Second Hope Cowboy (4 page)

“Ahh, sarcasm. You always did have a talent for it. I guess you must be eating this up, huh?” She cleared her throat. “Thinking this serves me right for coming all the way out here, uninvited.”

His jaw loosened, some. “You almost wrecked and killed yourself. If you think I’m getting some enjoyment from this, you’ve hit your head harder than I first thought.” He smirked, stood up and slammed his hands into his front pockets. “Maybe you should call that prince charming fiancé and tell him to come and get you. Hopefully he can drive like he has some sense. I’d hate to have to save his ass tonight too.”

It strained her neck to stare up at him—all six feet two, two hundred pounds of brawny cowboy wrapped in tanned skin. All muscle, not even an ounce of fat on his entire body. She slipped her gaze over him, not for any reason but just to verify that fact.

Yup, no fat whatsoever.

Sometimes she wondered how she’d gone from Tucker, an arrogant, tough cowboy, to Blaise, a sophisticated, well-mannered surgeon. His hands were considered works of art, covered by insurance if anything unfortunate should ever happen and he could no longer perform his duties as one of San Antonio’s finest doctors. Tucker’s hands were large and square—covered in calluses and scars. Once, he’d broken his middle finger while rounding up cattle and he’d asked her to wrap it. She’d tried talking him into going to the doctor, but he’d shrugged it off.

She hadn’t minded his rough hands at all.

“Do you have to think about it that hard, sweetheart? Maybe you’re secretly hoping you can stay here. I’m sure we’d find something to talk about.” His gaze slipped to her chest and one corner of his mouth curved.

She fixed her shirt, tugging the material high on her chest, though he knew every inch of her. “Staying here doesn’t entice me, not one bit. I’ve had my fill of ranch talk.” She rolled her eyes, but a nudging in the pit of her stomach made her curious why her body betrayed her mind. She needed some serious self-reflection. Hell, that’s what she was doing now, dissecting her emotions like a dead frog in biology class. “I won’t call Blaise.”

His brow snapped up. “He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

“We are on a break.” His exhale of breath cracked the air. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Tucker, but I needed to take care of some personal business before I could marry him.”

“Wow, some short engagement, darlin’. Proof that money doesn’t buy love.” He chuckled and it ripped through her.

“My interest for Blaise has nothing to do with money. You’re just showing your jealousy.”

“You’re wearing your lies, sweetheart. I can see straight through you and your phony feelings for that pipsqueak doc.” He snorted.

“Please don’t pretend you know my feelings.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to see that you don’t belong with a pretty boy.”

“And why is that?” She lifted a brow, pushing him into a corner. Would he mention the long nights of heated lovemaking they’d shared and the times she’d pleaded for him to take her? She swallowed.

“Because—” He snapped his mouth shut, as if he thought better of telling her.

“Blaise is a nice guy. You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

“The man wears a toupee and he gets his tan from a can.”

“That’s a hair transplant! And who are you to talk when you care so little about your appearance you bite your nails instead of clipping them.” Why was she even bothering? It didn’t matter what Tucker believed or didn’t believe. So then why did she have the urge to settle things?

“I’m not judging him, sweetheart. I’m judging you. I know you—every inch, every nook and cranny.” His tan turned a shade lighter. “Oh hell, maybe I don’t know you! Could be the reason why you took off. I couldn’t meet your financial needs. Your dad spoiled you rotten. He even warned you that you wouldn’t be happy as a rancher’s wife. Dear ol’ daddy pegged that well.”

“Now you’re grasping for straws.” She flipped a hand through the air. “And as far as my father is concerned, once you and I were married I never took a penny from him!”

“How does that work then, Hope? Why did you leave? Were you tired of living on a ranch? Wanted a bigger house, a bigger bank account? A bigger cock?” His mouth thinned. “Damn, I’d like to know what it was that sent you packing.”

The gruffness of his tone and the cruelty in his words scraped her nerves. He was skirting around the loss of their babies. She could feel it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She stood up, pushing past the dizziness that washed over her. She needed some distance and fresh air. Going to the window, she attempted to lift it, but the thing wouldn’t budge. Giving up, she turned, bumping into the solid wall of Tucker’s chest. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze. The fine hairs on her arms erected and butterflies swirled in her stomach. He was so close that she could see the freckle in his left eye and the small scar above his upper lip. His manly scent of leather and soap was a cocktail for her senses.

An invisible rope lassoed her as she leaned forward on her toes, breathing the same air as Tucker. The past disappeared and the only thing remaining was the moment at hand.

His gaze remained on her. Seconds turned into a minute—sixty seconds of electrical current pricking the space between her thighs. Her core burst with joy, swelling with a need for cowboy—not just any cowboy would work.

He leaned in. Would he kiss her? Would she let him? Hell yeah!

“Excuse me.” He brushed past her, their shoulders touching, and he raised the window as effortlessly as lifting a feather.

He stepped away and she sucked precious air into her parched lungs. What had come over her? Tucker had come over her…that’s what.

“I know enough.” His thick words pounded through her haze. She’d lost track of their conversation, attempting to gather her senses. Wrapping her arms tight around her waist, she hoped to ease the fluttering behind her bellybutton. “Speechless?” he egged.

“No, not at all. I have questions of my own. Why did you get rid of Havens Ranch after you swore the land was part of your soul?” She lifted her chin and tightened her shoulders. “Why didn’t you sell the house too? Why did you keep it? Just to watch it crumble? So much for loving the land you worked hard on.”

“That’s peachy considering you came all the way here to ask for the house when you didn’t give a damn when you walked away. I didn’t see a bit of regret while you were signing the divorce papers, giving me the house. Remember? You walked into the courtroom, the ice cold queen making her appearance with the bigwig lawyer who’s on her daddy’s payroll.”

