How to Kiss a Cowboy (16 page)

He stuffed his selections into the gear bag and zipped it up, wondering why she'd kept that photo. Did she feel the same way he did—as if that moment could have changed their lives? Did she wish it had?

Maybe she had once. But now that he'd put her in the hospital with multiple injuries, he doubted she felt that way anymore.

Suze lay in bed, like she'd been doing all day, and wondered when she'd be able to go home. She didn't want to stay in the hospital, but what the hell was she going to do once she got back to the ranch? She doubted she'd be able to walk. Even now, just resting there, her right ankle throbbed so hard it felt like a bomb about to explode.

She thought about asking the nurses for some pain medicine. The pills might knock her out and help her stop worrying.

Holy crap. That thought sounded so much like a drug addict, she'd better renew her promise to herself—a promise to use as little medication as she could, no matter what the doctors said.

She just wished she had something to do—a magazine to read or a book, or her knitting. She'd always thought knitting was an old-ladyish thing to do, but the fact was it made the miles go faster when her dad was driving her to rodeos, and helped while away the long nights between performances. Her mother had taught her to make scarves, and she'd made so many, she'd almost run out of people to give them to, even though she passed them out to every competitor, rodeo clown, pickup man, and announcer she met along the rodeo road. She really ought to learn to make sweaters or something, but there was something pleasurable about replicating the pattern her mother had taught her, over and over, in yarn of various weights and colors. It felt like a connection, a skein unwinding through the years that joined the two of them together.

But her knitting was at home in her gear bag, and she had nothing personal here at all—nothing but Brady's bouquet of flowers, which had brought her more pleasure than she'd ever tell him. She picked up a daisy that had somehow fallen on her pillow and brought it to her face. Daisies didn't have much smell, but she caught the grassy scent of her pasture, the high notes of the sunshine that had nurtured it, and the low, dark notes of the earth where it had grown.

She'd just begun to drowse a little, the daisy clutched in her fist, when footsteps and the gentle
whoosh
of her door opening alerted her to a visitor.

Finally. Her dad.

She opened her eyes to see Brady. Again.

She shoved the daisy under her pillow.

“I brought you your stuff.” He still couldn't stand to look at her. She must be a real horror. “Some pj's, jeans, and T-shirts, and, um, other stuff.”

Surely Brady Caine wasn't blushing? He was. Over what? Her underwear?

It wasn't like he hadn't seen it before, and lots more like it on other women—although she did have a liking for pretty underwear, and kind of collected sexy bras and matching panties. If she was competing, she wore a sports bra. Otherwise, her pretty underthings made her feel like something about her was pretty, at least.

“Where's my dad?” she asked.

“He was, um, busy.”

“Yeah right,” she said. “Let me guess. There was a
Bonanza
episode on he'd only seen sixteen times.”

Brady sighed and sat down in the chair beside the bed. Taking his hat off, he raked his fingers through his hair and finally looked at her.

Suze had run her fingers through that thick hair once. Suddenly she had the urge to do it again. A picture flashed across her mind of Brady laying his head in her lap, of her stroking that soft brown hair while they both fell asleep to the clicking and humming of the medical machines. The thought made her eyelids droop, and a wonderful feeling of peace came over her.

She shook her head, hard. Where had
that
come from? She definitely needed to knock that picture out of her head, and fast.

She'd had thoughts like that about Brady since she was fifteen years old. She had no idea what it was that attracted her so strongly to this careless ladies' man of a cowboy. She believed in working hard, in taking things seriously, and Brady never worked a day he didn't have to. She trained hard and thought harder, strategized and drilled her horses; Brady just hopped on a bronc and hung on. He had so much natural ability he'd never had to work at it.

She still wondered what would have happened if she'd been nicer to him after that night in the trailer. Or if she'd pursued him a little harder back in high school, before he started catting around so much.

It was probably just as well she'd never learned the answer to that question. Whoever ended up in a relationship with Brady was bound to be miserable. He was a prime candidate for one of those off-kilter relationships where one partner does all the loving and the other partner is so busy dazzling the rest of the world that they don't have time for their partner. Because Brady was a dazzler. He couldn't help it.

