by Stacy Dawn
“You remember my mom’s name?”
“I thought it pretty, different.” Elizabeth suddenly registered the loosening of his hands and slight surprise in his tone and realized her blunder. “Kinda stuck,” she covered lamely and fumbled to set the picture back safely on the shelf.
“Yeah, stuck with Dad, too. Called her his full-blooded Nordic beauty.”
She blew out a thankful breath that he didn’t question her further and turned, just as he zipped up his fly.
Damn. Just looking at him took all rational thought from her head. So much so, it took her a minute to realize he was still talking.
“...so they wanted to keep to tradition, hence our names.”
She didn’t understand the slight grimace or the reference until he nodded back to the picture of his family.
“Joosef and Freya. But call them that and you might as well stand in front of a semi on the highway. Dusty,” he indicated, pointing to the taller, lankier boy. His finger moved to tap the little mop-top girl next to his mother. “And Free.”
Gretal’s aunt and uncle.
Elizabeth bit her lip. Was this the moment? Did she tell him now? She watched him step across the small space to grab a shirt out of the thin wardrobe. What did she really know about him except the names of his family, that he was an amazing musician/songwriter...and exceptional in bed? Did she trust her heart, telling her he was a good man....or her head, warning her that he was still a rodeo cowboy, here today, gone tomorrow?
Fear and self-preservation made her hesitate. She needed to know more before she could risk her daughter’s future—or her heart—on this man. Though even her head whispered that it might be a little too late for the latter.
Elizabeth loosened the hold on her lip and concentrated on putting on her jacket. Her gaze darted between her task and Grey, shrugging his long arms into a white-and-blue striped, denim shirt. Her fingers itched to brush the light curls on his open chest, their soft texture a direct contrast to the hard planes below. Purebred example of his Viking ancestry. Hmmm, that might be an interesting place to start.
“Grey just doesn’t quite have a Nordic ring to it like your brother and sister’s names,” she said, picking up their conversation where her mind had deviated. Pulled like a magnet, she stepped closer, inhaling his freshly-showered scent. “What name did your parents give you?”
Soft hairs tickled her fingers as that draw pulled them to glide over his chest. His hand covered hers and he brought them to his lips and kissed her palm. Her elbows went instantly weak from the tingles created.
Grey grinned knowingly, not releasing her hand as he turned to the built-in bureau.
“What I’m about to show you has only been seen by necessary rodeo officials, and the occasional highway patrol trooper.”
He held out his driver’s license but didn’t let go when she took hold. With a small laugh over their little tug-of-war, she yanked the laminated card from his hand. “Gregore Igore Wulfsen,” she read aloud. Her eyebrows raised and she couldn’t bring them down or suppress a bubble of laughter. “Well, I can see where Grey makes sense...Igore?” she couldn’t help asking.
His jaw tightened, but the grin on his sexy face bellied his attempt to look stern. “That would be my grandfather’s name.”
“Cute.” Elizabeth wrapped her hands beneath his undone shirt. “Wasn’t there an Igore somewhere that was a mad scientist’s ever-faithful servant?” She rubbed her face against his chest, finishing with a flick of her tongue over his peaked nipple. “Hmmm, maybe there’s some ancestry there, too. I fully admit, you serve very well.”
Grey’s arms shot out and grasped her around the waist. “Wrong country, darlin’. But I’m all for a little more experimentation with you.”
His lips devoured her neck and sent instant whirls of sensation crashing through her. Her hands fisted in his open shirt to keep from combusting on the spot.
Only when Grey’s head darted up did Elizabeth hear the rapid pounding on the door.
“Grey? Don’t tell me your sorry ass is still in bed. Let’s go!”
Grey’s head fell heavy to her shoulder and rolled back and forth. When he raised it a moment later, a tolerant smile tilted his lips. “Speaking of family.” He stood tall and grabbed her hand just as the trailer door swung open.
“Hey, bro, what kept you...ohhh.”
“Stop your grinning and get yourself in here,” Grey said to the other tall, Viking-like cowboy with a foot up on one metal step and the door half-opened.
