Unforgettable (The Dalton Gang #3) (9 page)

“Does this mean you’re happy?” she asked, running a finger over his lips and into his dimple hidden by beard stubble.

He turned his head to bite at the heel of her palm. “I was just thinking this is a hell of a way to spend a lunch hour.”

She couldn’t disagree. And as he pushed into her, filling her, joining their bodies fully, she hooked her heels in the small of his back for the ride. He rocked against her slowly, his elbows above her shoulders on either side of her head, his fingers toying with her hair where it fell across his pillow, no doubt in a messy splay of waves that would soon be tangles—and she couldn’t be bothered to care.

How could she when her body was buried beneath his, the mattress soft beneath her, the sheets smelling of Boone and Boone smelling of the wide-open spaces? He pushed in and pulled out, buried his face in the crook of her neck, grunted against her skin and bit down. A tingling sensation, like an electric buzz beneath her skin, raised the hair on her arms, at her nape, and coursed through her limbs until even her fingertips prickled from the powerful surge.

They’d been in bed for only minutes, yet she was ready to come for the second time. She wanted to wait, to draw out all of what she was feeling, to let it take her over, pull her under, consume her, but Boone chose that minute to increase his speed, and the strength of his thrusts sent her over. She cried out, pushing up against him as he shoved her down, quaking on top of her, grinding against her, the base of his cock like a steel rod shoved hard to her clit.

He groaned, a long, gut-wrenching sound that vibrated through his whole body. She felt it in his chest, crushing hers, in his belly, where his hair sparked friction against her skin as he writhed, in the short ragged bursts of air blowing furnace hot on her neck. She finished as he did, both of them sighing out long, exhausted breaths, both of them laughing softly.

She came down from an incredible high, rubbing circles along his spine, loving the resiliency of his skin, the muscles beneath, the way he shimmied under her hands. It was magical, making a big man like Boone Mitchell react to her touch, and one so simple after the near violence of the intimacy they’d just shared. Yet it was a violence she’d invited, and engaged in, and wanted more of, because this was Boone; and he was giving, not taking, not demanding, not hurting. It was a heady thing to feel no fear.

But it would also be nice to be able to move, she thought, smiling privately, before pushing at his shoulder and rolling him away. “What happened to hands and knees?”

“Eventually. But not today. Because after this, I’m going to be doing good to walk out of the house and finish all the work on tap for the afternoon.”

She turned to her side, her hands together on her pillow, her chin on top. “I hope you’re not blaming me for your weak knees.”

“Actually, I am. I heard you drive up, and came out of the barn ready to answer your questions—” He stopped, his eyes closing, his long lashes dark against his cheeks before he looked at her again.

But he didn’t say anything more. Just stared at her, his gaze sleepy and searching, and so she pressed, asking, “What changed your mind?”

“You,” he said, that gravel in his voice again. “You were standing there, your face to the sun, the wind blowing your hair and your top . . .” He went on, his voice dropping. “You were standing there, in the dirt, in those spiky heels without worrying that you might get ’em dusty, or step in a hole and go down, but like the ranch was where you belonged. That was unexpected. And that’s what changed my mind.”

She swallowed his words like bad medicine, staring at him, not knowing what to say because she didn’t want to hear that. She really did not want to hear that. She did not belong, not here or to him. She’d spent four years putting herself back together, and Boone’s return to Crow Hill was not going to derail her.

Yet when she looked at him, the longing in his expression fierce and raw, it nearly killed her not to acknowledge the admission he’d made, and to instead blithely say, “Believe it or not, I know how to look where I’m going.” She moved just enough to drop a quick kiss to his lips. “And I’ve been wearing heels almost every day for the last ten years of my life.”

“Guess you don’t buy them in Crow Hill,” he said, his tone resigned, the light in his eyes gone.

She’d done that, disappointed him, but it couldn’t be helped. “You guessed right.”

“You got any boots?”

