Coincidental Cowgirl

by Jillian Neal

  Groaning in elation, Hope could no longer even feel the ache the bruise left behind. The needy pressure between her legs was far more demanding. When she was in the safety of his arms, in their bed, in the radiating heat that carried the woodsy leather scent of him to her lungs, the consuming loneliness evaded completely. Peace settled her soul. Arching her back in desperate hunger, her body rolled against his. Every spot their skin touched ignited. Electricity amped the need between them.

  “Be still for me, sugar. Let me take care of you.”

  Obeying, she kept her eyes locked on his. Concern and love fought for dominance in their hazel depths. She wished he wouldn’t look so worried. Being cared for was all she needed. This would mend every stupid, annoying thing she’d endured that day.

  With tender practiced gentleness, he cradled her in his arms and began at her shoulder with open mouth suckled kisses. A breathy gasp escaped her when he indulged her right nipple with the rough caress of his tongue. He sucked away the stiffening hunger that made her ache. Pulling away momentarily, he stared down at her in the glow of the lamp light he’d turned on in their room. Frantic for more, she fought not to whimper.

  “You are so damn gorgeous, Hope. I can’t stop looking at you. My God, I need you, darlin’. I’ve needed you all fucking day. This was all I could think about.” He lowered his head and drew on her left breast this time. The pressure was exquisite.

  “Yes,” panted from her lungs as she simply allowed herself to do nothing but feel. Every sucking draw sent lightning bolts of pleasure directly to her pussy. Her mind shut down its incessant psychoanalysis of herself and the fretful worry that appeared at a moment’s notice. She succumbed to his reverent care. Liquid heat seeped from her slit. She was so anxious for him to banish her fears completely. “Brock, now, please.”

  The voracity of his moan said he had no intention of making her wait for his pleasure. His fingers glided down her abdomen, seeking the heat with magnetized force. He circled her navel, making her wriggle. Her body tensed for him.

  “You wet for me, baby?”

  She felt his finger part her lips as he sought the source of the fevered heat permeating her body.

  “Oh, yeah. So wet for me. That’s my girl.” He pressed deeper. Her body drew him in, and her eyes closed as she allowed herself to do nothing but feel.

  Ardent hunger drove Brock. Restoration of their souls was his singular goal. She was his. Every tender tremble of her delectable body made lust surge through his veins and rack rapidly in his groin. Her breasts were swollen larger than he’d ever seen them before. Her sweet little pussy tightened around his fingers. “Feels good doesn’t it, sweetie? That’s what you needed. I know.”

  “Brock, please,” she begged again.

  A thundered groan ripped from his lungs as he fucked her thoroughly with his fingers. His cock longed to trade places with them, but she needed to be set free over and over again. He wasn’t leaving that bed until she collapsed under him in completed pleasure. “Want me to let you come, darlin?”

  “Please.” The throaty plea shivered from her lungs.

  His cock throbbed its approval. He knew precisely what she needed. Keeping his fingers deep within her satin channel, he slicked his thumb with the nectar, preparing her for him, and gently caressed the hood of her clitoris. She shook with the need, so hungry for all he could provide. “That’s it. Come, sugar. Just let it come for me. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

  Her breath washed from her lungs. She writhed and came on his command. Nothing would ever be as astounding as watching her body tense and pitch in rhythm, shaking as he freed her of every constraint that shackled her soul.

  “Turn over on your side for me, sweetheart. I need you.” He guided her to her left side to avoid accidentally hurting her bruised right hip. There was no time for patience or finesse. Too much was at stake. Need clawed at his resolve, and her desperation was palpable between them. “So damn beautiful.” He slid his right hand down her side then used his fingertips to trace the curves of her luscious ass.

  “Now. Please.” That begging of hers was always his undoing. How could anything that sweet be so needy for him? He had no idea, but he was certain he’d never deserve the heavenly angel laying beside him anxious for him to stake his claim. God himself had stepped in to bring them together, and Brock would care for her constantly.

  Gently, he spread her legs with his right thigh. “I’ve got you, sugar. I’m gonna make everything better.”

