Rough Rider (6 page)

Problem was, she didn't have a clue what she wanted—besides a certain cowboy who seemed as far out of her reach as the moon.

Janice awoke to the flash of lightning, pelting rain, and a trailer-shaking rumble of thunder. It was storming fiercely. She rolled over and pulled the covers over her head with a groan, but couldn't muffle the noise. Following the next window-rattling clap, she thought she heard someone calling her name.

Confused and alarmed, she sat up, rubbing her bleary eyes and holding her breath.

There it was again—a thump and a voice coming from the other side of the door. “Janice? You awake?”

“Shit!” She slid down from the gooseneck, almost missing the step in her haste. What had happened? A wreck with the livestock? Bad news at home?

With her mind racing, she flipped on the light and flung open the door.

Clothes plastered to his body and water pouring down from the brim of his hat, Dirk stood shivering in the narrow doorway.

“Dirk?” She gasped. “What are you doing here?” She looked at her watch. It was almost one a.m. “What's happened?”

He gave a dry laugh. “You might say ‘
shit
happened
.'”

“I'm guessing the karaoke routine didn't go over so well?”

“You guessed that right. We were ‘asked' to leave, but Grady'd already had a few too many and wasn't in any mood to cooperate.”

“No. I don't suppose he would have been,” she said. “It seemed he was itchin' for any excuse to brawl tonight.” She stepped closer, noting that Dirk had added a black eye to his prior battle scars. “Guess you weren't so willing to go quietly either?”

He flashed a shameless grin. “It's a cruel world. We low-life cowboys have to stick together.”

Janice couldn't stifle a chuckle. “So where's Grady now? Is he with you?” She looked over his shoulder but saw no one.

“Nope. He found other accommodations.” Dirk didn't elaborate so she didn't press. “Mind if I get out of the rain?”

“Sure. Sorry.” She stepped back, allowing him to enter the tiny confines of her living quarters.

He doffed his hat with a nod. “Nice digs.”

“Yeah, right,” she snorted. “Mind telling me why you're here?”

He heaved a sigh that made him wince. “Had nowhere else to go.”

Janice flinched in sympathy. “Shoulder botherin' you?” He still wasn't wearing the sling.

“S'alright.”

“How about that hand?”

His left hand was wrapped but his exposed fingers looked like purple sausages.

“Not so bad.” He shrugged. “I mighta broke a coupla fingers but I don't think it's anything that won't mend. It's mostly my head now…and the damned ribs.”

“Your ribs? You didn't mention those to the medic.”

He shrugged. “My lung didn't perf, so there's nothing he could have done anyway. I think they're only bruised.”

“So what happened after I left?”

He dragged a hand through his dripping hair. “It was all a big to-do 'bout nothin' really.”

“Oh, really?” She raised her brow in disbelief.

“Yeah. We barely got through the first verse when they cut the music and gave us the boot.”

“And then what?”

He looked abashed. “We didn't just have to leave the party, we got kicked out of the hotel too.”

“Evicted from your room?”

“Yup. And there aren't any others available in all of Casper.”

“I know,” she said. “It's why I'm camped out here.” She paused to digest what he'd left unsaid. “So you and Rachel?”

He shook his head with a scowl. “We're done now. Quits.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope. History. Case closed.”

“It'll blow over.”

“Don't think so. It was her idea to boot us. Said she didn't give a shit if I had a room tonight or not. Then I couldn't even try finding anything outside of town because my asshole brother took my keys so I wouldn't drive. My next move was to pilfer a blanket and pillow and camp out under the stars in my truck bed, but then it started pouring on me.”

“So you came here. How'd you do that with no wheels?”

“Walked.”

“Three miles in the pouring rain? No wonder you look like something the cat dragged in.”

“Can I crash for a coupla hours? Maybe just camp out in the backseat of your dually? All I need is to get warm and dry again.”

Janice's mouth went dry as sawdust. Dirk Knowlton. Cold. Wet. Here. Now. Wanting a bed? She'd give her right arm to warm him up.
Heck
yeah
.

