by Fawkes, Sara
carefully across the foam pads surrounding the contraption, Wade calls to the kid, “Are you ready?”
“Yep!”
There’s another cowboy standing at a control panel a few feet away. He’s shorter than Wade, but
just as broad across the shoulders and fills out his jeans in a way it seems only cowboys can, showing
off a firm backside and sturdy legs. Wade nods at him and he starts up the bull. It must be the lowest
setting because the bull barely rocks back and forth in extra slow motion.
The boy lets go and crosses his arms over his thin chest. “This is boring. Make it go faster.”
Standing beside the boy’s mother, Wade looks down at her, asking for permission. She nods.
“We’ll speed it up, but you have to hang on,” Wade says. “That’s the rule.”
After a little harrumph, the kid takes the strap in his left hand again and only then does the cowboy
at the controls turn up the speed.
“Faster!” the kid shouts.
Again Wade looks to the mom for permission and again she nods. It goes on like this for about
five minutes, the bull speeding up gradually until the mother has forgotten her worry and gets caught
up, cheering her son on with the rest of the crowd. When the bull really starts moving, turning and
twisting, changing directions, it’s plain to see the young cowboy-wanna-be is having the time of his
life and is living out the best childhood fantasy, his right arm thrown back as he hollers, “Woohoo!”
When he finally falls off, his mom covers her mouth but then smiles in relief when the kid jumps
to his feet immediately, wearing the biggest grin. “Awesome!” He scrambles across the foam and
looks up at Wade. “Can I do it again?”
“Maybe after everyone else has taken a turn.” Wade glances around at the crowd. “Who’s next?”
A man who looks like he’s in his late forties steps up. From the gleam in his eye, the kid isn’t the
only one who is living out his fantasy of being a cowboy for a weekend. While the guests all line up to
take a turn on the bull, I wander over to the snack table and sift through the tub of ice for something to
drink. I find an unfamiliar beer, Grasshopper Wheat Ale, and pull the tab. It’s ice cold, light and
delicious. When I turn around, Wade is standing there.
“Ms. Savage.”
“Mr. Messing.” I take a drink, hoping to cool the immediate flushing of my cheeks.
“I’m glad you came.” His gaze takes in my dress...again. “Did I mention how nice you look?”
“No.”
“You look...beautiful.”
Instant warmth infuses my core. “Thank you.” I pat my overly full stomach. “Though this dress is
tighter than I remember. I think I just ate more in the last hour than I’ve eaten in the last week.”
“In that case, relax and digest because once the band starts, you’re not going to have a chance to
sit.” With one last appreciative look at me, he tips his hat and says, “You do know how to two-step,
don’t you?”
“Not well, no.”
“Then get ready because I’m going to teach you.”
My legs wobble at the thought of Wade holding me in his arms and against that big body of his,
swinging me around the dance floor. After he leaves my side, I hold the icy can of beer up to my
cheek. Good lord. The man sets me on fire.
Of course, this is a dude ranch and I am a guest. I’m sure part of the job description for these
cowboys is to flirt with the female guests. It’s good business.
But damn. It feels like more than flirting and I sure as hell hope it’s going to lead somewhere.
Preferably to a place where there’s no mechanical bull, but I still get to ride, wild and naked and
sweaty. Woohoo!
***
For the next hour, I watch the fun, making small talk with a few of the other guests as well as some of
the ranch hands. There’s a real mix of people from all walks of life, yet all of them city-folk, like me,
who’ve romanticized about life on a ranch. There’s Alex and his mom, a couple newly engaged, a
father and his two teenage boys, some other couples and a few groups of men who are having the time
of their life riding the bull, goading each other, cheering and slapping one another on the back after
being thrown.
Then there’s me. On my own. Sometimes I forget that others think it’s odd to do stuff by yourself
and I catch more than one talking quietly to a friend while furtively looking at me, probably trying to
figure out my story. In situations like this, people either avoid me, because clearly I must be weird to
be by myself. Or, they come talk to me because clearly I must be lonely to be by myself.
It’s all highly amusing and because I’m neither weird nor lonely—though I suppose some might
disagree—I enjoy making new acquaintances. By the time everyone who wants to has had a chance to
ride, I’ve struck up conversations with most of the guests and a few of the staff. That’s when the ranch
hands start to take turns on the bull, showing the rest of us the way it’s done. The cowboy at the
controls shows no mercy. From the moment they give him the nod, he sets the bull on high, like it’s
the real deal. There’s a timer set up and each cowboy tries to outdo the other by beating their time.
After one particularly nasty throw, the ranch hand picks himself up and calls to the cowboy at the
controls—who happens to be laughing his ass off, “Your turn, Connor. Let’s see you beat my time.”
Connor. I seem to remember Todd mentioning him.
“No problem,” Connor replies with a cocky grin. “In fact...” He pulls a billfold from his pocket,
unfolds a bill and smacks it on the control console. “Twenty bucks says no one can beat my time.”
