Just a Cowboy and His Baby (Spikes & Spurs) (10 page)

“Trace,” she stammered. “To begin with, my hair is dyed. It’s really dark brown. And next, I’ve never fallen into bed with a man I’ve only known a few weeks before. I just want you to know that.”

“Well, I’m sure I’d like your hair any color you want to make it. And I didn’t think you were that type of woman, darlin’,” he whispered as he massaged her back and neck. “I didn’t plan on this either.”

Her tense muscles relaxed under his fingertips. “That is heaven,” she said.

“
You
are heaven,” he said.

So that’s what was in Pandora’s box. She’d wondered ever since she was a little girl and now she’d figured it out.

Heaven on one side, hell on the other. Which one would still be standing in December?

Several other trailers were already parked when Gemma crawled out of the truck on the rodeo grounds at sundown. Excitement floated in the mountain air like smoke in a cheap honky-tonk. The smell of dust, animals, and beer and the summer weather brought on what Gemma tagged “rodeo weather.” Since she’d been a little girl, she couldn’t wait for winter to end and spring to arrive so they could start going to the rodeo on weekends. She loved the whole scene: cowboys, bulls, horses, hats, boots, trailers, long rides, noise—all of it. And she loved getting to the grounds a whole day before she had to ride the next night.

She’d barely gotten the electricity hooked up and was back inside the trailer when Trace knocked on the door and then opened it a crack. A hand slithered through the small opening and held out a beer.

Gemma grabbed it and slung the door open all the way.

He stepped into the trailer. “It ain’t Coors but it’s cold.”

She shut the door. “Where’s your buddies? I saw them headed toward your trailer the minute you parked.”

“Jealous?”

“No, I am not. I just figured you’d be off checking the bulls and broncs and seeing what mean critter you drew for the ride tomorrow night.” She guzzled down several long gulps of the beer.

“I told them we were claiming a spot but leaving soon as we did. We are headed on out to Lester’s dude ranch and let you get the lay of the land before you take on ten girls.”

She looked him right in the eye and didn’t blink. “Did it ever occur to you that I want to be here tonight, that maybe I don’t want to go out to the dude ranch right now?”

“Well, pardon me.” His head did a bobble with each word.

You
are
letting
a
little
jealousy
ruin
things, girl. Back up and settle down
, her inner voice advised.

I’m not jealous,
she argued.

Of
course
you
are. You thought he’d come running to open the door for you like the gentleman he is and instead he talked to his rodeo buddies.

Oh, hush!

“You are doing that again,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“Arguing with yourself.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I do the same thing. Let’s start all over,” he said. “Would you like to spend tonight at the ranch to get acquainted with the place before the kids come? You can do laundry, unpack, take a bath in a big claw-foot tub, and relax.”

“I’d kill for a bath in a big, deep tub. My granny has one like that, so yes, I would like to spend the night at the ranch. And what will you be doing while I do all those things?” she asked.

He shot her his best killer smile. “That’s up to you, darlin’.”

“And if I want something kinky?”

“I told you I don’t do kinky,” he said.

“Not even black fur handcuffs and maybe a little watermelon on your body if I promise not to bite?” she teased.

“That’s not kinky. That’s plain old cowboy sex.” He chuckled. “Want to practice right now?”

She shook her head. “Not after that drive we just did. Let’s take my truck. It’s got a club cab and we can throw the laundry bags in the backseat. In yours we’d have to put them in the back and they might blow away.”

“You are changing the subject,” he said.

“Yes, I am. Much more of that kind of sexy talk will burn down my trailer and I need it to get from rodeo to rodeo.”

His arms slipped around her waist and pulled her back against him. “I missed you today. Short phone conversations don’t let me touch you or smell your hair or kiss you.”

She turned and he pinned her against the doorjamb with a hand on either side of her shoulders. She rolled up on her toes and his lips met hers in a scorching kiss that sent shock waves to her toes.

He broke the kiss and stepped back. “I’ll go get my stuff ready and unhitch the trailer for you then.”

Gemma barely nodded. To get her mind off what she wanted to do, she did what she should do and filled a long tubular bag made of oatmeal-colored canvas with sheets, towels, clothing, and the rest of her laundry. Then she packed a small duffel bag with clothing and was crossing the floor when Trace stuck his head in the door again.

His eyes slowly undressed her—an item at a time. A wide grin split his handsome face and he said, “Well, shucks, I was hoping you’d meet me in nothing but your boots and a smile.”

