Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders)

by Lorelei James

  “Christ, Rory, stop doin’ that.”

  Her gaze moved from his butt to his eyes. “Stop doing what?”

  “Licking your lips.”

  “Uh, I wouldn’t be licking my chops, cowboy, if you didn’t have the very finest chops I’ve ever seen.”

  “And all the times we’ve been nekkid together, what? You weren’t lookin’ at me?” He set down the dumbbells and perched on the edge of the weight bench.

  “I look at you plenty. Touch you plenty.” She sauntered forward.

  “I still don’t get the point of this. You’ve been watchin’ me lifting for half an hour.”

  Rory straddled his legs and lowered herself onto his lap.

  Dalton’s hands circled her hips to steady her. “Whoa, sugarplum, what are you doin’?”

  She licked a rivulet of sweat from the hollow of his throat up to the edge of his jaw. “Having a little taste of you.”

  “So does that mean we’re done here?”

  “No.” She sucked on his earlobe before she blew in his ear. “It’s late. We’re probably the only ones left in the whole place.”

  “Which means it’s time for us to go home.”

  “I can feel you getting hard,” she breathed against his damp skin. She inhaled a lungful of him and sighed. “You smell delicious. Your muscles are so pumped up right now. I bet you could lift a small truck, couldn’t you?”

  “Uh…yeah. I guess.”

  She slipped her hand between them and lightly stroked his nipple as she strung kisses down the column of his throat. “Just looking at you gets me hot. I suspected it’d be sexy watching you pumping iron, but I had no idea it’d make me so wet.” Rory sank her teeth into the warm, salty section of skin where shoulder curved into neck. “So very, very wet and ready.”

  “Woman, unless you want me to pin you to this weight bench and fuck you, you’d better take it down a notch.”

  Rory pulled his hair, yanking his head back when he attempted to nudge her away from his neck. “I was thinking more of you fucking me in the storage closet. But this weight bench will work.” She nibbled the edge of his jaw up to his ear. “Or even the ping pong table.”

  He groaned when her lips hit the spot that made him shiver. “You are—”

  “A master at great ideas. I know.” She flicked her tongue across the spot just to feel him shudder again. “So where’s it gonna be, power lifter?”

  “Closet.” With his hands on her ass, he pushed upright and carried her to the far corner of the room. He set her on the floor and she turned to open the door. Once they were crammed into the tiny space, she didn’t bother to turn on the light.

  The storage closet held the usual cleaning supplies and stacks of folded towels on the shelving.

  “How’d you know about this place?” Dalton asked against the back of her neck.

  “Found it when I was looking for something for my yoga class. God, do that again.”

  “This?” He used his teeth on her nape.

  “Yes… Wait.”

  “No waiting. Jeans off. Panties off.”

  So much for being in control.

  No, you do have control. “Your shirt comes off too.”

  She only managed to get naked from the waist down before Dalton’s hard, damp muscle-bound body was crowding her.

  “I’m fucking you against the wall, baby.”

  His deep voice vibrated from her ear straight to her clit.

  “But first, since you’ve been teasing me about how wet you are—” his big hand cupped her mound and two fingers slid down her pussy to her opening, “—I’d better make sure.” Then he plunged his fingers inside her. In and out. Twice. “Fuck yeah. You are dripping wet for me.”

  Rory drifted into that floaty space, where her body was primed, her senses were attuned to the heat and scent of his body.

  He removed his fingers and she held her breath, waiting for that first hard thrust.

  But his fingers touched her lips. “Open your mouth.”

  She parted her lips and he slipped those slick digits onto her tongue. She tasted the muskiness of her sex and the salt on Dalton’s fingers.

  His sexy, raspy voice exploded in her ear. “Suck like you were sucking my cock.”

  Rory hollowed her cheeks. With his fingers all but vacuum-sealed, she sucked hard.

