The Last Real Cowboy

by Caitlin Crews

  “Yes,” he said, his mouth too close to hers, “my truck. You’re going to get in it. Your car is here, and anyone who sees it will imagine you’re out at the Harvest Festival, wandering around with everyone else. They certainly won’t expect you to be with me. I’m going find us a nice big space with your name on it, and then you and I are going to have a little lesson in attitude readjustment.”

  She wiggled a little in his hold, but only so she could get closer. And then melt into him all over again. “Why do I need to adjust my attitude? It feels fine from this angle.”

  He muttered another curse, and it took him a very long time to set her back down on her feet. Then he jerked his head toward his pickup, and Amanda had to order herself not to run around to the passenger side in what could only be called indecent haste.

  Surely a lady would be less obvious.

  But Amanda had never been much of a lady. She’d always smelled too much like her beloved horses for that.

  She jumped into the truck, and found herself grinning like a fool when he slid in behind the steering wheel.

  “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?” He sounded disgruntled, but she was looking at him. She could see that smile he was trying to hide.

  “I’ve always wanted a secret,” she told him, and then slid down on the bench seat, so no one could possibly see her. She rested her head on Brady’s hard thigh and looked up the wall of his perfect body, sighing happily, because this was happening. This was really happening. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

  10

  Brady had ample time to think about what kind of man he was on the drive out of town.

  Amanda was sprawled out across his bench seat, her head on his thigh and the hair she’d tugged out of its ponytail spilling all over his lap like honey. Like a pool of sunlight even though it was dark outside.

  He was only human, no matter what lies he told himself about his character or his abilities from time to time. She kept laughing like this was all some grand adventure, and he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do.

  He took a bunch of back roads, the better to avoid the center of town, any Harvest Festival shenanigans, and all the citizens of Cold River who knew both of them. And as he drove, he mounted a rousing defense of his own actions as if he were standing up in a Kittredge tribunal.

  She’d said she would find someone else, hadn’t she? Brady believed her. She’d moved out of the family home against her brothers’ wishes and was still working at the Coyote, despite outcry on all sides. She’d punched him, for God’s sake. The smart move was obviously not to doubt Amanda.

  But all the defenses in the world didn’t matter. If he didn’t want to do this, he wouldn’t be doing it.

  That was the part that should have made him feel queasy. Riddled with self-loathing. He tried his best to get there.

  But her head was in his lap, and she was singing along to the country song on the radio, and when she looked up at him, Brady didn’t feel like Gray’s endlessly disappointing baby brother. Or Ty’s annoying tagalong.

  He didn’t feel like the one Amos had ignored, the one Bettina hadn’t stuck around to raise. Amanda didn’t study him the way everyone else in this town did, gearing up to make snide remarks about his life down in Denver, his degree, or what they assumed he must think of himself because of those things. She didn’t look at him like she was angling for the ranch—or as if she cared about the ranch at all, because why would she? She was a Kittredge. She had her own.

  She looked at him like he was just … him.

  Just a man.

  A man she obviously liked—and it was intoxicating.

  If he had ever wanted anyone this much, he couldn’t remember it.

  He drove out over the hill and into the wider valley filled with fields and cattle, pastures and horses. The old Douglas orchards and Grandma Kittredge’s goats. Three founding families and the land they’d claimed while the west was still wild, then held through everything that came after. One stubborn, hardy generation after the next. But instead of heading for the ranch house or the Kittredge main house, he took one of the sneaky little dirt roads that cut through the fields but didn’t appear on any official maps. He stayed far away from the main county roads, winding his way down to his favorite spot by the river.

  It wasn’t until he saw the rock that he liked to think of as his real parent that it occurred to him to question why he’d brought her here. This was rural Colorado. There were a million places to go where no one could see them—so why the one spot that was shrouded in a haze of his old memories?

  But by that time, it was too late to change course.

  He parked where he always did, down where the trees that lined the river would make his truck impossible to see until you were on top of it—not that anyone had ever come out this way in all the years he’d come here. Amanda sat up, shoving that thick spill of honey back from her face. He cut his headlights, and she made an impressed noise as she looked around.

  “Is this where you took all your girlfriends in high school?”

  “The point of dating the quarterback was to be seen, Amanda.” Brady spread his arm out along the back of the seat and settled in, grinning at her when she turned to him again. “I took them up on the hill, where everybody else was. This spot was always just for me.”

  “Just for you?”

  It sounded like an idle question, but then she fixed that gaze of hers on him, and he didn’t get why she was the only one in this whole valley who seemed to really see him. Who wanted to see him. And who wasn’t rushing to push her version of him at him.

  He had the odd notion that she would sit there forever, waiting to see what he’d say. And why that felt a lot like her arms around him, he couldn’t have said. Only that it did.

  It was why he actually answered her honestly.

  “I spent a lot of time at your parents’ house, but I couldn’t spend every night there. So sometimes, when I couldn’t stay there and I didn’t want to be home, I came here.” He nodded at the dark fields that stretched out in every direction, studded here and there with trees and the odd rock that was too big to move. “It’s too deep into Everett land to be public. And too far away from the ranch house to run into anyone in my family.”