She'd seen that kind of relationship in her own parents. She'd never understood their fights when she was little, but as she'd grown, she'd realized that her father was no match for Ellen Carlyle. The woman was like a Fourth of July sparkler, blazing so brightly she left the image of her white-hot beauty burned into the eyes of everyone she met. Suze's father had been a stabilizing influence, a support, almost a servant. Even as a child, Suze knew that wasn't what she wanted for herself.

“What's wrong with your dad, anyway?” Brady asked. “He's not the only person in the world who ever lost somebody. Why can't he get over it?”

“I don't know.” Suze shrugged. She wasn't about to get into that with Brady. “What did you bring me?”

Brady shifted in his chair and cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Some pajamas,” he said. “The pants and tops to match, and some jeans and T-shirts. Socks too.”

“Is that all?”

He nodded, staring at the floor.

“Didn't you bring me any underwear?”

A ruddy flush started at the back of his neck and suffused his tanned face. Best of all, it turned the tips of his ears bright pink. “The red one and the white one,” he blurted.

She'd have to keep in mind that the red one and the white one were apparently winners when it came to embarrassing Brady Caine.

The thought made her giggle, and that felt so good she loosened the reins on her laughter and let it fly. Brady looked stricken for a moment, but then, good-natured cowboy that he was, he joined in. The two of them struggled for control, but every time Suze managed to quit laughing, Brady would catch her eye and she'd start up again.

It felt good. After all the stress and tension of the past two days, she needed to let loose with some kind of emotion, even if it was a totally inappropriate one.

They finally wound down, slowing to little spurts of laughter here and there, with longer and longer intervals in between. When Suze finally recovered fully, she was stunned to find she'd taken Brady's hand at some point. Or had he taken hers? It was hard to tell, but she quickly disentangled their fingers and looked away, embarrassed. The air practically hummed with sexual promise, and images from their one night together flickered through her mind. The images moved from past to present, and she imagined Brady taking her now—climbing on the bed, kissing her, tugging at the tie on her hospital gown…

How could she shut this down?

“I wish I could help my dad somehow,” she said.

That was one thing her father was good for, anyway. Bringing him up could slam the door on any kind of merriment in two seconds flat.

“There's got to be a way to get him back to the real world,” he said. “You're going to need him, and right now he's no help at all.”

She nodded. There was no point in disagreeing.

“I know he loved your mom, but it's been ten years. If he was trying to crack a Guinness record, he's probably already done it.” He scratched his head, staring out the window as if the answer might be written on the clouds. “Why can't he get over her?”

She'd mulled that problem over so many times she thought she'd considered every aspect of the problem, but she'd never talked to anyone else about it before, mostly because she thought their family dysfunction was a secret. There was no hiding it from Brady, though. Not now. Heck, she couldn't even hide her underwear from him.

“He must have loved her so much.” Brady's voice was soft, his tone wondering, as if he couldn't comprehend that kind of devotion. He probably couldn't. After all, she didn't think he'd ever had a relationship that lasted more than a week.

“I guess so. But you know, it's funny. I don't think their relationship was that good,” she said. “Maybe he feels like he didn't love her enough, so he's making up for it now.”

Brady looked puzzled. “That doesn't fit with what I've heard. Everybody says he was crazy about her, as in love with her then as he is now.”

“Who's ‘everybody'?” Suze asked.

Brady shrugged. “You know. People around town.”

“People around town talk about my family?”

He grinned. “Well, yeah. That tends to happen when you have two generations of world champions.”

Suze shrugged. “It's just barrel racing.”

“This is the West. People care about barrel racing.”

“Then how come it's always the last event at every rodeo? And how come everybody's always getting up to leave before our first competitor gets out of the gate?”

Brady looked down at the floor, kicking idly at the leg of his chair. He evidently didn't have an answer, because he changed the subject. “Did they ever fight?”

She laughed a short, hard laugh. “Oh, yeah. They had some real barn burners.”

“About what?”

She shrugged. “I don't know. I was a little kid. He was jealous, I think.”