She giggled. “And a hat?”

“That does sound sexy. Hold that thought for a few hours. Here, I’ll take those to the truck for you.”

She locked the trailer door and turned to see Trace with his hand in the air. “Toss me the keys.”

“I’m driving,” she said.

His eyes narrowed and his lips almost disappeared when he clamped them together. “I’ll drive. I know the way,” he said.

“You can tell me where to make the turns,” she answered.

He rounded the front end of the truck and held the driver’s door open for her, waited until she was buckled in, and then slammed the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows.

Sugar whimpered from her perch on the console.

Gemma scratched her ears and crooned to her. “Men are like that, Sugar. They get mad if they don’t get their way. Be glad that you don’t have to deal with little Chihuahua boys who think they are God.”

When Trace was in the truck, Sugar crawled over into his lap. He folded his arms over his chest and ignored the dog, which made Gemma even madder.

Gemma put the key in the ignition and started the engine. “Sugar didn’t cross you. I did, so don’t take it out on her.”

“I’m not,” Trace growled.

“Which way?” Her tone was cold.

“When you get out of the grounds go south for six miles then turn back to the west.” His was just as chilly.

“So you don’t like to sit in that seat?” she asked.

He kept his eyes straight ahead. “Not when there’s a lady in the vehicle.”

“Why? Do you have to be in control?”

“When I’m in the vehicle with a woman, I should drive. It’s respect, not control.”

“Are we fighting?” she asked.

“No, ma’am. We are having a discussion. When we fight you won’t have to ask.”

Five miles south of Colorado Springs she saw a sign advertising Coleman’s Dude Ranch. She quickly read the directions that said to turn right in one mile and checked the speedometer. At the end of a mile she turned and passed under a metal arch with Coleman welded across the top in big letters. The road was wide enough for two vehicles but narrow enough that she was glad she didn’t have to pass a semi or even another pickup truck. Still Trace sat on his side of the truck like a puffed up toad frog. She fought the urge to stop the truck, kick him out on the side of the lane, and put it in reverse.

“Okay, macho man,” she said when she reached the end of the lane, “which way now?”

He pointed straight ahead. She passed horse corrals, several barns, and three long shotgun-style cabins near the white two-story house with a wide front porch. Two hounds were sleeping on the steps of a wide front porch. Rocking chairs beckoned from deep shadows, and light flowed in golden splendor from the windows onto the lawn.

“Which cabin is mine?” she asked.

“Menfolk are next to the house, then the dining cabin, and finally the ladies.”

“Okay, this is enough, Trace. If you are going to be a jackass because I drove, then get out and go have fun with your cousins because I’m going back the rodeo grounds. I don’t have to put up with your pouting shit.”

He chuckled.

Gemma didn’t see a damn thing funny. Her green eyes flashed anger and she raised both eyebrows halfway to her hairline.

“You are a pistol when you are angry,” he said.

“You are a jackass when you are angry,” she shot right back.

He held out his hand. “I’ve been told that before. Guess it could be true. Truce?”

She ignored it. “Do you realize that as long as you call the shots and I play along everything is all fine and dandy? But the minute I cross you, you act like a grizzly bear with an abscessed tooth?”

He folded his arms over his chest.

She did the same.

“Now we are fighting. Want to have makeup sex later tonight?”

The tension in the truck was thick enough that a sharp machete couldn’t have cut through it, and suddenly the whole scene was hilarious. They were fighting over who drove her truck six miles. She burst into laughter so loud that it bounced around in the truck like marbles in a tin can.

“Dammit, cowboy! It’s not funny,” she wiped at her eyes.

“I didn’t say anything funny. I just asked if you wanted to have makeup sex.”

“I know, but why in the hell are we fighting about driving? That’s a piss-poor thing to fight about when we’ve got bigger things we could really put to the test.”

He unfastened both seat belts and pulled her across the wide bench seat to his side. He cupped her cheeks with his hands and lowered his lips to hers.

“It’ll take more than that to be called makeup sex,” she whispered.

“Oh, darlin’, that was just a teaser. We’ll get around to the real thing later tonight. Lester said supper is at eight so rather than having pickup sex we’d best go on inside. Most of the time supper is at six, but he and the twins were making hay all day.”

Gemma sputtered. “You did not tell me we were invited to dinner. I didn’t even change clothes.”

He kissed her again. “You look like a million bucks. Hungry?”

