Rough Creek

by Kaki Warner

  “I don’t know why you’d want to rush it,” Raney teased. “You carry another person around inside of you for nine months, then go through shrieking agony to get it out, and your reward is to bring it home so it can cry, poop, pee, and puke all over you for the next three years? Seems like a bad deal to me.”

  Joss planted both fists on her hips and glared at Raney. She looked like a winged whale coming in for a landing. “You’re horrible, Raney Marie Whitcomb! You’re going to be the worst aunt ever! See if I let you babysit.”

  “Oh, please. You’ll be paying me.”

  Joss let her hands drop. Her eyes teared up. Again. “Surely that stuff won’t last three entire years, will it?”

  Raney relented. Joss was no fun to tease since she got pregnant. “Of course not. Your baby will come out with a mop of blond hair and singing ‘Amazing Grace’ in three-part harmony. She’ll be sewing her own clothes in a year.”

  Joss frowned. “I wouldn’t want her to be hairy. But singing would be okay.”

  Raney had no response to that.

  Nor did she have to call Len. Her sister showed up that afternoon. And she looked awful.

  CHAPTER 18

  It was late afternoon when Dalton pulled the horse trailer through the main gate. The cutting show had been a small one with less than eighty entries, and since none of the other trainers had needed turn-back help, he and Alejandro and Uno had been able to load up and leave early. If they got the horses brushed down and fed quickly enough, Dalton would have time for a shower before supper. Maybe even a chance to tell Raney the news.

  When he came around the corner of the house, he heard raised voices behind the screen on the veranda. He stopped and listened. He’d seen an unfamiliar, very expensive car parked out back and had assumed Grady Douglas had returned. But these were female voices. He recognized Raney’s and Joss’s, but the third was muffled. He couldn’t make out words, but it sounded like she was crying. Shit.

  Dalton had no sisters, and his mother may have shed five or six tears in all the time he’d been aware of such things, so he’d been spared a lot of drama growing up. Yet in the Whitcomb household someone seemed to be crying all the time. Mostly Joss. He had little tolerance for it. Not today. He had other things on his mind.

  Turning around, he retraced his steps around to the side door, hoping to make it to his room before being seen and dragged into another family crisis.

  When he entered the kitchen, he smelled roast beef and saw Maria standing in the hallway leading to the veranda, fingers twisting in her apron. Crying. And eavesdropping. His hopes of a clean getaway dwindled.

  When she heard Dalton close the door, she whipped around and raised a finger to her lips, warning him to keep quiet.

  “What’s going on?” he whispered as she hurried toward him.

  “Oh, Mr. Dalton, es muy malo. La senora has been hurt.”

  Dalton felt a jolt of fear. Then he realized Maria couldn’t be talking about Raney or Joss. Neither was a married senora. Must be the third woman.

  “Hurt how?” he asked.

  “No sé. Los ojos”—she pointed to her eyes—“they are black-and-blue.”

  So much for escaping drama.

  Shouldering past the Mexican woman, Dalton walked down the hall. As he stepped out onto the veranda, three faces turned toward him. Two appeared fine. The third looked like the loser in a bar fight. She also looked familiar. Len. The oldest Whitcomb girl. Dalton remembered her from his high school years. She’d been a year older than him and a real babe.

  She wasn’t now. Eyes swollen and bruised, nose running, and no makeup to cover the damage. “What happened?”

  Raney came toward him. “Dalton, this is my older sister, Len.”

  “I remember who she is. Hi, Len.”

  “Good to see you, Dalton.” She smiled. It looked grotesque with all the swelling. “Although I wouldn’t have recognized you. You’ve changed.”

  “War and prison will do that. What’s going on?”

  Before Len could answer, Raney said, “Jake and Kendra are in summer camp for the next two weeks, so she’s come for a visit.”

  Dalton waited. When nothing more was said, he frowned. “And that’s it? We’re just going to ignore her two black eyes?”

  “She had them done.”

  “With what? A fist?”

  Joss snickered. Turning to Len, she said, “Mama appointed Dalton our personal security force. That’s why he’s been staying in the guest room. To keep us safe while she’s gone. He’s certainly built for the job, don’t you think?”

  The oldest sister looked at Dalton then at Raney with speculation in her swollen eyes. At least, Dalton read it as speculation. Hard to tell.

  “Excuse us a minute.” Raney took Dalton’s arm and led him into the pass-through into the kitchen. Stopping in the middle where they couldn’t be easily seen from either the kitchen or the veranda, she said, “Len had blepharoplasty. Eyelid surgery.”

  “Why?”

  “To make her look younger. Better.”

  “Better than what? She was already beautiful.”

  “I heard that,” Len called from the veranda. “And I can see why you’re so taken with him, Raney.”

  Raney gave him a now look what you’ve done look. Like it was somehow his fault that the sisters had been gossiping about him.

  “Is that true?” He slid an arm around her slender waist and pulled her close. The feel of her soft body pressed up against his made him forget how tired he was. “You’re taken with me?” he whispered into her ear.

