Almost a Cowboy (3 page)

Maybe our father ran out all the money on a bunch more brothers.

For the first time, curiosity piqued in him. Were there really twelve more? There
had
been a lot of photos.

“Ma and Pa spent the last of their years wondering what the hell they’d done to keep you away.” Gunnison clenched a fist.

Utah dipped his head. “Yeah, and for that I’m truly sorry. I shoulda tried harder with Ma.”

Clinton cocked his head and raised a dark brow. “With Ma? What about Pa? Gunn and I spent the last six years visiting with him, trying to keep his spirits up after his wife departed this world, and his oldest son took a trip to the Loony Forest.”

Utah riveted Clinton in his glare. “I see you tried to keep the place up during your visits too.”

“Fuck you,” Clinton spat. “I got me a wife and a baby. I work my ass off for them. I’m up at dawn and fall into my sweet wife’s arms at dusk, exhausted from a long day on my own ranch. I don’t have time for all this.” He swept a hand around the dim, dusty space.

“What have you been doin’ with your life, Utah?” Gunnison pressed. “You have a family you’ve been workin’ hard for?” He bobbed his head side to side. “I don’t see them. That must mean you’ve been workin’ hard for yourself and your own shortcomings.”

It was time for Utah to say it. “Fuck you.”

“No, fuck
you
.” Gunnison lunged at him.

Clinton grabbed Utah around the shoulders, and the three of them crashed to the floor. Utah took two blows to the gut before he hooked Gunnison in the jaw. With all his force, he raised a knee between Clinton’s legs.

He rolled to the side before the family jewels took a hit.

Gunnison planted one beefy hand on Utah’s shoulder, pinning him. Fury roared in Utah’s veins. Adrenaline pumped, and he forgot about them being his little brothers.

With a violent kick to Clinton’s inner thigh that would leave a bruise the shape of his heel, Utah shoved them hard and shimmied out from under their bulk weight. He scrambled to his feet, fists raised, glaring through a haze of red.

“I admit it—I broke Ma’s heart, let Pa down. I shoulda been at their funerals and stood up beside you at the altar on your weddin’ day, Clinton. But goddammit, I’m here now, and I won’t stand for this.”

Clinton and Gunnison gained their feet more slowly, never taking their gazes off him. Clinton was breathing hard. “And just why are you the only one who’s allowed to speak with the lawyer?”

“Yeah, what do you know?” added Gunnison.

Utah warred with telling them about their father’s indiscretions.
No, indecency.
His brothers still held Hollis Davies in a ring of bright light, whereas Utah had long ago flipped off the switch. Anyone who had pictures of his other kids obviously had contact with them as well. All those long trips cross-country suddenly seemed less about earning money for the family and more about sordid affairs.

“I know—” Utah stopped and looked at his brothers’ faces. From a young age, he’d protected them. Saved Gunn’s little diapered ass from being trampled by a bull and dragged Clinton dripping wet out of the pond before the kid could swim a lick. Dammit, Utah had blazed a no-bullshit path through school for them, using his words and fists against anyone bully enough to go after a Davies boy, so his brothers were always treated fairly as a result.

Maybe telling them wasn’t a good idea.

“What do you know?” Clinton’s voice had calmed a degree, though his chest still puffed with anger.

“I need to see the lawyer first. Then I’ll make a decision about how much to tell you.”

Gunnison and Clinton exchanged a look. “Jeezus, can you believe this guy?” Clinton asked.

Gunnison fixed his stare on Utah. “I believe there’s somethin’ underhanded and dirty going on.”

“Not on my end,” Utah said and then clamped his teeth against the truth.

“No?” Gunnison quirked a brow.

“No.” Utah’s firm reply made his brothers blink. “Now if you’re done trying to pound my ass into dust, I’ve got to make a call to the lawyer. I’ll be seeing you two later.”

With that, he turned his back on his pissed-off brothers and went outside to make a call to the lawyer that would most likely end worse than his welcome home.

•●•

Caroline flitted from one end of the bar to the other, fighting to keep up the grueling pace of bartending on a Friday night at the most popular joint in town. She was filling in for a friend with a sick kid, but Caroline didn’t mind the hard work after sitting on her butt writing articles all week.

Besides, she could hardly pass up an opportunity to earn money. Once upon a time she’d struggled to hide a bit of cash so Jeremy didn’t drink it. Old habits and all that.

Dammit, there he is again, popping into my head.

She finally admitted to herself that she kept glancing at the door because she was petrified he’d show up tonight.

“What can I get you boys?” she asked the two older cowboys bellied up to the bar.

One let his gaze drop over her full breasts half spilling from her white tank top. Caroline gave an inward smile. Everyone knew if you wanted better tips, you satisfied the customers, and it was nice to feel desired.

“Gimme one of them longnecks,” the other cowboy gritted out.

“The same,” his sidekick said, pulling his gaze from her cleavage to her face.

She smiled at them. “You got it.” She moved to the opposite end of the bar. Hooking her fingers around two ice cold bottles, she glanced up at the waitress standing there.

“Hey, Sandy. What do you need?”

The woman remained still, eyes wide, gaping across the room.

Amused, Caroline said, “You’d better quit your flirting. Save it for a time it’s not so busy.” She swung away with the beers.

And froze.

Utah.

Her heart rocketed into her throat, sealing off her ability to breathe.
No, it can’t be. It’s just another Davies. Clinton or Gunnison.

