Reckless for Cowboy (10 page)

“Why?”

“Because Mom loved me. He hated that. He wanted to be the only one in her life. Even though he was constantly cheating on her, he couldn’t handle it when she gave anyone else, including her daughter, attention.”

“So he was cruel to you?”

“Stupid, lazy, ugly, ignorant. All preceded by a ‘fuck’ or a ‘dammit’ or some creative combination.” I make my voice go lower. “
Fucking hell, you’re an ignorant little shit, Brooke
.”

Cooper’s quiet. Finally he asks, “Why would your mom stay with him?”

“Because when I wasn’t around, which was most of the time, he made her believe he loved her, at least that’s what she told me years later. But while they were together, it got to the point where she didn’t want me around much either.” I stroke the hair on his chest. “He was so good at that. Making mom believe the problems were her fault or my fault. Not his.” I sigh.

“She’s not with him anymore, I take it.”

“No.”

“What happened?”

I’m quiet. I’ve never told anyone this part of the story. Not Denny, not anyone. Before I’ve consciously decided to go on, I start telling it anyway. “Things changed when I turned seventeen. Wes was done with competing and he and mom bought a little acreage outside Calgary. All of a sudden Wes wanted me to live with them. He was a totally different guy. It’s like he found God or something and was born again. He never swore, not at me, anyway. He was super nice, always offering to take me places, to buy me things. It was when mom caught him giving me a backrub one night that we packed our bags and left.”

“Oh God, Brooke. He didn’t…”

I exhale slowly. “It never got that far. But Mom recognized what was happening. She’d seen it before with the women he’d had affairs with. I guess it took him making the moves on her own daughter for her to finally realize what a creep he was.”

“The fucker,” Cooper says beneath his breath. “No wonder you hate cowboys.”

“No.” I twist in his arms. “That’s the thing, Coop.” My throat constricts making it difficult to speak. “I don’t hate cowboys, I love them. What I hate is my response, my lack of judgement.” I roll off his chest onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. “Wes fooled me. For all I hated him—and God did I hate him—all it took was a few kind words, the tiniest bit of interest in me…and I forgave him. Trusted him. Then, after that, I fell for Brandt and he was exactly same.” I roll on my side, facing him. “I have the worst judgement in the world. I suck and it scares me. I’m terrified I’m going to make the same mistake my mom made.”

Cupping my face, Cooper says, “Brooke. You don’t suck. You just wear your heart on your sleeve. I saw it the moment I met you. That’s what makes you so different. You’re not a player. You express what you feel when you feel it. The problem is, you expect others to be the same; to say what they mean.” He strokes my cheek. “You’ve met too many players. I promise you, I’m not one of them.”

He kisses me softly. Sipping my lips like I’m a cup of hot chocolate. “I’m sorry I made you swear,” he whispers.

“No,” I say. “No, it felt good. I think I needed to.”

“Mmmm.” His kiss deepens.

“Coop?”

“Yes?”

“I want you to…”

“To what?”

“To fuck me.”

He makes a low moaning sound at the back of his throat. Very carefully, he rolls me onto my back so that he’s on top of me. He frames both sides of my face and says, “No. But I will make love to you.”

So we do and it’s slow and wonderful and special. This time Cooper makes sure I orgasm first before he finishes. The sensation is incomparable. Yes, it feels good to masturbate, but when my orgasm hits with Cooper? The experience is taken to a higher level. It’s not only a physical response. It’s emotional and spiritual and I had no idea sex could be like this. Maybe that’s because we’re not having sex. We’re making love and I finally understand what that means.

Afterwards we lie in bed, limbs all entwined. I’m exhausted yet I can’t sleep. I snuggle my head beneath Cooper’s and his arm tightens around me. A few minutes later three words tumble out on a whisper.

“I love you.”

Suddenly I wish I could take those three words back. Not because I don’t mean them but because Cooper doesn’t answer.

Chapter Nine

C
ooper is already up and dressed by the time I wake up Sunday morning. He’s a little brisk as he informs me he has to be back in town for some meeting later in the morning. He makes some egg sandwiches ‘to go’ as I dress and gather my things. When we climb into the truck, I’m still tired but I don’t sleep.

His silence is driving me crazy.

