I nodded my head and swallowed hard, and for the first time since I’d sat on that couch he darted his eyes away and danced them around the trailer. I knew all the questions flying through his head, and I wished he would just ask them. He deserved to know the answers, and I honestly wanted to give them to him. I’d built up a decent career for myself after the fashion scene in Paris took me under its wing, and I was being offered the chance to create my own fashion line to debut this year at fashion week. I wanted to tell him all about it, about the dresses and the pant suits and the flamboyant shirts. I wanted to say him that I was bringing cowgirl chic to the streets of the biggest fashion city in the world, and I wanted him to tell me he was proud of me.

  I wanted Flynn to be proud of what I’d accomplished.

  “How long you in town?” he asked.

  “A week.”

  “A week...” he trailed off.

  “Yeah…” I sighed. “Do you, um… do you still ride often? That was a hell of an impressive turn you did out there.”

  “Nah. First time I’ve been on a bull in years,” he murmured.

  “Really? That was badass for it being years. Why’d you stop?”

  “My heart just isn’t in it anymore. Not since college,” he admitted. “Now, I raise the rough stock for the rodeos and train new riders who have the same fire. They ain’t got that fire, I don’t train them. People get killed when they don’t have that fire.”

  “Not… since college?” I asked.

  “Yeah. My heart hasn’t been in it since then.”

  “But you were riding after-”

  I watched his flaring eyes pan towards me, and every single fear I was hoping didn’t exist were confirmed. He’d stopped riding after graduation. After I left him that morning for Paris. Bull riding was his passion, the one thing he was doing to help pay for his college. And he was damn good, too! There wasn’t a session he rode that was under six seconds, and he was the only rider in the entire state who never had to do a re-ride because of faulty equipment. Hell, even when the equipment did fail, he still held on and completed his ride!