Gritting her teeth, she conjured patience. She wouldn’t back down from him. Maybe it was time they hashed out the reality of their past relationship. “Walking away wasn’t easy!”

“You sure made it seem easy.” His gaze narrowed into slits of accusation, burrowing deep into her skin and into her bones, entwining with the feelings of need he’d provoked moments ago.

Moisture blurred her vision but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “You have no clue!” Her bottom lip trembled as emotion threatened to bubble to the surface.
Suck it up!

“You’re right! I don’t have a clue. You sneaking out in the middle of the night was a big eye opener though.” His jaw tensed and his eyes turned a shade of navy. “You grew tired of the marriage, just like your mom did when she left you and your dad.”

Poison ripped through her veins. She turned on her bare heel and marched across the room, far away from him, or at least as much as the space would allow. Her breath caught deep in her lungs as a fire scorched her insides. She opened her mouth to yell when a picture caught her attention. Hanging on the wall was the framed wedding portrait she’d hung there. She and Tucker were smiling, happy, looking forward to a bright future. The world was their oyster. She swallowed a sob and her anger faded—a little.

Would he understand why she’d left? He’d only know if she told him. “Tucker, I—”

“No more excuses. I realize what we had is over. It’s dead in the water. You’re free to stay here until your car is back on the road, but don’t ask for the house again. It’s not up for debate.” He stomped toward the bedroom—once upon a time
their
bedroom. He kept his gaze away from her. “You know where the blankets are.” He disappeared inside and slammed the door shut behind him.

Hope laid her palm against her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow. She’d almost told Tucker everything. Why open that can of chili beans? It wouldn’t do either of them any good. He’d only be hurt all over again, and that’s what she didn’t want.

****

Tucker paced the floor in the bedroom, hoping to relieve some pent up anger.

How had life suddenly become complicated?

He’d come to the cabin for respite and ended up opening the door to trouble by the name of Hope.

How dare she come and destroy his peace.

Hell, who was he kidding?From the moment he’d gotten out of his truck here he’d been on edge. The dark seemed too dark. The crickets chirped too loud. The air seemed too hot. His shirt seemed too tight.

Practically ripping the buttons from the holes, he heard a seam break and remembered this was his favorite shirt. He carefully finished the rest of the buttons and slid it from his shoulders, tossing it on the chair.

If only he could toss away the anger in his gut so easily.

He dropped onto the cover and the mattress creaked under his weight. Burrowing his head deep into the goose down pillow, he found it wasn’t comfortable so he picked it up and punched it a few times, sinking his head once more.

The moonlight billowed in through the window, a reminder how he’d made love to Hope right here, dozens of times, exploring her body—her soft skin, lush curves, firm breasts and thick nipples— in the pale-bluish light. He wasn’t in the mood for the bright globe tonight—he wasn’t in the mood for anything. Why couldn’t he just go to sleep?

He brought his arms up to cover his eyes but images of Hope played like a movie on the back of his eyelids. Visions of her coming down the aisle wearing the shiny, sequined white gown. Later that night, he’d removed it with the anticipation of a teenage boy getting his first kiss. They were so happy, and in love. They’d made promise after promise…and she’d broken them one by one.

Fuck!

Times change.

People change.

He didn’t even know her anymore.

The woman he’d loved wouldn’t have hauled ass out of their home, out of their marriage, in the middle of the night.

He rubbed his forehead. He would have guaranteed that they’d stay together through thick and thin.

His gut clenched and he dragged his thoughts away from the painful past and back to present—and it was just as dismal as the past.

Tomorrow morning, at the first sight of light, he’d get up, call the Hinshaw boys from the local shop and hope they’d get her car running ASAP. If fortune was in his corner, there would be only minor damages and Hope would be on her way. He’d never have to see her again.

Why did that thought leave a nasty taste in the back of his throat and an ache in his joints?

It didn’t matter what his gut told him. What he’d shared with Hope had died the moment she walked away. She’d given up. Worse, she’d moved on.

Sure, she’d said she was on a break with the pipsqueak now, but he had a feeling when she said break, what she really meant was a temporary solution.

He rolled over and the mattress whined under his weight and echoed off the walls.

He wondered if Hope had settled in for the night. He listened closer to any sounds coming from the other room.

Would she remove her jeans? Before, she always came to bed in her bra and panties—and ended up in her birthday suit.

A stirring awakened behind his zipper, making the pain insufferable. Unbuckling the belt and undoing the zipper, he slid his jeans down his hips and legs, kicking them off his feet. They landed against the wall. His boxers were stretched to seam capacity and his hard-on peeked from the elastic band.

Most nights he’d handle the problem. Tonight jacking off was more repulsive than appealing because Hope was on the other side of the wall.

He was as horny as hell, but pleasuring himself wouldn’t do the trick to relieve a need that was deep down inside.

CHAPTER FOUR

Hope came awake with a start, inhaling the chicory smell of coffee and savory richness of bacon. Her stomach rumbled in craving.

Lifting on one elbow, she groggily glanced around the room. The morning light spilled in through the open windows while a bird chirped from its perch on the outside windowsill. Her head felt better but the gurgling inside of her stomach was a reminder she hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday morning.

She moved her foot and something fell to the floor. She bent, grabbed the shirt and shorts—better yet—
her
shirt and shorts.

“I found those packed away. Thought you might like to get out of those torn, blood stained clothes.”

She shifted on the couch cushion, searching out the man with the thickest Texas drawl she’d ever heard. He was standing at the stove in the open kitchen, spatula in one hand and a half smile on his full lips. She did a quick dip over his white T-shirt that fit every coiled muscle, worn jeans that didn’t hide the fact that his thighs were thick and down to his bare feet. He was the dictionary definition for sexy cowboy.