by C. R. Moss
She raised the plastic flute to her lips, gulped a huge amount of the chardonnay, and gazed at the red and yellow colors of the flames. It was a dragon roaring, spitting sparking coal at whim. The fire was hot as lava. It reminded her of how her feelings burned the core of her soul. Until you ask me.
The air filled with the aroma of charcoal and food. Bristol relished the aroma of barbeque ribs on the grill and sweet corn roasting. Hunger gnawed at her. Recognizing the pangs she touched her stomach. Food.
White clouds remained high and bushy in the blue sky. She was glad it was still early enough in the year before the extreme southwest heat kicked in. “I’d like to start over, too. Right now. First off, I’m really sorry for kicking you earlier. You just shocked me when you kissed me.”
He reached down and touched the spot in question, a frown tilted his lips. “Yeah, man, my leg still hurts. I think I may need to see a doctor.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Seriously? Damon, I’m so sorry.” Embarrassed beyond belief by her earlier actions, she touched his shoulder. Just because she was mad at one man didn’t mean she had to take it out on another. “I’m really sorry. I…” Her voice disappeared in her throat when she caught sight of the smile transforming his face.
“Would you like to make it up to me? Say, ask me for that kiss now?”
Incredulous, she snorted. “No, I’d rather have some food.”
He sighed in what appeared to be disappointment and rubbed his leg again studying her through a hooded gaze. “Fine. Let me grab a couple of plates, and we’ll start over by talking first.”
After he returned and she had several bites, she asked, “So how long have you worked on the ranch?”
“I’ve worked on this ranch most of my life. You know, family business. I left when I went away to college, but returned after graduate school. The family needed me.”
During the constant steady flow of conversation, the afternoon passed. The fire died down, the wranglers cleaned up and went on their ways. With each minute they continued to talk, Bristol found it harder and harder to talk herself out of a weekend fling with Damon.
She didn’t want their time together to end, but blunt reality and her tattered track record when it came to relationships told her it would. Everything good in her life ended eventually. Case in point, her marriage.
She loved a man, who happened to love someone else, but as always, she was the last to find out. She studied Damon. He finished a beer, the muscles in his neck moving, as if in a sensual dance, with each gulp. His perfect angular features softened the more he guzzled from the brown bottle. She wanted to reach out and trace her fingers down the muscles in his throat as he swallowed, gently run her hand over his neck. In the midst of her wine laden fantasy, his gaze locked with hers with a powerful slam of something hot and steamy. The raw sensual exchange from the moment caused her to glance away for a second.
When she felt she wouldn’t incinerate from the longing between them, her gaze met his again. She admired the perfect curve of his nose, fullness of his lips, subtle sway of his sun-kissed hair against his neck. Yearning burrowed in the deepest tissues of her body, need and want for the man harnessed her soul, confusing the already conflicting emotions swimming through her mind.
Another fantasy spot featuring Damon started to swirl in her mind. But her assessing nature must have startled him.
He stopped drinking, lowered the bottle to his lap. “Why are you staring at me, darlin’?”
Embarrassment turned into shock. “I’m not.”
He laughed. “Sure you are, like I’m your last meal kind of stare.”
“I certainly was not looking at you like dinner.” A soft chuckle followed her statement, surprising her. You’re right. I was.
“Oh, I get it. You’re saving me for dessert.”
“Men. I swear. How about I’m saving you for a walk back to my killer cabin.”
A raised eyebrow from him followed her last comment. “Killer cabin?”
Bristol rose and placed her empty wine flute on the bar. “You know, the cabin you assaulted, I mean, kissed me in. I swear my first reaction of that place—it gave me the creeps. Stalker, horror slasher type of creeps. I still can’t believe you people rent that place out.”
She giggled when Damon bit on his lower lip obviously to stop from laughing at her opinion of the abode.
“Let’s go, it’s getting late in the day and I have to finish some chores. Plus, it’s just about dinner time.” The deep baritone sound slipped from his lips.
His voice wrapped around her heart, made her want to beg him to kiss her again. Instead, she dismissed the thought from her head.
