Rodeo Dad

by Carla Cassidy

  “And our reward when we get done can be a big bowl of Rocky Road,” Marissa said.

  Johnny turned and looked at her and for a moment their gazes held. In hers, he saw no pity, no compassion. Any hint of those emotions would have angered him.

  What he saw instead was empathy, and strength shining in the chocolate-brown depths of her eyes. Oh, how he’d wanted to see those emotions from her years before. He remembered vividly sitting in the stinking, filthy jail cell waiting to see what happened next. He knew no matter how bad things looked for him, as long as Marissa believed in him, as long as she loved him, he’d get through whatever fate threw at him.

  But, she hadn’t come to the jail. She hadn’t sent him a note or passed along a message, and in her silence, he’d known the truth.

  “Johnny?” She looked at him quizzically

  He mentally pushed at the anger his thoughts had summoned. He knew the fury he’d once entertained toward her had no place in his life now, but he was unable to completely liberate himself from its grip. It had been with him too long, had come to feel almost comfortable.

  “Let’s get to it,” he finally said and opened his truck door. As Benjamin climbed out behind him, he looked at Marissa in her pretty blue dress. “You can’t paint in that,” he said.

  Marissa got out of the truck and looked down at her dress as if just realizing it wasn’t appropriate paintwear. “Do you have an old shirt and sweatpants I could throw on to work in? And maybe an old shirt for Benjy?”

  “Yeah, I’ll find something. While you’re both changing, I can get the paint ready to go.”

  It took Johnny only minutes to rummage up one of his old shirts for Benjamin. He got another of his shirts and a pair of his mother’s jogging pants for Marissa. While Marissa changed clothes, Benjamin and Johnny went out to the shed to get what was needed to do the job.

  “Dad?”

  Johnny grabbed a gallon of paint and handed his son several brushes. “Yes?”

  “You aren’t gonna let them run you off, are you?” Benjamin’s voice was slightly shaky with uncertainty.

  Johnny set the paint can down and crouched in front of his son, his hands on the boy’s slim shoulders. “Nobody is going to run me off.”

  Johnny saw the doubts in Benjamin’s eyes...recognized the need to believe coupled with the reality of trust unearned. There was not enough concrete relationship between them for Benjamin to unconditionally believe his father’s words. Johnny knew there was nothing that could take those doubts from Benjamin, nothing but time.

  “Benjamin, I’ve already missed nine years of your life. I promise you that nothing and nobody is going to make me miss another minute.” It was the best Johnny could give his son at the moment...and for the moment it seemed to be enough.

  Johnny stood and picked up the paint can, then he and Benjamin left the shed

  Night was falling fast, reaching out with dark fingers to grasp the last of the day, The grass held the faint sparkle of the evening dew and the air smelled sweet and clean.

  Johnny and Benjamin made their way to the front porch. Marissa was still inside changing her clothes. Johnny popped the lid off the paint can and stirred the thick liquid.

  “Dad?” Benjamin sat on the top stair of the porch, next to where Johnny worked. “I think Mom made a mistake.”

  Johnny looked at Benjamin in surprise. The boy’s features were starkly lit by the lights of the truck and the glow of the porch lamp. “What do you mean? She made a mistake about what?”

  “About you and me.” Benjamin frowned thoughtfully. “She should have told me about you a long time ago.”

  “She did what she thought was best,” Johnny replied, trying to keep all emotion from his voice.

  “Yeah, but if I’d known about you before, I could have written you letters and sent you pictures and stuff like that,” Benjamin continued.

  Johnny focused on stirring the paint once again, desperately trying to rein in the emotions that swirled inside him.

  Would it have made a difference to know about Benjamin? Would letters and pictures from his son have eased the time served? Kept his hope alive? Nurtured the dreams that instead had died?

  Through the myriad emotions that raged through him, one fought for and won dominance... anger. It swept through him, hot and thick, comforting in its simplicity.

  “Okay, the master painter is ready to go,” Marissa said as she stepped out of the front door.

