by Mia Hopkins
Harmony was quiet. She’d been wrong about Lucky. He wasn’t a slacker kid who still lived with his mother. He was the man of the house, supporting his family.
“What does your sister want to study?” asked Harmony.
Lucky turned to her. “Actually, maybe you can help me with that.”
“Help you? How?”
“Araceli is really smart. Independent. She just turned seventeen. I’m worried about her a little bit. She doesn’t talk to me like she used to.” He finished the plum and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I know she wants to be a nurse. Would it be possible for her to spend the day at work with you sometime, just so that she can see what it’s really like?”
“I’m an operating room nurse. Is that what she wants to do?”
“I’m not sure. I just want her to see what kind of job she can get if she studies hard. A good job, with a real salary. Not just work—a career. What do you think?”
Harmony nodded. “Sure. We can set something up.”
“Excellent.” Lucky stifled a yawn. “Damn. You really wore me out last night.” He smiled and brushed her hair off her neck. “How about you? How do you feel?”
“A little sore.” She smiled sheepishly. “Sore in a good way.”
He nodded as if to say, Of course you are. “And your heart? Still broken?”
She looked at his big hand resting on his knee. It was rough, scarred, fingers crooked and swollen with manual labor. Pain rolled through her when she thought about Frank’s surgeon’s hands, the fingers neat and long. She nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Tell me. What did you like about him? What was it about him?”
She paused. “At first, I guess I was a little bit star-struck. He’s a surgeon, one of the best in the state. On top of that, everyone knows the Lockwoods in Bakersfield.”
“Jesus, a Lockwood? That is serious money.”
“I’ve met his parents. They’re really nice.” She paused. “Actually, they’re a little intense. Just like he is.”
“What do you mean by ‘intense’?”
She searched for the right words. “He knows his place in the world. He has a very clear sense of the way things are. He sizes people up quickly. Being with him helped me grow up a lot. He’s a good judge of character.”
“He’s a shitty judge of character if he broke up with you.”
God, he was sweet—sweeter than the plum he’d just given her. “Maybe that’s why it hurts so much.” She sighed. “You know, I really thought he was the one. I had a crush on him from the moment I met him. I waited and waited. And when he asked me out, I thought I had it made.”
“A crush, huh? I can understand that.” Lucky’s expression was unreadable. “Tell me the truth. Just between you and me, do you want him back?”
She searched the big gaping hole in her chest where the tatters of her heart still beat. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want to talk to him again?” Lucky asked.
Last night, Harmony had followed her impulses and run away from Frank without saying a word. Instead of staying to talk it out and find out why they’d broken up, she’d gone right back to her hell-raising ways and ended up in bed with a cowboy.
Why did she pull stunts like this? All the work she’d done to become less impulsive meant nothing. She was still the same immature person she always was on the inside. Maybe Frank was right to break up with her.
Regret, hot and bitter, bubbled in her chest. “Yeah, I should probably talk to him.”
Lucky stretched out and crossed his ankles. Harmony’s gaze landed on the generous bulge in his jeans before she forced herself to look away. “Since you’re helping me with Araceli,” he said, “maybe there’s something I can do for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Back before Clark married your sister, he’d give me lessons on how to pick up women—stop laughing! It’s how I got you to make out with me that one night.”
Pick-up tricks? On her? Harmony shuddered. “Ugh. Please tell me that’s not true.”
“It is, but that’s beside the point. He had this theory. ‘Cat string’ theory. All it means is this: people want what they can’t have. Men or women, it doesn’t matter. Put yourself out of someone’s reach and that person will only want you more.”
“Sure, but how does Clark’s creepy pick-up artist trick apply to my situation?”
“Is there some kind of party or event where you’ll see your ex soon?”
She thought for a moment. There was something. “One of the hospital administrators is having a retirement party at her house on Saturday night. It’s a masquerade party, kind of fancy. I said I’d go. Everyone in the ward who isn’t scheduled to work will be there.”
“And your doctor?”
“He’s off that night. He’ll probably attend.”
Lucky nodded. “Perfect. You’re taking a date.”
“A date?”
“Yes. A big sexy cowboy named Lucky Garcia. And you will witness ‘cat string’ theory in person.”
“No! You’re nuts!”
“Yes. And you’re nuts too.” He put his fingers under her chin and turned her face to him. “You’re thinking, ‘It’s such a crazy idea. But it could work.’ Well, don’t think. Because let me tell you, nothing gets a guy’s attention faster than someone else putting his hands all over what he thinks is his.”
“He’s not a caveman like you and Clark.”
“He’s got a dick, right?” Lucky smirked. “It’ll work. Trust me.
Chapter 2
Pitching His Slack
It ain’t me you’re looking for, babe.
―BOB DYLAN
Lucky tried to kiss Harmony when she left the house, but she dodged him with a smile as infuriating as it was lovely.
“Call me,” she said. “Let me know about Araceli.”
She climbed into her little Jeep and waved goodbye, taking off for Bakersfield, her shiny black hair blowing in the wind.