He touched the fingers on her right hand, as they stood up, and there went those sparks shooting through her body like wild fire. “Back to your killer cabin then, Ms. Ashcombe? I want to make sure no killers are lying in wait for you to return. I’m the only one privy to attacking you.”
“How about the lodge? I need to see if my friend’s arrived. As for my cabin, maybe we can investigate it later?”
“Sure thing, darlin’. Here on the Double D, we aim to please.”
Chapter Five
Scanning the area around the lodge for her friend, she noticed Cassie sitting on a bench under one of the old pinons canopying the grounds and bee lined toward her.
“Cassie! It’s great to see you.” She hugged her friend and plopped down on the bench beside her, catching a smirk creasing Cassie’s face as she did so. “What’s up?”
The smirk changed into a playful smile. “So, Damon has released you from his side for a few? Why don’t you get up and walk away and back again. I want to see if you’re walking like you’ve been riding a horse… I mean, Dougan, all day.”
A wave of embarrassment, then guilt rushed through Bristol. What kind of friend was she leaving her friend alone during their big-girl-getaway? “Oh my God! I’m so sorry. I’m being a shitty friend not making sure to catch you when you first arrived. You haven’t been here all day have you? I thought your plane—” She gave Cassie a curious look. “How’d you know about Damon?”
“That wrangler Kent filled me in. He said he wasn’t sure if you’d come back here, go to the campfire, or back to your cabin.” She ended the last part of her statement with a wink.
“Ah. I see.” Bristol wasn’t sure if she should be offended or not about Kent talking about her and Damon. She leaned toward her friend and whispered, “For your information, and to dispel any rumors that may be brewing, I wasn’t riding a horse or a Dougan.”
“Not yet anyway.” Cassie winked again. “But I’m sure you will. I mean, come on, I saw his picture inside. Dak’s younger brother’s grown into quite a looker and probably needs a little taming. I think you’re just what the doc ordered. That is as long as you don’t mind someone a few years younger than you.” Cassie nudged her in the side with an elbow.
“Damon. The ranch.” Bristol snapped her fingers. “That’s right. You used to talk about this place and them back in high school. No wonder his name seemed familiar.” Her gaze narrowed on her friend. “Wait. I seem to recall you saying that the younger brother… Damon… was a brat.”
Cassie chuckled. “He was. You have to remember, Dakota and I were… What? Seventeen, eighteen at the time we were hanging out together twenty years ago. Damon was around eleven. What older teen wants a middle school kid hanging around them?”
“You have a point. And, I don’t believe he’s changed much from what you once described all those years ago.” Bristol looked down at her lap, threaded her fingers together then pulled them apart. The brat and the snob. What a pair they’d make.
“But whatever he is now, he’s damned foxy, right?” Pulling Bristol into a bear hug, Cassie added, “Don’t think you did anything wrong, honey. You deserve a little hunk time. Especially after the way that asshole, John, handled things.” She released her. “Hmm… Foxy… If I wasn’t planning on reconnecting with Dakota, well…”
Bristol gaped, realizing her train of thoughts headed toward Damon. “Cass, you’re so bad!” She playfully swatted her friend’s arm. “No, I’m being rude. What kind of friend leaves the person she’s supposed to be with on vacation by herself?”
“I was resting up from my trip and talking to Dakota so no worries.” Cassie grinned. “Or a friend who’s got a certain Dougan on her radar soon to be in her bed. And ditto for me.”
A sigh came from Bristol. “Cassie, dear ol’ friend, do tell. Are some old feelings really re-igniting for a certain Dougan brother?”
“I’ll kiss and tell later,” Cassie promised. “But I’ll understand if I don’t see much of you over the weekend, and I hope you’ll be just as understanding. If we happen to wrangle our particular stallions, that is.”
Bristol laughed.