He stepped back and let go of her hand only long enough to shake that of his brother’s. Though Elizabeth tried to move out of the way, Grey was having none of it.
He set his hand on her shoulder and raised a brow. “Dusty, this is Lizzie. Lizzie, my older brother, Dusty, whose timing is better on a bull than at my door.”
A surprise twitch of the elder Wulfsen’s brow gave her pause even though the wide grin was welcoming.
He crossed his arms over his wide chest and nodded to Grey. “Your mysterious muse lady? Damn, you do know how to fantasize.”
“Be nice,” Grey warned.
Elizabeth’s cheeks instantly burned. He’s told his brother about me...when...why?
She didn’t have time to focus on the questions, for Dusty touched the brim of his Stetson and nodded.
“Good to meet you, ma’am. My little brother always had a way with words. Let me just say he didn’t exaggerate when describing you.” He winked at Grey. “Wait ’til I tell Free about this.”
“I didn’t think she’d be in Texas this week. That’s great.”
“Yep, saw her just this morning as she brought her horses in.”
The brothers continued to talk, but Elizabeth couldn’t focus on their words. She watched Grey with the eyes of a hawk, trying to decipher the cryptic comments of his brother. Grey’s pursuit of his songwriting on a suggestion from her, talking about her to his family, asking her to stay...could it all mean...?
A squeeze to her shoulder brought her focus back to the trailer, suddenly claustrophobic with the two large cowboys filling the narrow space.
“You okay?”
Grey’s worried eyes pulled at her confusion even more. She forced a smile and nodded, then turned to Dusty to avoid the questions in his steel gaze that she couldn’t even answer for herself.
With a wipe of damp palms on her jacket, she aimed for a casual tone. “You’re a bull-rider, then?”
“Yep.” He checked his watch. “Speaking of which, the preliminaries will be starting soon.” He held a hand out to her. “Very nice to meet you, Ms. Muse.”
Elizabeth’s disappeared in his. “You, too.”
“Come find me later.” Dusty gave his brother a secret smile and was gone.
“And that would be Dusty.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but grin at Grey’s tolerant tone as he closed the door. She fidgeted her finger along the edge of the kitchenette’s counter. “You seem close.”
He started to button his shirt. “Yeah, I guess.”
His quirked smile told her more than that and it gave her hope. If he was close to his own family, maybe an impromptu one might not be too much of a stretch for him.
The picture in the bedroom came to mind and how much Gretal looked like her grandmother. “Your parents must be proud of all of you,” she ventured.
His fingers stilled and she feared she may have overstepped the tentative bounds of their tentative liaison.
Grey finished the last button and tucked his shirt into the undone waist of his jeans. “They’re both gone now.”
“Oh Grey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I just thought—”
He gave her a small smile and reached out to brush a hair behind her ear. “Hey, don’t be sorry. Nothing to do with you.”
No, nothing to do with me. Then why did she feel so bad? Because Gretal will never know the love of any grandparents.
The sudden sense of loss prompted her to confess, “My mom died
when I was young, too.” She wrapped her hand around his arm in communal understanding, just another bond they shared.
Elizabeth briefly wondered what happened to his parents. The innocent thought prompted another and her heart slammed against her chest. What if it was some disease that killed his parents? A hereditary, terminal illness? She knew nothing about his family’s medical history. Not expecting the pregnancy, she’d had no history sheet like they provided from the donor at the sperm bank.
Elizabeth broke contact and turned away to collect herself. “Wh-what happened to your parents?” she choked, covering the stutter with a fake cough. Had she condemned her own child to a horrible fate—cancer, tumors, something worse?
A rustle of clothing from behind told her Grey had moved. She turned to find him setting a Stetson on his head and holding the trailer door open.
He nodded for her to lead before he spoke. “Mom died in a car accident when I was about ten.”
She stepped on weak knees down the two steps to the ground. Relief flooded through her chest...followed by the guilt of her ridiculous thoughts.
