“Does the witch mind if we make a pit stop? Sugar is about to explode.”
“You need to teach her to go before you leave.”
“Pulling off at the next exit whether you do or not.”
“Oh, okay, but don’t make a habit of it. We’ve got a lot of miles to put in before the day is done.”
He chuckled and the light went out on the phone.
If she and Trace had met under different circumstances, they would have still had obstacles to overcome. He was bullheaded and she was stubborn. Not two good qualities to throw in a burlap bag and tie the end shut. But they hadn’t met in another world, they’d met in this one at the worst possible time in her life and career. Sex hadn’t done a thing to put out the raging desire she had for him, not like she’d hoped it would. If anything it had just made it all the hotter. She mulled over the whole thing all day, but everything was still unsettled when the sun began to set and they reached their destination that evening.
Dusk was just settling when they reached the campground in Rawlins, Wyoming. The small log cabin office just inside the grounds didn’t offer trinkets for sale so she paid for her parking space and followed Trace out to the front porch.
Sugar chased a butterfly and Trace leaned against the side of the porch post. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.
“I was thinking that someday my granddaughter will ask me about this trip and how much fun I’d have telling her all about Sugar.”
“You going to tell her about the hot sex we had last night?” he asked.
She blushed scarlet. “Trace Coleman! Of course not. A granny doesn’t tell her granddaughters such things. Besides, by then she wouldn’t believe me anyway. In her eyes, I’ll be an old gray-haired woman with wrinkles who never had or even wanted sex.”
He held up a palm. “You’ll still be hot and sexy when you are old and gray. And don’t be givin’ me no shit about that being a line, either.”
She pointed and changed the subject. “Look at that view. Isn’t it gorgeous? But I do miss the trees and rolling hills back home.”
“There aren’t many trees in Goodnight, Texas. It’s mainly land and sky,” he said.
“Like Claude,” Gemma said.
Trace nodded. “It looks like another trailer is turning this way. Guess we’d better get out of the way.”
She stepped off the porch. “Grilled cheese sandwiches and the rest of the fruit salad for supper?”
“Sounds good to me. You bring the fruit and I’ll make the sandwiches soon as I get electricity hooked up. Trailer will cool down pretty quick when the air conditioner gets going, or we can eat out on the picnic table. It’s a fairly nice night and I don’t hear too many mosquitoes buzzing around.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ve been inside that truck all day. I could look at this view until it gets too dark to see anything.”
She crawled into the driver’s seat of her club cab truck and drove slowly toward the lot at the back of the campground. They were falling into a routine and there didn’t seem to be a dang thing she could do about it. If she opened her mouth, the wrong thing came out. If she tried to walk away from a kiss, her legs wouldn’t move. The only thing she could do was let fate have its way and see where it led. Maybe it would grow tired of their bickering eventually and just let the relationship or friendship, or whatever the hell it was, die in its sleep.
She parked in her assigned lot, hooked up to the electricity, and picked up the bowl of fruit. She knocked on Trace’s trailer door and he opened it wearing nothing but boots, a cowboy hat held right below his belly button, and a smile.
“Holy shit, Trace!”
“You don’t like my outfit, Miz Wagon Master? I styled it after Pepper on your favorite movie. He was skinnier than me, though.”
She stepped inside the trailer and shut the door with her foot. He reached out a hand and took the fruit from her, set it on the counter, and tossed the cowboy hat on the table.
She looked down. “I didn’t ever see what was behind Pepper’s cowboy hat, but it probably wasn’t nearly that nice.”
Trace chuckled. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ve thought about this all day, and believe me, it made for a hard day in every sense of the word. And that, darlin’, is not a line either. It’s the truth as you can well see.”
He pulled her close and his hands were everywhere, unzipping the white sundress, slipping it down over her hips and draping it across a chair in the corner, kissing her breasts, sliding her silky bikini underpants down to her ankles, and then working his way up her legs with his lips and tongue until he reached her mouth where he kissed her so long and hard that her knees went weak.
She hopped up into his arms and wrapped her legs around his hips. Urgent, demanding kisses swept her away in their need, and she arched against him, feeling every bit of his muscular body touching her bare skin. He pushed the fruit salad to one side, set her on the cabinet top, and slid into her with a powerful thrust that brought out a throaty groan from her.
“That… feels… so… good,” she said in short raspy words.
“Every bit as good as I imagined all day.” His drawl was even deeper than usual.
The cool cabinet was against her warm butt. His breath was hot on the soft spot of her neck. The contrast was sexy enough to send her into hormone heaven, but then he pushed inside and the heat was so intense that she thought of hell’s flames. His thrusts made her dig her heels in and hang on to his shoulders with her fingernails. Nothing else mattered but satisfying the want and need engulfing her whole being.
Not rodeos.
Not the whoosh in her ears.
Nothing but satisfaction.
Her legs gripped his hips tighter than they’d ever gripped a bronc. The exhilaration when he groaned something that sounded like her name, or it might have been something about a witch in a cowgirl hat bedazzling him, beat the hell out of hearing the buzzer at the end of an eight-second ride.