A pretty redhead strolled up to them. “Hi ladies! My name’s Allison and my friends and I are having a party in the lodge tomorrow night. We’re inviting everyone who’s staying on the ranch to come. More’s the merrier I say, and what better way to send me off to matrimonial bliss, right? We’ll have food and favors, and from what Marianne’s told me, the best baker in the area’s making a penis cake. I’m told she does specialty cakes for most of the casinos that have special events like weddings, bachelor and bachelorette parties and such.” Allison checked her watch. “Oh, look at the time. I’ve gotta run. Anyway, you’ll stop by, yes?”
Bristol and Cassie nodded. Seemingly satisfied, the woman jogged off toward a room attached to the lodge.
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from that party,” Bristol joked. “I’m looking forward to a taste of penis cake.” Bristol winked at Cassie.
Cassie made a cock sucking gesture.
Bristol stood, rolling her eyes at Cassie’s gesture. “Come on. Let’s get me a quick bite to eat and then we’ll go to the campfire.”
As they rode with a wrangler to the site, twilight settled in the big Nevada sky. Vibrant colors of purple, blue and yellow kaleidoscoped across the vastness and faded into the ebony and dark blue velvet abyss. Cicadas buzzed in the cool night as ranch guests milled around the fire, their laughter filling the site. Cassie disappeared, and Bristol shifted her seat on a hard log bench. A few other scattered wood benches arranged around the fire slowly filled as other guests arrived.
Kent, a big man who appeared to be a musician as well as a ranch hand, strolled over to one of the benches, his twelve string Dreadnaught acoustic guitar slung over his back.
He swung the guitar back across his chest and sat. “Why don’t you sweet ones take a seat over there?” Kent directed the bride and her friends to a couple of small picnic tables area under the pavilion. “Being to close to the music won’t allow you the total melodic immersion.”
Wow, big words for a cowboy, Bristol thought and continued to cook her marshmallow on a stick.
All five women nodded, repositioned to the designated seating area.
Much to Bristol’s strange dismay, Marianne appeared out of nowhere, glared at her as she walked by, and plopped on the bench behind her. She could have sworn she felt two hot holes being burned into the back of her head.
Great. She hates me for some reason. The thought made her uncomfortable and wary about having the woman behind her.
Once she shook off the unease of Marianne’s choice of seats, Bristol surveyed her surroundings. As if somehow Damon sensed she was looking for him, he arrived at her side holding two cordless microphones. He took the marshmallow tipped stick from her and handed it to another man.
“I was thinking we might do a little duet for the crowd,” he drawled.
A twinkle in his big blue eyes made her heart practically jump from her chest. His accent was so damned cute. But sing? She laughed. “You sing?” she questioned. Impressed, but mostly shocked, her jaw dropped open in surprise. She couldn’t have stopped it if she wanted to, it was immediate.
Self-assuredness cloaked him. “Yes, Bristol. I can carry a tune, my darlin’.”
Yeah, but I’m not too great singing backwoods country. As a matter of fact I’m sure I suck. “I’m not familiar with the style of country western songs.”
Damon placed a microphone in her hand. His warm fingers cupped her hand around the metal, and he gently tightened his hold. “I was thinking we would do a Broadway number. Sing somethin’ right up your alley.”
“Seriously?” Disbelief was hard to hide, she was sure of it from the sound of her voice. Or rather jagged sound in her voice. The backwoods man actually knew show tunes. Surprises, he was full of them. “So you’re saying you want to perform a show tune?”
This time is was his turn to chuckle. A hearty laugh that tickled her stomach, and other hidden areas. Libido take a rest.
“Yes, ma’am, us cowboy bumpkins get a little culture in between breakin’ the horses and diggin’ the postholes. Question is, you game for a little competition in the big bad arena?”
His gaze appeared to mentally undress her. The way he assessed her slowly from head to toe she could almost feel his hands all over her skin. A jolt of moisture between her legs caused her to nibble on her bottom lip. If he could sing the way he could do other things, she was in serious trouble. Who was she kidding? She was already in serious trouble the moment she stepped out of the limo.
“Phantom of the Opera is my favorite play. Would you honor this cowboy by singing All I Ask Of You duet style?”
“I’d love to sing with you, Damon. Just make sure you keep up especially when we hit the high notes.”
He winked. Gave her a little snort then nod and whispered, “Bring it on Broadway babe. I’m ready to take you.”