“After that, things kinda changed,” Grey continued. He stepped down, took her hand, and led her down the gravel road to the rodeo grounds. “We stayed with our aunt for awhile. She had no use for three rambunctious children, especially once the lung cancer took hold. Not too long after, she passed away and Dad took us on the road with him.”
How sad, shuffled around like that. She didn’t think the constant travel much of a life for children but, then again, Grey seemed to do all right by it.
“It was better for a bunch of rodeo brats like us,” he finished.
He lowered his Stetson against the bright sun and shrugged a shoulder. Even with the clear sign he didn’t want to talk about it, Elizabeth needed to know more. “What was that like?”
“Okay, I guess. Dad was usually off at an event so we didn’t really get to spend a lot of time with him.” He squeezed her hand and gave a small grin. “But he went out the only way he wanted, doing what he loved.”
There was something more there, a sliver of hurt not covered by the steel eyes. She understood. There were all kinds of abandonment; some were just more permanent than others.
“What about your Mom? How did she die?”
Elizabeth glanced up into the distance, the words hard to find. Granny O’Leary never hid her disappointment in her daughter and her mother never found acceptance, or the will to live—not even for her own daughter. It was a heavy cross to bear.
“My mother wasn’t what you would call a very strong person,” she began slowly as they entered the rodeo grounds. “Life hadn’t been kind. She eventually just...couldn’t find a reason to keep trying.”
“Lizzie.” He’d stopped and wrapped her in his arms. “Ah, Lizzie. I’m sorry.”
The warmth and comfort of his hold threatened to undo the years of bricks she’d built around her own self-lacking. She pushed at his chest, needing the air to find her control. “Don’t be sorry. Nothing to do with you.” Elizabeth grinned up, using his own words to break the tension that squeezed her heart.
Thankfully, he must have sensed her inner fight for he let his hand brush down her arm to hold her hand and continued walking. “What about your dad? Was he at least there for you?”
How did this can of worms get open? She was the one who wanted his history; how did it come about that she was the one confessing her own family sins? And how did she answer his simple question when it didn’t escape her that her own recently chosen path was fast following her mother’s?
“He, well...I never actually knew my fath—”
She was saved from the humiliation of telling him her father was a rodeo cowboy who left her mother with a baby and a broken heart. Unfortunately, she was saved by another swarm of sultry sexpots.
“Ohmygod. Grey! Grey! Sign my T-shirt, pleeeeeaaase,” one squealed, pushing Elizabeth out of the way with a thrust of her low-collared, buxom chest.
She stepped back and frowned at the group. All in tight jeans and tighter T-shirts. All vying for Grey’s attention. And all of them red flags screaming in front of her.
What am I doing? What the hell was I thinking?
“Lizzie, wait!”
She stopped, but didn’t turn back around; there were far too many bouncing boobs to contend with. The squeak of a marker raked over plastic preceded communal groans of disappointment. Seconds later, firm hands braced her shoulders and turned her around.
“I’m sorry about that. I’m not used to it, either.”
Her brow quirked before she could control her own doubtful reaction.
“Seriously, you gotta believe me.” As if for emphasis, he swiped a hand toward the ladies’ backsides strolling away.
Right. “Oh, no, a cowboy like you would never be used to sexy women throwing themselves at you.” Even ordinary women, she added, including herself in the mass.
“Lizzie, don’t go there,” Grey warned. His grip tightened. “It’s not like that. None of this was my idea. In reality, it’s all your fault.”
She pulled out of his grip. “My fault. How the hell are they my fault?” And what the hell did he find so amusing all of a sudden.
“You’re the one who convinced me to pursue my music.” A confident grin tipped his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Crazy ladies only started showing up after I took your advice, sold my songs, and my management company started making me do silly things like that photo shoot yesterday. Apparently, the finals are being televised on one of the sports channels this weekend. They think a songwriter who also lives the real rodeo life is a good selling point. I’m used to being a bronc rider, not a selling feature.”