She twisted her mouth to the side. “No, actually, but I’m thinking it’s time I buy a pair.”

“I’m thinking so, too.” He propped up his head with an arm tucked beneath. “Can’t take you horseback riding in heels.”

“You’re taking me horseback riding?”

“Thought I’d take you out to see my oil well.”

“Boone Mitchell.” She shifted up onto one elbow, pushed a fall of hair from her face. “Are you trying to impress me with your assets?”

“Thought that’s what I just did,” he said, reaching out to tweak a nipple.

She gave him a withering look. “You still owe me an interview, you know.”

“Hmm.”

“What?” she asked, slapping his hand, feeling the pop reverberate where he held her pinched tight. “You thought you could distract me with sex?”

“Something like that.”

“Uh-uh. Not happening. Though I think we’re going to have to conduct this interview in a public place.”

“Must be hell not being able to keep your hands to yourself.”

That
she wasn’t going to dignify with a response. Even if truer words had never been spoken. Not that she was the only one with the problem, she mused, reaching down to lift his hand from her breast. “Could you get away for supper tonight? At the Rainsong Cafe in Fever Tree?”

“Should be able to.”

“Do you want me to come by and pick you up?”

“And risk never making it to supper?”

Good thing one of them was thinking straight. “Then I’ll meet you there. What time?”

“Make it eight,” he said, covering her for a gorgeously smothering kiss that tasted of heat and sweat and salt; that had her melting beneath him, breathless, desperate, then rolling off the mattress and leaving her there as he walked naked out of the room.

She scampered out of the bed and into her bra and panties, zipping her pants, stepping into her shoes, and rushing down the hall for the staircase. By the time she reached her SUV, she’d only managed a half dozen of her blouse’s buttons, but they were the ones that would keep her from getting arrested, and that was fine.

What wasn’t fine was the way watching his bare ass as he’d sauntered away had her never wanting to leave. Had her, in fact, wanting to spend the rest of the day with him, on horseback, or in the barn while he did . . . whatever it was that he did. Had her wanting to belong.

If she’d been compelled to do any of that for her story, that would’ve been fine. But she’d wanted to do it because she enjoyed his company. He made her laugh. He made her curious—about his work, about his family, about the things he loved, the things he hated, his dreams for this broken-down ranch.

And that was skating too close to the emotional involvement she’d sworn to avoid. Not even for Boone Mitchell would she step into that trap.

TEN

A
S MUCH AS
he hated leaving the ranch at the end of a day, Boone meant what he’d said to Everly. He’d never be able to answer her questions if they were alone in the house. Their being alone would have him dragging her up the stairs to his bed. She could ask him what she wanted to know while there, but he’d have a hard time answering with his blood in another part of his body than his brain. And he was pretty sure she’d have a hard time taking notes with her hands busy elsewhere.

As it was, he mused, dragging his saddle and blanket from Sunshine’s back, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about this interview business, no matter his sounding all grown-up when he’d agreed to let her question him. He got that she was just doing her job. He also got that having her be the one to tell the Dalton Gang’s story would keep it from turning into some sort of literary lynch mob. Everly at least would be fair, he was sure of that, even with the less-than-positive parts of his past. He just hoped in all her digging she didn’t come across sins he’d forgotten committing.

They had to be out there. He was certain they were. But he’d been away from Crow Hill almost as long as he’d lived here. Hard to recall everything a man did as a boy, especially a teen boy fascinated with his own dick. And everything in high school had been about his dick. Unless it had been about beer. Combine the two and they made for a volatile combination. They also made for a lot of forgettin’ going on.

Mostly, though, he was worried about her running across the real trouble he’d got into with Les Upton. Granted, Les had caused the trouble . . . for his daughter, for his wife. For Boone. But Boone and his favorite part of his body had not been innocent in that night’s debacle.

If he and Everly were to get serious, he’d tell her about it. It was something he’d want her to know. But he would not open up that vein for her newspaper story even should she ask. Those facts had seen enough print back in the day.

