by Jamie Craig
She leaned forward and dragged the flat of her tongue over his skin.
"Now the salt."
The tiny specks of salt looked bright against his dark skin, and her mouth watered, but not for the alcohol. He caught his breath when she touched him with her tongue again, chasing the granules of salt.
"Now drink,” he instructed hoarsely before biting into the lime.
It wasn't quite as rough going down the second time, and Rebecca was more aware of closing the distance to Spencer's mouth. She caught the soft fruit with her teeth, but instead of pulling it away, she sucked at it right there, closing her eyes to stave off the dizziness threatening to overwhelm her. The juice ran down her chin. A light weight settled on her shoulder.
Spencer pulled away, but he didn't take his hand from her shoulder. She opened her eyes slowly, surprised at the effort it took. His face was still very close to hers, close enough she smelled the lime juice on his lips, though the wedge itself was no longer in his mouth. He brushed the back of his other hand across her chin, and it took a few seconds for her to realize he wiped juice away.
"You okay?"
Wordlessly, Rebecca nodded. Her lips felt swollen, her tongue too thick to speak. The room spun, though she understood that was from the tequila and not some freak of nature. The details of his face captivated her. He had a little scar on his cheek, high up near his temple, and she tilted her head in order to look at it a little better.
"Did you get this from bull riding?” she asked, reaching up to touch it.
"A bull clipped me with his back hoof. He came about this close,” Spencer held his fingers an inch apart, “to smashing my skull in."
Her eyes widened, and her mouth made a soft o in sympathy. Without thinking, Rebecca leaned forward and skimmed her lips over the mark.
"You bull riders are crazy,” she murmured.
"You'd have to be a little crazy, I suppose.” To her surprise, he gently pushed her back to arm's length. “But you'll never find another high like it. It's worth a little risk to do something you love. I'll deal again."
Rebecca barely noticed the cards this time. She was too busy studying every bit of him, looking for previously unnoticed scars. He didn't seem to mind her intent perusal.
"Looks like you win,” he announced, startling her back to attention. “Just a pair of fives, but I've got nothing."
The implication of his words took a moment to sink in. With a half-smile, he guided a lime wedge to her mouth, but when he grasped her wrist, ready to wet it for the salt, Rebecca yanked her hand back.
"Not there.” Plucking the lime out, she repeated herself, pushing her hair off her shoulder. “I win, I get to pick where you take the shot from.” She curled her fingers into the neckline of her top, exposing more of her shoulder and neck as she tilted her head to the side. “Here."
Spencer slid forward, heedless of the cards he sent to the floor, and gripped her shoulder. She remained motionless as he tilted his head, resisting the urge to lean into him. Her chest hitched as his warm breath fluttered across her skin, and chills rolled down her spine at the first brush of contact. His tongue seemed impossibly hot against her flushed body, but the moisture from his mouth cooled the patch of skin he targeted. Goose bumps erupted across her arms and shoulders, and he sprinkled a pinch of salt across her neck. She wanted to watch him, but her eyes fluttered shut as soon as he touched her again. It might have just been her imagination, but she thought he lapped her skin more than necessary.
Spencer downed the shot quickly, then his mouth covered the citrus. He barely bit into the fruit before pulling away. She didn't have a chance to realize his intentions before he plucked the citrus from her lips and replaced it with his mouth. She parted her lips and the mingled flavor of lime and tequila exploded along her taste buds. The trace of alcohol remaining on his tongue was more intoxicating than both of the shots she drank, and Rebecca clutched at his shirt as his tongue slid against hers.
It was hardly her first kiss, but for the effect he had on her, it might as well have been. She tightened her grip on his shirt to quell the sudden shaking in her hands, and her lips tingled. It might have been the tequila, but Rebecca doubted it. This was all Spencer. God, if kissing him felt like this...
His hand slid beneath her hair to cradle the back of her neck. Any further need to debate vanished with the callused tips of his fingers massaging her skin.
