Rope Burn: The Boot Knockers Ranch, Book 5 (20 page)

Elliot had taken over as one of the resident Doms and was doing well under Quay’s guidance. Stowe was happy things had worked out, but he still felt restless. In limbo.

Sure, he had his own land. He’d close on the property next week. The earth was good for grazing grasses and he could pull a crop or two off it if he wanted. He’d made a good deal and had some money to live on for a while. Trouble was, the land didn’t have a house. He was staying on the Boot Knockers Ranch. A couple times he’d slept in the bed of this truck. He’d awakened to gaze at the stars, dreams of Tabbart making him hot with lust.

The woman was in his blood. Still, there was a big disconnect between the happiness he should feel at the recent life changes and what he truly felt.
Because I can’t share it with her.

Two of his inseminated cows were carrying calves. Since hearing the news, he’d wanted to pick up the phone and call her so many times. But he just couldn’t. She belonged there, and their parting had been filled with anger and pain.

Why hadn’t he backed down and put his arms around her? Kissed her plump lips and said goodbye? He’d been kicking himself so much he wouldn’t be surprised to see heel prints on his own arse.

Riggs made a noise of disgust. Stowe paused in his work.

“I can’t get it to run. I’ll walk back for a four-wheeler.”

“I’ll come with you. I could use some sweet tea.” Stowe abandoned the pitchfork and they strode back to the main part of the ranch. While Riggs fetched a four-wheeler, Stowe went into the kitchens by the back door.

Cook looked up, face wreathed in smiles. “My favorite cowboy!”

He grinned. “We’re all your favorites.”

She wiped her flour-coated hands on her apron and came forward to pinch Stowe’s arm. “True. But I have a soft spot for my cowboy who brought me such a delightful chef. Do you hear from her at all?”

Heart heavy, he shook his head. “No. She’s busy.”

“Yes, I’ve seen her latest shows! She made my fruit compote with my secret ingredient.” Pride oozed from her words and expression.

Stowe’s chest felt tight suddenly. Unable to form words, he gestured toward the walk-in cooler. “I hope you don’t mind if I grab some sweet tea.”

“Thermoses in there as always. Help yourself.”

He grabbed two and hurried back out of the kitchen. Tabbart had carried her time on the ranch back to her real life. What else was she doing besides making fruit compote—practicing submission?

He swallowed a growl and chugged half a thermos of tea. Even the notes of peach and lemon would tantalize Tabbart. He could almost see her closed eyes as she swallowed the brew.

Shaking himself, he replaced the cap on the thermos and set off to find Riggs. The vibration of his phone irritated, and before it could go off again, he plucked it from his pocket.

“Stowe.” Amelia’s tone alerted him something was wrong.

Imagining Great-Aunt Adina had finally died and their mother was in a tizzy, his knuckles tightened on the phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Is that how you were taught to greet a sister?”

“It is when you use that tone with me. Why are you calling?”

Amelia made a humphing noise. “Can’t a woman call her brother without the third degree? I’m calling to see how you are.”

“Thirsty and hot, that’s how.”

“And now a rancher.”

“Yes.” He found himself smiling. “You’ll have to come out and see it, but later. I don’t have a house.”

“I’ll have to stay on the Boot Knockers Ranch. I wouldn’t mind that, you know.”

He rumbled his displeasure, and she responded with a tinkling laugh.

Stowe burned to ask about Tabbart. For several minutes he listened to Amelia’s ramblings about a play she’d gone to see and how it reminded her of seeing
Calamity Jane
with him.

That led to more memories of Tabbart, and pretty soon he heard himself break into the conversation.

“Look, Amelia, I did something wrong. I hurt Tabbart. Is she okay?”

Dead silence. “Depends on what you mean by okay.”

Goddammit. She’s not.
He stopped walking.

“Tell me everything you know, Amelia.”

“I can’t. I’m under the silence of friendship.”

“Friendship?”

“Yes. Tabbart and I have been hanging out. She actually went to the play with me.”

Something akin to jealousy bloomed in his chest even as he was happy for his little sister. If he were going to pick a friend for her, it would be Tabbart.

