by Liz Talley
He lifted his head, murmuring, “That’s right, baby. That’s right.”
She pulled his hair and shoved him back down between her thighs, making him laugh. But she didn’t care. All she wanted at that moment built inside her, a sweet beautiful pressure that made her lengthen her muscles and point her toes as she reached for the earth-shattering climax.
And it came crashing hard, shaking her body. She clenched her teeth and arched her back, calling out Cal’s name.
But he didn’t stop. No. This cowboy kept holding on, loving her with his mouth, hands firm on her hips so she couldn’t wriggle away. She didn’t need him to say the words to know he wanted her shattering against his mouth again.
So she did.
After the waves subsided, she untangled her fingers from his hair and scrambled, pushing him back as she came up to her knees. “That was fun. Now it’s your turn.”
“But I want to fu—”
“And where’s your condom, Mr. Lincoln?” she said, tugging the button of his jeans open. The zipper glided smooth as butter and in five seconds, she had his cutoffs mid-thigh and boxers down so his thick erection sprang toward her.
“You have a point,” he managed to say when she took hold of his thickness, sliding her probably too-cool hand over the smooth shaft and wrapping her fingers around him. “I’ll defer to you, boss.”
“Good boy,” Maggie said, bending over and licking the glistening droplet of ejaculate from the head of his cock.
“Oh, shit,” he breathed, his hands threading through her hair. “That’s fucking good, baby.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, sucking the smooth, rounded head into her mouth. His fingers pulled her hair from the braids, telling her all she needed to know about how her mouth felt on him. She started moving, taking all of his length into the heat of her mouth, applying the perfect pressure. He was large but not monstrous, which made giving him head pleasurable. She worked him, one hand cupping his balls while the other framed her lips, adding pressure. He bent forward, reaching for her ass, stroking, dipping his fingers into her slick heat. He played with her while she did her best to drive him insane.
Didn’t take long until she felt his balls tighten in her hand.
“Oh, Maggie,” he groaned between what sounded like gritted teeth. And then she felt the spurt of hot ejaculate. She pulled off and worked him with her hand, lifting her gaze to watch him come.
Cal closed his eyes, muscles quivering in his chest as he thrust his hips in time with her hand.
“Shit, woman,” he said, finally opening brilliant blue eyes that were still dilated and halfway amazed. “You trying to kill me?”
“You think that was me trying to kill you?” she joked, rising, refastening the string bikini and looking for the towel she’d spied earlier. Finding it tossed over the clothesline, she snagged it and handed it to Cal. “Guess we better figure out how to hook this water hose into the sprayer.”
He reassembled his clothing. “You want to work after that?”
Maggie crooked her head. “That’s what I’m paying you for.”
“I was thinking along the lines of a nap.”
“Wrong,” Maggie said, picking up the hose that still gushed water. She walked over and turned the spigot off. “I’m going to fetch a T-shirt to cover this. I’d die if your brother saw me looking like this.”
“We must protect the innocent,” he said, eyeing the pressure washer.
“If you remember, we caught him out here trying to score with his girlfriend. I doubt he’s all that innocent,” she cracked.
Cal put his fingers in his ears. “I can’t hear you.”
Maggie smiled and headed back toward the kitchen door, marveling she’d engaged in oral sex out in the open. She’d once watched porn in college in which three people had frolicked naked in the middle of a public park, and rather than find the scenario titillating, she’d been appalled anyone could have sex somewhere a passerby could happen upon them. But she’d allowed Cal to peel her bikini off and go down on her on a grassy patch in broad daylight right outside a God-fearin’ town. That’s what the man did to her. He took things she thought impossible and made them perfect.
Just as she pulled on the screen door handle, she heard the sound of a vehicle come up the drive.
