Wild Ride Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  There were pictures on the wall. Of the scenery surrounding Copper Ridge, of deer and bear. It was a generic collection of things you might find in a bedroom—any bedroom—in a log cabin in the Oregon mountains.

  But it had nothing to do with Alex. Absolutely nothing at all.

  And it occurred to her then that even though he had moved into this house, he didn’t really live in it. And she had to wonder if he was even himself when he was around his brothers. All of it felt like something temporary. And it made her heart clench tight, made a fist of fear clamp hard around her throat.

  “This room doesn’t look like you.”

  “Excuse me?” he asked.

  “This room. It doesn’t look like you. It looks like some interior designer came in and made their best approximation of what a woodsy environment might look like if it were turned into a bedroom. But it doesn’t look like you.”

  “What would my bedroom look like, in your imagination, Clara?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, lifting one eyebrow.

  “It would look like you,” she said, feeling insistent, and frustrated that she wasn’t able to nail down an apt, easy description. But then, there was no apt, easy description for Alex. Alex was more complicated than that. Alex was...well, he was essentially Alex. And there were so many layers of him to try to get through that it was incredibly difficult to distill him into just one sentence. Particularly if you were trying to use interior design to do it.

  “So it would have my face printed on a bedspread?”

  “No,” she said, feeling irritated. “It would just have something of yours in it. And none of this is yours, right?”

  “I didn’t bring anything to Copper Ridge with me beyond one bag of clothes. The room was already furnished. Why would I bother to move any furniture out of the place I was living on base?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, starting to pace. “But that isn’t the point. You’ve been here for months and you haven’t actually moved in. And your brothers... You’re so weird with them. I mean, you’re just very...”

  “What, Clara? You’re going to offer a critique on my bedroom and my personality? Do you really feel qualified to do that?”

  “I’ve seen you naked, big man,” she said. “So I feel pretty damn qualified to give commentary.”

  “A lot of women have seen me naked, Clara,” he said, his voice somehow rough and gentle at the same time.

  The words sent a twinge of pain through her chest, but she didn’t allow them to get to her. Because that was what he wanted. He wanted to undermine this feeling that she knew who he was, that she might know what was happening here. But she was determined to not be undermined.

  “Are you planning on staying here, Alex?” She hadn’t planned on being so direct, but if it worked, it worked.

  His lips twitched. “I’ve never stayed in one place for very long. I like to keep my options open.”

  “But your options aren’t open, are they? You’re planning on leaving. Once you’re done with my ranch, you’re planning on leaving.”

  He let out a long, slow breath, pushed his hand back through his long dark hair. “I don’t know. That’s the best answer I can give you. I’m not used to this,” he said, waving his hand around. “This whole family house bullshit. This family togetherness thing. Liam left home when I was sixteen, and I never really saw him much after that. I joined the military; he actually went to college. That was the thing that surprised everybody the most, you know. Not just that Liam had the drive to get through college, but the fact that he had apparently done well enough all through high school to get himself a scholarship. At least that’s what I figure must have happened since there’s no way he could have gotten the kind of money he would’ve needed to go. But trust me, as much of a screw-up as that guy acted like when we were teenagers, it didn’t make much sense.”

  “Ah. So you both do it,” she said.

  “We both do what?”

  “You both pretend to be something you aren’t. Liam pretends not to try. And, let’s face it, he must try really hard. Because scholarships don’t accidentally fall into your lap and neither do the grade-point averages that earn them. But I watched him there at dinner, and you’re right, he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who spent his time hitting the books. And then there’s you. You act like everything’s a joke to you, Alex, and I wonder if anything is. I wonder if that smile is backed up by anything at all, or if it only goes as deep as your face.”

  His smile—the one that was almost permanently fixed on his face, twisted slightly, his upper lip curling into what nearly looked like a snarl. “Doesn’t matter, does it? What do I have to complain about, anyway?”

  “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you have a right to complain?”

  “Because I’m not dead, Clara. I’m alive. I’m standing here in front of you. I can go on to have a pretty damn amazing future, don’t you think? I certainly can’t walk around feeling like I’m not supposed to be here. That makes a mockery of it, doesn’t it?”

  Pain bled through those words, and they reached down inside of her and made it difficult for her to breathe. Made her gasp with the intensity of his emotion. He felt guilty. But it was something more than that.

  “Tell me,” she said quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Tell me about that day.”

  His expression turned harsh, his eyes looking almost wild. “You don’t want to hear about that.”

  “Maybe I don’t. But I might need to. It’s important.”

  “No, I think it’s important that you’re spared the details of your brother’s death. I’m connected to it. I know that. But you don’t need that on you.”

  “Alex I... I care about you. I really care about you. I don’t want you to have to carry this alone. You’re helping me. With my ranch, with feeling like I’m stuck in neutral, not going anywhere in my life. And I want... I want to be there for you too.”

  “If I wanted to talk about it, I could talk about it with anyone else. I could talk about it with one of my brothers. I certainly don’t need to dump it on you.”