“You want to come to town?” Dax asked, coming out of the tack room and stopping at Sunshine’s stall. Casper had already headed home, the two returning later than expected from the auction. “Arwen’s working tonight so I’m eating at the saloon. Happy to buy you a burger and a beer.”

Boone had kinda forgotten the other man was still here and huffed in response. “Happy since she owns the place and you buying means no money changing hands, you mean.”

Dax shrugged. “What can I say. It’s one of the perks of the relationship. The second best, I’m thinking.”

“Sharing her bed being the first.”

“I don’t think so.” Dax pushed up on his hat brim before draping his arms over the stall door, moving one foot to the bottom rung, moving it away when it creaked in protest. If they didn’t get a break soon, this barn was going to fall down around them before they could afford to build a new one. “I’d have to put that second, move eating at the saloon down to third. First has to be just knowing she’s there.”

That had Boone thinking back to what Faith had said about Casper, and relationships being so much more than sex. It wasn’t something he didn’t know, and he’d found himself often wishing he had a woman waiting at home at the end of the day. But until Everly, he hadn’t thought about one specifically beyond having her in his bed. And his thoughts were only traveling along those lines
because
she’d been there.

Criminy but this mating shit was complicated.

“So?” Dax asked again. “Supper?”

He shook his head. “I’m eating in Fever Tree. At the Rainsong Cafe.”

“What the hell for?”

“None of your business.”

“So you’ve got a date.”

“I’m meeting Everly Grant. But it’s not a date.”

“Well, damn, son. Good for you. Now you asking us about her the other day makes sense.”

“She’s a nice girl.”

“Nothing wrong with nice girls. Nothing wrong with naughty girls either.”

“Whether she’s naughty or not, this is just supper,” he said, slipping off Sunshine’s bridle. “She’s going to want to be talking to you, too.”

“Why would she want to talk to me?”

“She’s doing a piece for the paper on the Dalton Gang.”

“Right.” He drew out the word, ended it with a huff, reached up to rub a hand over his forehead. “Arwen said something about that, but why the hell she’d want to write about us . . .”

“Because her editor asked her to, I guess. I just figured it was better to answer her questions than to have her go asking around about us.”

“Good thinking,” Dax said. “Heading off the vultures at the pass.”

That sent him back to something he’d been thinking about. “Don’t you find it strange that we haven’t been called out by anyone from back in the day?”

“Well, it’s not like we were criminals, exactly. Or felons anyway. I figure we all engaged in some borderline behavior. And maybe if the sheriff had been more on the ball we would’ve done some time. Bad enough having to sleep off all those drunks in a jail cell.”

A few of Boone’s escapades had been more than borderline. And his folks had pulled more than a few strings, called in more than a few favors to keep him on the outside. He’d locked away most of those crimes, but he’d brought out a few of them over the years, not quite sure what he’d been thinking when he’d shot up the back side of Lasko’s feed store, or left shovelfuls of cow shit to decorate the base of the high school’s hurricane statue.

And then there was the Upton family, and everything that had gone wrong there. Lucinda had split a long time ago, and he hadn’t seen Penny since coming home. He didn’t know if she was still here. He couldn’t imagine any reason she would be. He was pretty sure he’d seen Les in his wrecker a few times. But just the wrecker. No wreck, like carrion, drawing him.

Dax was still talking. “Most of what I remember involved daughters of fathers who didn’t have much of a sense of humor. I think Casper got in deep shit a time or two. Mostly I recall the hell we raised together. Like the time we loaded up ol’ Harris Bell’s prize bull in the back of Dave’s trailer and hauled that rank motherfucker to Len Tunstall’s slaughterhouse.”

Lucky for them, Len Tunstall recognized the Longhorn and called Harris Bell to come pick him up, or else there would’ve been some expensive steaks hitting somebody’s grill. “I think the thing that got me in the most trouble with my folks was slashing Pastor Cuellar’s tires at two a.m. Sunday morning so he couldn’t make the drive to church.”

