by M. E. Carter
“Can’t they get hurt?” Greer asks, concern on her face.
“I guess they could. But really, they’re only like two feet off the ground. I’ve been watching Mutton Busting for years and I’ve only seen a hand full of kids cry. And usually it’s from getting dirt in their mouths.”
Greer laughs lightly, but her eyes are glued down below. I stop talking and just let her take in the preparation. Before long, the event begins and we’re smiling and laughing as we watch the mini daredevils as they hang on to a handful of wool for dear life.
Most of them fall off almost as soon as they get out of gate, but a few make it the entire six seconds or longer. You can tell by their reactions which ones participate because they live locally and it’s fun, and which ones are hoping to make it to the World Championships. The serious riders immediately look up at their score when the fall. The locals seem more interested in taking a bow for the crowd.
“I’m a little sad I never took my kids to the rodeo when they were little. Oli would have loved riding a sheep,” she jokes. “And I would have loved watching it.”
“I’m pretty sure Pedro is already counting down the days until his new baby can try. Poor kid isn’t even born yet and Pedro’s already trying to turn him into a cowboy.”
“Can you blame him? It’s kind of fun.”
Turn my head to focus all my attention on her, I take in her smile and how relaxed she seems in this element. In my element. It fills me with a sense of pride that she appreciates the lifestyle I’ve always lived.
“This is definitely the glamorous side of cowboy life. I’m glad I get to share it with you.”
Her eyes flicker over to mine and she gazes at me under her lashes. “I’m glad you wanted to.”
I can feel the sexual tension growing between us, but now is not the time or place, so instead of taking her in a passionate, and all too inappropriate public display of affection, I give her a quick peck and link her fingers through mine. Not only are we joined at the hands, our thighs are touching from knee to hip. If I wasn’t feeling somewhat desperate to get her home, I don’t think I’d ever want to leave this moment.
Our moment is lost when the announcer begins talking about the next event over the loud speaker.
We watch in mostly silence as the barrel racers guide their horse through a cloverleaf pattern around the fifty-five-gallon metal drums. It’s impressive that the horses can make such tight turns. It’s hard to comprehend that such huge, solid animals can also be so agile.
But barrel racing is not why we’re here. What I really want her to experience is the next event—bronc riding.
“That’s what you used to do, right?” She points at the riders who are busy getting themselves focused on the task at hand.
“Not on this big of a stage, but yeah. Saddle bronc riding was my sport of choice.”
Her eyes are wide as the anticipation of the first ride builds. It’s almost palpable throughout the stadium.
“What happens if more than one rider stays on for eight seconds?”
I shake my head, masking my chuckle. That damn movie has everyone confused even all these years later.
“It’s not just about how long they can go. It’s about technique,” I explain as the first competitor climbs up on his ride in the chute. “It’s about form. It’s about precision. Now when his arm goes up, that’s his signal that he’s ready and for them to throw the gate open. Watch where his feet are when they go.”
Just then, the rider gives the signal and we watch amid the cheers as he hangs on to the thick reign, barely holding on as he’s bucked to and fro. It takes six point seven seconds for him to be thrown. Not good, but I’ve seen worse.
Leaning over to explain more to Greer I say, “Did you see how his feet where both touching the horse’s shoulders when he first jumped?” Greer nods. “That’s called marking out. He has to do that or he’s automatically disqualified.”
“So he has to keep a certain form during the ride?” she asks, fully invested in the events now.
“Yep. The goal is to look like he’s barely being jostled. All while be tossed around like a rag doll.”
“Wow,” Greer breathes and licks her lips, awe in her voice. “It’s so much more intense than I realized.”
“It takes a lot of power and a lot of control. But if you do it right, you’ll have the ride of your life.”
She doesn’t speak, just watches as the next competitor gives the signal and off he goes.
What Ace doesn’t know is how sexy I found saddle bronc riding to be. I wasn’t expecting that. At all.
But seeing how hard the riders had to squeeze their thighs together and how much they bucked their hips, well, all I could envision was what Ace would look like doing that.
Naked.
While thrusting those hips into me.
Somehow, I have turned into a horny mess around this man. I’m sure it’s from the anticipation of what’s to come tonight combined with how long it’s been. Doesn’t hurt that I read romance books for a living either.
But I can’t discount the man himself and how attracted I am to him anyway. He just makes me feel beautiful.
No that’s not right.
He makes me feel worthy. Like I’m worth the time and effort and difficulty of putting up with the chaos I’m surrounded with. And that is the sexiest thing about him—how he makes me feel about myself.
I spent so many years in a bad marriage feeling unworthy of anything. Like I couldn’t do anything right. The house was never clean enough. My stomach was never flat enough. My time was never important enough.
Being with Ace is the exact opposite. In general, he puts others first. But when he decides he cares about you, well. It’s just a whole other level of sacrifice. It’s so much deeper.
Add onto it the tight jeans, calloused hands, now the visual image of him bronc riding and that’s it for me. My self-imposed, although accidental, celibacy is definitely ending tonight.
