Star Spangled Cowboy

by Paige Warren

  “How badly do you want to come?” he asked.

  “So bad,” she said, her voice light and breathy. “Touch me, Tyson. Make me come.”

  The hand on her belly slid up to tweak her nipple through her bra, and she cried out as pleasure zinged through her. It hadn’t been what she’d exactly wanted, but now her other nipple was throbbing in anticipation of a little attention. Tyson didn’t disappoint, and he gave it a little pinch.

  “Jesus, you liked that, didn’t you? You’re so fucking wet, Dacey. I’d give anything to feel you wrapped around my cock with nothing between us. One of these days, I’m taking you bare.”

  His words thrilled her, even if she knew it could never happen.

  He thrust a little harder, a little faster, and Dacey wanted to beg him for more. Her clit was pulsing in time with her heart by the time he stroked the little bud, and she couldn’t contain her cries of passion. Ripples of desire made her skin heat and her body throb. When the pleasure was almost too much for her to take, she came, screaming Tyson’s name.

  Tyson didn’t relent and continued to rub her clit as the strokes of his cock grew more powerful. She couldn’t even catch her breath before she was coming again and heard Tyson roar his release behind her. His cock jerked and pulsed inside of her before he withdrew and got rid of the condom. Dacey collapsed face first onto the bed, her legs unable to hold her a moment longer. When he stretched out beside her, gently brushing her hair back from her face, she felt her heart turn over in her chest and knew without a doubt that she’d fallen for him.

  The alarm on her phone went off, loud enough to hear it even from the other room, and Dacey knew their time was at an end for the night. And depending on how badly Carlos beat her tonight, she might very well not make it back over here for their next session in a few days’ time. It would kill her not to see Tyson on one of their scheduled days, but she wouldn’t come to him battered and bruised.

  “I have to go,” she said softly.

  He kissed her gently and held her close. “Next time, you’re going to tell him you’re taking a night off. I’ll pay you for the hour, and then we’re going to talk. And when I’m done talking, you’re going to spend the night.”

  “I’d like that.” She smiled at him before pressing her lips to his one last time. “Now, I have to go. I’ll see you Friday.”

  Tyson nodded then helped her back into her clothes. He walked her to the front door and stood, silhouetted, as he watched her drive away. She looked in her rearview mirror several times, wondering if it would be the last time she ever saw him. Depending on how things went with Carlos tonight, this could very well be her last night alive.

  Chapter Two

  Tyson wanted to put his fist through the wall as he watched Dacey drive off. She’d looked haunted, as if she were about to face the executioner, and he wondered if maybe she was. She hadn’t said who she was meeting when she left his place, and he’d assumed it was another client. But what if it wasn’t? Her pimp was known for his heavy hand with the girls, and more than one had been found in a ditch over the years, even though the cops had never been able to pin anything on him. He hated using Carlos’s services, but once he’d gotten a taste of Dacey, there’d been no going back.

  He’d been so desperate that night. It had felt like his world had ended, and Tyson hadn’t been sure he wanted to go on. A friend had urged him to get laid, and he’d snapped that no decent woman would want a man without a leg. That same friend had slid him Carlos’s card and told him to hire a woman for the night if that’s what it took, and while the idea had repulsed him, in the end, he’d caved and called the number. He’d figured it might be the last time he ever got to have sex, and his body had been straining for a release. A man’s hand only went so far.

  The moment he’d seen Dacey, his heart had kicked in his chest, and he’d been mesmerized by her beauty. She’d claimed she wasn’t one of the more popular girls, and he couldn’t imagine why. Her hair was the color of wheat and her eyes a vibrant blue. He supposed blue-eyed blondes were a dime a dozen in Texas, but she’d still taken his breath away. Compared to his six-foot-three height, she was a delicate flower, but when he’d called her such, she’d laughed and said five-foot-seven wasn’t small.