Those beautiful slanted eyes were trained right on her, lasers on a target. Every hair on her body lifted in reaction. Couldn’t be Clinton, not looking at her like that. He was a married man. And Gunnison…well, rumor had it he batted for the other team.

But maybe he was a switch hitter.

“Bring our beers, girl,” the older cowboy called from his stool.

With effort Caroline unglued her gaze from the bit of masculine perfection and delivered the beers. Then she took another drink order. After that she poured four shots and made three fuzzy navels for Sandy, who again gawked over Caroline’s shoulder.

“He’s…pretty,” Sandy rasped.

Caroline’s chest tightened, and it took a full minute before she recognized the feeling as red-hot jealousy. No one should look at Utah but her.

That’s not him. He isn’t back in town. I would have heard.

The townspeople seemed to delight in plying her with stories of any Davies man, as if she belonged to the family. Then again, it sure as hell felt that way.

Her body tingled. Pivoting on her boot heels, she peered from the corner of her eye at the big bulk of a man standing a few feet from the bar. Was he waiting for a drink? Because she’d been ignoring him for the better part of ten minutes.

More like ignoring the slickness between my thighs.

“Sandy, this fella has an order to place.” Caroline twitched her head in his direction, and her pale braid slithered over her shoulder.

Sandy surged forward, beaming and swaying, but Davies stepped up to the bar. “I’m waitin’ for you, Caroline.”

His drawled use of her name hooked her square in the chest. She flicked her gaze to his and instantly regretted it. Up close there was no mistaking this man for someone else.

“Utah…” Her voice was breathy and hoarse as if she’d just screamed her release all night. Would he remember that night he’d made her come about a dozen times?

A wall of warmth scorched her from head to boot. Her heart did that flipping thing, and she clapped a palm over it.

Concern etched itself between his long, dark brows, drawing her attention to the age he wore so well. Tiny crinkles from squinting lived around each eye, and maybe his lips were a little firmer, harder. The boy she’d loved had been about half the size of this version.

Yeah, he was thick with muscle. Tanned biceps bulging from his black T-shirt, and a chest she longed to burrow her face against, to give up the burden she’d carried for ten years.

She swallowed hard. “I was sorry to hear about your pa.”

His already hard features transformed to granite. He narrowed his eyes, making them nearly disappear in the shadow of his cowboy hat. For a heartbeat, he simply looked at her.

“Vodka neat and a cherry berry wine cooler,” the other waitress called to Caroline.

She glanced at the brunette who was all dewy and toned in the right places. Suddenly Caroline felt like the used-up ex-wife of a drunk that she was.

Twisting away from Utah, she filled the drink order. Her mind raced, a traveling carnival ride gone out of control. Utah was here—not only in town and in the local bar, but in front of her.

I’m waitin’ for you, Caroline.

Her insides quivered, and her pussy flooded, spilling more cream on her already moist panties. She proceeded to work another half an hour before facing him was inevitable.

She stopped in front of Utah, steeling her thigh muscles to keep from leaping over the smudged wooden bar top into his arms. He shifted his jaw, making the crease bulge. What she wouldn’t give for a peek at that cleft in his chin.

“What’ll you have?” she asked.

He knuckled the brim of his hat up, giving her a clear view of his eyes. Heavy-lidded eyes ticked down from her messy hair to linger on her face, and then licked over her throat and her breasts practically spilling from her tank top. Every syrupy-sweet second of his blatant perusal ratcheted up her desire.

“Take a beer.
For now
.” His words oozed innuendo.

God, could she do this? Spinning away from him, she pulled out a frosty mug and poured him a draft. Sure, she’d gone home with more than one cowboy from this establishment, but this wasn’t just any cowboy.

It was Utah. First love, first kiss, first man to share her body, first orgasm.

First heartbreak.

Drawing her lips into a line, she placed the beer before him. “Two dollars.”

He fished in his back pocket and came out with a silver money clip—the very one he’d carried in his youth. She bit off the ragged sigh that threatened to erupt from her lips.

He’d always been a gentleman—buying her sweet teas and ice cream.

Had anything changed? He’d grown up, grown harder, but each minute she stared at him, the more he seemed unchanged. Or maybe her view of him was molding to fit his new form.

The idea of conforming herself to his body sent a spike of need straight to her pussy. Since that sleepless night following Hollis Davies’s funeral, she’d used fantasies of Utah to reach her peak over and over again.

From memories of them rolling, kissing, and clutching each other down by the creek to new experiences ad-libbed in her imagination. Usually it involved him spreading her open and diving between her legs and then ended with her pinned against a wall taking it roughly from behind.

Utah peeled off three dollars and held them over her palm. Their gazes locked, and she no longer even heard the twangy two-step blaring from the jukebox or the never-ending clank of dishes as the busboy cleared them away.

“I said two dollars.” She started to pull her hand away, but with lightning speed he snared her wrist with his maddeningly-long fingers. A deep ache blossomed from his touch and traveled through her entire body.

“It’s only right to tip a bartender.”

“I’m not a bartender. I’m a journalist.”

He lifted a brow, still unsmiling. No chin cleft appeared.

“I mean, I’m filling in for a friend whose little boy has the flu.”

“Looks like you’re workin’ now, Caroline.” He plastered the cash to her palm and held it in place with his heavy hand. The warm weight did things to her body she didn’t know possible. Before now her needs seemed to have been lying dormant.