Lucky stripped and took a hot shower, washing the scent of her off his skin. A vague sense of restlessness hummed in his bones. Making love to her had been everything he’d dreamed and more. Two years ago, he would’ve given anything to find himself in her bed. But she’d moved away, fading out as soon as she started her life in Bakersfield.
That heartbreak coincided with the time he got serious about roping. Bo Walker, a local stock contractor, had given Lucky a good deal on a working quarter horse with good cow sense. When Lucky first met Batman, he knew she was the one. The hundreds of hours they spent practicing together transformed them into a well-oiled team. He started to rack up local wins. They began to travel all over the country together. This season alone, they’d brought back a few thousand dollars in aggregate winnings. Add to that the incredible possibility that he might qualify for world finals? Lucky couldn’t help feeling optimistic for the first time in his life.
His pockets were fat from another first-place finish when he returned from Texas the day before. He traveled on a less-than-shoestring budget, so after gas and entry fees, his winnings amounted to a little more than twelve hundred dollars. This money would go into his sister’s college savings account, but not before Lucky peeled off a hundred and handed it to his mom.
They spoke Spanish at home. “Buy yourself something nice,” he said. “Something pretty.”
“Something pretty? Like what?”
“I don’t know. Roses.”
“Who needs roses, Lucero? They die.” Still, she was smiling as she put the crisp bill in her pocketbook. “Thank you, mijo.”
His sister drove him to the Silver Spur and pouted when he sent her home. “Sorry. Four more years. Then you can come in.”
He’d been in the fancy nightclub for less than five minutes when he spotted Harmony in the middle of the dance floor, wrapped up in the arms of a young wannabe cowboy. She was laughing and having a good time, but judging from her body language, she was trying to extricate herself politely fr
om the situation.
Lucky had stood like an idiot, staring at her.
In the two years since he’d seen her, she had changed. The Harmony of his memory was not the Harmony that stood before him now. She was still on the short side, but her body had filled out into a perfect hourglass. Her long hair hung like a black curtain halfway down her back. Every now and then she flicked it off her shoulder. She wore a tight dress and boots and looked like a cowboy’s wet dream come true.
Good for him and his dental health, the kid let her go and bowed out. She was turning to leave when Lucky snapped out of his trance. He strode over to her and rested his hand on her shoulder.
“Wait. Don’t go yet.”
The night unfolded like the fantasies he used to have of her. Right there on the dance floor where everyone could see, she let him hold her. He touched her bare skin, caressed her neck, and whispered in her ear. She was such a good dancer he had trouble keeping up with her. They danced for three hours straight, and when the lights came up, he was half mad with horniness. Being so close to his long-term object of desire had short-circuited his brain.
Then they drove back to the bunkhouse, where she proceeded to blow his mind.
Lucky turned up the hot water in the shower as he thought about it. He soaped up, gripped his hard dick in his fist, and slowly began to stroke himself as he remembered everything they’d done.
In the last two years, the road had given him more education than any college class. More experienced ropers had recommended he work out to get faster and stronger, so he started lifting weights and running regularly. Not only did he shave seconds off his time, women soon responded to his changing body.
Lucky wasn’t a moron. He knew that buckle bunnies chased anything that looked like a rodeo cowboy. But he found he didn’t mind being used. By the end of two seasons traveling from rodeo to rodeo, he’d spent more than one night lost in a woman or two. The sex was fun, never serious. And the women were just as happy to see him leave as he was to bid them goodbye.
Harmony, though.
It had always been Harmony.
His own personal ghost.
He tightened his grip on his shaft and closed his eyes. He ran one hand over his tightening balls.
The first time he’d seen her, they were just kids. He was fourteen, fresh from Mexico and still struggling with the language. Her older sister Melody was a senior who’d been assigned as his English tutor. He remembered sitting at the Santos family’s kitchen table, learning long lists of vocabulary words, when Harmony would come home from a swim meet dressed in her warm-up suit. She’d make a sandwich for herself and sit down at the same table to do her homework. She was only twelve but so pretty he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Like lots of people in the Central Valley, the Santoses were Filipino. Harmony’s Asian features came with a complexion the same shade of brown as his own skin.
The more he learned about her, the harder he crushed. She was smart. She was funny. He couldn’t always keep up with her lightning-fast English, but when he could, she made him laugh. Years passed. Lucky got a job as a ranch hand with the MacKinnons, close family friends of the Santoses. He saw how protective the MacKinnon brothers were of Melody and Harmony and didn’t dare make a move. But God, he wanted to. From afar, he watched Harmony grow up, watched as the boys at school chased her. In his mind, none of them were good enough for her—problem was, he didn’t think he was either.
Her skin. So fucking soft. He’d run his hands all over her last night and every part of her was soft. Those full, pillowy lips were perfect for kissing. Her hair was cool and heavy. When she wrapped her arms around his bare shoulders, he felt his heart sprint, the beats galloping against his rib cage like hoof beats. When she let him undress her, he almost came in his jeans. For a long time, he didn’t get completely undressed for fear that brushing against her would make him ejaculate at once, like some dorky virgin.
Her breasts were big, round, and firm. Her nipples were dark brown with a rosy tinge at the tips. She’d dragged her fingers through his hair as he sucked on her. He’d felt the vibration of her moans through his lips.