  When her taillights disappeared into the night, Tyson eventually shut the door and went to the kitchen to put everything away. His leg ached from using it so much. It hadn’t been smart to pick her up and carry her as he had, but he’d had the impulse and went with it. Now, he’d be paying the price for a few days, but it had been worth it. He’d give anything to pick up and swing her around, hold her close as he carried her over the threshold like a bride on her wedding day.

  He smiled a little. She’d make a pretty bride. It wasn’t hard for him to picture her in a flowing white gown with a veil in her hair. Some guy would be lucky to claim her one day, but she’d made it clear it wouldn’t be him. They had fun when they were together, and he didn’t think she saw it as part of her job, but for some reason, she always rebuked his advances. He knew she didn’t like the work she did, so that wasn’t it. Something was holding her back. Whether it was a lack of feelings for him, or something else, he wasn’t sure.

  With the dishes washed and in the drying rack, and the leftovers put in the fridge, there wasn’t anything left for him to do for the night. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, reminding him that life was passing him by. Not that it was much of a life anymore. He was doing his best, trying to keep his family ranch running, but if it weren’t for the foreman and the men the crotchety old bastard commanded, the cattle would have been sold off long ago. There was only so much Tyson could do, but he’d been told with hard work and patience that he would be able to almost everything he’d done when he still had two legs. There would always be limitations, but his therapist had told him that they were mostly in his head.

  The clock ticked a little louder, and Tyson gripped the counter. He shouldn’t have let her go. He knew where she lived and had driven past there several times over the last few weeks, not that he’d ever let her see him. The place looked like it was falling apart, and the trailer park wasn’t the safest place in the world. He’d seen a drug deal go down just two doors down from Dacey’s place, and it had taken everything in him not to turn around and haul her ass out of there. He wanted her safe, but as long as she worked for Carlos and lived in that rusted heap, she would never be safe.

  “Fuck it.”

  His jaw was set in determination as he snatched his keys off the counter and stormed his way out of the house and out to his waiting truck. The engine roared to life as he turned the key and he nearly fishtailed on the gravel as he floored it. He didn’t know what she was about to face, but hell if she’d do it alone. Keeping an eye on the road, he reached over and flipped open the glove box, pulling out the 9mm he kept in there. The loaded clip was in the console, and he pulled it and loaded the gun.

  Tyson chambered a round then set the safety before putting the gun on the passenger seat. It took about fifteen minutes to reach Dacey’s place, even with him driving twenty miles over the speed limit. He’d have had some explaining to do if he’d been pulled over, but thankfully the sheriff was a family friend. Tyson could get away with a lot in their small town, and he wasn’t above using every family connection he had to get to Dacey in time and get her ass the hell out of there once and for all.

  Her car was parked out front of her trailer, and all of the lights were out. The door was slightly ajar, and his heart sped up. Gripping the gun, he opened his door, then closed it quietly. If there was still someone inside, someone other than Dacey, he didn’t want to alert them to his presence. With his back braced against the trailer, he let out a breath. Using instincts honed in Afghanistan, he entered the trailer, his eyes adjusting to the dark. There was something dark on the floor and walls, and a coppery scent tinged the air.

  Tyson cleared the trailer one room at a time, then turned on the lights. The sight of the blood-soaked carp
et and smeared walls nearly made him lose his dinner. Not because he couldn’t stand the sight of blood, but because he couldn’t stand the sight of her blood. He knew without a doubt that something bad had happened to Dacey, and he was determined to find her, even if it was too late to save her. He wouldn’t sleep until he knew what had happened to her.

  Keeping his gun in his hand, he exited the trailer and started banging on doors. It didn’t take long to convince the neighbors that playing dumb wasn’t going to work and soon he had a lead. Tyson got in his truck, keeping his gun within reach, and he headed out of town down the two-lane highway to nowhere. Clouds filtered the moonlight. His headlights cut through the darkness as he searched for any sign of Dacey. The crack addict next door had mentioned Carlos throwing her into a trunk and then taking off. The bastard might have been high, but he said they had turned right and headed out of town. It was the only lead he had, and he was going to take it, and just prayed that it worked out.

