The Cowgirl Rides Away (Bluebonnet Texas Book 1)

by Stuart, Amie

  She'd been to Santa Fe. And knew about Ghost Ranch. She dreamed of raising horses and wanted a big family. Despite the fact that hers wasn't close.

  He chuckled again. Large families seemed to come with their own problems. Hell, even now, his brothers razzed him about his weight, in contrast to his lack of height. And the fact he'd rather paint than work cows or horses all day. They didn't understand his need to create anything, even music. Ty came closest, but even he didn't quite get it.

  Speaking of creating, he needed to get busy on a reply before Travis woke up. He typed while mentally debating the merits of doing Hope in watercolor or oils now that his pencil sketches were done.

  I don't think you're cynical or picky. I think some people are happy with what life hands them, and that's not a bad thing. But some of us want more. Then maybe we risk missing opportunities because we're so busy second guessing ourselves. And believe me, Hope honey, I'm not preaching. I'm just as guilty as the next person. Sometimes I wonder why I can't just settle for a local girl. But then I wouldn't have met you.

  I've thought about what it might be like to meet you—more than once. Yeah, it would probably be awkward at first, but no, I don't think we'd take any steps backward. I think meeting you could only be a good thing :) .

  He sat back in his chair and debated how much to say. She'd either think he was a psychopath or a putz.

  You can come and hold my hand anytime. Maybe it's the artist in me, but I find myself wondering about the weirdest things. Like how your hands would feel. What you smell like. The texture of your hair and if it looks blue in sunlight. The sound of your voice. How you laugh. How you cry.

  Do you scream when you come? He couldn't type that last part, but he'd thought it more than once over the last month. And jacked off while trying to pretend it was her hand and not his. Or that he was inside her. Gawd! It was difficult not to.

  He blew out a long slow breath, wondering if he had time for a cold shower. He read the email again, decided it didn't sound too perverted or crazy and clicked 'send' before he could change his mind.

  Zack painted all day, took Travis out to dinner that night and allowed himself a long hot shower and a hand job after his son was asleep.

  And forced himself to stay off the computer a whole twenty-four hours, refusing to turn it on until after he put Travis to bed the following night. A part of him was scared to death she hadn't written back. Or worse, had written back telling him to get lost.

  Dear Zack...you always make me smile. Those local girls don't know what they're missing. You're just too damned sweet and you always make me laugh. Something I sure needed after today.

  I like honeysuckle and jasmine and vanilla but I don't really wear perfume. I never found one that appealed to me, but I love candles. I have no idea what I smell like and I'm not too sure on all the rest. My hands are kinda rough, doesn't seem to matter how much lotion I use. And I'm not sure I could describe my voice. I laugh really loud and I rarely cry, but when I do, I cry really quiet. Besides being stubborn, I have a temper and I'm not afraid to use it, but sometimes I should be :) . So I can yell loud, too.

  I'm scared to have babies. Not because of the pain. That's the last of my worries, and pain fades, but what if I'm a sucky mom? Do you worry about stuff like that with Travis?

  You know, my brother says you're not supposed to ask for a virgin, because there aren't any. He's been staying with me and he doesn't know I've been writing you but he saw your ad. It's a long story.

  This may sound stupid, but I'm gonna be really honest. I think part of the reason I'm still a virgin is because I hate doing stuff I don't know how to do. Obviously, I do, or I wouldn't know how to drive. But I hate looking foolish and that really awkward, I-have-no-idea-what-I'm-doing, feeling.

  That's probably why I can't dance, either.

  Zack snorted but kept on reading, hoping his laughter didn't wake Travis up. At the same time, he filed away the latest scraps of information she'd given him.

  I know how you have sex. I did grow up on a ranch, and I've fooled around some, and of course, there's TV, but it's not the same. I don't know what to expect.