Trace carried her still wrapped around his body to the bedroom and fell back on the bed with her beside him.
“Was that a marathon?” she asked.
“It was an eight-second ride that lasted ten minutes. A marathon is longer,” he panted.
“Mmmm,” she mumbled.
He adjusted their positions, nestling her in the crook of his arm so he could see her face. “Open your eyes, Gemma.”
They popped open even though she tried to keep them shut. “Why?”
“I love the color. They are the color of moss on the back side of a tree in the fall of the year,” he continued.
She started so say something, but he put a finger over her lips.
“It might not sound romantic, but I’m thinking of a big oak tree right beside my house in Goodnight and that is home. So it is romantic because I’d love to take you there sometime, Gemma.”
“That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.” She sighed.
“Sleep or food?” He nuzzled down into her luxurious long red hair.
“Food. Sleep. More sex.”
“Your wish is my command. We’ll have sandwiches and fruit in bed. Take a nap and dream about sex in fields of clover or maybe in a hayloft and then wake up and make it come true.”
“Now that’s definitely romantic.”
His eyes sparkled and then he smiled. He pulled her into a sitting position and removed a brush from the bedside table.
Her eyes widened. “What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m not into kinky stuff. Plain old foreplay and sex is fantastic enough. I’m going to brush your hair and braid it. It’s sticking to your neck.”
When all the tangles were out, he deftly French braided her hair into a long rope down her back, secured it with a rubber band, and kissed her right below the ear.
&
nbsp; Forget afterglow. Hair brushing and braiding pushed it out of the picture.
“Now you can feel the air on your neck,” he said. “I love long hair and I’m a sucker for redheads.”
“Trace,” she stammered. “To begin with, my hair is dyed. It’s really dark brown. And next, I’ve never fallen into bed with a man I’ve only known a few weeks before. I just want you to know that.”
“Well, I’m sure I’d like your hair any color you want to make it. And I didn’t think you were that type of woman, darlin’,” he whispered as he massaged her back and neck. “I didn’t plan on this either.”
Her tense muscles relaxed under his fingertips. “That is heaven,” she said.
“You are heaven,” he said.
So that’s what was in Pandora’s box. She’d wondered ever since she was a little girl and now she’d figured it out.
Heaven on one side, hell on the other. Which one would still be standing in December?
Chapter 7
Several other trailers were already parked when Gemma crawled out of the truck on the rodeo grounds at sundown. Excitement floated in the mountain air like smoke in a cheap honky-tonk. The smell of dust, animals, and beer and the summer weather brought on what Gemma tagged “rodeo weather.” Since she’d been a little girl, she couldn’t wait for winter to end and spring to arrive so they could start going to the rodeo on weekends. She loved the whole scene: cowboys, bulls, horses, hats, boots, trailers, long rides, noise—all of it. And she loved getting to the grounds a whole day before she had to ride the next night.
She’d barely gotten the electricity hooked up and was back inside the trailer when Trace knocked on the door and then opened it a crack. A hand slithered through the small opening and held out a beer.
Gemma grabbed it and slung the door open all the way.
He stepped into the trailer. “It ain’t Coors but it’s cold.”
She shut the door. “Where’s your buddies? I saw them headed toward your trailer the minute you parked.”
“Jealous?”
“No, I am not. I just figured you’d be off checking the bulls and broncs and seeing what mean critter you drew for the ride tomorrow night.” She guzzled down several long gulps of the beer.
“I told them we were claiming a spot but leaving soon as we did. We are headed on out to Lester’s dude ranch and let you get the lay of the land before you take on ten girls.”
She looked him right in the eye and didn’t blink. “Did it ever occur to you that I want to be here tonight, that maybe I don’t want to go out to the dude ranch right now?”
“Well, pardon me.” His head did a bobble with each word.
You are letting a little jealousy ruin things, girl. Back up and settle down, her inner voice advised.
I’m not jealous, she argued.
Of course you are. You thought he’d come running to open the door for you like the gentleman he is and instead he talked to his rodeo buddies.
Oh, hush!
“You are doing that again,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“Arguing with yourself.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do the same thing. Let’s start all over,” he said. “Would you like to spend tonight at the ranch to get acquainted with the place before the kids come? You can do laundry, unpack, take a bath in a big claw-foot tub, and relax.”
“I’d kill for a bath in a big, deep tub. My granny has one like that, so yes, I would like to spend the night at the ranch. And what will you be doing while I do all those things?” she asked.
He shot her his best killer smile. “That’s up to you, darlin’.”
“And if I want something kinky?”
“I told you I don’t do kinky,” he said.
“Not even black fur handcuffs and maybe a little watermelon on your body if I promise not to bite?” she teased.
“That’s not kinky. That’s plain old cowboy sex.” He chuckled. “Want to practice right now?”
