by Hebby Roman
She’d been a fool not to bring her pajamas.
Chapter Six
Gar heard someone moaning, and he couldn’t say for sure if it was him or her. Did it matter? He’d never kissed a woman who was so responsive, so ready to freely give herself. And he’d never been with a woman like Sofia. She was all any man could want: warm and funny, intelligent and loving. Without artifice.
He groaned again and swept her up, cradling her in his arms. Wanting to carry her off, cave-man style, and kiss her all over—every inch of her satiny flesh. For now, he allowed his free hand to roam, across her breast, skimming over her erect nipple.
He lifted her, burying his hands in the warm fullness of her ass, cupping her sweetly-rounded flesh and pulling her closer against him.
He’d leapt to attention again, hard as the rock wall ringing the firepit. He bit back another groan, adjusted his hold on her and tilted his hips, grinding his stony erection into the V of her hips.
She whimpered and arched her back, pushing herself against him. Molding her body to fit his… and then some.
He put his hands under her legs and swung her up, intent upon carrying her inside.
She pushed back, breaking their kiss and pulling away. Then she traced his jaw with her fingertips and touched her brow to his. “Gar, you know we shouldn’t. For any number of reasons.”
“I know, Sofia.” He moved his head and nuzzled her earlobe. Between nips, he asked, “You’re really going to run off into the night. Now?”
“I don’t want to run off. I’d like to catch my breath and finish my wine.” She brushed her lips against his. “And I’d like to ask you something before I go home.”
He lowered her to the ground, releasing his hold on her with reluctance. “Okay, I’ll back off.” He started to adjust himself in his too-tight jeans. Thought better of it and took his seat across from her.
She sat down and fanned herself with her hand.
He couldn’t help but grin.
“Don’t look so smug, Mr. Hot Cowboy.”
Her words warmed the few parts of him that weren’t already super-heated. He took a long swallow of wine. Then he refilled his glass.
“Are you ‘fan-girling’ me?”
“Whaaat?” She giggled and lowered her head.
“Sorry. Hanging around teenaged boys, you pick up the lingo.” He drank some more of his wine. “You were saying?” he prompted.
She took a tiny sip of wine, too, and her pink tongue flicked out.
Lordy, Lordy, he wanted to drag her back into his arms and suck on that pink tongue of hers, and then her nipples… After that, he’d slowly remove every stitch of her clothing until he could bury himself…
“Since you’ve given me the rundown on how you spend your weekends, I was wondering what you do for the holidays?”
“Huh?” He hadn’t been listening to what she was saying, lost in his hormone-driven fantasies. “Uh, what about the holidays?”
“Gar.” Their gazes collided. She smiled but had the decency to look away and take another sip of her wine. “I don’t think you’re listening to me.”
“Probably not. You got me.”
She giggled again and covered her mouth with her hand. “I was wondering what you did with the boys over Christmas and the New Year.”
“Oh, well, they’re free to go home, if that’s what their parents want. They need to check in with their local probation officer. Is that what you meant?”
“Not exactly.”
“You can’t take Aaron home, not without Mr. Van Wyck’s permission.”
“Even though Aaron was admitted without my permission?”
He sighed. He thought they’d gotten past that.
“You signed the revised papers. You know I can’t release him solely into your custody without his father’s approval.”
“I know.” She bit her lip. “Even if Aaron would go with me.” She took a swallow of wine. “Has his father asked to have him for the holidays?”
“Nope. I only got a few requests. Most parents want their kids to finish their time without any back and forth. Easier that way. A fresh start and all that—when they get home.”
“I see.” She held out her wineglass, stared at the wine for a moment and then finished the glass.
A feeling of regret surged through him. She’d be leaving soon, and he didn’t want her to go. Not tonight. Not ever.
Where in Sam Hill had that come from?
“So, back to my original question, what do you do with the boys who stay at the ranch over Christmas and the New Year?”
“What we can. We’ll be going out next week to cut down one of the cedar trees, haul it in and decorate it. Christmas morning, they get to open their gifts from home.” He rubbed his hand over his stubbled chin, concerned his kissing frenzy had given her a bad case of beard burn.
“Kiki and I keep close watch. If one of the boys doesn’t get something from home, we get them an age appropriate present, usually stuff like clothing or riding gear. That way, everyone has a gift to open. Christmas dinner is catered by one of the dude ranches that stays open. On New Year’s Eve, we all watch the ball drop and the boys get to stay up past midnight. New Year’s Day is free time.”
He held up one hand. “I know where you’re headed. Though I like to give my staff off time at the holidays, I keep a skeleton crew to help out. Usually on a voluntary basis. If that doesn’t work, I call some of the local cops on my contact list. They’re normally willing to earn the double-time holiday pay.”
“Could I stay over and help with the holidays?”
He perked up, thinking about her staying longer. Now, if he could keep his hands off her. Fat chance. It was like his long-slumbering body had finally sat up and shaken off a ‘Rip Van Winkle’ nap.
“You’d be more than welcome.” He didn’t want to get too excited, only to be disappointed again. “What about your work?”
