One Night with a Cowboy (Paint River Ranch) (Entangled Indulgence) (10 page)

The laughing got closer as he approached his horses’ stall. He coughed loudly behind a smile to prevent any awkwardness, and possibly give the gigglers time to get their clothes back on. Movement from the stall next to the one he was going toward made him pause again. Two heads peeked out of the stall door. Tucker’s stomach bottomed out as he did a double-take of the pair of flushed faces and kiss-puffy lips.

“Oh my god, Ma?”

Maeve slid sheepishly out of the stall, Jim Gilfoyle following behind, holding her hand. She looked as embarrassed as Tucker felt, but Jim, he just looked proud of himself. Maeve held the top of her button-down shirt together with her free hand. “Tucker! I thought you’d already left.”

Tucker grimaced and looked away. He’d just busted his mother, in the barn, making out with…hell, with Jim. He had to have seen this coming, because, really, Jim had stayed on at the ranch for almost an entire year straight. In all the years Tucker could remember Jim coming to stay at the ranch for his yearly writing retreat, the mystery author always returned to Chicago eventually. More like an uncle than just a family friend, he had always doted on the boys, bringing them gifts, writing, calling, and celebrating their accomplishments. Considering his mother had known Jim since she was a child, and they’d stayed in touch all these years through marriages and children, this…well, this was a natural progression.

“Tucker,” Maeve began, but he stopped her with a wave of his hand.

“I just need my horse, Ma. Pretend I’m not here.”
No, no.
“Scratch that. Just wait to pick up where you left off
after
I get my horse.” He moved fast to the stall, unlocked it, and, without bothering to put a halter on his gelding, clicked his tongue. Like a well-trained dog, the horse followed him without a lead rope.

He tried not to look at his mother because he didn’t want to see that love-tussled look on her face, but, dang, he did look, and there it was. Her smile was placating, but he didn’t need to be reassured or calmed down. He wasn’t upset…not really. Why shouldn’t she move on with her life? His father had been dead almost three years. Her marriage to him had been more obligation than love. Cooper didn’t dish out affection. He had only taken what he wanted and pounded obedience out of his family the same way he had manipulated the land, working long hours to the point where his family could go weeks with barely a glimpse of him. As much as he despised the hard man Cooper was, every now and then, Tucker mourned the reality that he’d never had someone to show him what being a family man was really about.

He tried to walk past them, but Maeve shot to his side and put a gentle grip on his shoulder. The sad twist of her expression spoke volumes to him. He’d always been able to read his mother like an open book, even when she worked so hard to hold her feelings inside. She was worried about what he thought. At the moment, Tucker didn’t know. Really, was it his place to even have an opinion? If she wanted to erase the memories of a loveless marriage with a man who brought her happiness, then who was he to stop her?

Even if he’d never have that same measure of happiness for himself. He didn’t know how to handle a relationship, and why set himself up with a wife who might someday come to resent him, the way they’d all resented his father? He was pretty set in that way of thinking, so the pang of envy he got just then was way out of left field.

Tucker blinked hard and cupped his mother’s cheek with his palm. “It’s okay, Ma.” Without waiting for her response, he led his horse out. Let Maeve scrub her slate clean. It just reinforced Tucker’s belief that having a slate in the first place was a really bad idea.

…

Night had fallen by the time Sophie returned to Paint River Ranch from the nursing home. Emotionally spent, she let herself in the cabin and collapsed face down on the sofa. Her feet hung over the end, her hair strewn around her shoulders. The cushion pressed into her face, threatening suffocation, but she managed to pull thready mouthfuls of air. It was an uncomfortable position, but she was too tired to care.

She’d spent almost four hours with her mother, talking to her off and on as if a real, two-sided conversation would miraculously begin at any moment. After a while, it didn’t matter anymore that Violet wasn’t responding vocally. She’d responded in other ways, Sophie was sure. Maybe she was nuts, but there were a few times when her mother’s eyes opened at just the right time, or she rolled her head to the side as if in agreement with something Sophie had said. She and Violet used to talk for hours, and even once she’d left home for her own apartment, Sophie had called her mom every day. Every damn day. When she’d said good-bye a little over two years ago, as Violet left for a two-week vacation to visit Carla here in Missoula, Sophie never imagined the epic conversation they’d had before Violet had left would be the last of its kind for them. And yet, today, simply talking to her as if nothing had changed had been uplifting. And sensing that Violet was responding in her own way? There just weren’t words for how awesome that was.