  When she pressed back against him, a moan rumbled from low in his gut. Gripping himself, he ran the head of his cock between her lips, drenching himself in her juices. Her body gave another needy writhe, and he pierced through her tightened opening, almost losing himself in the ecstasy of it all.

  His muscles tensed, and his jaw clenched as he ordered himself not to let go until she did. Making a deep thrust, he concentrated on the rhythm of her need. With satiating pressure, he built her slowly, thoroughly, hungrily. She needed to know who she belonged to, needed to feel his all-consuming love. Purpose and contentment pervaded his soul. He was put on this earth to love her. This was all that mattered. He thrust deeply then pulled away again, and again he took her thoroughly.

  “That’s it. God, so good, sugar. You feel so fucking good.” He rocked her body with his own, taking more, going deeper with each pass until they existed as one.

  She trembled against him. Her pussy nursed his cock, so hungry for his cum he was certain he was going to lose his mind. “Not yet, darlin’. Not yet. Be a good girl and let it build for me. You’re gonna come with me this time.”

  “Oh, God! Yes!” She met his every thrust, her body anxious and primed for release. Desperation roiled in his balls. He pumped harder, greedy for her.

  When he couldn’t deny himself any longer, he brushed his fingertips over her pussy, gathering her dew, then teased her mouth with his fingers. “Suck ‘em for me, darlin’.” She complied, drawing his fingers in her mouth and sucking ravenously. Primal tension sizzled through his veins as he watched her taste herself from his fingers.

  “That’s it.” He pulled them away when she’d slicked them enough for his purposes and gently stroked over her clit, back and forth, until she tensed against him, and her body bowed taut. “Come,” he ordered in a ragged guttural command.

  She came with a gasped cry of his name. Hot cum bathed her walls with everything he was. The tedium of their world drown in his potent release. Still trembling against him, Brock eased from the bed and rejoined her on her other side to keep her from laying on her bruised hip. He drew her up on his chest. “That better, sweetie?”

  There she was. His sweet giggle spilled from her kiss-swollen lips as she nuzzled against him, sated and happy as if nothing had gotten her down. Bone-deep satisfaction radiated throughout his musculature. The scathing remarks he’d heard about his father, the biting cold, the endless snow, the damn bull that had gotten a piece of him, they could all go to hell. He didn’t give a damn. She was in his arms, in their bed, warm, safe, his. Contentment joined the satisfaction in his veins.

  “So much better,” she sighed.

  “Now, how about that pizza and a movie? Not gonna lie. I’m starving.”

  “Me too.”

  “Stay put for me.” Sliding quickly from the bed, he bundled her up in the covers, threw on a pair of flannel pajama pants, and headed to the kitchen. Damn cold tile floor bit at his feet. He had to do something about the heater. Piling pizza onto paper plates, he grabbed two cans of root beer, retrieved the movie, and returned to bed.

  He reveled in her grin, but the gathering storm at the beginning of Sweet Home Alabama was all too symbolic. Brock debated pausing the movie and trying to get her to talk, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment. She was naked and bundled up in his arms, contentedly eating. His mind was still busy recalling the perfection of satisfying her, the way she trembled and called out his name when she climaxed, the way her body felt in his arms as she gave hers
elf over to the sensations only he could provide, the palpable love they shared. The guilt over not demanding that they talk and figure everything out remained at bay. They could stay up late and talk after the movie was over. Settling on that idea, he dug into the pizza.

  Just as Reese Witherspoon was heading to Pigeon Creek to demand that Josh Lucas divorce her, someone pounded on the front door. Bolting upright, Brock pulled on a shirt. His heart thundered in his chest. The knock was urgent. Something was wrong.

  “Who is that?” she demanded.

  Brock watched the fear returned to Hope’s beautiful emerald eyes. She quickly threw on her robe and followed him to the front hall.

  “Don’t know, sugar, but stay right there for me.” According to Austin, Saddlebacks, the only restaurant in town, would be jumping that night. The local pub was the only decent-sized watering hole between the Wyoming line and Lincoln, and there were plenty of cowboys heading home from the bull sale wanting to get in out of the cold and use whiskey and women for warmth. The whole damn state knew where Camden ranch was. It was the largest ranch in five counties. The worry that some idiot might’ve come to the ranch looking for him because of his father’s mistakes made him sick. Keeping Hope safe was all that mattered.