  “That’s it.” Dalton dragged openmouthed kisses down her throat as she sucked and swallowed. “Fucking love that you’re a dirty girl. Sucking your come from my fingers. So crazy to fuck me that you drag me into a damn storage closet.” He wiggled his fingers free from her mouth and smashed their lips together in a mind-bending, orgasm-inducing kiss.

  He broke free long enough to demand, “Jump up and hold on.”

  One leg up, both legs up and then her thighs were circling his waist.

  Dalton pressed her against the cold cement wall with the sheer strength in his body. Holding her ass cheeks in his hands, he tilted her pelvis and plowed in to the hilt.

  Her nails dug into his shoulders. Each powerful snap of his hips had her clinging to him more tightly, gasping more loudly.

  The only noises coming out of his mouth were grunts and labored breaths. The heat from his chest seeped through her shirt making her wish for better skin on skin contact. Then his hips started the side-to-side grinding motion.

  “This’ll get you there. Move on me. Take it. I’m so close I won’t last much longer.”

  “Know what’ll get me there?”

  “What?”

  “Whisper dirty things in my ear.”

  “You like that?” he asked, slamming into her. “When I tell you this hot, wet cunt is sucking on my cock like you do when you deep throat me? My cock is so slippery with your juices they’re running down my leg.” He let his tongue trace the shell of her ear. “Hottest fucking thing in the world would be to see you on your knees lapping up that sweet juice on the inside of my thigh and then that wicked tongue of yours licking my dick clean.”

  “Oh God. Faster.”

  “You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you, dirty girl?”

  “Yes. Please just…” Rory threw her head back as the throbbing in her groin started, pulsing around Dalton’s shaft from her clit rubbing against the hard ridge of his pubic bone.

  “Fuck, I’m done.” Dalton drove in one last time.

  Her tissues were so sensitive, still tingling from her climax, that she felt every hot spurt shooting from his cock.

  He shuddered in her arms. This man gave her his all every time, in so many ways.

  Dalton leaned back and locked his gaze to hers. “I guess a date playing ping pong is more romantic than I gave it credit for.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Dalton was finishing his second cup of coffee at seven a.m. when he heard the knock on the door. He half-expected to see Rory standing on the steps. Holding a box of doughnuts and wearing that I-want-to-bang-you smile. But the grin he had in place vanished at seeing Brandt and Tell on the other side of the door.

  “What?”

  They pushed past him and they faced each other in the entryway. Both his brothers looked like hell.

  His gut tightened and he repeated, “What happened?”

  “Dad had another stroke sometime last night. And…” Brandt closed his eyes.

  And Dalton knew before Tell said, “He didn’t make it.”

  The words hung between them.

  Did he feel sad? Guilty? Angry? Relieved?

  No. He felt fucking numb. Like this was some sort of trick and they’d go to the rehab hospital and Casper would be sitting there, glaring at them, with his fooled-you-boys-again look on his face. So Dalton didn’t say anything, lest he say the wrong thing.

  “The hospital called me on my cell about five-thirty this morning when I was out feeding cattle.” Brandt scrubbed his hand over his razor-stubble jaw. “They found him in bed and it, ah, appeared he’d died a few hours earlier.”

  Dead dead dead dead dead, kept echoing
in Dalton’s brain.

  “Brandt caught me right after I finished chores and we thought we’d better tell you in person.”

  He nodded. Say something. “I’ve got coffee on.” He led them into the kitchen and poured two cups. “So what now?”

  “We gotta call the uncles. Three of us, three of them.”

  Dalton didn’t want to do that. Why couldn’t Brandt do it? He was the oldest.

  “I figured we’d talk about who’s calling Mom. I guess I’d better call Barbara Jean too.”

  Silence.

  Dead dead dead dead dead.

  Stop. It.

  “Dalton? Did you say something?”

  His head snapped up. “Nope.”

  Brandt drained his coffee. “Ain’t gonna get any easier if we put it off. I’ll call Carson, Tell, you call Cal, and Dalton call Charlie.” Then Brandt pulled out his cell phone.

  “Wait a second. What are we supposed to stay? That Casper is dead and we’ll be in touch?” Dalton asked.