Spencer cupped her breast with his other hand, his fingers brushing against her nipple. It hardened immediately beneath his touch, and she arched her back, pushing for more contact. They broke apart at the same time to gasp for breath, and he used the opportunity to pull her onto his lap. She straddled him, the bulge in his pants pressing against her inner-thigh, and they hungrily sought out each other's mouths again.
Her world narrowed to his lips, his hands, and his body. Everything else fell away. He tore away from her without warning, his body tensing. Rebecca leaned back, confused, but before she said a word, the camper door flew open.
"Becky Rankin, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
The sound of Lonnie's voice made her scramble out of Spencer's lap, but the instant her foot touched the floor, the world pitched around her and Rebecca fell on her ass. Strong hands grabbed her arm to haul her back upright, but it wasn't the hot bull rider helping her. It wasn't even Lonnie. It was Officer Ferris. Her dad's best friend.
"Oh, crap,” she muttered.
Spencer stood. “Hey, guys, this is just a misunderstanding."
Ferris released Becky long enough to grab the depleted bottle of tequila. “Giving alcohol to a minor, Cole? No, I think I have a perfect understanding of what's going on here."
Spencer gaped. “Minor? No, nobody's a minor here. Right?"
"I'm not a minor,” Rebecca cut in. Ferris didn't blink, and Lonnie snorted. They were ruining everything. “I'm not. Eighteen is not a minor. It's just not legal for drinking."
"Eighteen? Lonnie, look man, I didn't know she was eighteen."
"But you didn't ask, either,” he accused.
Spencer swallowed. “Okay, you're right, I should have asked before I got out the tequila. It won't happen again."
"You know we could bring you in front of Judge Spizer and get you banned from the entire county,” Ferris warned. “We don't take kindly to your sort taking advantage of our daughters around here."
Rebecca stepped between them. If Spencer got kicked off the circuit because of this, it would to be all her fault. She couldn't let that happen. “Don't do it, Bruce. Because then I'll have to tell about the party at graduation, when you kept buying for us. You were the one who went out and brought back the keg, remember?"
"Becky—"
"Shut up, Lonnie.” She stepped closer to Ferris, shifting her tone. “Please, Bruce, this isn't Spencer's fault. It's mine. Don't punish him because I didn't mention my age."
Bruce looked from Rebecca to Spencer and back again, the hard light in his eyes softening slightly. “Fine. But this is your warning, Cole. I better not catch you doing something like this again. Understood?"
"Completely,” Spencer said quickly. “It'll never happen again."
Rebecca threw her arms around Ferris. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You won't regret it."
He patted her back awkwardly before pushing her away. “Let's get you home, Becky. Your dad's been wondering where you are."
She cast a glance over her shoulder, taking a deep breath before speaking. “Can I just have a second with Spencer? To apologize. I'll be right out. I promise. And if I'm not, you can tell my dad everything."
Lonnie looked like he wanted to argue more, but Bruce glanced at Spencer and nodded. “You have one minute, Becky. Any more than that, and...” He made a slicing motion across his neck.
"One minute. Got it."
Spencer waited until the door closed behind Ferris before saying softly, “I probably would have invited you here even if I had known."
Her eyes widened
. Listening for sounds outside the door, she closed the distance until they were toe to toe. “I'm so sorry about all this. I should've said something, except I think Lonnie would have gone looking for another reason to get me out of here.” She smiled. “Told you he was overprotective."
Spencer's fingers glided down her arm. “Don't apologize. It was worth the heart attack they gave me. And don't be too hard on him. If I had a cousin like you, I'd be overprotective, too.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips across her cheek. The contact was almost innocent, but it still made her toes curl. “Maybe our paths will cross again next year, yeah?"
"Maybe. I'll even ditch the chaperone for you.” Though it took stomping on every impulse she had to throw her arms around him, Rebecca retreated toward the door, not taking her eyes off him for a second. “Thanks for pretty much making my whole summer. And don't worry too much about Laramie next week. I have a feeling you're going to show Red's Kitten exactly who's boss."