  About five miles outside of town, he caught a glimpse of golden hair off the side of the road in a nearby ditch. His tires locked up and squealed as he stood on the brake to stop the truck. Throwing open his door, he ran into the ditch and crouched over the prone figure on the ground. Her hair was matted with blood, her clothes drenched, and she was deathly pale. Tyson was afraid he’d reached her too late, but he felt her throat for a pulse and found it—weak, but there. Too afraid to move her, for fear he could injure her worse, Tyson pulled his phone from his pocket and called 9-1-1.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  “Janice? It’s Tyson Braxton. I’m out on RR 214 about five miles outside of town. I found Dacey Morgan in a ditch and she’s in a bad way.”

  “Car accident?” the dispatcher asked.

  “No. She’s been beaten, and it looks like she’s been stabbed. There was blood all over her trailer, and her clothes are soaked in it.”

  “I’ll send a unit to her home and an ambulance to your location. Stay on the line.”

  Tyson waited, half-listening to what Janice was saying over the radio, but mostly looking for any sign that Dacey knew he was here and that she was safe. He’d do whatever it took to make sure nothing bad ever happened to her again. Even if he had to tie her to his bed, which had a lot of promise. There were a lot of ways they could pass the time in that particular room or any other room in his house for that matter.

  “Tyson?” Janice said. “The ETA on the ambulance is ten minutes. The sheriff said he’ll send someone to the hospital to speak with you. He figured you’d want to go with Dacey.”

  “Thank you. When they get here, I’ll follow them in my truck.”

  “Hang in there, Tyson. Help is on the way. I’ll stay on the line with you until they get there. How’s she doing?”

  “Breathing, but I don’t know for how much longer.”

  “It won’t be much longer. Stay positive and let her know that you’re there. Maybe she can hear you and will fight to live.”

  Tyson reached out and took Dacey’s hand, the only part of her he felt safe holding without causing her any harm. Her palm was cool against his as he laced their fingers together.

  “Dacey, can you hear me, love? It’s Tyson. I’m here, holding your hand, and I’m not letting go. You have to fight to stay with me, Dacey. Please stay with me,” he begged. “I had plans for us, you know? I wasn’t ready, or rather I didn’t think you were ready, but I think we’ve been pushed into a corner now. Whether you like it or not, you’re moving in with me.”

  He heard the sirens in the distance and saw the flashing red and blue lights approaching.

  “I think they’re here,” he told Janice.

  “Make sure you stay out of their way. I know you’re worried about her, but her best chance of survival is for you to back away and let the EMTs do their job.”

  “Thanks, Janice.”

  He hung up as the paramedics raced down the hill, with two sheriff’s deputies on their heels. Tyson hung back as they worked on Dacey, and his heart stilled when they said she was gone and had to perform CPR. He willed her to live, praying to God and vowing to do anything he could to make her life easier if she would just live. When she took a shuddering breath, the tension in his shoulders eased a bit.

  He trailed after the EMTs as they loaded Dacey into the ambulance and then ran to his truck so he could follow behind. One of the deputies took the lead while the other fell behind. With a convoy of squad cars and an ambulance, they raced to the hospital on the other side of town, and Tyson hoped they would make it in time. He knew there was only so much the EMTs could do for her, and she would need a doctor, if not several.

  At Mercy General, he parked in the E.R. parking lot and raced inside. He saw them wheel Dacey into the back, and he halted, wanting to go after her and yet knowing he couldn’t. Claiming a hard, plastic chair, he sprawled and waited. He waited for a miracle and prayed he would receive one. If Dacey didn’t make, he didn’t know if he would have the will to go on. She’d been everything to him the last few months, and the thought of facing life without her was just too depressing for words.

  He sat for hours, according to the clock on the wall. It seemed that every minute that passed left him more drained and less hopeful for a happy ending. Daylight streamed through the windows by the time a doctor in green scrubs stopped in front of him. Tyson looked up and wished he could tell from the man’s expression if it was good news or bad. He’d stand for good news, but if it was bad…

  “How is she?” he asked, his voice croaking.