“No wonder. She was beautiful.”

“I know.” She didn't want his pity. She didn't want anyone's, so this was what she always said—that she didn't remember her mother, so she didn't miss her. But it didn't really work that way. Not remembering her mother only made Suze miss her more.

“You look just like her,” he said. “You'd think he'd be happy that she left him something so—I don't know, such a piece of her.”

Suze stared at him, incredulous. “Have you
seen
my mom? The pictures of her? She looked like a movie star.”

He grinned. “Have you
seen
yourself? The way you looked for that photo shoot?”

She had seen herself, and the mirror image of her mother, looking back at her in the makeup trailer. Maybe she really did look like her mom, but only if she piled on the makeup and frothed up her hair to unnatural heights. Beauty didn't come naturally to her the way it had to Ellen Carlyle.

That was what her father said, anyway. And he was the one person she could count on to tell her the truth.

Too bad she couldn't count on him for anything else.

As he watched Suze pluck at a loose thread on the thin hospital blanket, Brady felt like his heart was going to swell out of his chest. Something right behind his eyes burned, and his throat ached.

He wondered if Suze realized how alone in the world she was. He hoped not. With her mother dead and her father consumed by grief, she'd thrown herself into barrel racing so hard she probably didn't have time to think about anything else. Her success had left her without any friends close enough to call on at a time like this.

Brady knew there were plenty of cowboys who'd be happy to spend some time with Suze Carlyle, but she was shy to the point of seeming rude. He was one of the few people who'd managed to get through her stubborn reserve to see the woman inside.

And he was probably the last person she wanted to ask for help. He didn't know what he'd done or said that night in the trailer, but something had gone wrong and ripped her trust away. The accident at the photo shoot was just ugly icing on a cake that had already collapsed. It gave her a reason to hate him that she could actually talk about.

And yet they'd been chatting almost like friends. He wondered why, and Brady didn't do a lot of wondering. He liked to ask his questions straight out and get answers right away.

“Why are you even talking to me?”

Suze yawned, patting it down with one hand. She tried to stretch with the other arm, but a wince put an end to that.

He winced with her, feeling every bit of her pain, every twinge, every ache, every tender bruise. Because it was all his fault.

“I'm too tired to be mad,” she said.

If that was the case, he should make sure she didn't get any sleep.

That thought led to other ones, thoughts about how he could keep her awake. What would happen if he bent over the bed and kissed those full lips, caressed her shoulder, and tugged at the string of that hospital gown? He knew how to tease her and touch her just right, and he'd kept her up all night once before.

He wiped those thoughts out of his mind, hating himself just for thinking that way. Suze was going to be tired for a very long time, but it was his job to make that time as short as possible. If she still wanted to throw him out of her life at that point, that was her right.

“Listen,” he said. “I want you to know something.”

She rolled her eyes. “This sounds way too serious.”

“This is a serious situation.” He gestured toward the bed, with all its attendant medical gear. “And it's all my fault. If I hadn't screwed up, you'd be out in the arena with Speedo today, running drills,” he said.

She looked over toward her nightstand. At first he thought she wanted a drink of water, but then he realized she was looking away from him to hide a tear. She managed to blink it away and looked back, brushing her cheek as if wiping the hair out of her eyes.

He started to reach for her other hand, then looked down at the splints on her fingers and thought better of it. She didn't seem to have any one life-threatening injury, and he was glad of that. But he'd somehow managed to hurt just about every part of her one way or another.

He cupped her hand in his instead and lightly touched the broken fingers.

“It's going to take time for this to heal.”

He stroked the inside of her wrist, following the faint tracery of blue veins that branched like tiny rivers under her pale skin, gently pressing a bruise that looked suspiciously like the imprint of a fence rail.

“And this.” He brushed his fingers across an abrasion near her elbow. “And this. And until every bone, every bruise, and every sprain and strain is cured and you're back in the saddle good as new, I'll do anything you want. I'm going to be there for you every minute of every day. You don't have to worry about a thing, okay?”

“No. Not okay.” She pulled her hand away. “I'm sure this surprises you, but I don't want you around all the time, Brady.” She let out an unconvincing laugh. “I'm not like most women, you know.”