Driving up to the front of the house, I realize I’ve seen it from a distance many times when I’ve visited the farm, but I’ve never seen it up close.
“How old is this house?” I ask when he parks. Even by today’s standards, it’s a large home. Two stories with a wraparound porch on bottom and a large balcony jutting out from the second floor.
Ace grabs my duffle out of the back of the truck and walks around to help me down, even though I’m already admiring house.
“My great grandfather built it back in the ‘20s. They had something like eight kids so they needed a lot of room.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He smiles, never letting go of my hand as he leads me to the front door. One of the stairs squeaks when we step on it and Ace shrugs sheepishly.
“It’s creaky. There are a lot of boards that need replacing. But I like living here.”
Making our way through the front door, I look around. It smells like an older home. Like cedar and musk and… life. I look up and see all the way to the ceiling, which has a huge old chandelier. A railing on the second floor wraps around the entirety of that level so you can overlook the foyer from anywhere. It gives the illusion that the rooms are set up in one big square and we’re in the center of it all. Old pictures that span back generations pepper the wall next to the stairs leading to that balcony. To my left, through a very large door, at least ten feet tall, appears to be a formal living room. To my right, an office.
“This is where the magic happens,” Ace says walking into the room and flipping on the light. The switch is so old, it’s two buttons that click when you push them. The top one to turn the lights on. The bottom to turn them off. Besides that, nothing really stands out. It looks like a normal office. Except as we walk through, there’s a second door. “No one knows why there are two doors in here, but this one leads to the kitchen.”
Sure enough, we end up next to a screen door that leads outside, a full bathroom across from us, and the massive kitchen just to our left.
“This is the busiest part of the house and where Brittany spends most of her time.”
“Everyone eats here?” I run my fingers down a solid wood table that probably seats more than a dozen people. Long benches made of the same wood are pushed underneath.
He nods. “Breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
That explains the bathroom by the back door.
“Must be weird having people come in and out of your house without knocking all day long.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “They aren’t wandering the house or anything. But it would probably seem odd if I hadn’t grown up with it happening. The farm hands all have to eat and it’s my responsibility to feed them.”
“How did Brittany end up working for you?”
He chuckles and the sound reverberates through me. I wonder what it’d feel like for him to make a deep sound like that while he’s on top of me.
I blink away my wayward thoughts. We have all night, Greer. Slow your roll.
“Pedro actually met her on a dating site. When they got engaged she happened to be in between jobs, but didn’t want to get stuck behind a desk anymore. I guess she was tired of corporate America or something. But she liked cooking so we gave it a shot. She’s been taking care of us ever since.”
We continue walking around the building, making our way through another door into a formal dining room that boasts the largest fireplace I’ve ever seen in my life. I could stand straight up inside it and still see out. The formal living room I noticed when we first walked in is attached. Ace tells me the history behind some of the pictures on the walls and stories that have been passed down, like the time his great uncles got stuck inside the now non-functional dumb waiter.
Eventually, we come full circle and end up back in the foyer.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs, Ace clears his throat. “Um. The only things upstairs are the bedrooms. I don’t know if you’re tired, or…”
He stalls his sentence and shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Ace, you don’t have to be a gentleman with me anymore.”
I watch as his eyes darken and his lids grow heavy. This is the most awkward we’ve been and I know it’s because he wants to make sure I’m ready. “I’m trying to take it at your pace. I don’t ever want you to think this is all I want from you.”
I bite my bottom lip and take two steps forward, until our chests are touching. “I already know that. And I appreciate how much you respect me. But when we’re alone, and especially in the bedroom, I don’t want a gentleman. I want all of you.”
He blinks once and before it even registers, he has me pinned against the wall, kissing me like our lives depend on it. His tongue is hot and strong, plunging into my mouth with a promise of what’s to come. His strong hand wraps around my hair as he pulls my head to the side, giving him access to my neck.
I’m panting and writhing against him as he assaults my neck and collarbone with his lips and tongue and teeth. His erection presses right up against me so I can’t mistake this for anything less than what it is… passion. More passion than I’ve ever felt in my life.
Just as I’m getting my bearings straight, he picks me up by my thighs. “Straddle me.”
So I do. Locking my feet together behind him, he pushes up against me one more time making us groan simultaneously with the friction, before pushing us off the wall and stomping up the stairs. I take the opportunity to kiss down his strong jaw, nipping at his Adam’s Apple and pulling his shirt to the side to kiss down to his collar bone. I have no idea where we’re headed, I just know we need a bed and we need it soon.
Tossing me onto a mattress I didn’t realize was so close, I squeal with both delight and a tiny bit of fear from flying through the air. I already know this is the kind of sex I have desired my whole life. Respectful, loving, and wild with passion.
He rips his shirt over his head before I even stop bouncing from the landing and now I’m looking at the pale, rock hard abs. I’d always wondered if they were under there. I’m no dummy. I know the book boyfriends I help bring to life aren’t real, but I always wondered if it was possible for a real man to be that cut.
The answer is yes. Yes he can.
