Dusty: Wild Cowboy

by Cathy McDavid

  “It’s only an accusation if it’s untrue.”

  “Don’t you care about your mother and what this is doing to her?”

  “I do care. And I hate seeing her hurt.” Some of the fight drained from Dusty. “But I didn’t create this situation. You did when you had an affair with Abigail Hansen, and that had to have hurt Mom far worse than my screenplay ever will.”

  “Don’t you ever mention that woman’s name again,” J.W. said through clenched teeth.

  “Why were you talking to her outside the feed store last week?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “It seemed pretty heated.”

  “I said I don’t remember.”

  “You’re lying.” Dusty couldn’t stay in the same room with his father another minute. He was sick of the secrets, sick of the covering up, sick of the two sets of rules his father lived by, one for him and one for everyone else. “I need to go. Gil’s waiting for me.”

  J.W. remained rooted in front of the office door. “Promise me you’ll reconsider selling your screenplay.”

  “I already told the producer yes.”

  “I’ll call our attorneys and get an injunction.”

  “Do that, Dad. And everyone’s going to realize, just like me, that you wouldn’t give a tinker’s damn about my screenplay unless Mark Hansen really is your son.”

  Dusty’s remark struck a visible blow, and his father stumbled backward out the door. He pushed past J.W.—only to come face-to-face with Jesse waiting in the barn aisle.

  “What the hell are you doing?” his brother demanded.

  “What somebody should have done a long time ago.”

  “Dad’s right. You’ll destroy this family.”

  “Me? What about him? He cheated on Mom. And for all we know Mark Hansen is our brother.”

  Dusty didn’t see Jesse’s right hook coming until it was too late but he sure as heck felt it…and the ground when he hit it going a hundred miles an hour.

  MARYANNE RAISED HER HAND to knock on Dusty’s apartment door and hesitated. He’d sounded a little strange when he called her earlier to cancel her father’s roping lesson at the last minute and change the location for their date. She’d assumed—actually, counted on—them returning to his place after dinner. The new arrangements shouldn’t bother her. For all she knew, he could have a delightful surprise in store for her.

  But then, there had been that odd quality in his voice.

  Knocking firmly, she waited for him to answer. When he did, her mouth dropped open.

  “What happened to you?”

  “A slight difference of opinion with Jesse.”

  “What is it with you Codys and your disagreements?”

  “Short tempers run rampant in our gene pool.”

  She barely had time to examine his swollen eye and bruised cheek when he pulled her inside and into his arms. Kicking the door shut, he brought his mouth down on hers in a ravenous kiss.

  “Shouldn’t we talk first?” she asked when they paused to catch their breaths.

  “Later.”

  He pulled at her jacket, slipping it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Her blouse was next. Then his hands were on her naked flesh, fondling and caressing.

  “You’re not wearing a bra.” A throaty growl escaped his lips.

  Her wardrobe choice hadn’t been intentional. Now, however, she was glad for it. Like the day of their first kiss, Dusty was being driven by strong emotions and a need to vent them. She could help him. She wanted to help him.

  Responding to his need with one of her own, she arched into him.

  “You’re amazing,” he said and kissed each breast until she forgot about everything except the maelstrom of feelings he let loose in her.

  The rest of their clothes evaporated in a blur, and they dropped to the thick rug. Dusty produced a condom—where had that come from?—and covered himself. Then, without waiting, he pushed inside her.

  She wrapped her arms around him and entwined her legs with his. His thrusts increased, becoming faster and harder. Her hands traveled down the slope of his taut back to his buttocks, urging him on. When she lifted her hips to meet his, he lost control.

  The storm raging inside him eventually abated, and he raised his head to gaze at her. Not that her heart had any real barriers anymore, but the tenderness and affection in his eyes stole away any last vestiges of them.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Come on.”

  “Where to?” She snuggled closer, not ready to leave his embrace.

  “The bathroom.”

  Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  “I had this idea.” Pushing off her, he rose. Night had fallen during their lovemaking, surrounding them in dark shadows. In the dim light, Dusty looked like a silver warrior. “Only we didn’t quite make it that far.”

  She clasped his extended hand. “I’m not sure I’m ready for whatever you have planned.”

  As it turned out, she was more than ready.

  Dusty had filled the spacious tub with warm water, on top of which floated a blanket of frothy bubbles. Lighted votive candles sat on the counter and along the rim of the tub. Also on the counter was a crystal vase containing a dozen red roses and an ice bucket with a bottle of chilled champagne.

  “Very nice,” she cooed.

  While she stepped into the tub, he opened the champagne and poured two glasses. “Here.”

  She took the glasses and watched in avid anticipation as he joined her in the tub, sitting across from her with his back to the faucet.

  “Is the water hot enough?”

  “Not bad.”

  He flipped on the spigot and in a matter of seconds, steam filled the bathroom.

  “To family,” Maryanne said, and lifted her glass.

  Dusty gave her a wry look but returned her toast. Before she could ask about his fight with his brother, he shut off the spigot and plucked her glass from her hands.

  “Your turn.”

  “For what?”