"I'll dedicate the ride to you,” Spencer promised.
She smiled, and opened her mouth to speak again, but the doorknob turned in her hand and Lonnie nearly pulled her off balance.
"Let's get going, Becky. Your minute is up."
Spencer raised his hand in a brief wave. “G'night."
She waved back, not trusting her voice to work again. She waited until they were in the parking lot to slap Lonnie's arm.
"You just have to go and ruin everything, don't you? He's a good guy. You didn't have to do that."
"He is not a good guy. He's a cowboy, and he's only after one thing, just like the rest of them. You deserve better than somebody who'll take advantage of you and ride away in the morning without a second glance."
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Please. You act like I'm a virgin. I know the score, Lonnie. It's not like I haven't been coming to these things since I was two."
When Lonnie launched into how she shouldn't even know what the score was, Rebecca tuned him out. She'd heard it all before. The men in town had the patent on trying to protect the women in it. She just didn't understand why so many women tolerated it.
She wasn't going to. As soon as she had the chance, she was out of there.
And maybe Spencer Cole would be the first person she looked up.
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CHAPTER 3
A weight sat right between his eyes, pressing on his skull with dull intensity. His face felt smashed into bits. If he looked in a mirror, it'd be like looking at those paintings by Picasso his mother had loved so much. He ran his thick tongue over his teeth, surprised to find they were all still in his head.
It took several attempts to open his eyes, and ultimately, he gave up. Each time he cracked an eyelid, the light from overhead pierced his skull and sent a hot flash of pain through his brain. Spencer thought it wouldn't be so bad if he knew where he was, but he had no clue. He couldn't see. He couldn't smell anything. He must have been away from the rodeo arena.
Encouraged by the fact he still had his tongue and teeth, he tried to convince his lips to form three simple words. Where am I? When that didn't happen, Spencer shifted to something easier. One single syllable.
"Help?"
He heard the whisper of soft-soled footsteps and a cool hand touched his wrist. “I'm right here, Mr. Cole,” a woman said. She sounded older, like somebody's wizened aunt. “Just relax."
Right where? Christ, why can't I open my eyes?
He licked his lips, and his tongue felt like sandpaper against the chapped skin.
"Water?"
Her light touch disappeared, and liquid gurgled as it was poured out of a pitcher. Then, a strong arm slid beneath his shoulders, easing him upright only an inch or two before pain shot through his upper body. He gasped, but only for a moment before the nurse pressed a glass to his mouth.
The cool, refreshing water quenched the worst of the Sahara in his throat. Spencer gulped, but after only a few mouthfuls, the cup disappeared, as did the woman's arm.
"That's enough for now. I'll be right back. Dr. Allan needs to be notified you're awake, and your friend is waiting for news on your condition. I think she's going to be very relieved."
If Spencer could have formed more than one syllable at a time, he would have begged her not to leave him. Clearly, he was in the hospital, but he had no idea why. How long had he been there? How long had he been asleep? Who was Dr. Allan? Who waited for him? A brief flare of panic moved through his chest, but frustration dampened it.
"Relax, there, Cole,” his uncle's voice said. “The doctor is coming. He'll tell you what's going on. Keep it together."
Normally, Spencer didn't appreciate it when Travis Cole's voice invaded his thoughts, but now he was grateful for it.
The door opened and snicked shut again. The footsteps approaching were slower, heavier, the heel of a boot instead of a nurse's shoe.
"Spence?"
Becca?
He had to see her. He didn't care if his head was smashed in and his eyes refused to cooperate. He had to know it was her. He took a deep breath through his mouth—his nose wasn't good for smelling or breathing—and forced his right eye open. His vision immediately swam with tears but, gradually, Becca's familiar face came into focus.
"Happened?"
Her fingers fluttered over his brow. “Your arm got caught in Rusty's rope, and you were down in the well. God, Spence, you scared the crap out of me. You weren't waking up and...but the doctor let me crash in the waiting room until you did.” It looked like she was trying to smile, but with his blurry vision, he couldn't be sure. “Those chairs are made for short people. I had to fold myself in half to squeeze my ass into one."