She shook her head. “Not after that drive we just did. Let’s take my truck. It’s got a club cab and we can throw the laundry bags in the backseat. In yours we’d have to put them in the back and they might blow away.”
“You are changing the subject,” he said.
“Yes, I am. Much more of that kind of sexy talk will burn down my trailer and I need it to get from rodeo to rodeo.”
His arms slipped around her waist and pulled her back against him. “I missed you today. Short phone conversations don’t let me touch you or smell your hair or kiss you.”
She turned and he pinned her against the doorjamb with a hand on either side of her shoulders. She rolled up on her toes and his lips met hers in a scorching kiss that sent shock waves to her toes.
He broke the kiss and stepped back. “I’ll go get my stuff ready and unhitch the trailer for you then.”
Gemma barely nodded. To get her mind off what she wanted to do, she did what she should do and filled a long tubular bag made of oatmeal-colored canvas with sheets, towels, clothing, and the rest of her laundry. Then she packed a small duffel bag with clothing and was crossing the floor when Trace stuck his head in the door again.
His eyes slowly undressed her—an item at a time. A wide grin split his handsome face and he said, “Well, shucks, I was hoping you’d meet me in nothing but your boots and a smile.”
She giggled. “And a hat?”
“That does sound sexy. Hold that thought for a few hours. Here, I’ll take those to the truck for you.”
She locked the trailer door and turned to see Trace with his hand in the air. “Toss me the keys.”
“I’m driving,” she said.
His eyes narrowed and his lips almost disappeared when he clamped them together. “I’ll drive. I know the way,” he said.
“You can tell me where to make the turns,” she answered.
He rounded the front end of the truck and held the driver’s door open for her, waited until she was buckled in, and then slammed the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows.
Sugar whimpered from her perch on the console.
Gemma scratched her ears and crooned to her. “Men are like that, Sugar. They get mad if they don’t get their way. Be glad that you don’t have to deal with little Chihuahua boys who think they are God.”
When Trace was in the truck, Sugar crawled over into his lap. He folded his arms over his chest and ignored the dog, which made Gemma even madder.
Gemma put the key in the ignition and started the engine. “Sugar didn’t cross you. I did, so don’t take it out on her.”
“I’m not,” Trace growled.
“Which way?” Her tone was cold.
“When you get out of the grounds go south for six miles then turn back to the west.” His was just as chilly.
“So you don’t like to sit in that seat?” she asked.
He kept his eyes straight ahead. “Not when there’s a lady in the vehicle.”
“Why? Do you have to be in control?”
“When I’m in the vehicle with a woman, I should drive. It’s respect, not control.”
“Are we fighting?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. We are having a discussion. When we fight you won’t have to ask.”
Five miles south of Colorado Springs she saw a sign advertising Coleman’s Dude Ranch. She quickly read the directions that said to turn right in one mile and checked the speedometer. At the end of a mile she turned and passed under a metal arch with Coleman welded across the top in big letters. The road was wide enough for two vehicles but narrow enough that she was glad she didn’t have to pass a semi or even another pickup truck. Still Trace sat on his side of the truck like a puffed up toad frog. She fought the urge to stop the truck, kick
him out on the side of the lane, and put it in reverse.
“Okay, macho man,” she said when she reached the end of the lane, “which way now?”
He pointed straight ahead. She passed horse corrals, several barns, and three long shotgun-style cabins near the white two-story house with a wide front porch. Two hounds were sleeping on the steps of a wide front porch. Rocking chairs beckoned from deep shadows, and light flowed in golden splendor from the windows onto the lawn.
“Which cabin is mine?” she asked.
“Menfolk are next to the house, then the dining cabin, and finally the ladies.”
“Okay, this is enough, Trace. If you are going to be a jackass because I drove, then get out and go have fun with your cousins because I’m going back the rodeo grounds. I don’t have to put up with your pouting shit.”
He chuckled.
Gemma didn’t see a damn thing funny. Her green eyes flashed anger and she raised both eyebrows halfway to her hairline.
“You are a pistol when you are angry,” he said.
“You are a jackass when you are angry,” she shot right back.
He held out his hand. “I’ve been told that before. Guess it could be true. Truce?”
She ignored it. “Do you realize that as long as you call the shots and I play along everything is all fine and dandy? But the minute I cross you, you act like a grizzly bear with an abscessed tooth?”
He folded his arms over his chest.
She did the same.
“Now we are fighting. Want to have makeup sex later tonight?”
The tension in the truck was thick enough that a sharp machete couldn’t have cut through it, and suddenly the whole scene was hilarious. They were fighting over who drove her truck six miles. She burst into laughter so loud that it bounced around in the truck like marbles in a tin can.
“Dammit, cowboy! It’s not funny,” she wiped at her eyes.
“I didn’t say anything funny. I just asked if you wanted to have makeup sex.”
“I know, but why in the hell are we fighting about driving? That’s a piss-poor thing to fight about when we’ve got bigger things we could really put to the test.”
Just a Cowboy and His Baby Page 10
