The Cowboy's Pride

by Charlene Sands

  She padded into the master bedroom. A night-light sent soft beams over the crib and haloed Meggie in a circle of light. She was waking. It was nearly dawn and this had been her pattern, to wake for a short time and then fall back asleep for a few hours.

  Trish had been on the baby’s schedule for weeks now and tried to adjust, although singing songs, reading the ABC book and squeezing squeak toys hadn’t been on her list of favorite things to do at the crack of dawn.

  “How’s my little sweet pea this morning?”

  Meggie stared at her, her blue eyes wide and filled with mischief. She opened her mouth babbling incoherent sounds that someday would form into her first real words.

  “That good?” she asked, reaching down to pick up the baby. “Let’s get you a clean diaper.”

  A dim sliver of light rose on the horizon, and after Trish diapered the baby, she walked her over to the parlor window to gaze outside. It was a sweet time of day, holding a child in her arms, watching the sublime rising of the sun. “See that?” she said softly. “Say, sun.”

  Meggie followed the direction of her pointing finger and cooed and ahhed. Trish repeated. “Sun.”

  The baby gazed at her quizzically. She was trying, Trish noted.

  She lingered by the window for a time, enjoying the view until Meggie squirmed uncomfortably. It was time for a feeding; the baby was getting hungry. She walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle filled with formula out of the refrigerator. “Breakfast.”

  Trish walked into the parlor and sat on the sofa. She propped Meggie up on her lap and brought the bottle to her mouth. “Here you go.”

  The baby cupped both hands around the bottle, touching Trish’s fingers, and took a sip. A loud cry rang out and Meggie backed her head away, her lips pulling down, and tears beginning to fall. It only took a second to realize why the baby was crying.

  “Oh, shoot! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Meggie.”

  Trish rose and turned, bumping smack into Clay. He grabbed her arms to steady her and glanced at the fitful baby, who was still crying. “What’s wrong?”

  Sleep-tousled, with morning scruff on his face and hair jutting out in three different directions, Clay oozed sexy without even trying. “I forgot to warm up her bottle. It’s ice-cold.”

  “Let me have her,” Clay said. “Go heat the bottle.”

  Trish hesitated for half a second, but Clay’s arms came out and Meggie, the traitor, went right into them. He held her cautiously, bringing her close to his chest. “Go,” he said, letting her know by his tone he knew what he was doing.

  It was obvious for all her smarts, book learning and gallant effort, she didn’t know what the heck she was doing. This wasn’t the first time she’d forgotten to heat Meggie’s bottle. She took the cold bottle and admonished herself all the way to the kitchen.

  It wasn’t the end of the world, but she should have remembered. She couldn’t blame it on Clay’s presence in the house either, or the mind-numbing sex she’d just had. The early hour was out, as an excuse. She was up this early every morning. She heated the bottle in a pan of hot water and noted that Meggie’s crying had stopped.

  Minutes later, after making sure the temperature was just right Trish walked back into the parlor. She found Meggie on Clay’s lap, playing with her favorite toy, the zoo piano. The sight of the two of them, heads together, intent on spinning the lion’s mane and jiggling the giraffe’s neck up and down was enough to bring tears to Trish’s eyes.

  Dejected, she took a seat on the sofa, the bottle between her legs on her lap.

  “It’s no big deal,” Clay said, sparing her a glance. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  “I get frustrated.”

  Clay kept his focus on Meggie. The two of them looked perfect together. “You think biological mothers don’t make mistakes? You think they do everything right?”

  Trish sighed deep in her throat. “No, but—”

  Meggie lunged forward and pressed her little hand on the piano keys. Lights blinked on and off and she chuckled as the notes rang out a melodious tune. “She really likes this thing,” Clay said.

  “It’s her favorite toy.”

  “She loves music. I should play guitar for her sometime.”

  Trish’s heart warmed at Clay’s tone. “She’s got rhythm.”

  Clay nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I should probably feed her. She should go back to sleep for a while.”

  Clay set the zoo piano aside and turned Meggie toward Trish. As soon as the baby saw the bottle, she leaned forward and nearly jumped out of Clay’s lap. “See, all is forgiven and forgotten.”