“Do I ever.” He smacked the crown of his hat, which was sitting in his lap. He hit it harder than he meant to, crushing the felt and practically turning it inside out. “I know you're an independent cuss,” he said. “I'm the same way. I guess it's a cowboy thing.”

“I'm a cow
girl
.”

“You don't ride like a girl,” he said. “You're as cowboy as any of us, and you know it.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“It's more than a compliment; it's a membership in the club. When bad things happen, cowboys stick together. You're going to need help, and I'm right here to give it to you.”

She could hardly argue with that, though she looked like she wanted to. Then, suddenly, her eyes narrowed.

“Did you say you'd do anything I want?”

He nodded. “Sure did. Until you're good as new.”

“Good,” she said.

Brady felt a whoosh of relief. He needed to help Suze—partly to cleanse his soul because of the mistake he'd made, but also because he was realizing, more and more, that she needed someone and that someone ought to be him.

“So I get to order you around, right?” she asked. “And you have to do what I say.”

He didn't like where this was going, but he had to nod.

She stretched out her arm, pointing at him like a queen commanding her subject.

“I, Suze Carlye, order you, Brady Caine, to leave me the heck
alone
.”

She smiled and whisked her palms together as if she was brushing off dust. “There. Done. Thanks for being such an obedient slave. Now go away.”

He stood and caught a flash of fear in her eyes. It faded as fast as a campfire doused with a bucket of water, but for a second it had burned brightly.

They both knew she needed help, and they both knew she had nowhere to get it.

“That's the one thing I won't do,” he said. “I'm not leaving you. I won't get in your way, and I'll try to stay out of your sight if you want me to. But I'll take care of your horses, and I'll make sure they get worked. I'll keep your barn clean. I'll even cook and clean. Whatever you need.”

“You can cook?”

“No.” He grinned. “But I'll learn. It might not be so good at first, but when I want to learn something, I learn fast.”

“Really? Like when?”

Dang. He couldn't think of a single occasion when he'd worked really hard to learn something. Rodeo had come easy, so he hadn't bothered with the subjects in school that didn't interest him. Math and science had been his favorites, so he'd done okay. English? Social studies? Not so much.

“Everybody needs something to work at, Brady. A challenge. For me, it's riding and always learning to ride better. For my dad, it's getting over my mom, I guess. But I don't know what your challenge is.”

He was starting to think
she
was his challenge, but he didn't want to say that. Besides, the question deserved a thoughtful answer. What was he supposed to learn in this life? Which one of his many flaws did he need to work on first?

“Probably personal relationships,” he said.

She gave him an almost comical look of disbelief. “Are you kidding? Everybody loves you. The whole freaking world is your friend. You've had more personal relationships in the past five years than most men have in a lifetime.”

Ouch. That stung.

“But they never last,” he said. “I know how to get people to like me, how to have a good time. That's all. I don't know how to really talk to people about deep stuff. I don't know how to make anything last.”

“That's for sure,” she muttered.

Ouch. That stung even more.

He thought about what he'd said about the deep stuff. He'd heard some TV psychologist say that exchanging secrets was the way to make people trust you. Maybe that would work on Suze.

He put his hat on his fist and set it to spinning, watching it teeter and whirl so he wouldn't have to look at Suze while he talked. “When you're a foster kid, you learn pretty quick that you shouldn't get attached to people. Or at least, you
should
learn it quick. I was a slow learner.”

Suze didn't say a word, but when he glanced up, her eyes were on his and she'd gone still, like a deer listening for the telltale snap of a twig in the forest.

“I was a problem kid.” He set the hat spinning the other way. “Always getting in trouble. But I tried. I really did. I wanted a family so bad, you can't even imagine.”

Suze gave him a gentle smile. “They're not always all they're cracked up to be, you know.”

“Yeah, I know that now, but I sure didn't know it then. If your dad would've had me, I'd have done anything for him.”

That probably wasn't the smartest thing to say. The silence from Suze was deafening, and he felt like the temperature of the room had dropped a degree or two. But he kept on talking. Kept on trying.