  She put both palms on his chest. But not to push him away. Instead, she leaned up to plant a quick kiss on his jaw, then gave him a pat. “Ask me after you shower. Supper’s almost ready.”

  “Tease.” He turned away.

  She pulled him back by his shirt. “How’d the show go?”

  “Good. Since there weren’t many entries, I bought a second practice run. He did so well we got offers.”

  She let go of his shirt. An odd look crossed her face. Not the happy expression he’d expected. “Offers for you or Rosco?”

  “Both. We’ll talk later.” This time when he turned to go, she let him.

  * * *

  * * *

  Raney seemed nervous at supper. Dalton didn’t know why. But because of the worried crease between her brows whenever she looked at him, which was often, he was pleased to note, he suspected it had to do with him. Could be anything: something he said or didn’t say—something he did or didn’t do—something he might be, or not be fixing to do. It was never simple with Raney. Eventually, she’d get around to it. Meanwhile, he’d work on a general all-purpose defense.

  Everybody else seemed in a good mood, once Alejandro and Hicks got over their shock at Len’s appearance. They also seemed as skeptical of the eye surgery explanation as Dalton was. The woman was only thirty-three. And beautiful. Why the hell would she need surgical enhancements?

  Women. He’d never figure them out.

  He was a little surprised that Raney hadn’t asked about the show, or the offers he’d mentioned. Not that either offer was worth considering this early in the cutting show season. Or maybe worth considering ever. Rosco would probably make Four Star more money as a stud than as a cutting horse, assuming he did well over the next two or three years. Still, Dalton had expected her to show interest.

  “Mama’s coming home tomorrow,” Joss announced. “Anybody want to get her in Gunther? She’s on the afternoon shuttle from Lubbock. Len’s taking me to my obstetrician appointment in Aspenmont, so we can’t do it. Raney, can you?”

  Raney blinked like she was just tuning in to the conversation. “Pick up Mama? Sure. When’s she due in?”

  “Around four, give or take. The shuttle’s almost never on time.”

  Dalton wondered if Mama’s return
meant he’d lose his security job and be sent back to the dorm. He was conflicted about that. It was nice having a snore-free room and a private shower. But if he stayed, how could he put a move on Raney with her mother hanging around? Not that he’d made any headway on that so far. But rather than dwelling on it, he decided to wait and see what Mama wanted.

  After Joss’s announcement, there was a lull in the conversation, as if everyone was contemplating what it would mean having the head chingona back in the house. They’d probably have to start eating in the dining room again. And dressing up for Sunday dinner. Judging by their sour expressions, Alejandro and Hicks had come to that same realization.

  A few minutes later, seeing his opening—which didn’t come often with three women at the table—Dalton jumped in. “Got an offer on Rosco at the show today.”

  “I forgot about the show,” Joss said. “He did well?”

  “He did.”

  “Rosco is that pretty little buckskin colt?” Len asked.

  Dalton nodded. “He’s three now, and not so little anymore.”

  “A good offer?” Hicks asked, breaking his week-long supper silence.

  “Nothing special. But it shows interest. If the colt continues to improve, that interest will probably peak at the Futurity in November.”

  Joss frowned at Raney, who was staring at Dalton with that pinched look again. “I didn’t know you were considering selling Rosco.”

  Raney gave a weak smile. “I’m not. He’s a cornerstone in our quarter horse program. More wine, anyone?”

  That was all she had to say? Dalton watched her empty her half-full goblet in two swallows, then pour it full again. She was sure worked up about something.

  Another lull. This time, Alejandro jumped in. “Dalton got an offer, as well.”

  All eyes turned to Dalton. Most showed curiosity. Raney’s showed panic.

  “From whom?” Len asked.

  When Alejandro didn’t answer, Dalton said, “An outfit out of Oklahoma looking to build up their training staff.”

  “A good offer?” Joss asked.

  “Middling.”

  Joss glanced at Raney again, who was staring into her wineglass. She turned back to Dalton, “Are you going to take it?”

  “No.” He spoke firmly and decisively, then waited for Raney to look up. When she did, he smiled at her and said, “I’m happy where I am.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence as unspoken messages rounded the table. Then irrepressible Joss laughed. “I think he’s hinting for a raise, Raney.”

  Dalton shook his head. “It’s not about money, Joss. It’s about building something worthwhile. Rosco is part of that. I’m not looking to move on. But I’ll take more of that roast beef, if there’s any left.”

  That broke the tension and the rest of the meal continued without incident.

  Dalton was relieved to see the pinched look leave Raney’s face. She even smiled at him over her wineglass. Small steps. But at least he was still in the game and she didn’t seem upset with him anymore. For whatever reason.

  Women. Emotional quagmires. He’d never figure them out.

  Alejandro and Hicks left soon after the meal ended.

  Dalton headed to his room a few minutes later, leaving the sisters to catch up on all the gossip, trade recipes, fix one another’s hair, polish their toes, or whatever it was women did when they got together. He was lights-out and asleep by nine.

  At eleven thirty, his phone buzzed. He started to ignore it, then remembered he was the security guy. Muttering under his breath, he fumbled for it on his nightstand, and punched ACCEPT. “What?”