  “To even things out.” Setting their glasses down, he moved toward her, his hand sliding up her thigh. “Much as I enjoyed earlier, it was a little one-sided.”

  “I didn’t mind.”

  “But I do.”

  Maryanne slid farther beneath the bubbles as his fingers began their intimate exploration. She could tell from the determined set of his jaw he intended to pay back the pleasure she’d given him measure for measure.

  Who was she to argue?

  “ARE YOU READY TO TELL ME about this?” Maryanne gently traced the outline of the angry bruise discoloring the left side of Dusty’s face.

  He winced slightly, more, she thought, from her question than pain.

  “I told you, my brother and I got into a fight.”

  “One that involved fists?”

  “Boys will be boys.”

  “Was it about your screenplay?”

  “Indirectly.”

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  They were still in the tub, still facing each other, their legs straddling each other’s hips. Enough time had passed that the water had cooled again and the champagne bottle was empty. The candles, however, continued to flicker brightly.

  Maryanne thought they should probably get out before they turned into prunes but was loath to leave Dusty and the small private sanctuary they’d created.

  What would it be like when the time came for her to leave Wyoming?

  She pushed the question from her mind. Just because her past temporary separations had ended badly was no reason to believe this one would, too.

  “I want to tell you what happened,” he said, rubbing his foot along her thigh. The bubbles had made her skin slick and slippery. “I’m just afraid it’ll sound stupid.”

  “Two grown men—brothers at that—slugging it out. How is that going to sound stupid?”

  “Your sarcasm isn’t appreciated,” he said jokingly, then sobered. “My father doesn�
�t want me to sign the contract for my screenplay option.”

  “What!”

  “He’s afraid that if it’s made into a movie, people will jump to the conclusion that the storyline is true.”

  “Is it? Is Mark Hansen your brother?”

  “I still don’t know for sure. Other than Dex, nobody in my family is willing to speak Mark Hansen’s name much less consider he’s related to us. Jesse especially.”

  “So he punched you?”

  “He was mad, and I was handy.”

  “Your family being tight-lipped about Mark only fuels the rumors.” Maryanne twirled a finger in the tepid water. “Are you going to do what you father asks? Not sign the contract?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m going to sign the contract.”

  “I’m glad. You’ve come too far to give up.”

  He traced his fingertips along her cheek much like she had his. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Believing in me. Not many people have.”

  “Your family will now.”

  “If they don’t disown me.”

  “You aren’t serious, are you?”

  His laugh reassured her. “They won’t disown me. Not right away. But Thanksgiving and Christmas are probably going to be a little awkward this year.”

  Maryanne craned her neck to look out the bathroom door. “I just realized, where’s Track?”

  “Matt’s watching him tonight.”

  “I bet they’re both enjoying that.”

  “And picking Track up tomorrow is a good excuse for me to see Matt again.”

  “Do you need an excuse?”

  “We’re still ironing out the wrinkles in our visitation arrangement. It’ll be different when I have a house of my own.”

  “How long until you start construction?”

  “I have to hire an architect first.”

  Maryanne’s heart sank at the reminder that Dusty would always make his permanent home in Wyoming. She’d allowed herself to hope he might spend weeks, maybe even months, on end in California.

  “Do you think Josie will let me take Matt with me on one of my trips?”

  She recalled Josie’s refusal to let Matt fly with the family to the rodeo in Albuquerque. “I don’t know her well but my gut instinct is no. Not until he’s older.”

  “You’re probably right.” He picked up Maryanne’s hand and brought it to his lips. “I’ll just have to depend on you to keep me busy. And Shirley Lowery.”

  “The agent Herb referred you to?” Her disappointment subsided.

  “I signed with her this morning. It’s funny how people who wouldn’t give me the time of day before I had a contract are now happy to talk to me.”

  “That’s the way it goes in Hollywood.” The temperature in the tub had finally gotten too cold for Maryanne to tolerate. Bracing her arms on the sides, she stood, water sliding off her, and grabbed a towel from the rack. “Get used to it.”

  His eyes traveled the length of her as she dried herself. “I can get used to this, too.”

  As could she. Maybe too used to it.

  He stood up quickly, and water sloshed onto the sides of the tub. Stepping out of the tub, he yanked her unceremoniously into his arms, soaking the skin she’d so carefully blotted dry.

  “Are you sure? Because I plan on coming to L.A. a lot.”

  There was more to his question than seeking simple assurance. He was letting her know he was willing to put forth the effort required to make a long-distance relationship work.

  It was all she could ask of him.

  It was also enough.

  “I’m sure.”

  He grinned. “You hungry?”

  In their frantic rush to be together, they’d forgotten all about dinner. “Yes, but I don’t want to get dressed and go out.”

  “I have stuff here we can eat.”

  “Are you offering to cook?”

  “I am. Don’t know how organic or natural the food will be.”

  “Unless you burn everything, I’ll suffer through it.”

  “I’ll have you know I’m pretty good with a skillet and spatula.”

  “You don’t say?”