  Trish didn’t know about that. She struggled with the small things. She wondered how she’d handle the bigger things when the time came. She’d rather deal with a spoiled movie actor after a career-sucking scandal than make any more mistakes with Meggie.

  Clay sat with Trish while she fed Meggie. He leaned back against the sofa cushions with his eyes closed.

  “You’re tired,” she said. “You should go to bed.”

  Clay didn’t open his eyes, but a smile graced his bruised face. “I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  Trish inhaled a deep breath. So that was it? It was just about sex.

  “How long before she falls asleep?”

  “Meggie? Oh, I don’t know. A couple of minutes. Her eyes are closing with each sip.” Meggie had sucked the bottle down to an inch of formula.

  Clay rose. “Okay, I’ll meet you back in bed in a few.”

  Trish’s brows lifted and her heart strummed with panic. “You’re going back to…to that bed?”

  He nodded and looked at her, confused. “Where else?”

  “Clay, we should talk about what happened last night.”

  He leaned over and landed a sweeping kiss on her lips. “We will. In bed. I’m going to take a rest. Don’t be long.” He gave her a wink, patted Meggie’s head ever so gently and then was gone.

  Fifteen minutes later after putting a sleeping Meggie down into her crib, Trish bolstered her courage. She had to speak with Clay, but she wouldn’t deny she was on shaky footing here. Once, she’d loved Clay to distraction, but now she had a baby to consider and a life in Nashville that she’d built for herself.

  She entered the smaller bedroom, walking in quietly. Clay was lying on his back, his hands behind his head with eyes closed, probably asleep. Good. Problem solved. She could leave him in peace. She would let him get the rest he obviously needed. On tiptoes, she turned to leave. “Don’t go.”

  “Oh!” Startled, she stammered, “I, uh, thought you were resting.”

  He sent her a killer smile. “I was. Waiting for you.”

  “Why?” Oh, man. Had she actually asked him that? She only had to look at the hunger in his eyes to know the answer.

  He bounded up from the bed and her gaze flew straight to the tight bulge protruding from his black boxer briefs. She took a big swallow and knew what was on his mind. He moved like a sleek lazy cat coming toward her. She’d forgotten how commanding he was in the buff. What a beautiful body he had, despite the bruising that tainted his skin. Now, it seemed to add to his primal appeal. Clay came closer. “You’re not really asking me why, are you?”

  She bit her lower lip, then moistened it with a stroke of her tongue.

  The gesture didn’t go unnoticed. One brow arched up as he stepped closer, stalking her. “Clay, last night was—”

  He stopped a foot away and pulled the tie of her fluffy white robe. She closed her eyes as the material spread open and even without bearing witness, she felt the smoldering heat of his gaze as he perused her naked body.

  “Don’t complicate things, honey.”

  With nimble, practiced fingers, he shed the material from her shoulders and when the robe fell to the floor, Clay inhaled a sharp breath. Her eyes opened to his burning gaze. His voice hoarse, he said, “You’re beautiful and my wife for a little while longer.”

  She couldn’t deny the
ir marital status. She was his wife. Not that she owed him sex, but she wasn’t a fool either. Clay knew how to make her come apart at the seams and she’d missed that. She’d missed making love. “Are you suggesting we have unfinished business?” she asked in barely a whisper.

  He took another step closer. Goose bumps rose on her arms. Had it just been a few hours since they’d made love? She was coming undone all over again. He pressed his body to hers ever so slightly, his strong chest against the upended tips of her nipples. The friction made her squirm below the waist.

  His face went tight, his eyes darkened to searing-hot coals. The heady force of his sex pressed into hers and flames ignited inside her body.

  “I’m saying, we have unfinished pleasure.”

  He scraped out the word, making it seem dirty, lusty and sensual as hell. She nodded silently, holding on to that truth. Her body needed his. They had months of catching up to do.