Why did I say it? Why? Why can’t I just go with the flow? Why do I have to say everything I feel? Last night he said he loved that about me. This morning, I’m thinking he doesn’t love it quite so much.

Sheesh! I don’t blame him. I mean, we’ve only known each other a week. That’s all. Sure, it feels longer. But you’d think I’d learn.

He barely says a word to me and his silence speaks volumes. I’ve scared him off. There’s no doubt in my mind that after today it’s bye-bye-Brookie.

When we hit the outskirts of Calgary, he glances over at me and says, “Sorry I’m not great company this morning.”

“S’okay,” I say, turning my gaze back out the side window, thinking to myself, ‘here it comes’.

I really like you Brooke, but I don’t think it’s going to work.

You’re a great girl, Brooke. But I live down south and you’re going to law school this fall…

Thanks for the great week. It’s been fun.

“My ride is at two today. It’s been on my mind.”

“Your ride?”

“The finals.”

He’s in the rodeo finals for saddle bronc riding? How is it possible that I had no idea? “You sure don’t make a big deal about it,” I say, frowning.

“Maybe not outside the ring. But in the ring it’s a
very
big deal.”

I keep glancing at him for the remainder of the trip. His jaw is taut. He’s focused. He’s looking out the windshield but I’m wondering if he’s seeing something beside the light Sunday morning traffic. He turns into the parking lot of the Cattlemen’s and pulls up to my car. The only one there.

“Still in one piece,” he says with a half-smile.

“Yep.”

He gets out, comes around and opens the door for me. It’s amazing how quickly I’ve gotten used to this. I take his hand and let him help me down.

“You working tonight?”

“Yeah. It’s Sunday so it shouldn’t be too busy but it’s the last night of Stampede, so...” I shrug. It’s also the last night for me working at the Cattlemen’s…
ever
.

“Good. I’ll be here around nine.” He winks. “You still owe me a dance.” Leaning down, he gives me a quick kiss and then climbs back into his truck.

I stay in the parking lot, staring after him as he pulls out.

*~*~*

Cooper doesn’t show.

I’m an idiot. Despite all the warning signs, I fell for him. God I’m stupid! It was so obvious.
I’m not a player, Brooke
. Yeah right. That should have been my first clue. He’s too charming. Too sweet. Too good in bed. He’s too damn perfect. You’d think I’d know by now there is no such thing as perfect.

The only one who notices something is off about me is Denny. I explain about falling off the horse and how I’m sore all over. I think he buys it because he doesn’t ask again. Besides, it’s my last day, so all the staff keep buying me shooters all night long. By eleven o’clock, when it’s obvious Cooper isn’t coming, I ask Denny for a couple more. I’m ready to get smashed. By midnight he calls a driving service that will take me and my car home in one piece. He reminds me that I have to start my new job tomorrow.

*~*~*

Damn.

Monday is hell. Fucking hell. There is no other way to adequately describe the situation. I’m hung over. I’m in a brand new job as a summer student in a law firm—one that requires mental acuity—and all I can think about is Cooper. It doesn’t help that Ms. Cynic is fully awake, fully engaged and shows no mercy.

I told you so. I told you so. I told you so.

I barely make it through the day. The rest of the week is no better. It passes in a dense, painful fog. What I thought was a hangover lingers for days. Headaches, nausea, stiffness in my joints. On top of everything else, I’m coming down with the flu. On Thursday I stop in at a clinic on the way home from work.

The doctor checks me out and then looks at me strangely. “It’s not the flu,” she says. “Did something else happen?”

I automatically think of Cooper and I am about to tell her I’m heartbroken, when she adds, “Were you in a car accident or something?”

Oh. Of course. “I got bucked off a horse.”

She gives me a little nod and a sigh. “That would do it. You probably sustained low-grade whiplash. Your body may still be metabolizing the hormones of the norepinephrine in your tissues.”

“Nor-what?”

“Norepinephrine. Adrenaline.” She smiles. “Drink plenty of water. Go for a walk. Stay away from alcohol.”

I nod and groan because my neck is still stiff.

“If you’re muscles are really sore, ibuprofen will help.”