“Twenty?” Wade pipes up. “Why not make it forty?” He places two bills on top of Connor’s one.
Connor narrows his eyes at Wade. “Forty? Why not eighty?”
With a slight tilt of his head, Wade says, “An even hundred. How about that?”
Watching these two cowboys banter back and forth is like watching table tennis. It’s so quick, I
barely have time to process what’s happening. In addition, there’s an undercurrent of competitiveness
between the men made even more pronounced by the whoops and hollers of the other cowboys and the
guests.
“A hundred it is,” Connors says. “You go first.”
“No way. You’re up.”
“Flip for it!” All heads turn my way. I dig in my purse and pull out a quarter, noticing the
Canadian coin has the same head pictured on it as the thing stuck on the wall of my cabin. Maybe it’s
a sign. Of what? I’m not sure.
Connor’s eyes widen at the sight of me and he elbows Wade in the ribs as he watches me approach.
“Is this the city-girl Todd sent over?”
“Yep. Connor, meet Tessa Savage. Tessa, this is Connor O’Reilly.” In a quieter voice, but one that
doesn’t go unheard by those around us, Wade says, “Connor’s trouble, best to keep your distance.”
Instead of frowning and getting pissed off by such a description, Connor gives me a devilishly
sinful grin. “Don’t listen to him. He just says that because women prefer me to him.” Leaning closer,
he continues in a lower voice, “Plus,” his gaze caresses my bare shoulders, “you look like you’re not
opposed to a little trouble.”
With him standing so close, I catch a whiff of his aftershave. Sometimes strong scents put me
off,
but not this. It’s sweet and spicy, with a hint of wood smoke thrown in, reminding me of the barbeque
sauce—lickable. I wet my lips thinking about how I’d sucked the sauce off the bone before sucking it
off my fingers. I have this weird feeling that if Connor had been sitting across from me instead of
Wade, he’d have grabbed by hand and sucked the sauce off himself instead of just watching and
analyzing me the way Wade did.
“Are you going to flip the coin, or do I have to?” Wade asks, interrupting my potent visual of
Connor’s lips sucking on my fingers.
I give my head a shake and hastily step back out of Connor’s pheromone range.
Fickle Tessa. Fickle, fickle Tessa. I’ve definitely got a bad case of the cowboy curse because it
doesn’t seem to matter that I’ve been lusting after Mr. Marlboro Man all night. Throw in a second
handsome cowboy with a cocky grin and dark brown eyes shining with an unholy light and I’m
smitten. Times two. It’s just the way I’m wired. I’ve long since given up trying to pretend I’m a one-
man kind of girl.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Connor asks.
“No.” Wade says, curtly.
“Yeah, you are. Another hundred?”
“Forget it.”
Connor laughs. “Too scared you’ll lose?”
“Con, shut it.”
“What are you guys talking about?” I ask, still visualizing the sauce licking scenario.
“Ignore him,” Wade says to me. “Connor has a habit of turning everything into a game.”
“Sounds fun,” I say.
Connor throws his head back and laughs. Then he slings an arm across my shoulders. “A girl after
my own heart.” He gives me a little squeeze. “Wade here doesn’t think life should be fun. All work
and no play. No wonder he’s ornery most of the time.”
“Some of us have a ranch to run,” Wade says forcing a smile.
I find the dynamics between the two cowboys very interesting and I glance back at forth between
them. There is something going on that I can’t figure out, it’s competitiveness, but something else too.
However, I don’t have much time to contemplate it because the guests are getting antsy and so is the
staff. One of the cowboys calls out, “Come on you two. Stop pussy-footing around. Ride the damn
thing.”
Wade glares at the cowboy who cursed and sure enough, young Alex pipes up, “Yeah! Ride the
damn thing, already!”
“Alex!” his mom chides.
Realizing I’m the one holding things up, I say, “Okay Connor, call it in the air.” I toss the coin and
Connor calls heads. “Heads it is. What do you want?”
His eyes twinkle and he pauses and looks at me with a single raised brow.
I swallow...with difficulty because I’m pretty sure I know what that look suggests.
Then, with his chin he motions to Wade. “You’re up.”
“Fine.” Removing his hat and giving it to me, Wade steps up to the bull, slings his leg over and
begins wrapping the rope around his left hand with care. But, before he can finish, Connor starts the
thing...on the highest setting yet. There’s no time for Wade to warm up, the bull rocks and tips,
turning this way and that, fast and furious.
The crowd goes wild.
And Wade? Oh my God. Wade is hot. It’s the only way to describe him. Imagine, the biggest damn
cowboy you’ve ever seen sitting astride this mechanical contraption, his thigh muscles bulging
through the denim, working to keep him seated. His right arm is thrown up while he hangs on with his
left, his back arching and buckling with the erratic movement. He’s got the sternest, most stoic look of
intense concentration on his rugged features. I have a feeling the expression he’s wearing now is the
exact expression he’d be wearing while he was fucking.
Me...hopefully.
Yeehaw!