  “You awake?”

  Raney. He sat up. “I am now.”

  “Want company?”

  “Ah . . . sure.” Then, just to needle her, he said, “Who is this?”

  “Asshat.”

  “Asshat who?”

  The call ended.

  Dalton slumped back. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering what had just happened. Was he still asleep? Awake? Was Raney really coming to his room?

  Holy shit. He was off the bed and zipping his jeans when he heard the first tentative knock. He opened the door to find Raney standing there.

  In a satiny robe.

  And not much else.

  “Hey,” he said, too befuddled to think of anything snappy to say.

  She whipped inside and closed the door with barely a sound, then leaned against it, arms behind her, palms flat against the wooden panels, breathing hard. “I didn’t want them to see me.”

  “Who?” he asked, appreciating the way the thin cloth of her robe tightened across her breasts with every breath.

  “My sisters.”

  That sounded like she was ashamed of him. But Dalton didn’t pursue it just then. He was having more fun concentrating on her breasts. They were really nice breasts. “You’re thirty. A little old to be sneaking around, don’t you think?”

  “Twenty-nine and two-thirds. And you don’t know my sisters.”

  Actually, he did.

  But before he could point that out, she said, “Do you have any condoms?”

  Condoms? He forced his gaze to her face. She was smiling. Or trying to. It didn’t match the anxiousness in her eyes. “Condoms?”

  “Rubbers. Prophylactics. Whatever. Do you have any?”

  His heart started to race. “Yeah.”

  “How many?”

  “Enough.”

  “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “What?”

  “That you just happened to have a bunch of condoms on hand.”

  “I didn’t say I had a bunch of them. And they’re old.” That didn’t sound right.

  “How old?”

  “From before prison. Look, before we go any further, I need to know the rules.”

  “What rules?”

  “You’ve been holding me at arm’s length for months now, and suddenly you show up at my door in the middle of the night, half-dressed and asking if I have condoms. Not that I’m complaining. You look great, by the way. I really like your robe. But I just need to know why you’re here before I do something that might get me in trouble.”

  She blinked at him like a night bird caught in a beam of light. “I just asked you if you had condoms, for heaven’s sake,” she said in an exasperated tone. “Why do you think I’m here?”

  She was starting to lose that anxious look. Now she looked more irritated. In Dalton’s mind, a step in the right direction. Raney was a lot more fun when she was riled up than when she was skittish and fearful.

  “For all I know, you’re just here to borrow my condoms. But the ones I’ve got I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you showing up at my door in the middle of the night, half-dressed and asking if—”

  “You’re such an asshat.”

  “You keep saying that.” But rather than carry it too far, Dalton put on a smile, and with total sincerity, said, “I’m happy you’re here, Raney.”

  “You don’t look happy.”

  “No?” He motioned to the front of his jeans, and the bulge that was starting to get uncomfortable. “Does that look unhappy to you?”

  She looked away. But not before she looked down.

  “I still need to know why you’re here, sweetheart. If this is another string-along—”

  “It isn’t,” she broke in.

  “Okay, then. Great. But just for my own edification, what changed your mind?”

  She finally, hesitantly, came away from the door and closed the space between them. Anticipation almost made him pant.

  “I thought I had all the time in the world.” As she spoke, she put her hand on his bare chest, watched the motion of it as she stroked her palm over his lig
htly furred pectoral and the thundering heart beneath it.

  His whole body quivered.

  “I already made one mistake. I didn’t want to make another.” Her fingertips traced the arc of his nipple.

  He thought his knees would buckle.

  “But then you got the offer,” she went on, watching her hand as it moved down, one fingertip following the thin line of dark hair disappearing into his jeans. “And I realized if I didn’t do something, you’d leave and I’d never know.”

  She was killing him, and she didn’t even seem to care. “Know what?”

  Her hand stopped. She stared at the puckered scar by his waist. “Iraq?”

  “Hay baler. As you were saying? You would never know about what?”

  Her hand stopped its exploration.

  “About us. This.” She looked up. Her gaze moved over his face, settled on his mouth. “I don’t want you to leave, Dalton.”

  “This is an inducement to stay?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s working.” He decided he’d better move this along before his heart gave out. “Do you want to take off your robe, or should I?”

  “You can.”

  It was like unwrapping every Christmas present of his whole life all at once. Times ten.

  Neither of them were virgins, but since there would be only this one first time together, Dalton resolved to go slow and do it right. But as soon as her robe slid in a whisper to the floor, and she reached for the zipper on his jeans, he lost focus and sank into pure sensation.

  Nerves jumping under his skin when she slowly pulled down his jeans. The softness of her skin against his palm. The flowery scent of her hair. The way her breathing changed to match his when he touched her breasts.

  Great breasts. Amazing breasts. And a perfect fit for his big hands. Soft and firm at the same time, and so smooth it was like stroking sleek, warm satin.

  Which he did. While she stroked him.

  Then they went wild. Too long without, too long waiting for this to happen. Mouth open against his, she climbed him like a cat up a pole, her long, strong legs wrapping tight around his waist as he lifted her up and held her against him.