Espino, Stacey - Hardcore Cowboys [Ride 'em Hard 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (6 page)

Before they’d left for another emergency call, Cord had turned and reassured him that Samantha was out of danger. All he had to do was keep an eye on her and ensure she was warm and hydrated. Now that she was awake and talking, he’d be able to find out about her. Who was she? Where was she heading? Another question plagued his deeper thoughts—was she in a relationship? Wyatt was not one to think about settling down with a woman. The mere idea of staying put and being responsible for another human being made him internally cringe. He’d let down his parents, and he didn’t trust himself to repeat history. Fast women were easier to deal with, didn’t require him to offer a piece of himself in return.

For some reason he felt an ownership over the sweet, young filly. He’d rescued her, took responsibility, and hadn’t failed. It seemed like fate that they crossed paths when they did.

“Here you go. Take it slow at first.” He sat across from her on the wooden coffee table and watched her cup the oversized mug with two small hands. She took a tentative sip, looking up at him with big, dark eyes. He waited a few more minutes before pushing her further, but then he couldn’t hold back the floodgate of questions. “What were you doing out in that storm? You from around here?”

She shook her head, her spiral curls springing when she moved. “I live in
Toronto
.” After another sip, she continued. “This was my great adventure. I wanted to see the mountains in BC.”

“You were traveling cross-country by yourself?” It didn’t seem right for a woman to be on her own like that. Anything could happen on the back roads. He’d seen some things he’d rather forget during his many years of traveling.

“It was okay until the storm hit.” Her brow creased, and she lowered the cup. “The rental car. I have to get back to it.”

“I don’t think so, little lady. You’ll be surprised how weak your body is. Cord said no fresh air for you for at least a week, probably two.”

“Two weeks? I only have a week off work. I should be heading back by now. I have to return the rental, and get back to work—”

“Whoa! You’re making my head spin.” She was rambling on, anxiety ringing in her voice when she should be taking it easy. He reached out and tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him in the eyes. “
Relax.
I said I’d take care of everything.”

“But—”

“Hush now.” He shook his head. “Drink your soup, then I’ll get you set up for a shower.”

He left her alone for a bit and cleaned up the kitchen, pouring a bowl of soup for himself. By the time he returned to check on her, she’d fallen asleep. Curled up in a ball on her side, she resembled a sleeping angel. Her face was heart-shaped, and her pouty lips were slightly parted. Such a fragile, soft-spoken little thing with so many worries on her shoulders. He wanted to erase those problems, be her knight in shining armor—if there ever was such a thing. Would he measure up to the kind of man she needed, deserved?

Wyatt decided to make good use of his time while Samantha got much-needed rest. The property had to be plowed, and the animals needed tending. He donned his boots and warm outercoat and headed out into the bright, crisp afternoon. His breath escaped in a cloud as he exhaled. The air was cold, but fresh. The Great Canadian winter.

As he took labored steps through the deep snow, the dogs struggled to reach him, eager to greet him after such a long absence. They cried and yipped, probably hoping for a good rubdown. He continued on to his truck. He’d drive up to the plow by the side of the house, hook up, and clear everything from barn to road. By the time his brothers returned from their work, the land would be easy to navigate.

He did his duty without wasting any time, not wanting Samantha to wake up in an empty house, alone. She may need something or worry she’d been abandoned.

He had to hand shovel the plow free, and it took him longer than expected to hook up the hardware. His leather gloves were made for labor, not extreme cold. By the time he returned to the ranch house, his Wranglers were soaked through, his cowboy boots filled with snow, and his hands stiff from cold.

He stomped out his boots just outside the door and hooked up his coat before entering the family room. Samantha wasn’t where he’d left her. His mind wandered. He hopped forward, trying to remove his damp socks.

“Samantha?”

She wasn’t in the kitchen, so he ventured up the stairs. The power was still out, but daylight illuminated the stairwell and hallways with a dim light. He peered into the first bedroom—Cord’s. It was simplistic, a queen-sized wooden bed, matching dresser and blanket box. He wasn’t one for personal mementos or home décor.

No sign of the girl.

“Hope you don’t mind. You said I could use the shower…”

He twisted in the narrow hall to find Samantha, her wild curls damp and tame, waving down her back. She looked perky and vibrant, totally transformed from the girl he first brought back to the house yesterday. An oversized white towel covered her body as she stood barefoot on the hardwood.

“You shouldn’t be standing out here in the draft. You’ll get a chill.” He ushered her down to the end of the hall with a hand to the small of her back. Her dark hair was a stark contrast to the white towel. She smelled like fresh soap.

“This is your room?” Even though he came and went as he pleased, his room was always as he left it. Just another monument in the
Carson
ranch.

She wandered in and walked around the perimeter, holding her towel shut tight with both hands.

“When I come home.” He rifled through his drawers to find something suitable for a woman half his size.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, not taking up much space on the queen-sized bed. “You aren’t home often?”

He held out a few articles of clothing to her. “I travel with the rodeo. Have for more years than I can remember.”

“Really? That sounds exciting.”

Wyatt scoffed. “Not so much anymore. It’s right and well for the young riders looking for thrills and honor, but as you get up in years, it doesn’t hold the same appeal.”

“So why do you do it?”

He thought about it. Why did he keep doing something that no longer held interest for him? Was it because it was all he knew? Was he scared of failing in a regular lifestyle? He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Hoping to ignore her question, he asked, “What do you do? You like your work?”

“Not exactly. I’m a waitress in a fast-paced restaurant. It’s nothing glamorous, that’s for sure. But I have to survive and I want to help my family.” She exhaled. “For me it’s all about the money.”

“So you’re not much different from me. You’re working a job you don’t love. Any plans to change the future?” He’d love some advice if she had any.