  “She’s stable. She’ll need to stay for a week, but after that, she can do her healing at home. She woke briefly and asked for someone named Tyson. Is that you?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, she’s out again, but if you want to come back in a few hours, you should be able to see her then. She’s still in recovery at the moment, but we’re going to move her to a room as soon as one becomes available.”

  Tyson stood and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you.”

  “Have you spoken to the police yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Talk to the sheriff, then get some rest. You’re going to scare her if she sees you like this. Get cleaned up, sleep for a few hours, and then come see her. I know she’ll be happy to see you.”

  Tyson thanked the doctor and went out to his truck. He didn’t know if he could sleep, even though he was exhausted and his eyes burned. The sheriff’s department was on his way home, so he pulled in and spoke with a deputy about what he’d found and why he’d followed Dacey. If he’d only run after her the moment she’d left, then maybe he could have prevented her from getting hurt. He’d never have forgiven himself if she had died.

  After giving his statement to the deputy, he went home and stripped off his bloodstained clothes and showered. Falling into bed, butt-ass naked and minus his prosthetic, he eventually fell asleep. When he woke next, four hours had passed, and he rushed to get ready and get back to the hospital.

  Chapter Three

  Everything hurt. It hurt to breathe, and even thinking hurt. Dacey had spoken with the doctors and knew she’d coded twice. Once on the side of the road and again during surgery. She remembered being in the ambulance and everything going dark, then becoming very bright again. The feeling of her heart slowing to the point where it stopped wasn’t something she was likely to forget anytime soon. Dacey had a feeling they hadn’t told Tyson that she’d died, or he never would have agreed to leave the hospital. Dr. Maddox had informed her that she was very lucky to be alive. She’d been stabbed in the abdomen, nicking her internal iliac artery. In addition, one of her ovaries was too damaged for them to fix and her uterus had been torn and repaired. The doctor had assured her that she could still have children, but it would be harder to conceive.

  The nurses showed her a mix of pity and loathing, so it was obvious the staff knew about her chosen profession, or rather the profession that had chosen her. She’d run away from home at the age
of fifteen, had lived on the streets for two years, and then she’d had the misfortune of meeting Carlos. He’d been charming, but she knew now that was his M.O. for pulling in young women. He’d offered her drugs, which would have ensured her compliance, but she’d refused. When things hadn’t gone his way, he’d drugged her drink and then charged a group of guys at the party to do whatever they wanted with her.

  It had been the beginning of the end. Once that had happened, she’d known she could never go home. Carlos had put her to work, convincing her that the police would arrest her if she tried calling for help. She’d been young and stupid, and had quickly fallen in line with his plans. She’d slept on his couch, which had come at a cost, but eventually, she’d saved enough to buy the rusty trailer she still called home. For every fifty she charged, she earned twenty. It wasn’t a bad hourly wage, but it wasn’t as great as what some of the other girls received. Carlos’s favorite, and the customers’ favorite—Margarite—earned two hundred an hour, of which she kept fifty percent.

  Dacey stared up at the ceiling and wondered what was going to happen to her now. Once Carlos found out she was still alive, he’d come after her again. And this time, he wouldn’t stop until she was dead for certain. The best thing to do would be to get out of town, but she doubted there was any cash left at her place if she was even allowed to return there. It would be a crime scene now.

  There was a knock on her door, and she swung her gaze in that direction, hoping it was Tyson. A sheriff’s deputy stood with a hand braced on his gun, the sun from the window glinting off the star pinned to his shirt.

  “Miss Morgan, I’m sorry for disturbing your rest, but I need to speak with you.”

  She nodded reluctantly. “Am I under arrest?”

  “For what, ma’am?”

  “Prostitution.”

  “Well, I guess that depends on the answers you give me. But if this is your first offense, you probably won’t spend more than one night in jail, and given the shape you’re in, I doubt very much you’ll even do that much time. I think you’ve been punished enough for your sins.”