  As Maryanne slipped on the terry cloth robe he’d left for her, contentment stole over her. This time would be different. She was older and wiser and going into the relationship with her eyes wide-open. More important, she was less emotionally invested.

  Or was she?

  As she watched Dusty prepare a simple dinner wearing just a towel, she wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What’s a jackpot?” Maryanne asked her father over lunch in the public dining hall. Their cabin had a kitchen but they often ate meals with the other guests.

  “It’s a roping competition,” he answered her around a spoonful of turkey soup.

  Maryanne was enjoying the same soup, only hers was accompanied by a small salad and not a thick ham sandwich topped off with a generous slice of apple pie. Of course, if she worked as physically hard as her father did, she’d be consuming mass quantities of food, too.

  “Are you ready for a competition? You’ve only been roping three-and-a-half weeks.” To date, her father had managed to avoid serious injuries, if she didn’t count the various sprains, bumps, bruises and contusions he’d sustained.

  “Sure I’m ready.”

  “But you’ll be going up against people a lot better than you.” The two young women Maryanne frequently watched practice came to mind.

  “Not really. You only compete against people who are ranked the same as you so it’s fair. I’m a one now.”

  “That’s good! You’ve gone up a level.”

  “A one is mediocre.” He chuckled robustly. “I’d wanted to be a two before I left.”

  “You have until Wednesday.” As did she. Three more days to be with Dusty.

  But it would only be another week or two until he flew to L.A. and she’d see him again. They’d talked at length the previous night, discussing his trip, where they’d go and what they’d do. She wanted most to show him her office and the community of Westwind where she hoped to buy a condo.

  “Dusty’ll be competing today, too,” her father said.

  “Oh?” Maryanne pursed her lips.

  He hadn’t mentioned anything about the jackpot last night. Then again, their conversation had centered on each other and nothing else. When they were talking, that was, and not engaged in other activities of a somewhat decadent nature.

  She smiled at the memory.

  “What are you thinking about, Cookie?” Her father had finished his soup and sandwich and was starting on his pie.

  “Leaving on Wednesday. I can’t believe our month here is almost over.”

  “I’m really glad you came with me. I know it wasn’t always fun for you or easy.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve had a great time.”

  “Because of Dusty?”

  She shrugged. “He helped pass the time.”

  “More than helped, I’d say.”

  She hadn’t discussed her and Dusty’s relationship with her father, though she hadn’t hidden it from him, either. Merely omitted a few of the more personal and intimate details.

  “He’s a fine man. I’m glad the two of you found each other.” The remainder of her father’s pie disappeared in a last forkful. “Are you going to see him when he comes to L.A.?”

  “I am.”

  “I had no idea he was a writer.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Dad. He asked me to keep it confidential.”

  “I understand. You had an agreement.” He patted his belly. “And I got the next World tie-down roping champion to give me lessons.”

  “If he wins.”

  “He’ll win.”

  Maryanne didn’t doubt it, either.

  She’d told her father about Dusty’s screenplay option and upcoming meeting with Sundown Pictures only after Dusty gave his permission. Word had evidently spread quickly throughout t
he small community. From what Maryanne had observed, people’s reactions varied. Most didn’t believe it. Writing was a serious endeavor that required dedication. Dusty was too irresponsible.

  It just went to prove how undeserving his reputation was.

  “What are you doing after the jackpot?” her father asked.

  “Dusty and I are having dinner.” They were going to The Spotted Horse Saloon to make up for missing last night. “Want to come with us?”

  “You don’t want your old man tagging along. I’d only be in the way.”

  “You aren’t ever in the way, and I know Dusty would love having you along. He considers you his friend.”

  “We’ll see. I could be busy.”

  There was an elusive, almost mysterious, quality to his demeanor. Was he implying he had a date? He hadn’t even remotely considered going out with a woman since her mother’s death. But then, it had been three years, and he seemed so much more like his old self these days.

  Maryanne might have pressed for more information but he jumped up from his seat and said, “I’d better head out. The jackpot starts in less than an hour. You coming?”

  She drained the last of her iced tea and pushed her plate away. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Maryanne was climbing the small row of bleachers alongside the main arena at Cowboy College. The day was pleasant though nippy, making her glad she’d worn her warm jacket. By her estimation every guest in residence was there, along with their family and friends, making it difficult to find a good seat. Trucks and horse trailers crowded the dirt parking lot to the south of the arena with barely any walking room between them. Maryanne had heard the event was open to anyone, not just the students, and the number of unfamiliar faces confirmed that.

  “Hi,” she said and waved at Dusty’s parents and sister sitting several rows over.

  Elly returned Maryanne’s greeting with a great deal of friendliness, prompting her to wonder how much Dusty’s sister knew about her and Dusty. However much or little she knew, she apparently approved. Conversely, his parents were harder to read, and his mother’s responding wave lacked enthusiasm.

  Maryanne recalled his father’s demand that Dusty not sign the contract. Was J.W. aware of her part in mentoring Dusty, and did he blame her for leading his son astray? She suffered mixed feelings of regret and anger. It had never been her intention to contribute to his problems with his family.