“You can’t blame me for a decision you made on your own. It was a good decision,” Elizabeth interjected with a sputter and shake of her finger. “But don’t tell me you don’t like the attention. You’re the Lone Wolf, have been ranking in the circuit for years. You can’t tell me you haven’t had your picture taken, not to mention a few floozies tripping over you.”
His hands dropped to his hips and the humor of a moment ago faded. “This is different. Nashville is different. I’m still getting my feet under me with all that. At least here”—he threw a hand out toward the arena—“I know what I’m doing...or at least I used to.”
So, the big bad bronc rider suffers from insecurities, too. The revelation didn’t help. It made Grey somehow more human, vulnerable...and sexy as hell. Elizabeth puffed out the rest of her anger.
“I was a happy-go-lucky rodeo cowboy until you came along.” A smile returned to Grey’s face. He reached out a hand to caress her cheek and his head tilted; a curious understanding darkened his eyes. “...until you.”
His gaze held hers and the world stopped. No movement, no air. Nothing but the surety in steel eyes, and the thunderous pounding of her heart.
The touch of his lips to hers brought the world back, not with a crash of sound and senses, but with the whisper of a heart’s tender promise.
A flash of denim and pink whizzed between them. Just as quick, Grey let her go, bent down, and snaked an arm around a child’s torso.
“Whoa there, cowgirl.” He chuckled while yanking the young girl away from the fence she’d been about to crawl under. “I don’t think you want to get that close to a bull there, darlin’.”
Elizabeth sucked in a breath, both at the suddenness of the interruption and a mother’s fright for what could have happened to the child. Thank God for Grey’s quick thinking.
“Horsies, horsies,” the sweet voice squealed in delight.
Grey propped the child up in his strong arms and pointed to an adjacent corral. “They’re over there, kiddo. There’s the horsies.”
Breathe. Come on, Elizabeth. Breathe before you pass out! The sight of him so gentle and patient with the child caused her lungs to constrict and tears to burn her eyes.
“Maggie! God, child, you scared the life out of me,” cried a frazzled w
oman, running toward them.
The girl squirmed and Grey set her down as her mother knelt and gathered her in her outstretched embrace.
“You know better than to run off,” the woman scolded, then clasped the child to her breast and stared up over the small shoulder to Grey. “Thank you so much. She’s such a handful sometimes.”
“No problem. Gotta admire a girl who knows what she wants.” He squatted down and tapped the child on the nose. “Now, you listen to your mama, Maggie, and maybe someday you can ride the horsies.”
Elizabeth raised trembling fingers to her lips. Her heart ached to hold her own daughter—their daughter.
She’d made her decision—and only hoped it turned out to be the right one.
Grey stood and Elizabeth touched his arm. “I have to go.”
“What? Why?”
She braced herself against the confusion and hurt on his face. “I have...something I need to take care of. I promise, I’ll be back.” With your daughter. She rose on tiptoes and kissed him. Trust me, please, she begged. “I’ll meet you right here, tonight.”
He caressed her face. The unease in his eyes didn’t match the slow smile. “I’m holding you to that.”
Chapter Nine
“Where’s Ms. Muse?”
Grey reigned himself in from slugging his brother and glanced down at his watch. “She’ll be here soon.” He should have pinned her down to a time. This waiting was driving him nuts. She’ll show. She promised she’d be back, he kept telling himself, but the small knot in his stomach grew with every tick of the clock.
Dusty chuckled beside him. “A grimace like that is only caused by two things: a bad burrito or a woman.”
This time he did haul off and slug Dusty in the arm. “Give it a rest and pay attention. Free’s up next.”
Folding his arms over the rail, Grey watched his sister ride her palomino quarterhorse, Mistrunner, into the ring. She’d been riding almost before she could walk, and every movement showed her expertise.
“Hey, isn’t that Zane Malone? Haven’t seen him in a bit.”
Grey glanced to the left side of the ring and saw the tall cowboy avidly watching his sister. He shrugged off the comment to return his gaze to the ring. His hand fisted with contained pride at every successful round of barrels his sister completed.