He tried to pose his question without giving away what had happened at the end of their time together—just in case Tabbart hadn’t confided to Amelia. “Can you tell me if her reputation is intact?”

“It is,” she said right away. “And yes, I know. Actually, I know way more than you do, brother.”

What did she mean? How could that be? He knew how Tabbart arched under a smack on her backside and wore his whip marks with pride. That was as intimate as a couple could be.

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course not, Stowe. I can’t say more. Only that I’d love to have you visit again before your calves are born and you’re unable to leave the ranch.”

Stowe hauled in a jittery breath. Her words were infused with insinuation, and he swore she’d emphasized “visit again”.

“Did she… Does she…”

Amelia laughed. “I’ve never heard you without words. I guess you have that in common with a certain TV network chef right now. Think about coming to LA. Bye!”

One of the thermoses dropped from his grasp. It hit the ground and rolled. He ended the call and bent to scoop up the item, his mind spinning.

His sister, friends with his lover—the love of his life. Had Tabbart told Amelia everything? Her true nature wasn’t to hold back emotions, at least with Stowe.

Amelia’s words revolved through his mind one more time.
Visit again.

She’d never invite him to do that if she felt Tabbart wouldn’t want it. And Amelia had connected them in the first place.

He took off walking. Stowe had to ask Riggs if his friend would be willing to look out for his cattle while he made a little trip.

Chapter Thirteen

“Tabbart, you look divine in that color,” gushed an audience member.

Tabbart looked up from the wooden spoon the lady had handed her to sign and smiled. “Thank you.”

Her assistant Mindy had selected yet another blue outfit for her today, but Tabbart had thrown as much of a celebrity fit as she was capable of. She’d quietly slid the clothing down the bar and pulled out a deep red sweater.

For some reason Tabbart had pivoted before the dressing room mirror and thought of Stowe’s eyes when he saw her in this color.

She handed the spoon back to the fan. Two arms were hurled around Tabbart’s neck, and the woman bounced up and down. Laughing, Tabbart hugged her back. Then she moved down to sign another autograph.

“Congratulations on being nominated for TV chef of the year,” the woman said.

Tabbart placed a hand on her arm. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re going to win this year. I just feel it. Bobby Flay’s got nothing on you.”

Tossing her head back, she laughed. When she stopped laughing, she caught something out of the corner of her eye. Amelia gave her a cheesy grin and smile.

Tabbart returned it. Amelia was such a bright star, it was impossible not to become infected by her moods. She’d definitely kept Tabbart from a lot of despair over the past month or so.

“Wrap up, Tabbart. Two minutes until roll camera,” someone called.

With a nod of acknowledgment, she hurried through several more autographs. As soon as she turned, her makeup girl powdered her T-zone. And another fluffed her hair.

Tabbart jumped in front of the camera at the last minute. She started right into a story. “When I was a little girl, we’d travel to Maine every year. We had a cabin near the beach and we’d go down to gather shells and sometimes go as a group and clam. What I remember most about those trips are coming home, though.”

Her ingredients were on hand, as well as the dishes she’d requested. She drew a bowl forward, added softened butter and began to cream it with a spoon. “Often we’d return to find a homemade dessert for dinner with those clams. My mother loved to make a cherry tart. To make the crust…”

Minutes passed as she lost herself in preparing the light crust. Then she pitted some cherries and dumped them into a bowl to soak in a sugar and cinnamon mixture. As she walked between refrigerator and worktop, her heels clicked and cameras followed.

“Bake for forty minutes at 375 degrees. If you see the crust getting brown on the edges, that’s okay. This is a rustic dessert.” She pulled one finished tart from the oven and held it out for the audience to see. It was still warm but not hot, having been baked earlier that day.

Smiling for camera two, she sliced the tart and served it onto a white plate. A cherry toppled off, but she didn’t care. Life wasn’t perfect, and tarts didn’t need to be either.

“My mom always served this with vanilla ice cream but I prefer whipped cream. And kids have fun using whipped cream in a can.” She reached under the worktop for the can on the shelf.

It felt odd. She looked down and saw fingers wrapped around the can—long, tanned fingers with a dusting of dark hair on the knuckles. Fingers that tormented her morning, noon and night.

