Second Round Cowboy (Second Chance Series)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  Second Round Cowboy

  2014 Rhonda Lee Carver

  Copyright © 2014 by Rhonda Lee Carver

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States

  “I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”

  ― Marilyn Monroe

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE SCRUFFY-BEARDED BARTENDER grabbed a Budweiser from the cooler, popped the lid and passed it down the pock marked and pitted bar to Stryker Mason.

  Stryker grabbed the bottle and held it up in salutation. "Thanks, Lucky."

  "There's more where that came from, pal." Lucky tipped his hat.

  Taking several long drags from the bottle, Stryker swiveled on the squeaky barstool, pushed his hat back on his forehead, and stared into the grimy darkness of Whistle’s Saloon. Nothing had changed in the country bar since he’d stopped by a year ago. One of the neon signs in the window still had a bulb missing, the same dusty deer heads lined the wall and familiar-faced rednecks surrounded the pool table. A sad tune wailed from the jukebox mingling with the cracking of the balls.

  He took another drink as he peered down the long neck. Oh shit! He almost sent the mouthful splattering onto the bar. At one of the tables in the corner sat a couple, tongues buried in each other's mouth and hands knuckle deep in each other's jeans. What the hell?

  Turning away from the public display of affection, he spotted old man Richards clinging to the wall, head bobbing, and a yellowish tint to his skin. He'd had too much to drink again. The fifty-something welder looked one beer away from liver failure. Stryker liked the man and hated seeing him drown his sorrows, whatever they were. Before much longer, Richards’s wife would be rolling in and dragging him out.

  Stryker scrubbed his jaw. Why had he bothered coming in? Had he gotten this miserable?

  Hell, everyone had his reasons for being there and every man deserved a cold one now and again.

  He’d been driving back from the rodeo when he’d gotten a thirst for something more than his usual sweet tea. Sure, he could have grabbed a six-pack on his way past the grocery, but there was something about drinking alone that he’d never liked.

  He swallowed half his drink and swirled the liquid around the bottle.

  “You need another, Stryker?” Lucky yelled from down the bar.

  “No, I think this’ll do me. But thanks anyway.” Stryker reached into his front pocket, pulled out a couple of bills and laid them on the counter. Laughter drew his attention across the room to a couple dancing. The man twirled the woman and her long, dark hair swung around her shoulders. His chest tightened as memories came flooding back of someone he knew long ago. She liked to dance and he liked to hold her. It'd been a win-win situation.

  When would he be free of her?

  Lord knew he’d tried forgetting her, but nothing had worked. He was beginning to think he’d live in the nightmare until he was six feet under.

  At times, he wondered what she was doing and who she was doing it with. When she'd left, he'd driven himself crazy imagining her in the arms of another man. He’d never been a jealous man, but losing her had turned his world upside down.

  "Lucky, I've decided I'll take a six-pack to go." Stryker withdrew a few more bills and slid them toward the bartender. Tonight he'd drown his despair.

  His cell buzzed and he pulled it out from his jacket pocket, checking the caller ID. He recognized the number and clicked talk. “Hey, Suzie. Feel like dancing tonight?” She was his sister's best friend and co-worker. He liked to tease the woman. It was all harmless banter because she was happily married with three young kids. In fact, he was good friends with her husband too.

  “Stryker, where are you?” The panicked tone in her voice made him sit straighter as the hair lifted on the back of his neck.

  “I’m heading home. What’s wrong?” He was already out of the bar and in the parking lot, anticipating her answer.

  “It’s Justine…she’s been in a car accident.” A sob vibrated the line.

  His grip tightened on the phone. “Where is she? Is she at the hospital? Is Lilly with her? I can be there in ten minutes.”

  “Lilly wasn’t with her. Yes, Justine was brought here, but there’s something you should know.” He heard the plastic of his cell crack and his knuckles ached. “It's bad, Stryker, real bad. The doctor doesn’t think she’ll make it.”

  ****

  Leslie Bakerfield slid off her red stilettos and tossed them into the corner of the bathroom. Her feet ached and her toes were blistered from being at the Rancher’s Ball, but she didn't care. She was far from tired and could have danced the night away. She hadn’t had that much fun in, well, longer than imaginable.

  Unzipping the back of the sequined gown, she let the material drop in a satin puddle at her feet, then grabbed the black silk robe off the hook and tugged it on.

  She checked herself in the mirror. Her earlier updo was now a half-do and her lipstick was smeared. Removing the bobby pins, her long hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders. She started to pull it up in a ponytail, but decided to leave it down. It wasn’t often that she got all dolled up. As a veterinarian, she spent more time with horses than humans, and her patients didn’t care how much makeup she wore or how fancy she dressed.

  Knock! Knock!

  “Yes?”

  “Everything okay in there?” Dillon Brooke asked through the door.

  She nervously tightened the belt at her waist, not understanding why she was uneasy. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you. If you’d like, grab yourself a drink. I have beer and there may be some wine left.”