“Holy crap,” she muttered, scooting inside the kitchen, terror and relief mixing together. She peered out as the silver sedan came to a halt in the gravel. Five minutes earlier and whoever was driving would have bumbled into a real-life porno. Scrambling up the back kitchen stairs, Maggie made it to her room and into a tunic T-shirt dress and sandals in less than two minutes, setting records with her wardrobe change. She could do nothing about the messy, damp braids or the flush in her cheeks from her romp with Cal, but she was presentable.
Sort of.
The doorbell rang right as she stepped back into the living area, something that surprised her since she’d never actually tried the bell before. She pulled the door open to an older man standing on the freshly painted porch. He had coal-black hair gathered into a queue, wore a crisp pair of blue jeans, white dress shirt and a silver bolo tie. His craggy face was tan, his cheekbones proclaiming him Native American, but his eyes were stone gray and somewhat distant. He looked startled, though he’d been the one ringing the bell.
“Can I help you?” she asked, wondering if perhaps he, too, had heard about the ranch for sale. Two potential buyers within hours of each other?
“Is Cal Lincoln here?”
“Cal?”
“Yes, I need to talk with him.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling a wariness creeping over her. This man did not look friendly. He looked perturbed. Had Cal done something to him?
The man’s mouth flattened with impatience. “Ma’am?”
“Who may I say is asking?” she asked, gripping the doorknob tightly. Perhaps she should shut the door, lock it and get Cal.
“Gary Whitehorse.”
“Oh,” she said, her mind registering the man as Wyatt’s father...Cal’s stepfather. She vaguely recalled Cal saying Gary Whitehorse had the personality of a wall. “Of course. Won’t you come in?”
He followed her into the dim living area.
“Cal’s outside preparing to power wash the outside of the house. Let me get him before he gets started and can’t hear me call him,” she said, turning to find Cal already strolling through the dining area. He must have heard the car pull up. Thankfully he’d pulled on a T-shirt. His flip-flops slapped the bottom of his feet and he frowned when he saw Gary. “Gary. What’s wrong? Why—”
“You didn’t come for Sunday dinner,” Gary said.
“I told Mom I wouldn’t make it.” Cal looked confused or aggravated. He didn’t seem to care for Gary showing up unannounced. “You came out here to bust my balls for not coming—”
“No,” Gary interrupted, picking up a small bronze reproduction of a Remington piece showing a cowboy riding a bronco. He made a face and set it back down. “I’m leaving on a business trip for a month. I need to speak with you.”
Cal eased toward the couch, putting some distance between him and Gary as if he expected bad news. “About?”
“Jared called. He said you hadn’t returned his call. He’s worried.”
“You talked to my doctor? That’s against the code thing or whatever. The HIPAA stuff.”
“Your mother’s listed on your paperwork. Besides she and Jared are old friends by now. He’s patched you up enough. Your surgeon did not discuss any results with your mother, but he implied you need a second surgery and seems to have concerns about you going back to the rodeo. He was surprised you hadn’t mentioned this to your family or to the PBR officials.”
Cal’s face shuttered. “I haven’t talked to Mom or the PBR because there’s no need. This isn’t your business, Gary. Or my mother’s. Jared shouldn’t have called the house. I would have returned his call.”
“You’re making dangerous decisions. Your mother can�
�t sleep at night for worrying about you and about the fact you’re teaching your brother to do something that could get him seriously injured.”
“You’ve got to be joking. My shoulder is fine,” Cal said, slapping a hand against the shoulder. “She and I discussed Wyatt. I know what I’m doing.”
Gary stared flatly at his stepson before shaking his head. “We’ve never been close, Cal, and in the past, things have been tense. Still, I care about you. You’re expressly ignoring the advice of the medical professionals. Why don’t you come to work for me?”
“This is bullshit. I don’t want to work for you and I know my limitations. My shoulder is fine. Jared doesn’t have the final say and he doesn’t understand that—” Cal bit off his response, glancing over at Maggie as if he’d suddenly realized she was still in the room. “You don’t have to worry with this, Mags. Go start power washing. I’ll be there in a minute.”