"Don't remember,” Spencer croaked. In fact, the last thing he remembered was drawing Rusty Jack Knife. He tried to lift his right arm, but like most things, it refused to cooperate. He moaned softly and let his eye drop shut again. “What's wrong?"
She took a few seconds to answer. That couldn't be good. Nothing fazed Becca.
"You dislocated your shoulder. Tore up some tendons. Some ligaments.” She took a deep breath. “You got a concussion, too. But Dr. Allan can tell you all about that. I don't know much about the specifics."
Spencer's lungs and heart stopped. She might as well have told him his arm had been ripped off. He knew plenty of cowboys with torn tendons and ligaments—and very few of those ever joined the circuit again. He tried to tell himself it could be relatively minor. He tried to tell himself it would be okay. But black despair settled on his chest and limbs like a blanket.
"Becca, please...will I ride?"
Her fingers trembled where they touched his arm, telling him more than anything she might say.
"Dr. Allan said they'd have to run tests to be sure, but...he doesn't think you will. I'm so sorry, Spence."
Something in his chest withered, shrunk, until it was a tiny speck left in a very empty space. Spencer couldn't even find the energy to acknowledge he had heard her. The pain in his head increased tenfold, and now he felt it in his arm as well. A sort of slicing agony that went bone deep. Spencer didn't understand how it could be true. One stupid accident ruined his entire career? His entire life? It couldn't be true.
Her hand disappeared when the door opened again, but he didn't bother opening his eyes as the doctor swept in and introduced himself. Poking and prodding followed, with pain in places that hadn't felt pain before. When the questions started, he answered in the same monosyllables he'd given the nurse. He didn't have strength for anything else.
"...after the surgeries, though, you're going to need extensive physical therapy. Good thing for you, you've got Ms. Rankin to help you out."
Spencer barely paid attention to the doctor—what could he possibly say that Spencer would want to hear?—but Becca's name caught his attention.
"What?"
"Well, you're going to need some help, Mr. Cole. Ms. Rankin said you didn't have any family around here, is that right?"
Spencer had be
en so overwhelmed by the crushing news Becca had delivered it never even occurred to him to worry about his short-term care.
"No family.” His lips pulled into something resembling a grin. “No insurance, either, Doc."
"You can take payment up with Accounting, then. My job is to make sure you get well. With Ms. Rankin's help. You're a very lucky man. Most cowboys I see don't have anybody."
"Oh.” He didn't understand. He suspected confusion would become his natural state. He liked Becca. He looked forward to seeing her every year. But she barely had any more reason to take care of him than she would to take care of a perfect stranger. “Why?"
"Your head injury makes it necessary for you to have someone available to you, round the clock. You're going to have very limited mobility, Mr. Cole. Someone is going to have to be responsible for making sure you get to physical therapy, as well as seeing to your needs on a daily basis. At least until you can take care of yourself."
"I don't mind, Spence.” Becca's soft voice. “But if there's somebody else you'd rather have do it..."
"No...Nobody else.” Except Travis, and Spencer didn't even know where his uncle was. He could have been anywhere in the country. The man didn't even have a cell phone. Tracking him down would take days, if not weeks. Was his head injury really so severe? Beyond the pain, and the confusion, and the pain, he more or less felt fine. Not like his brains were scrambled at all. “Thanks."
"I'll leave you two to talk while I go arrange with the consultant for your first surgery.” The white coat blurred out of his line of sight, leaving Becca's darker outline somewhere off to the right. “If you need anything, just ring for the nurse."
Spencer waited until the doctor left before he tried to speak again. “In the well, huh?” He paused, focusing his thoughts and formed a second question. “Didn't get my ride?"
"No, sorry.” She loomed larger again, and the side of the bed creaked slightly as she perched on the edge of it. “The clock stopped at six seconds.” Her hand returned to his arm, heavier this time like she wasn't afraid of hurting him. “How do you feel?"