“I had my business manager, Saul, clear out my schedule until after the New Year. No matter what happens, I want to be here for Aaron during the holidays.”
“That would be great. We’d… I’d love the extra help and having you around.”
“I just hope Aaron will start talking, and we can move forward. I know he’s growing up, but I don’t want to lose him.”
He got up and sat beside her. He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Then he pulled her against his shoulder and held her there, stroking his fingers through her long hair.
“Not to worry. We’ll get there. I promise you. And I don’t give my promises lightly.”
She raised her face to his and smiled through her tears.
“Have you ever thought about having another child, Sofia?” He couldn’t believe that had popped out of his mouth.
She gazed at him for a long time. “No, yes, maybe. Sometimes, dreams mostly.”
“Yeah, me, too. I wish… I wish I could have another chance…” He groaned and hid his face in her hair. “That didn’t come out right. No one could replace my daughter. I just keep thinking, though, maybe I could forgive myself if…”
She stroked his jaw. “I understand, Gar. I understand.”
* * *
Sofia clapped her hands and called out, “That was thirteen-point-five seconds.”
“Good work, Gil,” Gar shouted.
The older boy smiled and ducked his head.
She didn’t know the older boys, the sixteen and seventeen-year-olds, by name. Their groups were larger than her son’s group. According to Gar, the seventeen-year-old group was made up of nine boys, and there were eight boys in the sixteen-year-old group, but not all of them were participating. The ones who weren’t good riders, strong for their ages, or didn’t have the requisite permission, had remained in the dormitory. Twelve of the seventeen older boys were taking part.
Gil was the first of the twelve boys who had downed his calf in under fifteen seconds. Each boy would
get three attempts, not to compete against each other, but to try and best their own time.
She reset the stopwatch and held it, ready for the next round.
Gar had explained a good rodeo time was under three seconds. Hard to believe, watching these youngsters struggle with their calves. Of course, these boys were amateurs, and some of them weren’t experienced riders, either. Skill on horseback, along with brute strength and the proper leverage to wrestle the yearling to the ground, appeared to be the key elements.
The calf was given a ten second head start. The boys came out of a chute, the timing started, and they chased down their calf. Sliding from their horse on the off-side, they grabbed the short horns of the yearlings, twisting their heads and wrestling the calves to the ground.
Gar, who had elected to remain on his feet, kept to the right side of the yearling, shouting and waving his arms, driving the calves toward the riders.
She couldn’t even imagine doing such a thing with full-grown steers.
She was proud Gar had entrusted her with the stopwatch. She needed to time the calf’s ten second head start. If the rider started before she threw up her arm as the signal, they’d lose their turn. And of course, she had to measure how long it took for each boy to bring his calf to the ground with all four legs sticking up in the air.
Watching the teenagers on horseback, some of whom appeared to be accomplished riders, she realized she missed riding. She wanted to ask Gar if he’d take her riding.
Could be asking for trouble—a picnic in the woods, just the two of them and their horses.
She pulled the lapels of her peacoat closer around her throat. The weather had turned chilly, especially in the morning. Even if they did go riding, she couldn’t see herself on a picnic, at this time of the year, getting naked.
She snorted. When had a little chilly weather stopped two people who were intent on getting their hands on each other?
Just watching him in his creased Levi’s that clung to his long, muscular legs and firm butt, while he worked the calves, was enough to turn her lower body into a slow, simmering slush of craving.
Gar had been more than willing last night. She’d stopped them from taking their relationship to the next level. But based on what he was doing to her insides, how long would she be able to resist?
The fence she was sitting on, part of the barn pasture, dipped and creaked. She glanced to her right and saw Aaron swing himself onto the top rail where she was seated.
Surprised, she opened her mouth to say something. But in the last split-second, she bit back her words and merely nodded.
He returned her nod and touched the brim of a battered, straw cowboy hat with one finger. He had on a pearl-button cowboy shirt, frayed at the bottom and with a gash in the shoulder. Despite the early morning nip in the air, he’d rolled up the sleeves to his elbows and left the top two buttons undone.
She wondered where he’d gotten the shirt, much less the hat. Then she remembered the row of hats in the tack room, guessing he might have snagged it from there. As for the shirt, she was clueless.
A miniature Gar, indeed.
“Morning, Mom,” he said.
Surprised he’d spoken to her, she almost fell off the fence. Hope hurled itself at her, and she wanted nothing less than to scoot across the rail and hug him. Instead, she tamped down her sudden spurt of joy and turned to him. She noticed the gold cross she’d given him, lying on his chest. Her heart leapt, beating in her ears.
He hadn’t lost the cross and now, he was wearing it.
Tears formed at the back of her throat, almost choking her. With an effort of will, she swallowed and composed herself.
“Morning,” she responded.
“Mr. McCulloch must trust you. Letting you keep the times.”
“Yes, I guess he does.”
He nodded again and faced away, turning his gaze to the next contestant, a bespectacled boy who looked awkward on the brown mare he was riding.
She clutched the stopwatch, willing her heart to slow, and got ready.