  “Great, let’s get started,” Johnny said, still fighting against the anger of years lost, precious moments not shared.

  Within minutes all three of them worked side by side, dabbing pristine white paint across the slashing red of the large letters.

  Again and again, despite his desire to the contrary, his gaze shot to Marissa. She’d looked lovely early in the evening in her tasteful navy dress, but there was something particularly alluring about a woman clad in a man’s shirt and a pair of jogging pants that didn’t quite fit right.

  His mother had been shorter than Marissa, and the soft cotton fleece clung to Marissa’s curves as they never had to his mother’s. The shirt he’d loaned her, an old white dress shirt he’d outgrown, appeared to mold to the thrust of her breasts. Through the thin material he could see the lace of her bra.

  He tightened his grip on his paintbrush, needing to cling to his anger. Surely if he remained angry with her the desire that flowed through his veins would dissipate.

  Surely if he reminded herself that she was here with him now only because of Benjamin, he could maintain the ire that kept passion at bay.

  It took them about half an hour to finish the painting. While Johnny and Benjamin put the paint away and cleaned up the brushes, Marissa went inside to make a pot of coffee and dip up three bowls of ice cream.

  Benjamin ate his ice cream in no time, then stretched out on the sofa in front of the television. Marissa and Johnny remained at the table, finishing their ice cream, and sipping coffee as a strained silence grew between them.

  “The play was fun, wasn’t it?” Marissa said, a forced smile curving her lips.

  “Sure, it was fun,” Johnny agreed.

  He knew she sensed the tension in him, knew it by the way she shifted positions in her chair, how her fingers drummed an uneasy rhythm on the table, and her gaze kept darting around the room as if seeking an escape route.

  “Do you think it was Brad Emery?” she asked, her gaze finally settling on him.

  He shrugged, knowing she was talking about the ugly graffiti that had decorated his home. “Probably, although it could have been anyone who believes I killed Sydney.” He paused a moment and took a sip of his coffee.

  Marissa took advantage of the pause by spooning a dollop of her ice cream into her mouth. Johnny took another sip of coffee. If he kissed her now, she would taste of sweet ice cream and nuts. Her mouth would be cool, but would warm quickly beneath the heat of his own.

  His body reacted to his wayward thoughts and he fought against it, seeking his anger to use as a shield against his desire. Dammit, he didn’t want to want her.

  “You realize you might feel some negative feedback after tonight,” he said, grateful when she pushed her ice cream bowl aside.

  “Negative feedback? You mean because of my past relationship with you?” She shook her head, and waved a hand as if to dismiss the very idea. “These people are my friends, my neighbors. I’m a respected businesswoman, and I can’t imagine anyone in Mustang giving me a hard time.”

  “Such naiveté,” Johnny said, and smiled sardonically. He leaned forward in his chair and didn’t attempt to hide the bitterness that roiled inside him. “Ten years ago I thought I had friends here, people who knew me and knew what kind of a man I was. When trouble found me, I thought those friends would rally around me. They didn’t, and don’t think those friends and neighbors of yours won’t be the first to cast stones at you.” He leaned back.

  Marissa was silent for a moment, her cheeks wearing stains of color
. “You’ve grown hard, Johnny.”

  He snorted, “Yeah, well, prison tends to do that to a person.”

  She took a sip of her coffee, her eyes not reflecting any of her thoughts. He had no idea what she was thinking... feeling, and that bothered him.

  “What progress have you made in clearing your name and finding out the real killer?” she asked.

  Johnny’s bitterness momentarily seeped away beneath the weight of weariness. “Not much.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve studied all the reports, files and news clippings. The police files list five other men as possible suspects. All five of the men worked on the Emery ranch.”

  “But that’s good!” Marissa exclaimed. “So, what did the investigation show about these men?”

  “What investigation?” The bitterness returned, eating at his insides with insidious claws of despair. “According to the files there was no real investigation, a few cursory questions to each of the men and that was it.” He drew a deep breath. “The way I see it, the authorities already believed they had the guilty party... me.” He cast her a taut smile. “I believe it’s called a rush to justice. I was poor, without social power and I had a reputation as a brawler. I was a perfect fall guy.”