“So I learned to make people like me. I thought some family would adopt me if I was cute, you know? And if I did everything they said. And if I stayed cheerful all the time, no matter what.”

Those last words took him by surprise. He'd always thought his positive attitude was something to be admired, but maybe it had its roots in something less than healthy. He'd have to think about that later. Right now, the words were spilling out like water from a faucet. He wasn't sure he could stop if he wanted to. It was a strange sort of relief to confide all this in Suze, even if she didn't care.

“So I might seem like I know how to make friends, but that's where it ends.”

“That's not true,” she said. “You know how to keep them too. You're still friends with half the girls you slept with.”

“Well, yeah.” He stopped spinning the hat and set it on his knee. “I still like them. I just don't know how to go any further, you know? I put on the brakes every time.”

She should know, he thought. She'd had direct experience with his inability to keep a relationship going past a one-night stand. Hadn't he walked away from her the morning after without telling her how much the night had meant to him? How different it had been than the rest? It had been amazing to talk, to really share, and then the sex—well, it had been mind-blowing.

In retrospect, there were so many things he could have done—told her where he was going and why. Told her how he felt. Or even called and delayed the meeting.

But no, he'd walked out the door, telling himself the meeting was important, when the truth was that he was scared stupid of the feelings she'd called up in his heart. Those feelings had seemed perfectly safe when they'd been tumbling together in the same bed, but in the light of day, it was different. When you loved people, they had the power to hurt you.

“I guess being in the foster system must have been hard on you, Brady,” Suze said slowly. “I never really thought about that.”

He felt the old familiar squeeze, like a fist around his heart, and changed the subject as fast as he could. “Naw, it was all right,” he said. “But what do you say? Are you going to let me help you?”

She stared down at the hem of the sheet, shaking her head. “You don't have to.”

“Who's feeding your horses?”

“My dad, probably. He takes care of Bucket when I'm on the road.”

“He do a good job?”

She faked interest in something outside the window and didn't answer. Since her view consisted of a brick wall, he knew she was just avoiding his gaze.

“He didn't feed him last night or this morning, and he had plenty of time to do it.” He knew the words were harsh, but she needed to hear them. If he didn't know how much the horses mattered to her, he might have let her keep her illusions that her father gave a crap about her, but she'd never forgive herself if something happened to Bucket.

Or Speedo. Shoot, he shouldn't have brought up the horses.

“What about Speedo?” she asked.

“Oh.” It took him a second to think of something to say that wasn't a lie. “My brother Ridge picked him up.” Ridge
had
picked up the horse and put him in a stall. And that was the last anybody saw of him.

“I guess that's good,” she said. “Ridge is a good horseman.” Her brows arrowed down, and he braced himself for another question about Speedo, but she surprised him. “How do you know my dad didn't feed them?”

“Because I did.”

“So why are you bothering to ask my permission, if you're just going to do what you want anyway?”

“I couldn't risk letting the horses go hungry. Would you have wanted me to risk that?”

She was silent.

“I'm sorry, Suze, but your dad isn't going to do it. I will,” he said.

She looked up at him with red-rimmed, glossy eyes, not even bothering to hide her tears. “Just don't go in the house, okay?”

How did she think he'd gotten her clothes? He'd already seen the pile of unwashed dishes, the mess in the living room. But it didn't seem right to remind her. The less said, the better.

She tugged at a thread on the sheet, and he noticed she'd pulled quite a bit of it loose. She must have been working on it awhile.

Setting his hands on his knees, he stood. “I've got to go. I'll stop back tomorrow to see what else you need.”

She shook her head mutely. Now that he was standing, she looked terribly small and helpless in the big, white bed under the glaring hospital lights. He wasn't used to seeing Suze look weak. He doubted anybody was.

“I brought you some magazines. Here.” He pitched them on the bed beside her.
Western
Horseman
,
Quarter
Horse
Journal
, and one more. He topped the pile with a copy of
Cosmo.

“Brady!” She blushed. The headline, written in hot pink letters across the top, was “Ten Orgasmic Moves He'll Never Forget!”