And when she opened her legs for him—he’d said a silent prayer to God.
Not the God who’d be pissed off at him for engaging in so much premarital sex. No, not that one. He’d deal with that one later.
But God the creator, who’d made women so endlessly fascinating to him. He’d had lots of different kinds and each one was interesting, an individual study in loveliness. He was a fan of all tits. He was a fan of all pussies. He was a fan of all those pretty faces. As if God the creator had made women just to reward Lucky for being born a horny, heterosexual man.
But Harmony. God the creator deserved a special prayer of thanks for her.
She wore a lacy thong the color of a ripe peach. He’d primed her body so well that she’d soaked through the fabric, making it even more transparent. She was waxed bare. Lucky would never forget the sight of those dark, wet pussy lips, swollen and plump, barely hidden by that scrap of lace.
In the shower, Lucky speeded up his strokes. His rigid cock thickened. A looming orgasm swirled low in his stomach. He was panting.
He’d hooked her panties with his finger and slid them to the side. The sweet tang of her pussy lingered in his nose and on his tongue. There were few things Lucky enjoyed more than eating a woman out. He was comfortable enough in his masculinity and nothing made him more secure in his machismo than feeling a woman come all over his face. It was better than breaking a pony. And Harmony’s pussy tasted like heaven.
She was already on the edge by the time his tongue found her clit. But Harmony knew the score—she held back. When he pushed her, she held back more. She understood. She didn’t give up her orgasm without a fight. They flowed like this, back and forth, for a long time. It was a valiant effort, but when he wrested control away from her at last, they both knew who was in charge. She came so hard the first time that she gushed into his mouth, rewarding him with the flavor of her own ecstasy.
Lucky was so turned on, the images and memories started to supersede each other, blending into one. The sensation of impaling her on his cock. The feeling of her gripping him hard as she came a second time. The sight of her heart-shaped ass as he pounded her from behind, playing with her poor little clit until she came again, screaming, her body completely under his charge. When he leaned back, he looked down. In the shadows, her pussy lips gripped his shaft. He was fucking her inside out. Her tiny asshole was slick. His chest tightened when he imagined the things he’d like to do to it.
Fuck.
His balls pulled up against his body. When the orgasm came at last, pleasure drizzled through his nervous system. He opened his eyes and watched the hot come shoot out of his dick onto the tiles. He imagined Harmony on her knees before him, her mouth open to receive it. She’d swallow every drop, then lick her lips like the good girl she was—like the good girl he could make her be in bed.
When he was finished, he cleaned everything up. His heartbeat slowed as turned off the water, toweled off, and got dressed.
The temporary calm that followed climax was quickly replaced with a whole collection of feelings he didn’t like. He’d always been an oversexed motherfucker. A mild sense of disgust settled on him along with a litany of doubts and bad feelings.
You just spent the night with the woman of your dreams and you’re jacking off again? What the hell is wrong with you?
Another bad feeling.
What were you thinking? Why would you offer to go to a party with her just to make her ex-boyfriend jealous?
Another doubt.
Why are you making things so complicated? Just take this for what it was. A one-night stand you were lucky enough to catch.
And the worst—the absolute worst fear.
You’re doing this because you know you’re not good enough for her.
He shook off the bad vibes as best as he could. There were chores to get done before his mother
and sister got home for the evening. He prepared caldo de res for dinner and pulled up a cabbage and some carrots to add to it. He vacuumed the house. Two loads of laundry, washed, folded, and put away. He saw to his horse and opened up his sister’s secondhand laptop to pay some bills online.
Lucky had never been great at school, but numbers he understood pretty well. Everything added up. The household was good for another month. He was obsessed with staying ahead of their bills. Left alone to raise three kids, his mother had struggled for years to make ends meet. Lucky remembered the lights being turned off in his house one night. His younger siblings had cried in the dark as he changed the batteries in the flashlight and sang them Disney songs to calm them down.
After he graduated from high school, instead of applying to community college like his counselors and teachers told him to, he started working full-time at the ranch. He helped Clark sell beef at farmer’s markets and made deliveries to restaurants. He and his mom got the bills paid. When his brother was old enough to work after school, they actually were able to save money.
The MacKinnons encouraged Lucky to compete in local rodeos; Dale MacKinnon even paid his first entry fees. He leased horses until Bo Walker cut him that unbelievable price on Batman. And then there was no stopping him—at least until the real world came knocking.
Lucky pulled up the registration and fees for UC Davis, the school his brother Abel attended. He pulled up the pages for the nursing schools his sister wanted to apply to. He scrawled a few numbers on a writing pad and calculated how much he’d have to save to cover their expenses for the next year. In addition to the work he’d pick up where he could, there were three possibilities.
First, he could rob a bank. His mom probably wouldn’t be a fan of that.
Second, he could sell Batman. Bo Walker had sold her to Lucky for a song, but Lucky had trained her into one of the best calf-roping horses on the circuit. Everyone knew Batman. With all her tack, her custom saddle, and her trailer, he was certain his horse would fetch a high price. But Lucky’s stomach turned when he thought about saying goodbye to her.