Misreading her silence he mumbled a curse. “Sorry, Janice. It's my damned head. I'm not thinkin' right. It's still throbbing like hell. Haven't been myself all night. M'pologies for being such a dumb-ass and imposing on you—” He turned to the door.

“No! Wait. It's not that.” She grabbed his sleeve. “I was just thinking of your injuries. You don't need to make matters worse by sleeping all cramped up in the truck.” She gnawed her lower lip and then blurted. “Y-you wanna just stay here instead?”

“Here? That's mighty generous but there isn't a whole lot of room for both of us.” He glanced up at the gooseneck with a frown. “If you'll just gimme a blanket, I'll take the floor.”

“You don't need to do that,” she said. “The bench here flips down over the table and converts into a single. It's really narrow and not very comfortable, but still better than the truck. Warmer anyway. Besides you need to get dry.”

“You sure about this?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She smiled. “What are friends for? I'm sure I've got a shirt for you too.”

“Thanks, Red. That would be great.”

Red?
The single syllable rippled warm and tingly, all the way to her toes. He followed up with a lopsided grin that stopped her in her tracks. She turned to the small cabinet that served a dual function as dresser and closet and shut her eyes on a sigh—but the same air stuck in her throat the minute she turned back around.

He'd shed the denim jacket. And the black tee. His bare torso with well-developed pecs and a mouthwatering six-pack greeted her. He was drying his face with his discarded shirt. Janice tore her gaze away and cleared her throat. “Here.” She thrust an extra-large Dixie Chicks T-shirt into his hands, a souvenir from their Top of the World Tour. “I—I can get you a towel too.”

He eyed the shirt skeptically. “No thanks.”

“What? You don't like female musicians?”

“Don't like their politics. Natalie should just shut up and sing.”

“Ah.” She nodded slowly. The shirt was from the tour that caused the “incident.” A lot of her friends had since thrown out their Dixie Chicks CDs, but Janice still loved their music. “I Can Love You Better” was her favorite. The lyrics—“she's got you wrapped up in her satin and lace. Tied around her little finger…but I can love you better”—perfectly summed up all the heartbreak and frustrations of unrequited love; all her secret feelings for Dirk. She only wished she could show him now that he was here. In the flesh. A big, strong, blue-lipped, and teeth-chattering fantasy come true.

“You're shivering,” she argued. “It's a silly time for political statements.”

“Sorry,” he said. “But I never compromise my core principles. I support the war. Wholeheartedly. Somebody's gotta make those sons of bitches pay for what they did. If we don't defend our country, our freedom, who will?”

“There's other ways than war,” she argued. “Like the UN—”

He made a choking sound. “Don't get me started there, Red.”

“But—”

He raised a hand. “Look, it's already clear we don't see eye to eye, and nothing you say can change my views, so don't you think the conversation is kinda pointless?”

“All right,” she conceded. “I suppose we can just agree to disagree.”

He gave her a curt nod. “I'd say that's fair enough.”

Janice pulled out another shirt and offered it to him with a twinge of embarrassment. “How 'bout SpongeBob? Is he politically safe?”

“SpongeBob's my man.” He chuckled and took the shirt. Their fingers brushed. Their eyes met. She shivered. His gaze drifted southward. “You cold too?” he asked.

She tracked the direction of his eyes and swiftly crossed her arms over her chest to hide her hardening nipples. “Yeah, I must be cold.” She turned away, briskly chafing her arms. “I don't have any jeans that will fit you, but maybe some sweatpants?

“Would you be offended to see me in my boxers?” he asked.

Janice pursed her mouth and shook her head, unable to form a coherent response.

Hell
no
, her brain screamed. “Offended” was the very last word that came to mind.

* * *

“Damn!” Dirk toed off his boots with a mumbled curse. “Is there anything worse than trying to peel off wet jeans?” His clothes were stuck to him and his bum left hand and shoulder didn't make it any easier.

“Here, let me help you.”

Before he could protest, Janice had squatted down in front of him. She went right to work tugging the bottom half of his pant legs—a position that put her face level with his crotch.