  When she thought he’d lead her over to the bed, he lifted her instead and set her on the top edge of the dresser. The cool polished wood met with her derriere and an incredible thrill shot through her. He rid himself of his briefs. With a kick, they went flying. Bending his head, he kissed her thoroughly on the lips. His tongue sought entrance to the deep recesses of her mouth and she opened for him. She met him stroke for stroke, open-mouthed and wild until they were nearly breathless.

  Clay cupped her legs and wrapped them around his waist. She hung on, tightening herself around him like a bow on a Christmas gift. With a growl of impatience, he lifted her from behind, his big hands squeezing her cheeks for stability and positioning himself with a pulsing erection that teased the very tip of her womanhood. Trish’s mind melted and her anticipation grew.

  Clay didn’t waste time. He immediately drove himself deep and pumped into her. With a groan of satisfaction, he murmured. “So damn good.”

  She hung on to his neck, bowing her body, meeting his thrusts, his hands pressing her closer, closer still. She felt her own explosion, waves upon waves of hot scorching jolts, careening her into a state of frenzied pleasure. She cried out his name, huffing short little breaths until the last wave consumed her.

  Clay’s release came right after in long, full, powerful gyrations that popped veins on his neck and made him wince with the potency of his dazzling release. He made primitive sounds, a gushing of words that poured out of him like a rushing river.

  When they were spent, he lowered her down along his body, holding her tight. He kissed her hair, her throat and then her mouth gently. “Trish,” he said with a gravelly voice and then was silent.

  Trish felt the same way. There weren’t words.

  Clay took her hand and guided her back to bed silently. When they were both tucked in, he brought his body close, curving her into the contours of his frame. His warmth seeped in, his breaths fanned her nape and the quiet in the house soothed them into a calming sleep.

  Trish stood at the coffeemaker, waiting for Mr. Coffee to serve up enough caffeine to jolt her mind back into reality. She couldn’t believe what happened between her and Clay last night and then again in the wee hours of the morning. How had she let it go so far?

  Reality sucked, was her father’s favorite saying.

  Yes, damn it. It did.

  She had more than a few realities to deal with this morning. First, she relished the relief her body felt. Months and months of pent-up frustration had been wiped clean with just a few hours of making love with Clay. Her body hummed. Sated and complete, she felt light as air, as though she could dance on the clouds. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed having sex with Clay, having him complement her body, kiss every hollow and caress her most intimate areas until she cried out from tormented pleasure. Hot shivers rushed through her body thinking about how he’d taken her last night.

  But reality did suck because in the light of day, Trish came to some tough conclusions. She couldn’t allow what happened last night with Clay to ever happen again. She was here on the ranch for one main reason: to shed her past and begin her life as a single mother. She had a daughter to raise to adulthood and Meggie’s wants and needs had to come first. It was essential not to blow this chance.

  The way your mother did with you.

  Trish loved her mother, flighty as she was, but knew in her heart that her relationship with Meggie would be a hundred times better. Alicia Fontaine had tried but not hard enough. Not long enough. She’d had her hands full with Blake and she’d barely been able to cope. There hadn’t been anything left for a daughter who’d desperately wanted a morsel of her mother’s attention. Trish felt guilty that she’d been jealous of Blake, sick as he was for most of his childhood, because he’d been nurtured and doted upon, while she’d been left to fend for herself.

  How many school open houses had her mother missed? How many culminations and awards ceremonies? Almost all of them, from what Trish could recall, which made her protective of Meggie in too many ways to name.

  She couldn’t afford to let Meggie get close to Clay. It would be cruel and serve no purpose to allow the baby to form any kind of attachment to him. Trish was leaving soon. She and Clay had no future together. The child had lost her father already. She’d been ripped out of her mother’s arms by Karin’s untimely death. The baby had enough adjustments to make and as inept a mother as Trish was, she was all Meggie had now. It wouldn’t be fair to Meggie to allow her to bond with Clay.

  The pungent aroma of French roast filled the kitchen. The drip, drip, drip stopped as steam rose with a hiss from the coffeemaker. Trish poured a cup for herself, staring at the simmering pot, deep in thought.

  “Got another one of those?”