Time throbbed to a stop. Or maybe that was her heart? She flicked her gaze up to the man holding the can. There, crouched out of sight, was the cowboy who haunted her. Their gazes connected. She sucked in a gasp.

A camera rolled around just as Stowe stood. As soon as the audience spotted the tall, muscled cowboy, they echoed Tabbart’s gasp.

She stumbled back a step and nearly fell off her high heels.

Stowe hooked her around the waist and steadied her. Her lungs weren’t working. What was he doing in LA on her set? Why?

“You were looking for this?” he rumbled, dark eyes glowing with something she wanted to strip naked and roll in.

“Y-yes. Thank you.” She accepted the can.

Stowe reeled her closer, holding her gaze. Her nose flooded with his scents of man and leather. God, he looked divine. Dizziness struck her and she realized she’d stopped breathing.

Drawing a choppy gulp of air, she placed a palm on his chest. Was it her imagination or was his heart tripping fast?

“I’m going to kiss you, love.”

She nodded a split second before his mouth slammed over hers. Emotion choked her as his hard lips took complete control. In the back of her mind, she was aware of her arms locking around his neck and her fingers threading into the dark hair beneath his hat. Also, that the audience was squealing and clapping.

But all she knew was Stowe—the man she’d fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with.

He hauled her against his muscled body, and she parted her lips. His tongue explored the depths as his hands roved over her spine.

Applause exploded, and she broke away from the kiss. Stowe gave her a slow, crooked grin.

Her mouth fell open, and suddenly she found it filled with whipped cream. She sputtered, swallowed some and burst out laughing as more dripped down her chin. Stowe swooped in again. Licking it off, kissing her.

Cheers erupted.

When they broke apart, she faced the audience and camera, knowing how dazed she must look. Dazed and ecstatic. He was here.

“Let’s dish out these desserts so I can get you alone,” he rumbled near her ear.

Loving that he respected her audience and understood her devotion to them, she jerked into action. Stowe carried trays of tiny desserts through the audience while she talked to her fans. Nobody wanted to discuss the food today, though. No, they wanted to know all about Stowe. Was he from Australia? Were wedding bells in her future?

She flushed deeply and answered as vaguely as possible. What she needed was to get him alone. Her mind spun.

When the final audience member had been fed, Stowe plucked Tabbart off her feet and began carrying her off set. As they passed Amelia, she gave two thumbs up. Had she arranged this?

Wait till I talk to her.

Tabbart’s heart brimmed with love for this man. He set her down in a far corner of the studio, crowding so close she had to tip her head all the way back to see him.

“I was an ass that last day, Tabbart.”

She shook her head. “We both made mistakes.”

“But that woman hasn’t said anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Good. You did the right thing then.”

“I could have used my brain to get out of it, but I couldn’t think clearly at the time.”

He ran his thumb over her cheekbone and settled it at the corner of her mouth. “I know, love. I’ve spent months thinking of little else.”

She made a soft noise in her throat, burning to turn her lips to the pad of his thumb. Memories of him wearing the black gloves and her sucking his essence off the digit ignited her.

He captured her gaze.

“W-why are you here?” she managed to squeak out.

“I’m in love with you.”

His quiet, simple admission was a wave slamming over her. She gasped, blinking rapidly around tears that she had no chance in hell of restraining.

Cupping her face, he let his mouth hover inches over hers. “Will you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Stowe.”

“Can you…love me then?”

She choked on rising sobs. “I’ve spent months thinking of little else.” She tossed his words back at him.

Then she went on tiptoe at the moment he leaned down. Their lips brushed in a tender, seeking kiss. As he wrapped her tightly against him, she threw herself into the moment.

He angled his head and plunged his tongue deep. Her body reacted. Her nipples peaked, her pussy swelled and grew slick. As he fueled her fires with long, thorough kisses, she ran her hands over his broad shoulders and back. Relearning what her brain had known forever.

She belonged to him.

He clamped his hands on her ass, hitching her high against his cock. They broke off the kiss with a twisting of mouths. While staring at each other, she found the words on her lips and said them.

“I love you, Master.”

With a growl, he lifted her. She wrapped around him and directed him as he walked.