She looked down at her shirt and jeans. At least she hadn’t spilled anything on them that day, even if they were wrinkled. She pulled her hair loose from the braid and pulled the sides up with a clamp from her purse leaving the rest to fall in soft waves down her back. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror and applied a bit of lipstick and mist of perfume.

“Best I can do on short notice. You could have told me this morning,” she said grumpily.

“I didn’t know it until an hour ago when Lester called and invited us. Then you got all huffy and had to drive.” Trace slid out of the passenger’s seat and held the door for her. “You look beautiful, as always. Just don’t let those cousins of mine take you away from me.”

“Hmmph,” she said. “You’d have to own me first and that ain’t damned likely, cowboy.”

Lester met them at the door and motioned them inside. He was as tall as Trace but his hair was blond and his eyes clear blue. They definitely shared DNA from the shape of their faces and their muscular bodies, but Gemma thought Trace was by far the more handsome of the two.

“Lester, meet the woman I told you about. This is Gemma O’Donnell. Gemma, this is the oldest one of my cousins.”

“Right pleased to meet you, ma’am, and thank you for agreeing to sponsor in our girls’ cabin this week. Supper will be ready in a few minutes. Y’all come on in and make yourselves at home,” Lester said.

“I’m looking forward to meeting the girls, and it’s nice to meet you,” Gemma said.

“I need to put Sugar in the boys’ cabin,” Trace said.

“Still travelin’ with that glorified rat.” Lester laughed.

“Shhh, you’ll hurt her feelings,” Gemma told him.

Lester smiled. “Take her on down there and turn her loose. Hill has supper just about ready to set on the table.”

“Come with me, Gemma?” Trace asked.

“You’ve got about five minutes.” Lester disappeared through a doorway off the foyer.

Trace snapped the leash on Sugar and let her make a couple of stops on the way from the house to the first cabin. He turned on the lights and put her inside and then laced his fingers with Gemma’s.

“You do look beautiful, Gemma. I’m not shootin’ you a line,” he said when they reached the house again.

“Yeah, well, it’s dark out here so you can’t see what I really look like,” she told him.

“Honey, all I have to do is shut my eyes and I can see what you look like clothed, half-dressed, or naked,” he whispered as he opened the door and stood to one side to let her go into the house first.

She poked him on the arm. “Shhh, Lester will hear you.”

“Did I hear my name?” Lester appeared from a room with delicious food smells following him.

“You did,” Trace answered.

“But you don’t want to know what it was about,” Gemma said.

“I know Trace, so I’ll listen to the lady. We’ve heard all about your folks up in these parts. Any time you want to sell Glorious Danny Boy, me and the boys will hock the ranch and sell Trace on the auction block as a slave to buy him.” His voice wasn’t as deep as Trace’s, and it didn’t have that slow Texas drawl.

“Momma would sell me before she would that horse.” The door opened right into the living room, which looked masculine with its soft leather furniture, plasma television, and hefty oak coffee table.

“How much?” Trace whispered low enough for her ears only.

Stairs went up off to her right and doors opened to her left. Another tall blond cowboy came out of the nearest door wiping his hands. “Hi, Trace, and you have to be Gemma. I’m Hill Coleman. Trace told us you were beautiful, but he didn’t do you justice. Come on in and set up to the table. Harper will be down in a minute. He had to go wash up a bit.”

Like part of a country song on a continuous loop, Gemma kept replaying what Hill had said: “Trace told us you were beautiful.”

Harper yelled from the top of the stairs, “I’m on my way. Don’t be startin’ without me. Trace will get all the best parts.”

Boots made a rat-a-tat noise on the steps as he hurried down.

Gemma looked up at still another handsome blue eyed, blond-haired cowboy and then back at Hill. They were so much alike that she couldn’t tell them apart.

“Twins, remember?” Trace said. “Hill is an inch taller and Harper has longer hair.”

“I do not, and he’s only half an inch taller.”

“And there’s the way you tell them apart.” Trace chuckled. “Harper will always argue that point. I’ve known them since they were born and sometimes I can’t even tell who is who, but if I mention their height then Harper argues and I can tell them apart that way.”

“It’s on the table,” Hill said. “And if you really want to tell us apart, then remember I cooked tonight. Harper does a pretty good job of simple things, but you won’t ever get yeast bread when he cooks. He and Trace, neither one could make a pan of biscuits that couldn’t be used for skeet shootin’.”