  “He has a point, Brandt.”

  “Let them know that’s all the information we have for now, we haven’t even been to the funeral home yet.”

  Dead dead dead dead dead.

  “I don’t have Uncle Charlie’s number,” Dalton said.

  Tell read off the number and Dalton punched it in. Brandt had wandered into the living room, so Dalton headed to his bedroom.

  His Uncle Charlie picked up on the fourth ring. “Yeah, who’s this?”

  “It’s Dalton, Uncle Charlie.”

  A beat passed.

  “I apologize for calling so early, but we got word this morning that Casper had another stroke.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “No. He’s uh…” Dead dead dead dead dead.

  “He…passed on?”

  “Yep. The hospital called Brandt so we’re letting everyone know.”

  “Ah hell, Dalton, I’m sorry for you boys. I truly am.”

  Dalton figured he’d better get used to accepting condolences. “Thanks, Uncle Charlie. I’ll pass that along to my brothers.”

  “You do that. So Carson and Cal…?”

  “Brandt and Tell are letting them know as we speak.”

  “Good. Is there anything we can do?”

  “Not right now. We’ll be in touch soon, okay?”

  “Sure. Don’t hesitate to call on any of us, if you need us.”

  “Thank you.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. Talk about feeling disjointed. None of it seemed real. And he knew it’d get a lot more surreal in the upcoming days. He needed to be grounded. Almost without conscious thought he called Rory.

  Resting his elbows on his knees, he waited for her to pick up.

  “Hey, handsome. A phone call from you is a great way to start my day.”

  Dalton had such a sense of relief just from hearing her voice that a lump clogged his throat.

  “I missed you last night. I wish we were kissing each other goodbye at the door right now.”

  Me too.

  His nonresponse tipped her off. “Omigod. What’s wrong?”

  He cleared his throat. “Casper had a fatal stroke last night.”

  “Dalton. I’m sorry. When did you hear?”

  “Brandt and Tell are here.”

  “So you’re not alone?”

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, baby, I know you’re in shock. And I wish I could be there with you—”

  “Don’t worry about it. You have a ton goin’ on at work right now and I’m not sure what all we’ll be doin’ today anyway. I just needed…” You.

  “I can get an emergency day—”

  “I appreciate it, Rory. I don’t want you to waste your time when I don’t know what’ll happen.”

  “But you will keep in contact with me today? Promise.”

  “I promise. And, uh, thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” She paused. “I’m glad you called me.”

  “You’re the first person I thought of.”

  “Sweetheart. Take care of yourself today until I can come and take care of you later.”

  “Okay.”

  Dalton hung up. He looked at the rumpled sheets. He wanted to crawl back in bed and yank the covers over his head. Dealing with this shit was gonna suck.

  But he returned to the kitchen to make plans with his brothers.

  Four hours later they were in Casper’s room at the rehab hospital. No time for grieving as far as the hospital was concerned; they needed the room. They provided boxes and asked if Brandt, Tell and Dalton needed help packing up. But there wasn’t much of anything. Some clothes, a Bible, a few notepads, toiletries and the bedding.

  After they loaded the stuff in Brandt’s truck, they drove to Casper’s apartment. At some point Brandt had called Casper’s pastor and he agreed to meet them there.

  Dalton hadn’t ever stepped foot in the place and he really didn’t want to be here now. When Brandt and Tell asked his opinion on what should be done with the furnishings, he suggested donating it all to the church. He knew his brothers thought he was being sarcastic, but he wasn’t and was forced to explain. Someone needed this stuff a lot more than any of them did, it didn’t hold sentimental value and Casper would’ve preferred that anyway.

  Pastor Joneki arrived. He immediately prayed for God to give them strength in their time of grieving.

  Then they sat at the kitchen table and the pastor opened a folder. “I have your father’s funeral plans here as well as how he’d like his belongings distributed.

  Dalton exchanged a look with Brandt and Tell.

  Brandt spoke. “When did he make those arrangements?”