  His footsteps faded down the hall. He'd accompanied her to the ball and had been the perfect gentleman—opening doors, saying please and thank you, grabbing her wine when her glass was empty. He’d also made her laugh with his jokes. While they'd danced, he'd held her close and things had gotten a little heated. After several slow songs, he’d asked her if she wanted to leave and she’d known exactly what he was asking. She didn't mind getting away from the dwindling crowd or the possibility of continuing things at her place.

  He’d brought her home and she’d asked him to come inside, she’d wanted—maybe even needed—for things to go to the next level.

  In the next room waited a handsome and willing cowboy. He was everything she found sexy about a man—tall, brawny, virile and available.

  Why am I stalling then?

  Maybe the idea of sleeping with Dillon was a lot more tempting than the actual opportunity for action.

  She buried her forehead against her palm and sighed.

  If only her nerves would chill.

  Lifting her head, she stared at her pale reflection. She barely knew Dillon. And she couldn’t deny the three glasses of wine had sweetly intoxicated her brain cells.

  What the hell was wrong with her? She should follow her heart, wherever it led her. She was a grown woman who hadn’t enjoyed adult playtime in a long time—too long. Why did she feel guilty? Where did it come from? Guilt had no place inside of her.

  An image sparked of another tall, brawny cowboy with a smile that oozed charm and deep eyes that could see right through her. This cowboy wasn’t waiting and willing. In fact, she hadn’t seen him in years. A day hadn’t gone by that he hadn’t crossed her mind.

  But he belonged in her past.

  She gave her head a quick shake, hoping to dislodge her forbidden cowboy. No luck.

  Although she’d gotten good at building walls, there were times old memories and a lost cowboy trickled
through the holes of her protection. Now wasn’t a good time for the dam to break. Years had passed and she had every right to move on.

  The time had come and she needed to prove to herself she was ready to forget the blue-eyed man who’d haunted her day and night.

  Turning, she opened the door and shimmied down the hall in her short robe, readying herself to knock the fancy boots right off Dillon.

  “About time.” He was sitting on the couch, his arms were over the back, his long legs stretched out and his ankles were hooked. He’d lost his jacket and bowtie, and a few buttons were loose on his shirt, showing off a smooth chest. How old was he again? For heaven’s sake. He was an adult—and looked masculine enough to her. What was the big deal? It wasn’t as if she was robbing the cradle.

  “Sorry it took so long,” she finally said.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.” She slipped her fingers through her hair as she spotted the empty tumbler sitting on the floor. “Care for another drink?”

  He shook his head. “No.” He lifted a hand and motioned for her to step closer.

  Swallowing, her heart thumped against her chest. She took several steps until her bare toes touched his boots and she stopped, placing her hands on her hips. He sat up, his smoldering gaze held hers as the heat from his body seeped through the thin material covering her. She knew what was coming—and anticipated it.

  He loosened the belt of her robe and the front fell open. A cool breeze swept across her body. Her nipples bunched against the bra.

  “You’re beautiful.” His touch came at her knees, moving upward along her outer thighs as he slowly smoothed his palms over her hips. Her skin trembled when he bent his head and licked her belly button, swirling his tongue in and out of the dip.

  His fingers pressed up her back then she felt him fumble with the clasp. A soft click sounded and the lace fell down her arms, then to the floor. His needful gaze caressed her bare breasts before he found the buds with the tips of his fingers, circling and rubbing until tingles of urgency burst through her.

  With his other hand, he slipped past the wisp of satin covering her wet center and slid a digit inside of her. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back, a deep moan sliced the air and she realized it came from her. Clinging to his broad shoulders, she rode the waves of sexual intoxication.

  “Yes, baby, yes.” The huskiness of his words broke through her state of pleasure and she drifted.

  She was straddling her coal-haired cowboy, riding his thick cock as he cried out, “I’m all yours, sweet baby. Forever.”

  She gritted her teeth, fighting through the image of a man from the past. Her pussy grew wetter with the memory, and as hard as she tried to move beyond the thought, her body tensed. “I can’t!”

  “Huh? What is it?” Dillon pulled his finger from her.

  Taking a step back, she opened her mouth to tell him the truth…

  Knock! Knock!

  She jumped.

  His eyes narrowed. “Expecting someone?”

  "No." She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “There's no one I want to see at midnight."

  “Then let’s ignore them.” His words seemed more of a blast of cold air than encouragement to continue.

  Sex appeal oozed from him, so why had she thrown up a wall around her desire?

  Knock! Knock! The intrusion came louder this time.

  "They're persistent. Let's turn off the light. They'll get the hint."

  “But I can’t do that.” She took another step back, her foot tangled in the straps of her bra. She gave it a toss to the side.

  “Okay.” His jaw tightened. "Then you should answer it because I don't think they're going away." He stood up and pushed his hand through his hair.

  "I think you're right. It could be an emergency." She tugged her robe around her body and tied the belt as she quickly made her way into the foyer. She inhaled and exhaled, hoping to ease the fast beating of her heart. Feeling more controlled, she opened the door and swallowed a string of curse words. Standing on the stoop, hat lowered, prominent jaw covered in a layer of dark beard and a frown turning down the corners of his mouth was a cowboy—but not just any cowboy, and one she’d never expected to see again.