  “You haven’t talked to them,” she said, her tone soft. “And I don’t think you will. So tell me. Please.”

  She wasn’t sure she was ready to hear about it. Wasn’t sure she could stand to hear the story of the day. She knew Alex wasn’t going to give her details that would disturb her too much, she knew he wasn’t going to traumatize her. But she also felt like he needed to be able to recount it. He was owed that. Because he was alive, and in his own words, he was standing. Except she had a feeling he was just barely standing.

  He was on the verge of breaking apart, and he would insist on smiling the whole entire way. Until it was too late for her or his brothers or anyone to do anything to save him.

  “This is exactly what Lane was worried about,” he said, the words broken. “That I was going to hurt you.”

  “Maybe before it’s all over, we’ll hurt each other. And it will be equal. How about that?”

  “Well, you can make it a goal, if you want.”

  She shook her head, sitting down next to him on the bed, sliding her fingertips down his forearm and lacing her fingers through his. “Tell me, Alex. I can’t stand this. Knowing that the same thing that hurts me is hurting you. I know that Jason died. And his death hurts. But I’m not the only one with grief. And you... Well, you feel guilty on top of it.”

  He didn’t bother to deny that.

  “It was just routine stuff,” he said, looking straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of them. “We were on patrol and we got ambushed. There was someone hiding behind... I guess it was a rise. A hill. And suddenly the sand was exploding around us as bullets hit everywhere. And all these things go through your mind, like do you run away? Run toward it? Go low or go high? It was hard to tell where i
t was coming from, what was coming next. And then Jason just...stepped in front of me. Like it was the easiest thing to do. Like it was the only choice to make.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, the words getting rougher. Alex closed his eyes. “He shielded me. Then he went down and I... I ended that bastard on the hill, Clara. I found him and I killed him. But it was too late. Too damn late.”

  “What happened?” she asked, looking down, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “After.”

  “I really wished he wasn’t dead,” Alex said, tightening his hold on Clara’s hand. “I never had much use for religion, but I know that Jason did. He talked about God and hope like it was something easy. And I tell you, I’ve never bargained with God before. But I did in that moment. Because I couldn’t imagine that Jason was the one who’d be taken. He had you. He had this place to go back to. I just...”

  “Did he tell you he figured he’d be fishing in heaven if something happened to him?” she asked quietly, thinking back on the earlier conversation the two of them had had.

  Alex laughed, the sound rough. “Yeah. He did. He’d say, ‘Well, at least we know if this goes to hell, I’ll be upstairs fishing with the big man.’”

  “That sounds like him,” Clara said, her throat almost unbearably tight now. She did her best to keep tears from falling, but she wasn’t completely successful.

  “I see it when I close my eyes,” Alex said. “I see him. Not how he looked when he was alive.”

  Her stomach clenched tight. She wanted so badly to carry all of this for Alex, but she wasn’t sure she could bear it. Jason had been her brother. The idea that he had been through all of that, that his body had suffered so much trauma was almost too much for her to think about.

  But Alex had seen it. And he couldn’t stop seeing it. It hurt her to know that. Went somewhere deeper than hurt.

  It was so strange, because when Alex had first come around, she’d been so wrapped up in her pain. So wrapped up in her anger at the fact that Alex had been put in a position where he owned her. Or at least, owned her livelihood.

  He had been the enemy in the beginning. And then after that, she had seen him as strong. As the soldier. As the one who was taking care of her, taking care of everything, of her life.

  He had been the rock in her mind, at first to throw herself against, then to test herself on. The rock by which she had determined she would become stronger.

  But she hadn’t considered there might be a weakness in him too.

  He was stoic, and when he wasn’t being stoic, he was smiling. But now she felt like it was all a game. Like it was all for show. She wanted to break the rock down and find the man underneath. She wondered if he would ever allow it. If it was even possible.

  “Alex,” she said, rubbing her fingertips over his knuckles. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

  He looked at her, and there was something pleading in those green eyes. Something that she couldn’t quite figure out. He wanted something from her, and it wasn’t what she was giving. Dammit, she didn’t know what to give him. She wanted to. She wanted to give him something, to take care of him in some way, in the ways that he had taken care of her. But she didn’t know how. She just didn’t care anymore that she was making the first move. Because it didn’t matter. Right now, pride didn’t matter. All that mattered was Alex. All that mattered was making sure he felt some of what she did. This big expanding thing in her chest that made it nearly impossible to breathe.

  That made it feel like this, like the two of them together, was the most important thing.

  Like maybe bison and the future didn’t matter so much.

  Like maybe nothing mattered outside of this house, outside of this room.

  She got up quickly, stumbled toward the door and slammed it shut, clicking the lock.

  “Clara?”

  “Don’t,” she said, returning to the bed. “I just want... I just want to make you feel better.”

  She reached out, gripping the hem of his T-shirt and jerking it over his head.

