Second Hope Cowboy (5 page)

And she couldn’t underplay the quivering between her legs.

Putting her feet on the cold floor, the blanket fell. His moan bounced off the wall. She looked at him and swallowed. His gaze was bright with awareness. She quickly pulled the cover up over her bare thighs. She’d forgotten she’d removed her jeans after he’d gone to bed.

Tugging the material of the blanket around her waist, she stood and readjusted it. He continued to stare. Their gazes clashed and his eyes twinkled. She clenched the blanket in her fists.

“No worries, sweetheart, it’s not like I haven’t seen the goods before.” He turned his head and flipped slices of bacon in the cast iron skillet.

“Well, these ‘goods’ are no longer open to your examination.” She grabbed her clothes and held them against her chest, keeping a tight grip on the blanket.

“You act as if I’m waiting for a glimpse, or asking for one. I’m past that, way past.” He picked up a piece of bacon from the heaping pile and popped it into his mouth. Calm and cool—as always.

And she was the complete opposite.

His words stung, but why would she let them? She wasn’t hoping he’d sneak a peek, or want to kiss her. Of course not.

Still holding the blanket with one hand, with the other she finger combed her hair, her fingernails catching on tangles. It was no use to worry about her appearance.

“I can’t believe you’re still eating a pound of bacon. I thought we’d decided—” she bit her tongue. “I mean, I just thought you’d be eating healthier.”

“Aren’t you glad that’s none of your business any longer? Feel free to save the lecture too.” As if he wanted to drive home his words, he picked up another slice and popped it into his mouth. While he chewed slowly, he made moaning sounds.

She narrowed her gaze. “Hmm…I see bad habits are still an issue.”

“Want a piece?” One brow shot up, like a fish line drawing her in.

Oh how she wanted a piece. She was hungry but hadn’t touched bacon since…well…since Blaise introduced her to a better way of eating. “Is it turkey bacon?”

He frowned. “I’m a cowboy, sweetheart. I eat off the land and when you see a turkey roaming you’ll know he’s waiting for Thanksgiving Day, not to be made into bacon.”

Her mouth salivated. Her stomach rumbled. Oh, what the hell. She stomped across the room, dragging the length of the blanket along with her, and snatched a piece off the paper towel covered plate. She chewed leisurely, closed her eyes and enjoyed the hickory, maple syrup taste. Her taste buds thanked her.

Opening her eyes, she found he was watching her. She swallowed the last bite.

“Some piece of bacon.” There was an obvious catch to his voice.

“I’m hungry,” she admitted. “And I haven’t had a real piece of bacon in a while.”

“Apparently.” He wriggled his brows. “Is there anything else you haven’t done for a while? I’d be willing to help.”

His words dripped awareness across every nerve-ending of her body. She was at a cross between the desire to giggle and the need to fan herself. She did neither. Instead, she turned and headed toward the bathroom. “Enjoy your heart attack waiting to happen.”

“And enjoy the shower. Don’t forget the cold—”

She slammed the door on his words. There was nothing he could say that she cared to listen to.

Inside the privacy of the bathroom, and away from his skeptical view, she stepped out of the fluffy puddle of material and looked around the tiny space. She could barely move and wondered how Tucker could manage. Once upon a time, they crammed into the bathroom and showered together—made love too.

Shaking her head, she inhaled deeply, smelling soap, sandalwood and shaving cream. God, the man smelled good. Her belly did a flip-flop and she had an impulse to spray his cologne all over her body.

Pull yourself together, girl.

She examined the sink and shelves. All of her toiletries were gone, exchanged for spice deodorant, a block of manly soap with grease left over in the foam, and a can of shaving cream. She picked it up and sniffed the scent, liking it a lot. Putting the cream back in its spot, she opened the cabinet under the sink, smiling. A box held the things she’d left behind—razors, shampoo, conditioner and feminine soap. But there was something else she didn’t remember. She grasped the pink pouch and opened the cloth satchel in curiosity, emptying out the contents into the basin. Three packs of birth control pills spilled out—each one was full. The doctor had prescribed them after the miscarriage, after she and Tucker had decided not to get pregnant again, but she’d never taken one.