  Her breath caught as Clay came up behind her and circled his arms around her waist. The deep rich timbre of his voice created tingles. Vivid memories of what they’d done together on and off the bed last night flashed in her head. Now, she found it difficult not to lean against his strong shoulders and press her head to his chest. Absorb his strength and give herself up to him for these few early dawn moments.

  “Oh, uh, sure. I’ll pour you some.”

  He stuck his nose into her hair and breathed her in. “You smell good. You showered already, without me?”

  Oh, boy. Even though he tried to sound hurt, she knew he was teasing. That didn’t prevent more images from popping into her head. Steam and heat made for memorable times in the shower with Clay.

  Back in Nashville, her mission had been clear and the thought of seeing Clay again hadn’t hindered her determination. But now that she was here, seeing him in the flesh, literally, things were getting very complicated. She couldn’t afford that. At this point in her life more than any other time, Trish needed simple. They still had to discuss the divorce, but not today. Today she had to focus on the fundraiser. “I’ve got work to do today for Penny’s Song.” She turned, handing him a cup of coffee. “Here you go.”

  Clay took the coffee and sat on the stool opposite her at the granite island, watching her as he sipped. He sensed her mood—she saw it in the way his eyes followed her. “Meggie still asleep?”

  Trish inhaled. “Yes. If I’m lucky, I’ll get my coffee down before she wakes up.” She sent him a small smile.

  Clay had showered and dressed in the clothes he’d worn last night. In the daylight, without night shadows giving him a harsher appearance, his face looked better, although he was still bruised. She’d kissed the cut above his eye last night and he told her she’d cured him. When Clay was charming like that, Trish had little defense against him.

  “I’ve got a full day. Going to have to deal with the accident today, and get a new car.”

  “Your car was totaled?” This was news she hadn’t heard and it surprised her. When Clay wasn’t using the truck, he drove a Mercedes.

  “Yeah. The driver was just under the legal alcohol limit.”

  “Oh, wow.” How close he’d come to losing his life. He’d been fortunate to walk away with minor injuries. A shudder ran throug
h her at the thought.

  “So I was thinking, how about I bring over dinner later tonight?”

  It sounded like heaven, a quiet dinner with Clay. But her nerves jangled and more resolute, rational thoughts broke free. Being the adult wasn’t fun. She’d been the responsible one all of her life, today being no different.

  “Clay, it’s not a good idea.”

  A slow, easy grin spread across his face. “I thought I had good ideas. You said so yourself about a dozen times last night.” He took a sip of coffee, amusement reaching his eyes.

  Trish squelched those images. His ideas had given her mind-blowing orgasms and a night she’d never forget, but morning brought her sanity back. “Last night was incredible,” she said honestly, on a rushed breath. “I’m not sorry, it’s something we both wanted and needed, but we can’t—”

  “Why not?” Clay set his cup down carefully and pierced her with a stern look. “Why can’t we?”

  “Because it’s pointless.”

  He hesitated for a moment, as if she’d surprised him, then he shook his head. “Don’t analyze it, Trish. We’re still married.”

  For the next few weeks. “Well, I can’t separate the two in my head. I can’t make love with you and pretend we’re not split up. I can’t do that to myself or to Meggie. She’s already lost so much. I can’t allow her to lose anything more.”

  Clay rose from the seat. His chest filled with oxygen, not in an imposing way, but as if simply trying to figure her out. “What is she going to lose if I come over for dinner?”

  Trish held her ground, although inside she felt torn between wanting him and pushing him away. Either way, she’d come out the loser. “It won’t end there and you know it.”

  Clay walked around the counter and leaned against it with arms crossed. His jaw set stubbornly. He was a determined man when he wanted something. And the blaze in his eyes told her what he wanted. “We’re great in bed.”

  “I know,” she said softly. It hurt her to think she’d never have that kind of passion again. That she may never know that same feeling of absolute satisfaction and completion. Her body may never sing with want and hum in the aftermath of lovemaking again. Mind-numbing sex hadn’t been enough to hold their marriage together. And it certainly wasn’t enough now. There was much more at stake than easing pent-up lust. Much, much more.