Kent strummed the first chords while Damon pulled Bristol’s free hand into his.
With the first verse from Damon’s lips, her legs turned to rubber. He was a cowboy singing show tunes better than her current leading man did. Perfection. What couldn’t the man do?
Like a song bird, his deep, darkly hypnotic voice rumbled his chest ultimately calling to her, speaking in volumes to the wounded woman hidden for so long. Slowly waking the Bristol that had retreated into her safe shell.
It was her turn, but when she opened her mouth nothing but a high pitched squeak sounded. She hesitated briefly, then tried once more. Same pathetic sound.
I sound like a wounded baby chick. Get hold of yourself Bristol Ashcombe. You are a star. This is your talent. Now show this group… Damon… what you got.
As if to calm her, Damon tightened his hold, rubbed his finger against her skin. The cool breeze from the night air wrapped around her, kissed her cheek. Her mouth opened again, and this time the words slid off her tongue like fine silk.
I do want all of you Damon. More than anything. It’ll help heal my heart.
They sang together, hands clasped, her heart full, touched by the words he professed. Did he, could he, want all of her? Even though she was damaged? Even though she turned her husband into the arms of another?
With the last refrain, he smiled that slow, seductive smile of his, and she was positive without a reasonable doubt, he knew her heart’s desire.
How can he want me? I drove the one man I ever loved into the arms of another. But, all mental lashing aside… I want you Damon Dougan, so badly it hurts.
Kent strummed the last chord of the song. Damon, acting the part, leaned in for the scene’s kiss and seemed to make out with her with everything he had. When he pulled away, he nodded to Kent. Gathering her thoughts from the intense kiss, her heart accelerated faster as the intro to the ballad Point of No Return sounded.
Panic. Heart pounding. Boom. Boom. Boom. Bristol always had trouble remembering the words to that particular song. He would pick this one.
As Damon started to sing, Bristol shrugged a shoulder and shook her head. “I’m not all that familiar with this one.”
“That’s okay. I am.” Cassie moved next to Damon and took the microphone from her friend.
Thank God.
After
a quick wink toward Bristol, Damon nodded to Cassie in acceptance and continued to sing, keeping his focus on Bristol. Relief washed through her body like a tidal wave. She took in a breath, exhaled slowly.
Damon touched his lips to Bristol’s cheek and hand, then released her. Walking back to her seat, the warmth of his lips lingered. And still lingered long after she found a seat.
Cassie belted out the next verse. Her haunted, deep throaty tone whispered through the night. The power of Cassie’s vocals practically knocked Bristol from her seat. She’d forgotten how awesome her friend could sing.
Those many school nights, years ago, during which their all-girl garage band used to rehearse for hours in Stacey’s garage, came into clear focus. Cassie and Bristol sharing lead singing duties, belting out classic rock tunes. Cassie would sing Stairway to Heaven like she was part of Zeppelin. Then Stacey would bang out the drum solo, and Bristol would jump into the mix with Bon Jovi’s Wanted Dead or Alive.
Bristol couldn’t help but smile a little wider when she thought of how Cassie would move next to her, flailing on the tambourine, yelling for her to get her sex on, and throw her hips into the beats, really feel the music. When Bristol wouldn’t do what Cassie expected of her, Cassie would put her hands on Bristol’s hips and shake back and forth to the beat with her until Bristol was sexing it up on the garage stage.
And then Trish would make them stop in the middle of the set so she could fix their hair, and they could change outfits. Of course, Stacey would jump from behind the drums so she could get into the clothes action. Bristol should have known back then Stacey was going to be one of the greatest designers in the world.
Wow.
Bristol had just come out of the daydream when she realized the entire campsite grew still, their attention pinned to the dark-haired singing beauty.
Briefly Cassie’s attention flashed to a figure sitting across from her. As the man came into view, Bristol recognized a mischievous glint lighting up his eyes. It was the same one Damon had when he looked at her. Even though she hadn’t met him until today, she knew the eldest Dougan was affected by Cassie. His feelings for her friend showed on his face.