  And she wanted him to fill her in. He'd rather do it in person. Despite all their emails, she was a tough nut to crack. She couldn't dance. And she cried quiet. Which meant she didn't want anyone seeing her when she felt weak or she didn't like showing emotion. She was proud—and strong. Simple, or maybe down to earth was a better way to describe her, but just as, or more, complex than any woman he'd ever known.

  Before he could even begin to mentally construct some sort of reply, footsteps on the front porch caught his attention. Whoever it was wouldn't bother knocking. He closed Hope's email and clicked on an old one from Kate, then spun around in his chair, expecting one of his brothers, but it was his dad who stepped through the door.

  "You're out awful late."

  "Couldn't sleep, wanted a cigar and saw your light." His dad pulled two cigars from an inside coat pocket with a smile that creased his weather-beaten face and lit up his deep blue eyes.

  Momma refused to let him smoke anywhere but in his study, and sometimes the old man just didn't want to smoke alone.

  "Come on in then." With a nod, Zack led the way through to the kitchen. He grabbed the ashtray and a lighter he kept stored above the dryer, got the bottle of Dewars and two highball glasses out of the cabinet.

  They sipped and puffed a while in easy silence and, for a minute, Zack even considered telling his dad about Hope. Then thought better of it. He'd hate to say something, and then have things fizzle out with her. And while he didn't know how his dad would feel about him meeting a woman on the internet, he knew how his mom would react. They hadn't gotten along since he'd come home with Travis. She'd never understand about Hope. Just like Aunt Susie, she wanted him to settle down, but for different reasons. Sure she wanted him to be happy—but with a girl from a nice family.

  "Thought I should check on you," his dad murmured, watching him over the rim of his glass.

  So there had been a purpose to this visit. "I'm fine."

  "You're keeping too much to yourself. Even your Momma noticed."

  "I've just got a lot on my mind and a lot of work to do."

  "Your Aunt Susie says she's been trying to fix you up with that nice Beth Anne at the bar, but you won't have any of it."

  He kept his eyes on the smoky amber liquid in his glass. "She's not my type."

  "She's pretty, she's got kids, she's a hard worker. What's not to like?"

  "She's not my type, and I told Aunt Susie that already." He leaned back in his chair and frowned over at his father. "She's just not—I don't like blondes. I like brunettes." With pale blue eyes and dimples.

  "Then find yourself a brunette to go out with, but for crying out loud, Zachary, do something!"

  He studied his father for a long, heavy minute, wondering where this was coming from. "Why? Why do I have to do something? Maybe I'm fine with how things are."

  "When's the last time you went out on a date, Zachary?"

  "Would it make you feel any better if I said I wasn't gay?" he countered, growing angrier and more irritated by the minute.

  "No! No, it damned well would not. When's the last time you had sex? When—"

  Zack stood up with a scrape of his chair and grabbed his glass. "My personal life is none of your business." He took his scotch and his cigar out onto the enclosed porch and sank into a wicker rocker, knowing his father would follow. From outside the screened-in porch came night sounds: cicadas and small nocturnal animals, and the occasional stiff wind rattling branches that hadn't quite gotten their spring leaves yet. He breathed it all in, letting his temper cool in the process.

  "Zack," his dad spoke up from the doorway, "I'm not trying to pry."

  "But you are! Now quit trying to fix me."

  His father stepped out and sank onto the wicker ottoman in front of him. "The last time you kept so much to yourself was when you came home with Tr
av. I'm worried about you. I'm worried about all my kids," he added, his voice thick and gruff. "I didn't mean to try and...fix you."

  He took a long hard look at his dad, surprised at the emotion in his voice. And the heavy lines of fatigue—or worry—on his face. Momma was the emotional one—loud and dramatic and always finding fault—but that was just her way. Dad was a rock, the quiet one who never yelled. Dad was the one you went to when you had a problem. Which probably explained why he tried to fix everything.