  “Perfect for when you had to get away, then,” Amanda said, and it was the lack of pity in her voice that tugged at him. “I’ve heard a few stories about your father being less than awful at times, long ago, but I never knew him that way. He was always mean to me. He must have been terrible to you.”

  She was being matter-of-fact. Brisk, even.

  “He didn’t smack me around or anything,” Brady heard himself say, when this was a subject he barely talked about with his brothers, much less anyone else. “Ty got it a lot worse.”

  Amanda didn’t look away. “There are a lot of ways to be terrible.”

  “And my father knew them all.”

  Her gaze remained so kind and steady that his ribs hurt.

  Brady had to remind himself why they were out here in the dark of a September night, and it wasn’t to reminisce about his father. Or even his adolescent attempts at independence for a night here and there.

  “In other words, this place is perfect for our purposes,” he said gruffly.

  Amanda straightened at that, as if she’d also forgotten why they were here. Brady didn’t know whether to be oddly touched by that, or insulted.

  “Right.” She cleared her throat. “Sex. Let’s get to it.”

  He watched, amused and something like tender despite himself, while she reached for the hem of her shirt. Then tugged it up like she meant to tear it off, right that minute.

  “Slow down, killer,” he drawled. “There’s a process here. An art, if you will.”

  “That’s definitely not the feedback I’ve gotten from a lifetime of cultural sources. Everyone’s pretty clear that the whole ‘doing it in a car’ thing is less than ideal.”

  “That’s what makes it so much fu
n. My advice? Embrace the frustration.”

  He reached over and traced the line of her neck, down to the collar of her T-shirt and back. Idly. Easily. He felt the way she trembled. He saw her swallow, hard.

  “I … don’t actually know what that means,” she whispered.

  God, she made him ache. Everywhere. Inside and out.

  “Don’t worry,” he promised her. “You will.”

  There was still the possibility that he could call things off. Brady didn’t have to do any of this. There was no gun to his head. There was nothing around for miles. There was the river, the trees, the September night—and a thousand excellent reasons to extract himself from this mess before he made it much, much worse.

  But he didn’t do the right thing. He noted it and ignored it.

  Then he reached over, got his hands on her, and pulled Amanda into his lap.

  “Brady.” Her voice was barely a wisp of sound. And she was shifting around on his thighs in a way that made his eyes want to cross. “You really should know … I … I’m afraid I won’t do this right.”

  “There is no right or wrong.” He kept his gaze steady, no matter how much he wanted to react to all her artless wriggling. “There’s only us and what works. Okay? If you don’t like something, tell me. That’s it. That’s all you have to remember to do.”

  She pulled in a breath, then let it out, unevenly. “I can do that.”

  Brady settled back against the seat, holding her and letting her get comfortable. Letting her find her seat like the cowgirl she was.

  He could feel her relax, inch by inch. And when she finally slid her arms around his neck, he figured she was doing fine.

  “We’re not having sex tonight,” he told her.

  “What?” Amanda tensed again, but this time, it was clearly from outrage. Not uncertainty. “The entire purpose of being in this truck is to have sex.”

  “I’m getting that this is going to be hard for you because you seem to take so much pleasure in being impetuous.” He shook his head at her. “But you’re not in control of this, Amanda. I am.”

  “I’m not sure I signed up to be controlled.”

  “You don’t know what you signed up for. That’s the problem. And that’s why I’m telling you.”

  “But…”

  She never finished her sentence, or uttered more than that single, plaintive word.

  Because he slid a hand around to the back of her head, then guided her mouth to his.

  Maybe it was because he’d set the boundaries already. Maybe it was just Amanda. Whatever it was, there was no rush. No drive to get somewhere. He kissed her lazily, thoroughly.

  He kissed her as if he could spend all night doing nothing but learning what she liked. What she loved. And what made her squirm in his lap, testing his restraint.

  Brady had told her he would control this, but that word didn’t seem to have much to do with an arm full of Amanda Kittredge. Because whatever his plans, she wasn’t content to simply be kissed.

  She experimented. She moved closer, then away. She let her hands roam where they liked. And when she got really excited, she moved so she could straddle him there on the bench seat and rock herself against him.

  God help him, but it cost him something to hold himself in check. Especially when it felt so good.

  Because the other key thing about Amanda Kittredge was that she was magic. Sheer magic, pouring through him. Light and heat.

  Her hair fell like a curtain around them, smelling like lilac and mint. And when he was on the edge of breaking, he traced his hands down the length of her back instead. He found the hem of that T-shirt she’d so desperately wanted to remove before, and then found his way beneath it.

  Her skin was softer than should have been possible, warm and sleek.

  She pulled her mouth from his, her breath sawing in and out while she stared down at him. Her eyes were wide and dark gold with need. He could feel that same need inside him, pulsing through him.

  He waited for her to call it off, but she didn’t say a word as he traced a pattern up her back. Then he slid his palms around to her front to fill his hands with her breasts.