Instinctively, Dirk's gaze drifted to her mouth. It was a pretty mouth, maybe not as full and overtly sensual as Rachel's, but nicely shaped. It was also too damned close to his dick.
Down
boy!
She glanced up at him wide-eyed, which only made matters worse.

Far
worse.

He shut his eyes on a muffled groan trying to banish his lewd thoughts and will away the stirrings his imagination had invoked, but he was getting a hard-on, and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. Panic set in.

Fearing she'd notice, or worse yet, his dick would poke her in the eye, he tried to back away. With wet jeans tangled around his ankles, he lost his balance, and crashed backward, striking his head on the table before hitting the floor. “Goddamn sonofabitch!”

“Dirk!” Janice cried. “Are you OK?” She knelt beside him, pulling his head onto her lap to palpate his scalp. “There's no blood. Thank God. Does it hurt?”

The pain in his head was blinding. “Hell yeah. It hurts!”

She bit her lip. “Is it worse on the inside or the outside?”

“Both,” he snapped. “It was mostly on the inside until this last dumb-ass maneuver. I'm wondering if I've developed some kind of subliminal death wish. Got a sledgehammer?”

“What for?” she asked.

“To finish the job and put me out of my misery.”

She shook her head with a sympathetic smile. “I don't but maybe I can make it better?”

“You sure as hell can't make it any worse,” he said.

“Hang on.” She softly lowered his head to the floor, then stood up to grab a pillow from the gooseneck. She then wet a dish towel at the sink and returned to sit cross-legged beside him with the pillow on her lap. “Head. Here.” She patted the pillow.

Dirk complied without protest, easing his head into the marshmallow softness. She folded the wet dish towel and placed it over his eyes. “Trust me and try to relax. I do this for Mama whenever she gets migraines,” she explained in a voice as soft and soothing as her touch.

She had magical fingers, he decided, after only a few seconds of her temple massage. She didn't smell half bad either. His nose was badly swollen but he could still detect the subtle scent of vanilla. Vanilla was unfairly maligned in his estimation. He particularly liked vanilla. He breathed it in.

Though his eyes were covered, he could see through a small gap alongside his nose. A gap that gave a very fine view of her breasts. They weren't overly large, but perfectly shaped—nicely rounded and full. They jiggled slightly with the movements of her arms. He also noticed her nipples were still hard, much like his prick. His boxers were loose, but couldn't camouflage his hard-on if she looked. He hoped she wouldn't.

A moment later, the abrupt pause of her fingers and sharp intake of breath told him she likely had. He held his own breath, waiting. Would she think him a complete perv, drop his head to the floor, and kick his ass out the door? To his relief, the scalp massage continued.

“Feeling any better?” she asked after a bit.

“Yeah,” he said. “You've got great hands, Red. Feel free to put them on my body anytime.”

“Yeah?” Pause. “How's the shoulder?”

“Real stiff.”
Like
my
dick.
His early words of warning to Janice came back to haunt him with an erection-sustaining vengeance. Soft, warm, and vanilla-smelling Janice sure as hell wasn't a troll.

“Oh?” He detected the smile in her voice. “Want me to try and work the kinks out for you?”

She took the cloth away and their eyes met. He'd never given Janice's eyes a good look before. Couldn't even have said what color they were—until now. Warm brown with tiny flecks of gold. Her cheeks colored. They had tiny flecks too. Freckles. Sun kisses, his grandma used to call them.

She broke eye contact first. “Can you sit up?”

“Yeah, I can sit,” he replied.

She opened her legs and crooked her fingers, gesturing that he should position himself between them. He hesitated, wondering if it was a good idea to put his ass that close to her soft, bare thighs.

She regarded him with a wrinkled brow. “Do you want me to try that shoulder? Or not?”

“Yeah.” He moved into position, figuring the case would be a lot worse if she positioned
her
ass between his thighs, but changed his mind a minute later. No matter whose ass or thighs went where, the position was pretty damned intimate.

Her hands began at his neck, her thumbs circling firm but gentle over his spine. He let his head drop to his chest with a groan.
Holy
shit, that felt good. Damned good.