  He was so beautiful, her Alex. But she didn’t just look at him now and see a gorgeous man. Instead, she saw a warrior. A wounded one. Maybe he didn’t have scars on his body. Maybe he hadn’t been physically injured. But he had the kind of pain, the kind of injury, that might develop an infection. That might fester inside of him, grow, spread, until it eventually killed him.

  She put her hands on his chest, feeling all that heat, all that life beneath her palms, and she kissed him.

  Alex sat there, frozen, and simply let her kiss him. Simply let her take the lead. He tasted like desire, grief and need. And most of all like Alex. Her Alex.

  Heart thundering in her chest, she broke the kiss, feeling dizzy. Feeling determined. Then she got on her knees in front of him, planting her hands on his muscular, denim-covered thighs. She looked up at him, their eyes clashing. That same expression was there on his face, pain and pleading.

  But still, he didn’t say anything.

  “I want—” she fumbled with his belt “—I want you to understand.”

  He didn’t ask what it was she wanted him to understand, and she didn’t volunteer more information. Because the funny thing was, she wasn’t fully sure what it was she wanted him to understand. Maybe it was less about understanding and more about a feeling. That she wanted to take this emotion growing in the center of her chest and plant it inside of him. This certainty he was meant to be here. This feeling that he mattered. She wondered if he would ever believe it. If he would ever understand. Like she did. Deep down inside her soul. She felt it with a certainty that surpassed anything else. That surpassed the surety that the mountains would still stand tomorrow.

  She was so sure, and she knew he was anything but.

  But if she could, she would open herself up and let him see it. She would carve it all out of her chest and give it to him.

  She didn’t know what else to do but this. Didn’t know what else to do but lower his zipper and pull his jeans and underwear partway down his thighs.

  He was beautiful. There was no other word for it. She would never have thought she’d call that part of a man beautiful. But he was. Thick and perfect. Like he was made for her. She’d had him inside of her. And now she wanted to taste him.

  She leaned forward, testing his length with the flat of her tongue. He was so hot, so perfect.

  He reached out, grabbing hold of her hair. “Clara,” he said, his tone a warning.

  “Alex,” she said, keeping her own voice soft. “I need you to understand. I need you to understand how much I...how much I want you. How much I want this. How good I want you to feel.” But she wasn’t sure it mattered. Because there was a kind of reckless confidence rioting through her. A certainty that desire would be enough here.

  She wrapped her fingers around the thick, hard base of him and took the tip tentatively between her lips, sucking on him, running her tongue around the head until he groaned.

  She knew he wanted her to stop. But she also knew he wanted her to keep going. So she did.

  They were here. That was the thing. They had both lost so many people, both lost so much. She wasn’t sure where either of them would be standing in five years’ time, just that they would hopefully be standing. They were the ones who were left. The ones who were still here. And she wanted to do everything she could to revel in that knowledge.

  They were alive. They were alive, and they didn’t need to exist in endless pain. They could have pleasure. They deserved it. They could be happy, couldn’t they?

  Right now, she felt like she could at least.

  Except this was so much like pain, and she couldn’t explain why. Why she felt hollow between her thighs and needy and achy, desperate for him, even while she wanted to do nothing more than pour this pleasure on to him.

 
He jerked his hips upward, driving himself deeper into her mouth, and she adjusted the angle so she could take him. He was beyond himself, and she knew it. And that made her feel like she was being pleasured herself. But there was something satisfying in the denial of it. In this moment of focusing on him alone.

  “Clara,” he said, his voice a protest now. “Clara, don’t.”

  But she didn’t stop. She didn’t. And she knew it would end this way, without her finding her own satisfaction, but she didn’t really care. Because this was her satisfaction. Right now, this was all she needed.

  She tightened her grip on the base of his shaft as she continued to work him with her mouth, his hips moving reflexively as she did. She sucked him in as deep as she could, swirled her tongue around his shaft.

  “Clara,” he said again, tightening his hold on her hair, his body shaking beneath her. And then he shuddered out his release, and she worked every last bit from him, held him until the last tremor stopped moving through him.

  She felt like she’d been storm tossed. Like his orgasm was echoing inside of her. She rested her head on his thigh, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

  His fingers tangled in her hair, and she waited for him to apologize. Waited for him to say it was a mistake. That he shouldn’t have done it. She didn’t want him to say any of that.

  And he didn’t. For once, he didn’t. He didn’t go all overprotective soldier and act like she was a helpless victim who needed rescuing from his lustful intentions.

  No. He just sat there, breathing hard, his breath matching hers.

  He stroked her hair, and it pulled slightly because he was all tangled up, but she didn’t mind. It felt good. It felt good to be with him like this. To live in this moment. To live.

  “Clara,” he started, and she winced. Afraid the apology was coming now. “Damn.”

  She laughed, which was possibly a ridiculous thing to do after you had just given a man a blow job. But she couldn’t help it.

  “Is something funny? Because I have to tell you, with your face down there still, it’s a little bit insulting.”