  Another knock shook the front door. Debating grabbing his pistol, Brock flung it open. “What the hell?” His tone bled quickly to concern as he took in Uncle Ev, Grady, Austin, Natalie, and Luke’s demeanor.

  “Gilbert’s barn and stables caught fire. They need our help getting the stock moved and the horses out. We need to go now!” Ev urged.

  “How the hell did a barn go up in flames in the middle of three feet of snow?” Brock demanded as he quickly located his coat and his boots.

  “If I were a betting man, I’d say their idiot kid was smoking out there again near the lighter fluid or the gasoline.” Austin rolled his eyes. “Gilbert thinks it was some kids from the high school. That’ll be up to the fire department to decide, but they won’t be here for an hour so hurry up.”

  Hope’s mouth hung open. Her heart beat rapidly as it slid downward to the vicinity of her feet. Terrorizing fear consumed her with ease. “Brock! I don’t understand. Who are the Gilberts, and why do you go when there’s a fire? You’re a cowboy, not a fire fighter.”

  “Gilbert’s ranch is the next ranch over, sweetheart, and there isn’t a fire department in Pleasant Glen. They have to come from the county. It’s thirty miles away from here. Takes too long to get here even when there’s not snow all over the roads. I’ll be fine. Just sit tight. I’ll call you when it’s over.”

  With that, Brock sank his left foot in his boot, and headed towards the door.

  “Wait! I want to go with you!” Hope knew as soon as she made the demand she would be denied.

  “You’re staying right here. You’re already hurt.” He grasped her shoulders. His touch was forceful and laced with urgency. It only served to further terrify her. His kiss matched his tone, gruff and worried. “I love you. It’ll be a while before I get home. Go on to sleep.”

  She watched him go. A riptide of emotion overtook her. What kind of town didn’t have a fire department? This place was ridiculous! Did anyone in this town ever think that maybe they should hire firefighters and build a freaking station? What if Brock got hurt? What happened then? She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t lose anyone else. The abandonment that had presided over her entire life took hold with ease. The chokehold of existing without her parents, without anyone that wanted her, barraged her entire being.

  She began to pace. What happened if he wasn’t okay? Her entire world hinged on him being all right, and that realization made her even angrier.

  Cows, and poodles, moronic mailmen, and bitchy women with their nose in everyone’s business, ovens, and cow shit, and coffee makers, and missing lingerie, and no fire department, and never seeing her husband, it all weighted her entire body. Where the hell had they moved, the wild west? This wasn’t at all how this night was supposed to go. They were supposed to talk. They were supposed to reconnect. He wasn’t supposed to be out fighting fires. The entire earth was covered in snow and yet there was a fire. How did that even happen?

  She longed for the beach, her friends, her bookstore, the warm sun on her face, days when Brock showed up at her door with coffee from Mac and Molly’s coffee shop. When he could take a day off work and hang out with her. When the weekends were filled with playful banter and teasing laughter, long conversations, and eventually kisses that led to indescribable passion. She even missed her aunt’s constant disdain. At least that was familiar. Nothing here made sense to her. And that made her madder than anything else. She’d made it through college with an English Lit degree in three years. How fucking smart did you have to be to figure this ridiculous place out?

  She tried to tell herself that she was being selfish. That these people might lose their livelihood, and animals were in danger. The frustration won out with ease. Guilt was no longer a satisfactory bastion against the uprising of resentment. The terror demanded to be felt. Chills quaked from deep within her. Her teeth began chattering. Reaching feebly, she slung the blankets she’d left on the floor over her body. Why was she always so cold? Her chest ached. Her body felt numb except for the cramps settling low in her abdomen and the bruise on her hip that radiated with pain again. The pizza she’d eaten churned in her stomach. Another round of nausea set in. What was wrong with her? Everything. Everything felt wrong, and she wanted to go home.