When I get home I see that Denny has called…
again
. It’s only about the twentieth message he’s left. For the twentieth time, I delete the message without listening. My incident with Sugar may explain my aching head and muscles, but doesn’t explain my complete lack of appetite and the crushing pain in my chest. I follow the doctor’s advice and go for a walk. But it doesn’t help. Everything reminds me of Cooper. Looking up? I’m reminded of him. I see a truck? I think of him. Bird? Cooper. A song played through the open window of a car? It doesn’t matter I’ve never heard it before, it still reminds me of him.

I’m a mess.

By the time I get home from work on Friday, I change into shorts and a tank top and crawl under my covers. I’ve decided I’m going to stay in bed all weekend. Unfortunately, my phone rings off the hook. I groan. It’s Denny, I know it is. I cover my head with my comforter but the phone just keeps ringing, driving me crazy, making my already throbbing head, worse. Maybe getting everything off my chest will help. I get out of bed and go into the living room where my phone’s charging.

Time to spill.

I don’t check the caller I.D. and it’s a big mistake. It’s not Denny’s voice on the line, it’s Cooper. “Brooke? Is that you? Don’t hang up…”

No. No, I cannot handle this. The only thing worse than
not
hearing from Cooper, is
hearing
from Cooper.

I hang up and pull the cord for my phone out of the wall and make sure my mobile is turned off. Then, I pace.

Why the hell is he calling? Who the hell does he think he is? Who does he think I am? Does he really think all he has to do is call and I’ll be wrapped around his finger again?

Yes.

Shut up! I press my hands to my ears, sit on the floor and rock. It is not my proudest moment but I can’t help it. Every single muscle, tissue and organ aches, not because of my injuries but because of my heartache. I hate feeling this way. It doesn’t matter how good that one week between us was, it doesn’t make up for the pain I feel. Worse is the fact that I know the pain is going to stick around way too long. Hearing his voice, even for just a second, only makes the pain worse.

Damn him!

I’m not sure how long the rocking lasts, but at some point the faint melody of a song drifts in my window. It doesn’t subside like it should if it’s coming from a passing car. It gets louder. And louder.

The song is
The Dance
by Garth Brooks and, upon recognizing it, my heart does a stupid little jig behind my breastbone.

No.

I get up and walk to the window. There in the parking lot of my apartment is Cooper, standing beside the open door of his truck, looking up—again—this time at the window of my apartment.

Chapter Ten

I
t’s not fair. He should not be out there tempting me and making me want him when all I want to do is get over him. The minute I see him standing there, I see red. I grab my keys, slip on some flip-flops and run down the two flights of stairs to the door. I stomp across the parking lot—not very effective in flip-flops—right up to Cooper. I’m planning to shove him when I notice the sling. Then I see the black eye. But it’s too late. I’m already mid-shove.

Thank goodness Cooper is as solid as a brick wall. The force of my push only makes him take a half-step back.

“Hi Brooke.”

I point to his arm and then to his face. “What happened?”

“I had an accident last Sunday. Didn’t you see it?”

“Didn’t I see it? Where would I see it?” I am shaking my head in confusion, a turmoil of thoughts and feelings making it difficult to understand what’s going on.

“On TV. Saddle bronc finals. I got bucked off right at the buzzer.” He clears his throat. “Then I got kicked.”

“What?”

He shrugs. “I still won.”

“Oh my God! Coop!” I throw my arms around him and he stiffens in my embrace.

“Whoa. I’m still pretty sore.” But he wraps his good arm around me and holds me as tightly as I’m holding him. “They kept me in the hospital until Tuesday.”

Of all the stupid misunderstandings. I can’t believe this. Here I’d been berating him in my mind, calling him all sorts of awful names, and all along he’d been hurt. He could have died!

Oh God!

“I didn’t know,” I whisper.

“I figured that when you didn’t come visit me at the hospital.”

“Why didn’t you call?”

“I didn’t have your number. You’re not listed. Plus, when I stopped in at the Saloon, they told me you weren’t working there anymore.” Tightening his grip he says, “I hung around until Denny showed up. He tried calling you. So did I. Numerous times, but you weren’t answering.”

All those calls. Some of them were from Coop? I’m such an idiot! “I thought you weren’t coming back,” I shake my head at my own stupidity. “I thought—”