  "I know you mean well, but I've never had any luck with any of the women around here. And I'm busy. And I don't have time to go looking for a woman to date in San Antonio, or New Braunfels or wherever. And I've got Travis to think about." Travis who didn't deserve to have the whole town know the truth of his birth—before he did or otherwise. "Maybe I'm just too cynical," he confessed with a snort of laughter, hoping to ease the tension between them. He'd taken a page from Hope, who had wondered the same thing about him and Bluebonnet's women. "Dad, I promise, I'm fine. I'm sorry. Now what's going on with everyone else?"

  "Tim's his usual troublemaking self." They both chuckled. "And if Rene isn't careful, she'll end up repeating the fifth grade. I already talked to him about it, told him he needed to settle his ass down, but damnit, he's grown and I hate being the heavy. I haven't heard from Zander in ages and your Momma's harpin' on me to drive up to Dallas and see how he is. Last time she called him some woman answered the phone, and that put her all in a snit." After a heavy pause he softly added, "Ty and Rhea are doing really bad, Zack. I'm not sure what's going on over there but it scares the crap out of me. I've been...kind of keeping an eye on them since you said something back in November."

  Rhea had gone after Ty with a skillet but luckily hadn't caused much damage. It was one of the few times Zack had broken a promise to one of his brothers, but he'd thought his father needed to know. Everyone in the family knew that after twelve years of marriage, Ty and Rhea had an ongoing love-hate relationship. He loved her, and she hated him. And now if his dad could admit to being worried, things must be bad. "Try to talk to him?"

  "Nobody can get anything out of him. I caught 'em having a row in the beer garden last week, when y'all were on a break. The way she talks to him...it makes me...ill! Which cancels out our last discussion about those two," he added with a nod.

  "You mean the one where you said what goes on between married people stays between them?"

  Dad slowly nodded. "Not only did your brother not try and get away or defend himself or…well hell, Zachary, he just sat there and took it! Like it never crossed his mind to raise his voice or even walk away."

  "I'd talk to him but he doesn't listen to me. Try Tim."

  "I'll do that. And just so we're clear here, I never thought you were gay. Damn, son." he snorted then slugged back the last of his scotch. "I'm gonna call it a night."

  After his dad left, Zack put his cigar out and replaced the ashtray where it belonged, then locked up. Back at the computer he fired off a quick email to his older brother, Zander, suggesting he call home and sweet talk Momma before she showed up on his doorstep with a basketful of guilt. Maybe even consider coming home for her birthday in June.

  He swallowed the last mouthful of his drink and, mellowed by the scotch, went back to Hope's email. Sex.

  Sex is like candy. There's something for everyone and every mood. You probably don't want to know this, but you asked about sex. I haven't been with a lot of women but it's different with everyone and sometimes even every time. I don't know if all men think about sex like I do. Or rather, the way I do. I mean, your brother said I shouldn't ask for a virgin because there weren't any. But here you are.

  I remember the first time was really awkward and fast. Don't ask me what type of candy that would be :) . Maybe licorice, it's not that great and it sticks to your teeth or Tootsie Pops—you're too impatient to get to the center. No finesse. Sometimes I've been in a hurry or been with a woman who was. Like Nerds—they're tiny and you pour them in your mouth and bite down and they're really sour and gone really quick. I didn't like that. I prefer slow. Like caramel—Sugar Daddy's. They melt really slow and they're sweet and rich.

  But sometimes you just need it really bad. You just want the heat and the release and a warm soft body to hold. Nothing too sticky or complicated. Maybe that would be a Hershey's bar—no almonds.

  My oldest brother's a major player—I can't say much for his taste in women though. I won't sleep with a woman just because she's convenient. I definitely think sex is better when you care about the person you're with. When you have feelings for someone, you pick up cues and you just know what kind of sex they want or need. Hard and fast right there at the front door or slow and easy in a bathtub full of bubbles. And it's more intense to touch someone, to be with someone, to be inside a woman you have a bond with. Maybe that would be Godiva.