Sophie had actually been whistling when she’d walked out of the nursing home. Until her patched-together, but mostly-still-broken cell phone gave an angry squeal to announce a new voicemail. One that told her she hadn’t gotten the unit coordinator position back in Minnesota. Their decision to hire “in house” meant she was firmly down to the last set of twenties in her wallet, with no financial-boosting reason to go home at the moment.

Seriously, life’s ups and downs could kiss her ass.

“Trying to let in more squirrels?”

Sophie jerked at the voice, cranking her head too fast and rolling onto the floor. So much for staying put. Tucker’s half smile blossomed into a full on I’m-completely-laughing-at-you grin. Her body responded immediately as if he’d given her some hidden command with that smile.
Nipples, perk up!
She considered covering her chest with an arm to hide the evidence, but Tucker held out a hand to help her up. “You left the door open again.” Too surprised to be completely embarrassed, she took it.

“I did?”

“Yep.” He paused and looked her over. “Go get ready.” Sophie glanced down at her wrinkled capri pants and V-neck tee. She had no idea what he was talking about.

“Go?”

He pointed to the sky and mimicked an explosion with his fingers. “It’s the
Fourth of July, silly. There’s a party and fireworks at the ranch down the road. Unless,” he ran the backs of his fingers down her bare arms. “You’re in the mood to keep the fireworks inside.”

She warmed at his touch, her breasts actually aching this time, but the sluggishness of emotional fatigue made it difficult to enjoy. Sophie crossed her arms, attempting a smile but failing miserably. She didn’t want to turn him down, because, really, she liked his company. And as up in the air as her life was, there was a good possibility that she wouldn’t get much more of it. Still, her social gene had the consistency of a wet pancake at the moment.

“I don’t want to go anywhere, Tucker. But thank you.”

He shrugged. “Well, I want you to, so get ready.”

Sophie crossed her arms with an incredulous huff. Her heart thumped a little faster as her inner feminist wondered when arrogant had become so sexy. “All about you, huh?”

He slid his hat off and set it on the arm of the couch before turning back to her. His hands slowly, gently smoothed up her forearms, nudging her crossed arms apart. Sophie’s breath caught in that hard, out-of-control way. He took her chin in one hand and tipped her up with a wink.

“Oh, I think there was plenty of focus on what you wanted on the bridge, don’t you think?” A needy ache shot between her legs, replaying the insistent need she’d given into, again, when he’d had her up against the bridge railing, with her upper body inches away from freefall. She’d fallen all right, straight into orgasm central, and she wanted another one right now.

God, what he did to her. Sophie squeezed her lids shut and tried to turn away from his grip. When he only held her tighter, she met his gaze with a challenge. Discomfort washed over his strong features. He regarded her for several long seconds, his lips parting once as if he was going to ask her what was wrong. Not that she would tell him. But he didn’t ask, just let her go and took a step back.

Sophie didn’t know what was more intense, his eyes or his biceps. A black T-shirt hugged his chest, showing off deep masculinity underneath. He smelled incredible, soapy and fresh with an underlying note of spice that wrapped around her and squeezed hard. Her resolve began to melt away. Tucker was so much more appealing than wallowing and, Jesus, if she could get him somewhere private for just one more mind-blowing ride, she would.

“I’ll wait.” His voice was low and a little edgy, as if he was completely out of his comfort zone. “While you change.” He shifted from one boot to the other, his eyes sliding to the door. Muscle moved gracefully under the tanned skin of his forearms as he crossed them, his long fingers curling lightly into fists. Suddenly curious, she stepped before him and nudged his arms apart. Tucker hitched a brow as she took one of his hands and laid it over her palm.

Grasping the knuckle of his first finger between her thumb and middle finger, she ran her fingers lightly down the length. Rough skin met her touch and she flipped his hand, swirling one finger over the work-hardened calluses at the end of each fingertip and along the underside of his knuckles. Tucker’s arm contracted forcefully, as if torn between pulling away and staying put. His fingers flexed under her ministrations and Sophie heard his breath stall.