“People like me don’t have much choice in the matter.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. She was everything and shouldn’t be stuck in a rut that she wasn’t happy in. Wyatt felt like an asshole. He had choices. Money wasn’t an issue for him or his brothers. His dysfunction was internal, a fear of life, a fear of disappointing those he loved. He got used to his days as a nomad, doing as he pleased, not hurting anyone but himself. When would it stop?

“So don’t go back.”

She smiled a sad smile. “That’s a fantasy, Wyatt. Real life is waiting for me back home.”

* * * *

Men never opened up with her or talked to her like a real person. Her old boyfriend had been a stranger, mostly keeping secrets, living a double life. Her boss was an asshole, and she’d never met her father. Wyatt was all male, but he didn’t have that obnoxious bravado that often went along with the other sex. His personality comforted her, pulled down her guards. Although she sensed there was something darker locked up inside him, part of her wanted to uncover it.

“How’re you feeling, anyway?”

“Better. No more nausea. I’m just stiff. My shoulders and knees are a bit achy.”

Wyatt’s face was blank. “I’m sure that’s normal. Cord and Val will check you out when they get back.”

“Where should I change?” She had the clothes he’d offered her, but she wasn’t ready to start stripping in front of him, even if he might have seen her naked when she’d been unconscious.

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Sorry...I’ll be outside in the hall.” He slipped out and pulled the door shut behind him.

Samantha dropped the towel on the bed, the cool air unpleasant against her nude, slightly moist body. If she never felt cold again, it would be too soon. Her nipples pebbled as she paced the room, trying to get a sneak peek into Wyatt Carson from his private space. No pictures of children or women. One of the two dressers was filled with dust-covered trophies. She wiped one of the brass plates with the pad of her thumb. They were all riding trophies from one event or another, spanning over a decade.
The man must be a god in the saddle
. Envisioning him in leather chaps, cowboy hat, and holding on to the horn of a saddle as he rode hard and fast made her stomach flutter.

Wyatt Carson.
Why couldn’t a man like him walk into her restaurant? What would it take for him to fall in love with a woman like her? She knew her thoughts were futile, but that didn’t make reality any easier to digest. He’d never want her. Wyatt just had old-fashioned manners, putting himself out to help care for a complete stranger.
Nothing more
. As soon as she could, she’d be back to the city, only a memory to the
Carson
brothers. She could imagine the type of woman they’d all fall in love with—a small-town, country girl, used to horses and cattle. Her hair would be the color of wheat, her eyes reflecting the blue sky. Probably a virgin, too. Basically the exact opposite of Samantha.

She pulled on the navy-blue jogging pants, which were a mile too long, considering all three of the men were well over six feet tall. After rolling up the cuffs and drawing the waist tight, she attempted to put on the long-sleeved shirt. Her joints were sore, like she’d pumped too much iron the day before. Reaching her arms above her head was too much too soon. Holding the shirt in front of her, she called for Wyatt.

He must have been glued to the door because he entered right after she spoke. “You okay?” Wyatt halted, his gaze sliding down her body. Damn, she could feel it all the way to her clit.

“I can’t get my shirt on. Can you help me?”

“Sure, darlin’.” He raised his hands slightly and then dropped them, appearing inept or perhaps a bit embarrassed. If anything, she’d think Wyatt was a take-charge man, not one to shy around a partially naked woman. No, he just felt sorry for her and her near-death scare. There wasn’t a submissive bone in his body.

She turned around to offer her back and passed him the shirt at her side. “Just stick it over my head, then I can manage the rest.” Her breasts were bare, and he could probably get a good glimpse over her shoulders with his uncommon height. For some reason she wanted him to notice her, even if nothing could come from a simple attraction.

He brushed her hair to one side, moving slower than necessary, his fingers dragging along her clammy skin. His hands were strong and callused, a man’s hands. Her ex’s had been soft since he spent all his time behind a keyboard and even got professional manicures twice a month—not like the Carson brothers. Inwardly she sighed, concentrating on Wyatt’s touch. It would have been a simple enough task to slip the material over her head and tug in down her shoulders. But after moving her hair out of the way, one finger trailed a line down the length of her neck.

Her breath hitched. Any touch was deliberate. Every second her heart beat faster. She knew deep down she’d never refuse Wyatt if he made the first move. Not because she felt indebted, but because she felt a connection to her rescuer, and only a blind woman wouldn’t be attracted to the cowboy.

“How does your skin feel? Numb or sensitive?” He was only concerned with her health again. Disappointment assaulted her, pulling her rising spirits down like a weight.

“I’d say sensitive.” She could feel everything, as if her flesh were hotwired to his touch. Her peripheral vision caught him tossing the shirt she’d offered onto the bed. Then he cupped her shoulders, his hands so warm. As slow as melting butter, he smoothed his hands down her arms to her wrists. He had to bend down to reach so low, his hot breath marking her neck like a brand. What was happening? She closed her eyes, her head lolling on her neck.

“Do you trust me, Samantha?” His hands shackled her wrists, sending a spike of nerves and anticipation coursing through her veins.

She nodded, not needing to think about it. Of course she trusted Wyatt and the twins. They had saved her, brought her back to health, and never asked anything of her. Wouldn’t she have noticed a darker, crueler side to Wyatt’s character by now if it existed?

“Maybe you should think twice about that.” He pulled her wrists behind her back and gave a little tug so her back was pressed to his front.

She felt so exposed, her small breasts thrusting out.
Touch me.
Dammit, but she wanted him to take charge, stop being a gentleman. All her adult years had been spent working, struggling. She had little time for relationships, and the ones she had were disappointments. What would it feel to have a real man rock her body? Would she be able to cut her losses after the sex or forever want more? Samantha didn’t want to be disposable, but also couldn’t resist the heat of the moment.