The bull continues to speed up amid the hoots and hollers of the guests and staff until Wade finally
falls off. Though, there’s a part of me that thinks he fell off on purpose. Like he could have kept riding
that thing all night long.
Oh lord! All night long...
I put a hand to my chest as I imagine Wade, spreading my legs, lifting my ass, his whole body
arching and bowing into me as he watches me with that intense look of concentration, his jaw
clenched, riding me...all night long.
By the time he’s in front of me, holding out his hand for his hat, I’m breathing hard, harder than
him, even.
“Okay Con. Your turn.”
Like Wade, Connor hands me his hat and winks. “Wish me luck.”
Even before the bull starts, I have a feeling Wade’s going to win. Not because Connor isn’t good,
it’s because he’s too busy working the crowd, calling, “Faster, faster!” just like Alex did. The carefree
grin never leaves his face as he manages to incite the crowd into chanting, “Connor! Connor!
Connor!”
He approaches Wade’s time but in the end falls off seven seconds before Wade did, making Wade
the winner.
“Double or nothing,” Connor says, pulling more money out of his billfold and waving it at Wade.
At first I think he’s pissed off because he lost, but he catches me watching and winks at me.
“No time. The dance troupe’s here and the band’s about to start. Help put the bull away.”
“I’m not talking about the bull.” He glances meaningfully in my direction.
Snatching the money from Connor’s hand, Wade says, “I told you, no.” He sticks the money in
Connor’s shirt pocket and walks over to the band to talk to them.
I go up to Connor, who’s chuckling away to himself. “What the hell are you up to?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“Look, I don’t know what Todd told you, but I’m not a...a prize.”
“Huh, that’s funny,” Connor says, giving me a full-on appreciative look. “Because that’s exactly
what he said. He said, ‘wait til you meet Tessa Savage. That girl is a prize.’” He eyes me up and down
again. “From what I see, I agree with him.”
Chapter Four
Quick, quick, slow-slow. Quick, quick, slow-slow. The words repeat in my head as I’m led around the
dance floor. However, I don’t really need the chant because Wade is such a good dancer, all I have to
do is follow as we weave our way across the floor in among the other couples. A local dance troupe,
all dolled up in Western attire, showed up for the express purpose of giving dance lessons to the
mainly male guest list.
There are only five females but Alex’s mom and I are the only two without partners. Connor has
taken it upon himself to teach Alex’s mom while Wade instructs me.
“You’re a fast learner.”
“You’re a good dancer.”
He does that lazy smile thing and pulls me a little closer, rubbing his thumb up and down my
spine. I dig my fingers into his deltoid, holding on because the subtle caress feels so divine.
Something large and hard nudges my belly and my hand drops to Wade’s lower back.
“You’re losing your form,” he whispers.
“You’re distracting me.”
“Good.”
My hand slides a little lower, to the top of his jeans, just as Wade starts twirling me, making me
dizzy.
The song ends and when I look up, Connor is standing beside us, an insolent grin flashing across
&nbs
p; his face. “You’re hogging our only other single female while ignoring the other.” Connor motions
with his head in the direction of Alex’s mom. She’s standing on the sidelines, trying to get Alex to
dance with her, but Alex tugs his hand out of her grasp, wanting to run around instead.
Adjusting the hat on his head, Wade gives me a little bow and says, “Let me know when you’re
ready to leave. I’ll walk you back to your cabin.”
“Okay,” I say, in a breathy voice, whether from the dancing or from the idea of having Wade walk
me back to the cabin, I’m not sure.
The music starts up again and Connor holds out his hand for me to take. From the very first step,
I’m out of breath. Where Wade was fluid and in control, Connor is fast and wild, whipping me one
direction only to turn me in the opposite direction before I have a chance to orientate myself.
“Who needs to ride a bull,” I pant, “when I can dance with you.”
Connor’s response is to laugh and spin me faster. By the time the song finishes, I feel like I’ve run
a marathon and I have to lean against him in order to catch my breath.
The fiddle player starts the next song with a mournful pull of the bow. Thank goodness. Finally a
slow song. Connor takes my hand and starts to move me across the floor, slowly this time. He holds
me close, maybe too close, because I can feel the pounding of his heart against my shoulder and his
hand is on my back, my bare back, making tiny circles against my skin. When he turns me beneath his
arm, I catch a glimpse of Wade as he dances with Alex’s mom, watching, eyes narrowed.
Once back in the circle of Connor’s arms, I whisper, “Connor, I hope I’m not giving you the wrong
impression.”
“And what impression would that be?”
Pulling back, I look up at him. “That I’m interested in a fling.”
This close, and with the music slow, I see his face clearly for the first time. His eyes are dark
chocolate with flecks of ginger and they sparkle with wickedness. He’s got a dimple in his right cheek,
and his mouth—oh lord, his mouth—it’s made for laughing...and kissing.
“You’re not interested in a fling with me, or in general?” he asks.
“With you.”
There’s a rumbling from deep within his chest and he pulls me closer. “What about Wade?”