“Don’t mind the farmer’s tan,” he jokes and for the first time I notice that his torso is, in fact, a significantly lighter shade of golden brown than his arms.
“As long as you don’t mind a few extra dimples in certain places.” I wave down my body and he growls, literally growls his displeasure.
Holy crap, that was hot.
“I think women have a terrible understanding of what really attracts men,” he explains as he pulls my boots and socks off. I push the thoughts of how sweaty my feet must be out of my head and try to remind myself that unless he has a toe fetish, it won’t be an issue anyway. “Men don’t care about a few extra dimples or a few extra pounds. Men care about how women make us feel. And you, Greer, make me feel like I’m on top of the world.”
He slowly runs his hands up my legs, making me shiver.
“You make me feel like I’m important. Like I’m powerful. Like I hung the moon. The way you look at me, like I’m the most attractive man in the world is a bigger turn on than a super model figure.”
His fingers flip open the button of my jeans and I gasp.
“I want to kiss every dimple, every stretch mark, every scar, and every freckle because there’s a story behind each and every one of them. They made you who you are. They represent your journey.”
Slowly, oh so slowly, he pulls the zipper of my jeans down. I can’t take my eyes off his as he peals me out of the denim and tosses it aside. Reaching my waist, he lifts my shirt up, up, up until I have to lean forward for him to pull it off of me.
Laying back down, I watch as he takes his on jeans off. His eyes peruse my body like I do to him. Biting my lip, I find myself squeezing my thighs together to rid myself of the ache that’s formed. Before this moment, the only time I’ve felt this ache was when I was deep—and I mean deep—into a really hot book. But certainly not during sex. There is definitely something to be said for anticipation.
Licking his own lips, Ace climbs up the bed and over top of me, covering his body with mine. “Still want me to put my manners aside?”
I smile and nod. “Watching those bronc riders gave me very dirty thoughts about what you can do with your hips.”
His jaw drops open. “You dirty girl!” he chides, making me laugh. The vibrations create more friction between us, and suddenly we’re not laughing anymore, but gasping at the sensations.
As requested, Ace doesn’t take things slow. His kiss is hard and demanding. His touch is rough. It’s everything I’ve ever fantasized about.
He is everything I’ve ever fantasized about. And more.
I wake up to a warm body snuggling next to me and a bunch of hollering downstairs. While I’d like to stay in bed because of the former (as would the other head I think with), the latter is what launches me off my comfortable pillow-top mattress that I love so much and has me racing for the door.
“Ace,” Greer yells right before I swing it open. “Pants.”
Looking down, I realize I’m still naked as the day I was born. “Right. Good call.” Grabbing my jeans from the floor I throw them on as fast as I can, stumbling multiple times while Greer watches and giggles. As soon as I’m decently covered, I race down the stairs to see what all the commotion is about.
It’s Pedro, also pantsless, but with boots on and a wild-eyed look on his face. Thank goodness he had the sense to at least put his skivvies on.
“What’s wrong,” I demand, flipping into crisis mode.
“Brittany!” he yells even though I’m right in his face “She’s in labor!”
I feel Greer come up behind me, but it doesn’t register until she says, “How do you know?”
“There’s water! Water everywhere! Water all over the bed! Water all over the floor! Water all down her legs!” He’s rambling, sti
ll wide-eyed and all I can think is that I can’t think.
What are we supposed to do? What do we do?
Why do I know what to do when a cow gives birth but not a person??
Grabbing him by the shoulders, I look him dead in the eye. “Okay. She’s in labor,” I reassure him followed immediately with, “What do we do?”
He pauses and thinks for a second and then yells, “Call Doc!”
Somehow, that doesn’t sound right but it takes a second until I can figure out why. “Doc is a vet.”
Pedro crinkles his brow like the words don’t make sense and then tries again. “Boil some water!” he yells and runs off into the kitchen.
Brittany takes that moment to walk through the door muttering “Sweet Jesus” and rolling her eyes. Although I don’t know why. We’re going to need that water for sanitation purposes. She’s holding Pedro’s pants. If I was thinking clearly, I’d make a mental note to thank her for bringing them in the house. No one needs to see those hairy legs.
But I’m not thinking clearly. “Where’s the car?” I ask no one in particular.
Still, Brittany is the one to answer. “Where it always is dumb ass. Right there in front of the house.”
“Okay. I’m going to leave a note and text everybody.” I reach into my pocket but nothing is there. “Wait. Where the hell is my phone?”
The words are barely out of my mouth when Greer, who didn’t have clothes on when I left her but suddenly does, hands it to me. “Right here, babe. Calm down.”
I think quickly and try to be calm when I text anyone who needs to know. Jill, the office manager; Phillip, who fills in as the morning shift supervisor when I can’t be there; and Greer, who I don’t’ know why I’m texting because she’s standing right next to me but somehow it seems appropriate and right now I don’t have time to second guess my own decisions because WE’RE HAVING A BABY!
In the background, I barely register her saying things like “How far apart are your contractions?” and “How long are they?” and “Why is he texting me when I’m standing right here?”