“You have beautiful hands,” Sophie whispered. The square palms and long, sturdy fingers were strong and capable. Secure. The hands of a man dedicated enough to do the work required. One who didn’t stop until the job was done. Reliable. Like the man. They could touch with extreme pleasure or cause bruising pain. They could hold tightly—her hand, her heart.

With a quick intake of breath, Sophie let his hand drop. “Fine. I’ll be right out.” She crossed around the sofa to her room, shutting the bedroom door as if she could keep out the maelstrom of unwelcome tenderness she had for him just then. It followed her anyway.

Chapter Eleven

Sophie’s first surprise was the 1964 Chevrolet Apache truck sitting outside her cabin. She didn’t know squat about vehicles, but anyone would have been able to tell that the truck was ripped right out of the past and someone had taken a lot of time to make it pretty again. She took in the angular design, flawless navy blue paint, and gleaming wooden truck bed before peeking in on smooth two-tone gray leather seats.

“Meet Daisy.” Tucker gave a grand sweep of his arms. “This is Levi’s baby.” She listened as he told her about his brother Levi, the Marines, and Afghanistan, while she walked around the truck and appreciated its beauty. “We started working on this thing years ago, before we were even old enough to drive.” He looked over the hood, staring off into the night. “Gave us something to do besides work cattle and listen to Da—” Tucker cleared his throat and pushed away from the truck, coming around to open the door for her. Sophie gave an interested smile, hoping he’d finish whatever he’d stopped himself from saying, but he didn’t.

She slid inside and ran her hands over the glossy wooden dash. “Daisy, huh? She’s beautiful.”

Tucker got in and turned the key. The truck started with a huge rumble. “I take it out now and then, keep her running good. Considering I told Levi when we talked last night that I hit a deer with it and smashed the front end to bits, let’s hope nothing bad really does happen.” He winked and pulled out of the yard.

“Why in the world would you tell your brother that you smashed his truck?” Teasing a soldier stuck in Afghanistan seemed a little heartless. And apparently, by the look of childish glee on Tucker’s face, was the type of thing the Haywood brothers did.

“Because it’s fun.” The yard lights faded into the distance, swathing them in night. “And it’ll make him think about repeatedly kicking my ass when he does get home, which can take his mind off other things.” Sophie gave him a look that displayed she wasn’t convinced. Tucker rolled his eyes. “I just had it painted. I’m going to take a pic and surprise him when we Skype next week.”

He dug something from the center console and held it up. “We found this penny inside the glove compartment when we bought the truck. About a week after we got Daisy, Levi took her out in the field without Ma or Dad knowing, hit a rut, and rolled her.” The penny caught in the light as Tucker flipped it in his palm. “We found him lying in the grass with this damn penny sitting right in the middle of his chest. He was fine and ever since, this has been his lucky charm.” Tucker probably had no idea how wistful and full of longing his voice was. Sophie found herself clinging to every word and every nuance of inner Tucker that was peeking at her.

“He gave this penny away once, and it came right back. It showed up, right here in the center console…just like it had been waiting for him to come home. It’s silly, but every time I get in this seat, I look to make sure it’s still there.”

Sophie blinked as her eyes began to burn, another blink releasing one tear down her cheek. She startled at the warmth and quickly wiped it away, hoping he didn’t see. Then again, so what if he did? There was a lot of love inside that big man and he was oblivious to the fact that it was even there, she bet.

“He’s lucky to have you,” she whispered. He looked down and gave a short laugh, shrugging as if trying to dislodge her words. The space inside her chest squeezed, some primal instinct trying to force her into embracing him. But Sophie held back. Tucker didn’t seem the kind to want or need comfort when his emotions were tumbling—no, the stiffness of his spine and hard set to his lips displayed this conversation had already gone further than he was comfortable with.

She cleared her throat and shifted a little in the seat. “Ready?” Her cheery voice broke the tension and brought the gleam back to his eyes, leaving Sophie with the sensation she’d just encountered a very rare emotional moment.

Her second surprise was the amount of people congregated in the yard at Agate Falls ranch. Tucker had explained on the drive over that Agate Falls was strictly a working cattle ranch. Owned by Darren Waite, his daughter, and two sons, the ranch neighbored Paint River and the properties shared pasture land, equipment and, when needed, man power. Tucker’s familiarity with Agate Falls was apparent as he parked behind a huge barn and led her through the crowd, stopping every second to chat with someone.