  Stryker Mason.

  She half wondered if he was a ghost. He'd haunted her enough over the years.

  He leaned against the door frame, his short sleeves showed off coiled muscles and his worn jeans fit him in all of the places that she'd imagined exploring in her every fantasy.

  His mouth cocked with a grin as if he could read her naughty thoughts. His confidence was unmistakable, causing her anger to surface. “What in the hell are you doing here?” She gritted her teeth.

  “Now is that any way to greet your fiancé?” His smooth southern drawl used to melt her, and unfortunately, she still felt the stirring of heat.

  “You’re not my fiancé. Not anymore. That ended six years ago, remember?” Her heart leaped into her throat. The ache running through her veins burned like poison. “You need to leave before I pull out my shotgun and see if it does what it promises.”

  His jaw tightened, although his humorous grin remained. “You don’t mean that, sweetheart.”

  “You always were a gambling man, Stryke. This might be your unlucky day.” She tightened her grip on the doorknob and leaned into the wood for support. He pushed back his hat, revealing the clearest blue eyes she’d ever gazed into. Once upon a time, she could have lost herself in the windows to his soul. Not much had changed.

  “Wouldn’t be surprised. I’ve been pretty damn unlucky these days,” he said.

  There was something in his gaze that warned her he hadn't come to chat about old times. “Why is that?” Her chest tightened.

  “Justine passed away two weeks ago.”

  A moan escaped her and she brought her hand up to cover her trembling lips. “Oh, no.” Her throat constricted as pain ripped through her. She’d always loved Justine. “I’m sorry. I really am. What happened?”

  “Would you like for me to stand on your doorstep and give you details or can I come in?”

  Not thinking clearly, Leslie stepped back and opened the door wider. “Sure. Come in.”

  Stryker stopped at the threshold into the living room. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Uhh…no. Why?” Her voice quivered. She’d forgotten that she had company.

  “I was just leaving.” Dillon grabbed his jacket from the chair. “Are you okay, Leslie?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for tonight. We’ll talk soon.”

  He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Call me.” He left through the open door, closing it behind him.

  “Is that your new cowboy?” Stryker smirked.

  “You say that with animosity.”

  “No, not at all.” His deep gaze meandered downward, slowly, deliberately…

  She cleared her throat and his eyes popped back up. “You didn’t come here to discuss my love life. You said your sister is dead?”

  He nodded. “She was heading home after a double shift at the hospital and a drunk driver ran a red light. He hit her car on the driver's side.” He paused as if to gain his control. “I made it to the hospital just before she passed.”

  Although he held his composure, she saw the telltale signs of sadness in the moisture in his gaze and the harsh set of his jaw. She was loss for words. What does one say to someone who has lost a loved one?

  He took his hat off and his coal-black hair was smashed to his forehead. Her fingers ached to tousle the tresses, as she had done a hundred times before, but instead she played with the lapel of her robe.

  “Damn drunken ass! This is so unfair." He smashed his hat against his thigh.

  “When was the funeral?” she asked.

  “Last week.”

  “I…I’m sorry about Justine, but why did you come Stryker? I should be the last person you’d want to see now.”

  His gaze lifted, she could almost
see the pain written in the glossy blue depths. “I would have called, but the problem is, I didn’t have your new number. Oh, that’s right. You intentionally kept it from me.”

  He had a right to be angry, but she had to protect herself from the past. “We shouldn’t talk about this right now. It's history.”

  “I beg to differ,” he said.

  “What do you need to speak to me about?” The quicker they got this over with, the better.

  "Can we sit?"

  A part of her wanted to turn him away. Instead, she nodded. "Let's go into the living room."

  He turned and stomped to the couch. He stared at the cushions but he didn’t sit.

  Leslie glimpsed her bra discarded on the floor, by the chair, and her breath caught. She slipped passed him and used her foot to discreetly push the undergarment from sight. "Aren't you going to sit?" she asked. He was tall and his size dominated all of the space.

  He dug his hands into his back pockets. “Justine had a baby a few months before you left. Lilly is her name.”

  “I remember.” Leslie’s knees weakened and she sat down before her legs gave out.

  “Do you?” He darted a glance over his shoulder.

  “Of course. You know that Justine and I were close.”

  “Then you should also remember she asked us to be Lilly’s godparents.” His broad shoulders dropped and the area between his brows crinkled.

  “She wanted us to take Lilly if something happened...” Oh no!

  “We both made the promise to her that we'd take Lilly and raise her as our own.” Emotion made his voice husky.

  She was beginning to realize why he'd come. “Things are different for us now.” She jumped up from the seat and crossed the room for a safer distance.

  "I can't tell you how hard it was to lose her. She was a good woman, a great mother. Lilly was her life. When she knew she was dying, her only thought was for the wellbeing of her daughter."

  "Where's Lilly's father?" Leslie asked.

  "Still a deadbeat. He gave Lilly up years ago. Hell, he's not even on the birth certificate." His lips thinned. Stryker and Lilly's father had gotten into several altercations before she was born. Leslie and Justine had to break them up.