“Huh, yeah. Who would’ve thought he’d ride to First Baptist on horseback?”

The memory had Boone grinning. “I saw him when he got there. His suit coat was flapping behind him like some wild west gunslinger’s. And boy was he giving me the evil eye. Of the pastor variety.”

“Your fault for not being too sick to get up and go to church.”

“More like I had parents who wouldn’t let me get away with faking it.”

“I always thought Casper and I lucked out by not having our folks up in all our business. But you were the lucky one, dude. I just didn’t realize it at the time.”

Lucky wasn’t even the half of it, yet he’d screwed that pooch so many times it was amazing he hadn’t ended up in boot camp. “Hard to feel lucky when your parents drive you to school, and then stay because they both work there.”

“Guess it does kinda take Big Brother to the extreme. But everyone loved your folks.”

“Not sure that made it any better. Half the time I wasn’t sure if kids trying to make friends were more interested in scoring points with the coach. Or getting off the counselor’s shit list.”

“Or if they were after your sister.”

“Some of that, too.”

“I figure sooner or later something from back then will show up and raise more hell than we ever did. But I’m sure not going to go out of my way looking for it.”

“No need to go looking. More of a need to be ready.”

“Shit. Who’s ever ready for their past to blow up in their face?”

Boone had a feeling Dax was right. He could hang out at the ranch, spend twenty out of twenty-four hours a day working, avoid town as much as he could, save for Sunday supper with the folks. It would never be enough. If his crimes were going to come packing for a showdown, there was little he could do to stop it.

“Speaking of crimes blowing up, you hear anything from Penny Upton since you got back?”

Boone found himself smiling, though not at the question. This was why he and Dax had been such good friends. Always on the same wavelength. Often reading each other’s minds. “That was her father’s crime. Not mine. I was just the unlucky bastard who Les caught with his pants down. Could’ve been half a dozen other guys.”

“It was more than your pants being down. It was your dick being—”

“Yeah, yeah. I know where my dick was. Just happy I got out of there with it. The way Les was swinging, I wasn’t sure fortune was going to be on my side.”

Dax bit off a nasty curse. “Sure wasn’t on Lucinda’s. Even with you stepping between her face and her old man’s fists, she took a brutal beating.”

“Penny’s wasn’t much better. If the sheriff hadn’t gotten there when he did, I’m not sure Les wouldn’t have killed the both of them. And me, too.”

“So?” Dax asked. “Have you seen her?”

“Penny?” Boone shook his head. “Haven’t even heard if she’s still living in Crow Hill, but then I don’t get out much. Kinda hard to imagine she’d stay. She wouldn’t have had a lot of reason to. Especially with her father having come back here after his incarceration. Though why the hell he did that . . .”

“A father who tried to beat her to death, and very nearly did kill her mother.” Another bunch of spewed cusswords. “Wonder where Lucinda ended up.”

“Far, far away is my guess.”

“Well, hate to say it, but this time I’m happy you took one for the team and it wasn’t the whole gang who found out what Les Upton was capable of.” Dax pushed off the stall, resettled his hat. “I’d thought about taking Penny for a ride a lot of times, but am damn glad that never came to pass.”

“I bet you are,” Boone said without admitting that was one fuck he’d take back if he could.

“I’m gonna head on to town,” Dax said with a slap to the stall’s slats. “See if I can talk Arwen into taking a dinner break instead of making me eat by myself.”

“Suck it up, man. I eat by myself most every night, and it hasn’t killed me yet.”

“Just keep the eyes in the back of your head open. Make sure Les Upton doesn’t try to finish what he started.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Boone said, pulling out his pocketknife and the apple he’d grabbed earlier from the fridge, and slicing off a hunk for Sunshine as Dax left. Then slicing off a hunk for himself, hoping it would hold him until he could get to the restaurant.

He was goddamn starving.