He made introductions Sophie had no chance in hell of ever remembering. A huge bonfire burned in the pasture behind the barn. Buckets and hay bales made a wide haphazard circle of seats around the fire. A BBQ pit offered five huge barrel grills and, to Sophie’s shock, two fire spits with full body, split pigs roasting over open flame.

After a good twenty minutes of mingling, they made their way inside the barn. The doors were open on both ends, letting a warm breeze billow through. Multiple strings of tiny white lights were looped through the beams and ran the length of the barn. Round paper lanterns hung low from long wire, creating a cozy golden glow. Music bounced in the air high above the sound of laughter and conversation. Three men stood on a small platform on the south side of the barn erected from pallets.

The music stopped, the crowd grew louder. Tucker nudged her and pointed to a tall, mocha-skinned cowboy standing in the middle of a small, makeshift stage. She recognized him from the day he and Tucker had ridden to her cabin when the cows had gotten lose. He was holding a fiddle, flanked by two other men, one with a banjo and the other a guitar.

“My buddy Jaxon. He and my brother Cole are amazing fiddlers.”

Jaxon stepped to the edge of the platform, raised the fiddle to his shoulder and burst into a commanding singsong. “In constant sorrow!” A huge pause in the conversation around them made Sophie’s ears rush. And then a well of music rose up, and the crowd went berserk as the pickers played out, “I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow.”

Jaxon winked at her as he stepped up to the microphone, his hand claiming it like a prize as he drew it near and began belting out the blue grass lyrics. Around them, a wide circle of dancing couples formed, reminding Sophie of a two-stepping redneck party from the movies. She glanced around with equal parts amusement and surprise, realizing she’d never seen so many cowboy hats, jeans, denim skirts, and boots all in one place. She looked down at her spring green, organic hemp wrap dress and golden ballet flats. With her two-tone hair and dangling gold hoops, Sophie figured she’d stepped through the metro portal and straight into a country western landscape where the only redneck in the room was her. Nothing screamed outsider like organic hemp in a barn full of leather boots.

“Do you dance?”

Sophie snapped up to Tucker’s smiling face. “Dance?” She gave a furtive glance to the swirling bodies around them. “Ah, yes, actually I do. But…not this kind of dancing.” She’d no sooner gotten the words out than Tucker had her by the hands and pulled her into the circle.

“Well, you’ve been missing out then,” he said. “Because this is the only dancing that matters.” He grabbed her hand while his other arm slipped around her back. She balked as he pulled her forward and took two quick steps back. And then she was pulled up against his chest and he twirled her around twice. They were swept up in the circle with no way out, and Sophie found it easy to follow Tucker’s steps. Probably because he held her so tightly she’d become an extension of him and had no choice but to mimic his movements. And she wasn’t complaining. One big hand was firm against her back, his fingers splayed, and every so often she’d bump against him. When she was very lucky, her pelvis would press against his thigh as they went ‘round, briefly, but long enough to give her a flash of anticipation for his touch.

“Not bad for a city girl.” He spun her around gently before clasping her back against his chest. The top buttons were done up on his shirt and she itched to let a few loose, give a lick to skin that she remembered tasted as good as he smelled.

Sophie gasped as he twirled her fast and tight. Her leg muscles were lose, her body pliable to the moves he was putting her through. It was good, so good, to be out here, dancing again. “Twenty years of dance. Eleven as a student and nine as an instructor.”

He gave an impressed smile. “You don’t happen to teach ballet, do you? My little niece Birdie has been begging Cole for ballet lessons for months.”

“Yeah, actually, I do.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “Birdie is going to be all over you when she gets home from Australia in a few weeks. Her tutu collection is insane.” His words were heavy with an affection that filled her with warmth at the love he had for one little girl. For a second, Sophie had a blip of excited nervousness at the idea of meeting Tucker’s family. Until she remembered that she had no idea where she’d be in a few weeks. And the possibility that she and Tucker would be sharing any kind of time together? Highly, highly unlikely. The thought of going back to the metro gave her instant heartburn. The gloss of the city was in such huge contrast to the simplistic style of this barn with its slightly sagging crossbeams in the ceiling, and hay-strewn floor. There was nothing out here but field and mountains and animals and…quiet. In the few short days she’d been at Paint River, and now this ranch, Sophie realized one thing: it was comfortable here—almost more comfortable than the metro she grew up in, the metro that oddly felt a little less like home. Carla had made an off-handed comment that Montana sucked the old life out of you and put a new one back in. Sophie thought her sister might be on to something there.