  Again Marissa was silent, her brown eyes deep pools of contemplation that offered nothing. “So, what’s your next move?”

  “To see what I can find out about the five men that were originally listed as potential suspects.” Johnny stood abruptly. “Look, I don’t want to go into this right now,” he said. He didn’t want to think about all the work ahead of him in attempting to clear his name. Right now the truth seemed as elusive as happiness and his need to pursue it was like a deep, gnawing hunger inside him.

  “We should get home,” Marissa said. She stood and quickly cleared the table of their bowls and cups. Then together she and Johnny left the kitchen and walked into the living room to find Benjamin sound asleep on the sofa.

  Marissa started to rouse the boy, calling his name softly.

  “Don’t,” Johnny said. “I’ll carry him to the truck.” He scooped up Benjamin into his arms. Benjamin stirred, turning toward the warmth of Johnny’s body, but didn’t awaken.

  The ride to Marissa’s home was accomplished in silence. Benjamin slept, Johnny drove and Marissa stared out the passenger window as if seeking elusive answers in the darkness.

  When they got to Marissa’s house, Johnny carried the still sleeping Benjamin upstairs to the bedroom decorated in rearing wild stallions and spurred cowboy boots. Gently, he placed Benjamin on the bed, then removed the dress shoes the boy had been wearing He still wore the paint-splattered, cast-off shirt of Johnny’s. Seeing his son in the too-big shirt he had once worn caused Johnny’s heart to squeeze tight in his chest.

  Half-grown. At nine, Benjamin was halfway to being an adult. Johnny had missed almost all of his childhood. He’d never see Benjamin as a toddler, running toward him as he babbled da-da. He would never experience the joy of holding Benjamin as a tiny newborn, or smell the scent of sweet infancy.

  As he left Benjamin’s bedroom, his anger once again grew hard and cold in his chest. Marissa had come to the prison to talk him out of returning to Mustang. She’d never intended to tell him about his son if he hadn’t returned to his hometown. His return had forced her hand. The thought expanded his core of anger and it pressed suffocatingly tight inside him.

  Marissa stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him. She smiled as he approached, the smile wavering slightly as he drew nearer. “Everything all right?” she asked, the hesitancy in her question letting him know she felt the tension that rolled from him

  “Fine,” he returned evenly as he walked past her and to the front door. He knew he should leave the house, get out, get away from her before the anger took complete possession of him.

  At the door he turned back to her, wishing she didn’t look so damned alluring, wishing his anger was strong enough to suppress the desire that just looking at her pulled forth.

  He ached with the need to hate her, but found it impossible to hate that which he so desired.

  “Good night, Johnny,” she said as he opened the door.

  He started to reply, but instead stopped fighting his need. He released the door, took one step toward her and without warning wrapped her in his arms and pulled her tight against him.

  She opened her mouth as if to protest, but he didn’t give her a chance. He covered her mouth with his own, somehow wanting to punish her for not loving him enough years before.

  She pushed her hands against his chest in protest, but it was a protest that lasted only a moment. What had begun as punishment on his part quickly turned into deep, ravenous hunger, and what had started as a protest on her part transformed into eager, hot surrender.

  Her mouth tasted of the lingering flavor of the ice cream she’d eaten earlier. He held her so tight he could feel the thrust of her breasts against him, feel the frantic beating of her heart mirroring the rhythm of his own.

  Her surrender was total and acquiescence complete as her body melded against his, her soft curves molding to the angles and planes of his body as if made to do just that.

  Her tongue touched his, and sizzling flames streaked through his veins. The taste of her, the scent of her, the feel of her so close to him evoked emotions he’d tried to forget, sentiments he’d tried to suppress.

  He’d thought he could kiss her, then walk away, but as his body responded to the nearness of hers, he realized a kiss wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been years ago and it wasn’t now.