In the sudden stillness before one of the ranch hands let loose the calf, she heard a scuffle of boots behind her. Twisting around, she found Lucas there, leaning up against the side of the barn. He was slouched over with his hands in his pockets, wearing a beige and brown Shady Oaks “gimme” cap, pulled low over his eyes.
Was Lucas, out of envy or something else, stalking her son?
None of the younger boys had come to watch the calf wrestling competition. It was strange and, for some reason, Lucas gave her a bad feeling.
The calf came bolting out of the gate, and the teenager galloped after him. But when he tried to dismount on the right-hand side, his boot got stuck in one of the stirrups, dragging him a few yards.
She gasped and half-rose, keeping her boots hooked over the middle rail and steadying herself with one hand.
Gar, who appeared to have known what might happen by instinct, was already there, stopping the horse and reaching for the boy.
She watched as Gar untangled the youngster and set him on his feet. He leaned over and ran his hands up and down the teenager’s legs and arms. Then he spoke a few words she couldn’t hear and patted the boy’s shoulder.
With his head hung low, the teenager righted his skewed glasses and limped back to the barn.
Gar followed the boy, leading his brown mare. He turned the horse over to the ranch hand who’d been dealing with the calves.
He called out, “Billy is fine. Let’s take a break. There’s a jug of water and paper cups, if anyone is thirsty.” He removed his Stetson and wiped his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. He pointed to a shelf, projecting from the barn. “Help yourselves.”
Some of the boys, waiting in the corral with their horses, climbed the fence and got a drink of water. She glanced, from the corners of her eyes, at her son. He hadn’t moved.
Gar filled a cup and downed it in one long swallow. He threw it away in an old oil drum and filled another cup. Then he sauntered over to her, cup in hand.
His broad shoulders seemed to fill the sky, and she was this side of embarrassed, having him single her out in front of her son.
“Is the timekeeper thirsty?” he asked, holding out the cup.
She took the paper cup from his hand, their fingers brushing. She couldn’t help but tremble from his touch, remembering how he’d caressed and kissed her last night.
“Thank you.” She tipped the cup back and swallowed the water.
“You’re welcome.” He looked at her from under his hat, his light blue eyes matching the wintery sky overhead. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m glad my son is too young to try his hand at calf wrestling.” As soon as the words flew from her mouth, she wished she could snatch them back.
What had she done? Broken the fragile bond with her son by blurting out her mother hen stuff?
She shrank down onto the rail, awaiting the inevitable retort from Aaron.
He snorted. “Mr. McCulloch, since I’m too much of a baby to try my hand at calf wrestling, I’d appreciate it if we could use our free time tomorrow for a calf roping contest.”
Hearing Aaron’s resentful words, she wished she could stop time, rewind it, and do a retake of the last few minutes. Unfortunately, real life didn’t work that way.
Gar winked at her. “Can’t tomorrow, Aaron. It’s Sunday, and all the hands are off. But later in the week, you’re on. Probably after Tuesday. I’ve got some cows to move around for the winter, the first part of the week. Speak with Kiki on Monday and have her set it up. Okay?”
“Yes, sir, no problem.” He stood, balancing on the middle rail. “May I be excused?”
“Of course, it’s your free time,” Gar said. “By the way, I like the hat.”
Her son blushed and mumbled, “You said we could help ourselves from the barn.”
“That I did.”
“And this shirt is one Kiki—Mrs. An
derson’s husband grew out of.” Her son sounded defensive. “She gave it to me.” He jumped down from the fence and dusted his hands on his jeans.
“I like the shirt, too,” Gar said. “Though, Kiki could have mended that tear for you.”
“Nope, told her I’d do it myself.” He glanced at Gar sideways. “Just haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Understood.”
Aaron touched the brim of his borrowed hat. “Sir. Mother.” Then he turned and walked away.
“I blew that. Should have kept my big mouth closed,” she said.
“Ahh, you’d didn’t blow anything. Spoken like a mother, I’d say.” He patted her knee. “Quit worrying. He’s talking to you, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s all good. Remember, hold onto hope.”
“I’ll try.”
He patted her knee again. “I still have my timekeeper?”
“Yes, willing and able.”
“Good, let’s get this show on the road,” he called out.
Sofia took up her post again, stopwatch ready. But she’d been wrong about one thing—Lucas wasn’t stalking her son. He’d remained, leaning against the barn, staring at her, as if his eyes could bore a hole into her back.
* * *
Gar whipped a huge bowl of pancake batter with the whisk he’d found at the back of the utensil drawer. Usually, he scrambled eggs and fried bacon, but having Sofia around had spurred him to new heights. He’d never made pancakes before but with the directions on the box and a huge electric griddle, how could he go wrong?
Jimmy had cooked a mound of scrambled eggs and put them onto a platter, sitting in the industrial-sized microwave. Waiting to be “nuked” and served with the pancakes and bacon.
The other twenty-two boys were in the rec room, waiting for breakfast. After their mandatory devotional, they’d turned on ESPN and were watching a football game.
To his right, Sofia flipped the rows of sizzling bacon on another griddle that was a part of the restaurant-sized range. A blob of grease flew out, splattering her.