  Godiva? Candy? Christ, he sounded like a damn therapist. But tell that to his hard-on. He blew out a long slow breath then clicked send.

  If she wrote back after this, it'd be a miracle.

  He leaned back in his chair and massaged his aching balls through his sweatpants. The thought of being inside Hope, inside a warm soapy cocoon of water, was more than he could stand. He shut down the computer and headed for a hot shower.

  Chapter Five

  Jessa

  I saved all of Zack's emails. Especially the one about sex and candy. I liked that. I liked his ability to paint pictures with words, but that one had left the candy bar melting in my hand. I'd read it twice and then twice more, my thighs clenched tighter together each time, then shut off the light and stared at the ceiling, the down comforter smothering me. Sweat dampened my skin that itched from the inside out and my nipples chafed against my cotton pajama top.

  No matter how hard I tried I couldn't seem to get the mental picture of having sex with Zack out of my mind. I closed my eyes, trying to picture us just inside the front door of my condo, our clothes half off, his hands on my body. I'd never even taken that many baths until my injuries kept me from standing up in a slippery shower. Now I took them all the time.

  If it wouldn't have brought Jace in to check on me... To hell with it!

  I threw back the blankets and hobbled to the bathroom to start the water, locking the door behind me. Once the tub was full, I slipped in, sinking deep under the warm slippery bubbles, and used my good foot to keep myself from going under. If anything, the hot silky water made matters worse. It felt weird touching myself. I'd masturbated plenty, but it had been like cooking, something you just did to feed a need but didn't think about or look at too closely. I'd never really taken the time to think about my body, about how someone else might see it.

  I sat up enough to look at myself, at my heavy breasts that I forced myself to cup in my hands and try to view them like Zack might. My belly twisted in a knot as I ran an experimental thumb over the hard peaks. They were heavy and round, an inconvenience that had always hindered my riding, objects of misery and teasing I'd confined under a sports bra and done my best to ignore. And as for the few men I'd fooled around with, I'd never been able to get past Daddy's words about men only wanting one thing. That one thing that Zack didn't seem to want. Oh, I'm sure he wanted sex, but he didn't view me as a trophy.

  Suddenly the ache between my thighs was unbearable. I closed my eyes and imagined I was leaning against the solid wall of Zack's back, not cold porcelain, as I reached between my thighs and squeezed myself, the tender, nerve-filled folds of my sex demanding more as I lost myself in my fantasy.

  They weren't my hands anymore but Zack's that spread my lips and let warm water tease my swollen clitoris, and Zack's that stroked me and slid two fingers into me and strummed my clit and Zack's back that I pushed myself against as I came, a lip caught between my teeth, my hips arching against insistent fingers. When it was over, the fantasy popped like a bubble and my harsh breathing bounced off the tile walls.

  And I found myself missing Zack more tha
n ever once I was back in bed with my laptop.

  Dear Zack... If sex is like candy, that email melted all the chocolate in Hershey, PA. I'll never look at candy bars the same again. What does it say about me since I like to freeze my Snickers, then nibble it apart layer by layer?

  His reply a few minutes later only made me giggle more.

  You're patient, a hard worker and you have an eye for detail. You know how to enjoy yourself and savor life's pleasures. I also do crystal ball readings for only $69.95 more, payable in person, of course. ;-)

  Seriously, I like jelly beans. Caramel Corn Jelly Bellys are my fave. Care to take a stab?

  ***

  Other than figuring Zack had one heck of a sweet tooth, I never did figure out what those jelly beans meant. But for Valentine's Day I returned to the gallery's website and bought myself one of Zack's paintings. An old pink house tucked in a grove of live oaks. Silly and sentimental maybe, but it was beautiful and I couldn't seem to help myself. Two weeks later we came home from therapy to find a large wooden crate sitting on my front porch.

  "What the hell is that?" Jace unlocked the front door, a frown on his face.

  I stood there, perched on my cane, a smile on my face at the gallery name spray-painted on the side. "I bought a painting."