“I loved teaching. It was the only thing keeping me sane most times.” She stumbled, her elbow hitting the back of the man behind her. Sophie shot him an apologetic grimace, but the man only smiled and gave her a polite nod.

“Sane?” Tucker shook his head as she stepped on his foot.

“Working as a paramedic can get a little stressful. Dance was my out, I guess. How I neutralized.” They passed in front of the trio. Jaxon loved being up on the microphone like he was born with it, his caramel skin glowing under the soft barn lights. The even tone of his perfect tenor entwined with the banjo and guitar notes like a lover with slow, easy hands. This wasn’t her normal choice of music. She’d barely listened to anything remotely country-ish unless one of her paramedic partners changed the radio station in the ambulance and forced her to. This was catchy and soulful and gave Sophie an inane sense of peace and belonging. Considering how absorbed everyone else was in the music and dance, she figured she wasn’t the only one to feel its spell.

“You don’t teach anymore?”

Sophie looked at her feet, trying to follow Tucker’s footsteps without stepping on him again. “I stopped when I was let go from the ambulance…” Her lips went numb as she stopped the words, glancing up to see if he was really listening. Explaining how her soul had gone so flat that she couldn’t bring herself to try and teach the joy and beauty of dance to eager little children seemed too personal to share with a man she wasn’t letting any deeper into her life. He seemed to be waiting for her to continue. Surprised by his obvious interest, and a little tempted to go on with her story, Sophie shook her head instead. “Yeah, I just…don’t dance anymore.”

“Mmmm.” The rumble vibrated against her skin when Tucker pressed his jaw against her cheek. “Well I’m glad you decided to take it up again. Right now. With me.”

His lips barely grazed her ear, leaving behind an electric zing as evidence that a small touch had occurred. Instantly, every inch of her skin became hypersensitive with the want to be touched, to seek it out, to demand it. She’d had lovers before, of course, but nowhere in her memory of the men who had touched her before could she recall an intensity of
need
or this raw, greedy anticipation that Tucker sparked in her. It was so easy to forget that anything existed beyond the moments when his hands were on her, his lips trailing over her skin.

Her chest rose and fell hard. Sophie focused on his touch so intently that she didn’t realize they’d stopped dancing. The beat of Tucker’s chest matched her own, and the press of his hand against her back was harder. Sophie leaned into him so the tips of her breasts met his chest, her middle taking on his with a barely-there connection. Her hips longed to arch into him—begged for it—but she went rigid to keep her body under control. Because there were people around. A lot of people. Moving away from Tucker would be the best thing to do…just a step back, but instead, he moved closer yet, his lips again finding her ear. What control Sophie had on her breathing stopped when the heat of his mouth caressed her tender lobe. One brief touch—a fluttering contact that left her pulsing for more, was all that he gave her before pulling away.

“Did you like the bridge?” His low rumble vibrated through her body. She didn’t need to dissect that question to know what he was asking.

“Yes.”

The music ended to an exuberant round of clapping and cheering. His eyes were fixed on her as dancers began to filter off the dance floor. “Then follow me.” He took her hand and led her outside where most of the crowd had gathered. Huge flames from the bonfire reached for the velvety, dark sky, but it had nothing on the heat in her blood at the moment. With only a few days left at Paint River Ranch, she supposed it didn’t matter how she and Tucker spent their dwindling time together. The sex was amazing. Healing, almost in that it soothed her soul and helped her brain take a break from the constant stress. And Tucker—he just kept surprising her.

They crossed the yard and approached a stand of trees. Sophie looked up to the last clear patch of sky before branches took over. The inky stretch of night sky was dotted with brilliant stars that looked so close she could touch them. Big sky wasn’t just a Montana moniker; it was an endearment that rubbed her soul like a crisp breath of fresh air.

Tucker finally pulled her along with a tug on her hand. “Watch this,” he said, stepping onto a narrow path swallowed by the trees. Three steps in, lights on the ground blinked to life. Lining the path, the small white lights looked like they’d fallen from the sky. Sophie caught her breath.