“No, not that room. The next. There’s a lock and a…chair.” She panted as Stowe sank his teeth lightly into her throat. Passion rolled off her lips as she turned them against his neck and kissed a maddening path to his collar.

His cock was a ridge of stone in his jeans, and he burned to lay his palm against her bare ass.

He kicked open a door. The still space was decorated in soothing colors, and a chair in the corner beckoned. He set her on her feet and she kicked off her heels. She eyed him with an expression of pure need and love.

Then she launched herself at him. Knocking off his hat, ripping at his shirt buttons. He fought with the jeweled buttons of her beautiful red sweater for a second before grasping the fabric and ripping it down the front. Her skirt hit the floor and they wrestled with pantyhose.

She trembled with laughter and attacked his belt. In seconds she had his length in hand—and his eyes rolling back in his head.

“I’m clean, love. Checked out, and I haven’t been with anyone in months.”

She stopped with her fingers wrapped around his cock head, her thumb at the oozing slit. “No one?”

He shook his head. “I tried working for two weeks in a row, but I handed off my clients within hours of getting them. You broke me, Tabbart. I wasn’t the same after you.”

“Good.” She nipped his lower lip with her sharp teeth, and he growled.

“Don’t try that again if you know what’s good for you.”

She hurled herself against the arm of the chair, bare ass up. When she looked back over her shoulder at him, he was lost forever.

He lowered his jeans and underwear. Shed his boots and kicked the whole mass of fabric off. Then he wrapped his fist around his cock and gave it a long, slow stroke.

Tabbart’s spine contorted with her shiver.

“You want this, love?”

“I want everything. Your hand, whip, all of it.”

“Will you have me bareback? No barriers?” How many weeks had he fantasized about sliding into her without a condom? Taking total ownership?

“I’m on the pill.”

“I was hoping to hear that. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think of anything but me. Then I’m going to put a gold collar on your throat.”

She twisted to look at him better. Her voice was breathy. “Really?”

“Goddamn right. I mean to make you mine. But you won’t have to wear the collar on set. Now turn around and give me the pose, Tabbart. I’m going to warm your ass before I fuck you.”

The minute he gave the order, she postured for him. Ass up, back arched. Her head hung between her shoulders. His head swirled with power and love.

The first crack was gentle. He smacked and rubbed, bringing the blood into the area to receive harder blows.

She rocked into his hand.

“God, your pussy’s so wet for me. I want to go on spanking you for an hour but I…can’t…” He lifted her off the chair, took a seat and settled her over him.

As she sank on his cock, their gazes held. Every mind-blowing inch of wet, bare heat threatened his control. When he jerked her down hard and his cock was buried to the hilt, he ran his thumb over her lips.

“Tell me again, Tabbart.”

She dropped her forehead against his, eyes shiny with passion. “I love you,” she whispered and began to move.

He claimed her mouth. When she slid up his cock, he gripped her ass hard enough to leave crescents of bruises from his fingertips. He needed to mark her, and it was time.

She cried out and sank over his cock once more. Her inner walls clenched and released, nearly sending him over the edge.

As he flipped his tongue over hers, he gained some precious control.

He slid off the chair and lifted her against him. Then he took two steps and pinned her to the wall, his cock still spearing her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked deep into his eyes.

“Don’t look away,” he grated. With a twitch of his hips, he hit a new angle. She cried out, and he swallowed the sound with his kiss. Passion roared in his ears.

She was beautiful, smart and funny. All the things his mother would love to see in his woman. And as soon as possible, he was getting her home to meet his family. First he was going to fuck her countless times in California before taking her back to his ranch. They’d sleep in a tent if they had to.

His smile spread under her mouth, and she mirrored it. He nibbled the lower curve of her lips, then the upper. She pushed into the wall and managed to sink over his cock again.

With a shared groan, their gazes intensified and their movements gained purpose. A dew of perspiration coated her golden skin. He knotted her hair around his fist, jerked her head back and kissed her throat.

She trembled, stiffened and came. He wasn’t able to stop his low roar as he felt her orgasm to the far reaches of his system. His cock lengthened another fraction as he jerked upward.

Filling her with his come.

She was finally his.