  Chapter Seven

  It was nearing three in the morning when Brock eased inside his home. His heart ached as his gaze landed on Hope curled up on the sofa. Her eyes were swollen and red, and it wasn’t because she’d been sleeping. She sat up and raced into his arms. Her frantic grasp crushed his soul.

  “Are you okay?!”

  “I’m fine, sweetie. Let me get a shower. I’m covered in soot and mud. Barn and stables were gone by the time we got there. Melted snow actually helped but it was a fucking mess. We got the fire put out and the cattle loaded up in trucks and moved. Damn near took the house. They lost a horse.” Regret weighted the exhaustion already tugging at his eyelids. He tried to remain alert as he slipped his hand to the nape of her neck. She felt warm, but was shivering against him.

  “I was scared. I don’t understand how there isn’t a fire department! That’s insane.” The fear perforated the frustration in her tone. It was more than he could withstand. Why couldn’t he catch a fucking break lately? Moving her up here and taking over his portion of the ranch wasn’t supposed to be this hard. He assumed the fear was what had her shaking in his arms.

  “I know. I’m sorry, sugar. Let’s go to bed, okay? I’m exhausted. Let me hold you and get you to sleep. I have to get up and run the feed trucks in a little while. After that, we can talk.”

  Hope tried to wait until Brock was out of the shower but she had to use the bathroom … now! There was only one bathroom in their home. She paced and tugged at her hair, but it was no use. Flinging open the door, she called herself crazy for gazing longingly at a toilet. “Brock, I really have to pee.”

  Sticking his head out from behind the curtain, he yawned and then stared at her like she was actually insane. “So go, darlin’. I’ve been aware that you peed for years now. I sure as hell don’t give a damn. The little dance you’re doing there is cute, but unnecessary.”

  Trying to convince herself that there was no shame in it, she proceeded. A steady heat had been glowing in her cheeks already. Her blush simply added to it. He is your husband, after all. Before that thought could console her, she cringed in pain from the burning sensation. Oh no. That was definitely not normal. Too exhausted and emotional to say anything, she finished and crawled into bed, praying that whatever was wrong would just go away on its own.

  Her hopes were dashed when she was back in the bathroom 15 minutes later. Completely exhausted, Brock hadn’t even stirred when she’d gotten up again.

  An hour later, fever shook her bo
dy. Downing two Extra-strength Tylenol, she prayed the fever would break. Finally, she broke out in a sweat and managed to sleep for a little while.

  When she next awoke, she rushed to the bathroom. Brock was already gone, and she had to go to the doctor, now. She was fairly certain she had a bladder infection, but a host of other issues taunted her attempt at logic. Being good at Biology had provided her too much knowledge on the human body. Bladder infections could spread. They could become septic. Peeing often was a sign of other more horrible things. On the verge of a complete meltdown, she dressed quickly, bundled up in her coat and gloves, and made a large bottle of water. Shaking her head, she poured the water down the sink. She knew she should try to flush the infection out, but she was going to be driving for a long while to get to the doctor. She may have used the bathroom in the vicinity of her husband the night before, but she would not pull off in the snow to relieve herself.

  Chapter Eight

  Heading out into the freezing cold air, Hope debated. Brock was on Cinder, his beloved horse, working their cattle and the Gilbert’s. His truck was parked near the house. She’d never driven a vehicle that large, but she wasn’t going to bother Jessie with this, plus she had to learn to drive in snow. Brock would just have to get over it.

  Galled by the existence of the entire ranch itself and exhausted from the fever, she climbed up in the truck, thanked the Lord that no more snow had fallen the night before, and slowly drove along the dirt path that led to the gates of Camden Ranch.

  Every muscle in her body ached, but she kept them tight, terrified she would hit a patch of ice and careen to her death. Thoughts of the wreck that killed her parents wouldn’t leave her be. Fevers always made her anxious. When her thoughts drifted from death by car accident, she longed for her doctor back in Gypsy Beach. The one that always assured her whatever she was experiencing was normal and could be taken care of. The one whose office was only ten minutes from her house and on a pavement road in a complex of other offices. The way things were supposed to be, her mind insisted contentiously.