  “Last year. After he had a mild stroke.”

  “When did that happen?” Tell demanded. “Because we didn’t hear nothin’ about it.”

  “As was Casper’s preference. He spent two days in the hospital and was released. As his spiritual counselor I wasn’t allowed to divulge that information.” He smiled benevolently.

  Dalton bit back a nasty question about how much having a spiritual counselor cost Casper each week in the collection plate. But Pastor Joneki didn’t look like the conman religious type. An aura of…comfort surrounded him.

  “We’d appreciate anything you can tell us now,” Brandt said.

  “The stroke scared him. From my understanding, his stake in his family ranch had already been dealt with. I’ve not seen a copy of his will, so I’ve no idea what that entails.”

  At least Casper hadn’t been able to give his stake to the church because no doubt the man would’ve done it just to spite his brothers and his sons.

  “And so you know I’m on the up and up and didn’t in any way coerce Casper into his generosity, he had this list notarized before he brought it to me and then we had it notarized afterward.” He smiled again. “It’s in everyone’s best interests to make sure everything is official. So let’s deal with the items he’s donating to the church.” The pastor set the list in the center of the table and they all leaned closer to look at it.

  Bottom line: he’d left everything to the church. So Dalton had gotten his wish in not having to deal with rummaging through his dad’s stuff.

  Next he’d bequeathed all the cash in his bank accounts to the church.

  Tell looked at Brandt. “Any idea how much that is? We talking five hundred bucks? Or half a million?”

  “Guess we’ll have to talk to the lawyer and see what we’re legally allowed to know.”

  “Like you, I have no idea of the amount of money either. Next, on to the funeral plans. The funeral will be held at Our Lord and Savior Christian church. No visitation. Closed casket. A casket that he’s already chosen through the funeral home. Hymns to be chosen at my discretion.”

  Dalton had the fleeting thought, Please don’t pick “How Great Thou Art”.

  “Private burial will be in the McKay family cemetery, next to his firstborn son Luke.”

  “Did he denote pallbearers?” Brandt aske
d.

  The pastor looked at his notes and frowned. “His three sons and each of his brothers’ oldest sons. Six total.”

  So, the bastard wasn’t spiting him from the grave and leaving him off as a pallbearer.

  “I know it’s only been a few hours, but with so many things already taken care of, have you considered a day for the funeral?”

  “Friday,” Dalton said. “With all the family livin’ here three days is plenty of time.” He looked at his brothers. “Unless you want to try and do it Thursday?”

  “Friday is fine,” Brandt said and Tell nodded.

  The pastor stood and they all followed suit. “If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “Thank you, Pastor Joneki, we appreciate it.”

  “I’ll be in touch on Thursday just to make sure we’re all on the same page. Are any of you going to speak on your father’s behalf?”

  Silence.

  “No,” Brandt said at last. “We’ll keep it a simple ceremony.

  “I will tell you that the congregation will want to host a light meal directly after the service.”

  “Why?”

  “Casper was very well-liked with the members of the congregation. They’ll want to share their condolences with you.”

  None of Casper’s sons knew what to say to that.

  The pastor left, and Brandt, Tell and Dalton stared at one another. Tell looked around and rubbed the back of his neck as if spooked by something. “Do you ever get the feeling you’re in a parallel universe?”

  “Yeah. And on that note, let’s get outta here.”

  Rory showed up at Dalton’s house right after work. She didn’t mention the half-empty bottle of Laphroaig on the coffee table in his living room. Nor did she mention the fact he stared blankly at the TV that wasn’t on. She just crawled into his lap and wrapped herself around him.

  Despite him dosing himself with scotch, his body was nowhere near relaxed. She ran her hands through his hair. “Hey.”

  Dalton came out of his haze enough to say, “Hey,” and kiss the top of her head.

  She was at a loss for what to say, so she just stayed close. Whether he needed or appreciated her gentle touches wasn’t the point; she just wanted him to know she was there.

  After a bit he sighed. “Did you want a drink?”