  He ran his hands down the length of her slender back, remembering how perfectly their bodies had once fit together. Even as an inexperienced teenager, Marissa had displayed a natural, healthy passion, a greediness that had driven him wild. It was the memory of their past lovemaking that now stoked a wildness inside him He didn’t want to think anymore ..he just wanted to fall into the pleasure of tasting Marissa.

  Cupping her buttocks, he pulled her more tightly against him, knowing she would be able to feel the extent of his arousal. The intimate contact made her gasp, stiffen and pull her mouth from his.

  Instantly he released his hold on her, damning himself, damning her. He’d meant to remain in control, but had come precariously close to losing it.

  He took a step backward, desire not abated, but rather simmering dangerously. Her lips were red and slightly swollen from the deep, long kiss they had shared As he watched her, she took a finger and touched her lips, as if stunned by what they had just shared.

  “Why...why did you do that?” she asked, slightly breathless.

  He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets, afraid that if he didn’t confine them they would pull her into another embrace. “I remember you were pretty good at kissing years ago...I wanted to see if you’ve improved with age.”

  Marissa’s cheeks pinkened. “And have I?”

  Johnny paused a moment, drawing in air to steady himself, refusing to allow her to see that she affected him in any way. He’d intended the kiss to punish her, and the need to do so remained stronger than ever. “Hell, Marissa. I’ve spent the last ten years in prison. At this point in my life kissing most any woman would feel good.”

  Her eyes darkened at the hurtful words and his harsh tone. He waited for a sense of satisfaction to sweep through him, but it didn’t happen. He drew a deep breath, suddenly weary. “Good night, Marissa,” he said and without another word, without looking at her again, he left the house.

  He drove too fast going home, carefully keeping his mind as blank as possible. Gravel spewed beneath his tires and the rear end of the truck fishtailed as he turned onto the road that led to his ranch.

  The taste of Marissa still filled his mouth, her scent still eddied in his head. It had been a mistake to kiss her. He would never, could never forgive her for not standing beside him so long ago. He couldn’t, wouldn’t forgive her for stealing so much of his son’s life, for all the lies she’d eng
endered in the last ten years.

  However, what he couldn’t understand was why, if he intended his kiss to be a punishment to her, he was the one who felt most punished?

  Chapter 7

  “Get out of bed, you lazy bum. We’ve got some talking to do,” Lucy’s voice pulled Marissa from a deep sleep. She cracked an eyelid to see Lucy pulling open her curtains, allowing into the room the brilliant morning sunshine.

  “Go away,” Marissa grumbled and closed her eye once again. She didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to awaken enough to think.

  If she woke up, she knew that she would think about the kiss that had rocked her to her toes. Besides, she knew what Lucy wanted to talk about...Johnny. And Marissa didn’t want to think or talk about him. “Come back in two hours,” she said. “It’s still the crack of dawn.”

  “I’m not leaving, and it’s the crack of ten o’clock,” Lucy countered. She grabbed hold of the bottom of the blankets and yanked, pulling them off Marissa and onto the floor. “Get up, girlfriend. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  Marissa rolled over on her back and glared at her friend. “How did you get in here?”

  “Benjy let me in. He’s in the living room watching some movie on the VCR.”

  “As soon as I’m fully awake, remind me to kill him,” Marissa replied.

  Lucy laughed. “I’ll go put on some coffee and you get dressed. I’ll meet you in the kitchen in ten minutes. If you don’t show, I’ll come back and drag your butt out of that bed.” With this warning, she disappeared from the room.

  Marissa remained on her back for a long moment, staring up at the bedroom ceiling. It had been late when they’d returned from Johnny’s place, but despite her tiredness and the lateness of the hour, sleep had refused to rescue her from troubling thoughts.

  She’d tossed and turned, playing and replaying that kiss in her mind, wondering how a simple meeting of their lips had been so disturbing. It had been dawn when she’d finally fallen into a troubled sleep, a sleep haunted by dreams of Johnny...and of Sydney.