A dart of hurt hit her in the solar plexus. Cal didn’t want her there for the conversation with his stepfather. Again, he’d proven he didn’t want her involved in the things that really mattered to him. Things like his career and future. She was a five-week-long booty call. “Sure. Nice to meet you, Mr. Whitehorse.”
Gary nodded. “My mind weighs heavy. I apologize if I was abrupt.”
“It’s fine. Safe travels,” she said, leaving the room, allowing the kitchen door to swoosh shut behind her.
Her throat felt scratchy with emotion even as her mind turned over all Gary said. Cal professed his shoulder was fine, and though she had her own reservations about Cal’s health and return to bull riding, the fact he needed more surgery to repair his shoulder was a surprise. Because Cal had said nothing. He’d downplayed every wince, hidden his pain from her.
Already it was August which meant Cal’s first event in Alabama was just weeks away. He’d been practicing on the bucking barrel, but he often did that while she stayed inside working on one project or another. When she thought back on it, she could see he didn’t want her there when he practiced. Was it because he had trouble? Or because he couldn’t do it?
Tomorrow evening he and Wyatt were going over to a friend’s ranch north of Fort Worth to practice on live bulls. He’d even written up a funny request-for-leave form he’d left by her cereal bowl that morning, joking about working overtime to make it up to her. And by overtime he meant in bed. He acted like a man near the end of recovery.
So why would he lie?
Pride?
Well, duh. Yeah. He was a dude. Men were notorious for allowing pride to break line in front of reason. That’s why they drove around for hours before asking for directions. She’d always thought it strange Siri was a woman because most men ignored directional advice given by a woman. No doubt, Cal’s stubborn pride about the frailty of his body prevented him from making the right decision. Her cowboy was a determined man on a mission to get back in the saddle...or rather on the back of a bull. He’d probably go to Mobile even if his arm was hanging by a thread. Common sense wasn’t an option.
Still, Cal’s decision was none of her business even if she wished he’d trust her enough to confide his fears. She had no authority to offer an opinion. Five-week booty call indeed.
* * *
SWALLOWING HER OWN PRIDE, she marched to the fridge and grabbed a beer. Voices raised in the living room. Or maybe it was only Cal. She set her phone on the dock, turned on “Uptown Funk” and parked her butt against the beveled edge of the marble counter and sipped the Texas craft-brewed beer she’d bought at the McKinney Walmart.
The kitchen door banged open and Cal stormed in, scaring Maggie to such a degree she dropped the bottle of beer.
“Goddamned nosy ass needs to stick to minding his own affairs and not mine,” Cal said, ignoring the bottle pumping ale onto the floor and grabbing himself a fresh one out of the fridge.
Maggie didn’t say anything. Merely scooped up the bottle and covered the spill with one of the new dish towels she’d ordered from Amazon. Seemed like staying quiet would be the best move, especially since she now knew her role.
She glanced up at Cal and he said pointedly, “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t ask,” she said, trying to maintain a cool distance.
He stared at her for a few seconds. “Okay, fine, my surgeon said I had some scar tissue and a small tear in the rotator cuff. I can have that crap cleaned out later and the tear repaired. After I retire. If I ever retire. I might decide to ride until I’m eighty. It’s my own goddamn business if I do.” He slammed the half-empty bottle onto the new countertop.
Maggie didn’t say anything.
“I guess you agree with Gary, huh?”
“Why would I?” she asked.
“Because my balance could be off. Because I’m rushing things. Because I could go out there, draw that fucking bull again and end up in the morgue.”
Maggie shook her head. “I don’t agree with him. But I understand his concern.”
“Bullshit. He just doesn’t want to listen to my mother whine about me being stupid. He thinks I’m going to lead Wyatt into bull riding.”
“Are you?”
“No. The point of going to Hal Sawyer’s is to scare the mess out of my brother. Sawyer’ll tell Wyatt he doesn’t have a chance in hell at riding in the PBR. I’m taking care of the kid. But, me, I’m fine.”
Maggie shrugged. “Okay.”