  Amanda moaned and pressed herself against him. And Brady prayed for strength as he played with her through the lacy bra she wore, making her moan even louder.

  When he took her mouth again, everything got … slippery.

  As if he’d suddenly found himself too drunk to stand. Spinning and sliding, overflowing with lust and need, and the sheer perfection of Amanda in his hands and in his mouth at once.

  He moved his thumbs over her and felt the friction surge through her, like a wave. She arched her back to get more and ground herself into his lap, rocking against him until he thought she might actually break him. He’d love every second of it.

  But he held on. Somehow.

  Brady took the kiss deeper. He toyed with her, gently teasing her until the noises she made were as heedless as they were addictive.

  And he thought, Just a little more. Just a little further.

  He kept going. There could have been a gun to his head, and he still wouldn’t have stopped. Not when she was such a glorious thing to behold. Flushed and greedy and so beautiful, it hurt.

  It only took another moment or so, though it felt to him like he lived and died a thousand times by then.

  Amanda stiffened. Then she tore her mouth from his, tossing her head back and riding him even harder. It was almost too much. It was almost the end of him, but he held on—

  She let out a glad, shocked cry that he knew he would carry inside him forever.

  It almost sent him spinning out over that same edge with her.

  She slumped down against him—his reckless, beautiful girl. Brady murmured something encouraging, one hand holding her head to his shoulder as if he was at ease.

  While everything inside him screamed for his own release.

  He spent some time and the better part of his willpower fighting it back.

  Brady stared out the front window at the stars above and the moon that rose over the fields, bathing them and the river in its silvery glow.

  He chanted statistics. He willed himself to calm down. And meanwhile, Amanda panted in a boneless heap in his arms and made him so wild for her, he wasn’t sure he’d recover.

  Approximately twelve million years later, when he’d remade himself into the image of the monk he’d never been a hundred times over, she lifted her head.

  “Um.” She was still flushed. She looked dazed. “Wow.”

  Brady wasn’t sure he could speak. He didn’t try. He ran his thumb beneath her eyes, catching the faintest bit of moisture, and stopped himself from doing something weird, like tasting it. What was wrong with him?

  “Are you sure you don’t want to have sex?” Amanda asked. She wriggled against him again, in case he’d forgotten that the hardest part of him was wedged there where she was hottest and softest. He really hadn’t. “Because it feels like you do.”

  The torture of the last little while was worth it, then. Because it allowed him to lift a lofty brow and stare at her as if he’d never been so insulted. “I’m a grown man, Amanda. I can control myself.”

  She shifted against him, experimentally, and smiled. “But do you want to?”

  Brady laughed. He threw open his door, tugging her off his lap and swinging her to the ground outside. He liked that she had to reach out and grab the door to keep her balance. That meant it wasn’t just him.

  He tried not to wince as he climbed out after her. He reached into the back seat to pull out the blanket he kept there, then he took her hand, tugging her behind him. The moon lit the way to the wide, flat stone he’d treated like a second home when he was a teenager. He sat on the rock where it jutted out over the rushing river, then he pulled Amanda down on his lap. Then he took care to tuck the blanket around her so she would stay warm.

  He could feel her heart pounding wildly. She held her breath, then let it out shakily.

 
Brady didn’t say anything. He sat there and let the river rush along at their feet.

  “Brady—”

  “Watch the moon,” he told her, gently enough, because he was acting like her armchair and that too-incisive gaze of hers wasn’t directed at him. Plus, he liked the heat of her, the soft weight against his chest. “Enjoy it.”

  He thought she might argue, but instead, she sighed again. Then she settled against him. And she … fit. Like she’d been made to lie back beneath fall skies and let him keep her warm.

  Brady wished, suddenly, that he could go back in time and tell the lonely, angry kid who’d sat out here alone so many nights that he would be okay. That he would be more than okay in more ways than he could imagine. And better still, he would come back here one night with the prettiest girl in Cold River and change the way he felt about this rock forever.

  But that felt a little more momentous than anything he’d had planned for the evening—or his year back home—so he kept it to himself.

  “When are you leaving?” Amanda asked.

  Because apparently she was also psychic.

  Brady frowned at the moon he’d told her to enjoy. “Are you in a rush see me go?”

  “Not at all.” She sounded tranquil and unbothered, and he didn’t know how to feel about that when he was still wound tight enough to explode. “The rumor around town has always been that you only agreed to stay a year. Isn’t that next month?”

  “I’m glad everyone in town is so concerned about a promise I made my brothers.”

  “Welcome home, cowboy. Maybe you forgot that everyone in the Longhorn Valley is concerned about everyone else, forever and ever, amen.”

  Brady wanted to work up a little righteous indignation to go along with that, but he couldn’t get there. Because for a man who’d gotten very little in the way of satisfaction tonight, he was in a remarkably good mood. “Next month marks a year since my father died. But I didn’t make any promises about staying here until Christmas.”

  “Oh.” There was a curious note in her voice. He almost turned her around so he could try to read her expression, but decided against it. Because he didn’t think he wanted her reading him. “I could have sworn you were leaving by Halloween.”