“I’m fine,” Cal said again. As though maybe he was trying to convince himself.
At that moment, Maggie understood so much about Calhoun Lincoln. About his past, his present and his dreaded future...the thing he wanted most to avoid. It was all so understandable. He was afraid, vulnerable and refusing to see anything other than the fact he wanted to go on being the Cal he’d always been. But life didn’t always care what someone wanted. Life bucked, twisted and stomped on a person’s plans the way Rasputin had done to Cal months ago. That bull had crushed something Cal couldn’t control and that was his body. Or maybe not. Maybe Cal knew his body better than an MRI did.
But Maggie couldn’t make Cal see he could be wearing blinders...and neither could anyone else. If Cal couldn’t be the bull rider he’d been for the past fifteen years, he would have to come to terms with it. On his own.
“So let’s forget about this and finish washing the house. I’ve decided to repaint it. We saved enough on the appliances that we have room in the budget. You know what Realtors say—a fresh coat of paint does wonders for resale value.” She started toward the back door.
Cal’s hand stopped her. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m used to men’s temper tantrums. Bud was infamous for them.”
“Seriously,” he said, folding her into his arms. “I don’t want you to think I’m stupid. I don’t have a death wish.”
But if he couldn’t ride at the top of his game, maybe he did. She couldn’t stomach the thought of him lying crumpled. What it must have done to his mother. What it must do to every family member of every bull rider who had gone down with serious injury. Still these cowboys climbed on bulls every weekend. Every day. They strapped themselves down on dangerous animals and most of them didn’t die. Most of them had scars, but they didn’t die.
“I know you don’t,” she said.
“Thanks for not lecturing me.”
Maggie stepped back. “I have no right to lecture you.”
For a moment he looked genuinely confused. As if he wanted to say she did have the right. But then he caught himself. “Right. So let’s get busy.”
“We already did,” she joked. She needed to lighten the mood and bring her sexy, aw-shucks, let’s-fuck cowboy back. Because Maggie couldn’t handle a Cal who hid his doubts, who got angry if ever questioned about his career. She wouldn’t jump into that swimming pool, especially without floaties.
Cal seemed to understand, because he gave her what she wanted—a lopsided cowboy grin. “I could be talked into Water Hose Hijinks Part Deux.”
“Oh, is that the name
of the movie?” Maggie joked, giving him a pinch. “Because I’m no longer wearing a bikini.”
“You don’t need a bikini,” he said, following her out the door into the sunshine. Into the pretend world they’d created, a world where hurt couldn’t possibly touch them. Because they said it couldn’t.
14
HAL SAWYER HAD been a bullfighter before his knees gave out. Not wanting to leave the rodeo life he loved so well, he bought some bull semen from the owners of Disastrous D, two-time Bull of the Year and one of the rankest, meanest sumbitches ever ridden. Hal impregnated fifty cows on the ranch he bought from his father-in-law and ended up with a crop of bulls that frequently made appearances in the finals. His place was fifty miles southeast of Coyote Creek, which was handy for Cal’s purposes. He wanted Wyatt to get started on a young bull before taking a ride himself on one of Sawyer’s best up-and-comer bulls.
“Here,” he said, handing Wyatt one of his safety vests. He’d been teaching Wyatt the proper way to spur the bull, how to make sure the chaps were on correctly and the technique for braiding his rope. He’d drilled the kid on chute safety and how to dismount effectively. They’d watched countless YouTube videos, slowing rides down to point out mistakes. Cal still didn’t think Wyatt was ready, but he knew he had to let the kid try it all in real time.
“Thanks. I ordered one myself, but it hasn’t come in,” the kid said, swiping the sweat from his brow and squinting at the chute where a dappled bull waited.
“Get yourself set quickly. Some of these young bulls aren’t as accustomed to the chute so they can get impatient. Make sure the rope isn’t too close to the front legs. Don’t want to cut off oxygen. Hampers the ride and is dangerous for the bull.”
“You talking about soaking?”