She wondered if he’d seen them.

Dropping the pills back into the bag, she set them aside then grabbed her toiletries, grateful that Tucker never threw anything away.

As she bent to place the bottles into the tub, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the full-length mirror.
Holy crap!
She wrinkled her nose. Her hair needed brushed, or possibly cut off, and her mascara had smeared.

Pulling off the bandage on her forehead, she examined the wound closer. It wasn’t bad and would heal in no time. The dark bruise looked worse than the actual cut. She had more purplish marks on her chest, but they would fade in a few days.

A shower would do her some good.

****

Everything in Tucker’s life reeked of horse crap.

After Hope had gone into the bathroom, he’d brought his coffee out on the porch because he couldn’t control parts of his body while imagining her undressing, the water spilling over her firm breasts and thighs…

Oh shit!

The cooler breeze kicked up, a respite for the sweat beading on his brow, which had nothing to do with the heat but everything to do with his ex-wife naked in his cabin.

He took a long drink from his cup, the hot coffee burnt all the way down into the pit of his stomach, settling like a cement block.

Damn, how does a man recover once he realized he’d built his world around the wrong woman.

And since she’d walked through the front door, he’d gotten a clear glimpse at how he was failing at rebuilding his life.

Since she’d left two years ago, he’d spent his days brooding, miserable and hiding away from people—because the last thing he needed was company. Anyone who dared approach him would receive the sour apples of his mood. His brother Cash had dealt with Tucker’s acerbic mood for as long as possible, until Cash had wised up and stopped calling—except on special occasions.

He’d been a bit of a recluse from friends until he started working at the Brooke Creek Ranch and for the first time in a long time he’d started talking about his blackened past.

Elsa, Deckland’s wife, had become a close friend. Even now, he knew if he needed anything he could talk to her. She’d been through a bad relationship before Deckland and had learned survival through the hands of an abuser. Luckily, she’d gotten away and had met Deckland—and they were as happy as two lovebirds sitting in a tree.

Just as he’d once been with Hope.

He liked seeing Deckland and Elsa happy, no one deserved it more than them, but it was impossible not to feel a thread of envy. He’d had heaven once and he woke up one morning in hell.

He took another sip, this time his gut was numb.

Damn, the only reason for Hope’s visit was because she wanted to take his house. When she called, he should have just answered the effing phone, but he’d turned it off two weeks ago. It’d saved him a lot of physical torment. He really hadn’t blocked her calls, at least not literally.

He’d gotten about an hour’s sleep last night and spent most of the time tossing in the covers and wallowing in memories. Finally, when the restlessness had gotten the best of him, he’d rolled out of bed at the break of dawn.

Walking into the living room, he’d come to a dead stop when he saw Hope stretched out on the small sofa. Her arms were high over her head and a long, toned leg hung over the edge of the cushion. He’d practically salivated remembering how those legs had felt wrapped around his torso as he plunged—

Shit! Shit! Double Shit!

He wanted Hope to go home.

Suck this up, dude. You’ve been divorced long enough. Don’t get dragged back into the hell of the spider web.

But it was easier said than done.

His wife—or ex-wife—had done a number on him.

He’d pouted and wallowed in his misery for a long time. Then the anger came and it had been a relief. He’d picked himself up from the floor of hell, dusted himself off and did what could be considered an irrational move. He sold the ranch and kept the house.

Hope had asked why. He wasn’t sure how to answer that question. But he did know that at the time, he couldn’t manage to part with the house where memories had become his museum.

And after he’d sold Havens Ranch to Cash, he’d taken off and explored the country. Drank too much. Had sex with random, willing women. Did a lot of stupid stuff he couldn’t change. He’d become a man’s man during that time and hated himself for it now. He’d found that big tits, great screws and sexy women couldn’t patch the cracks in his broken heart.

He hated that Hope was tougher than he was when it came to their past relationship.

He’d never backed down from a challenge, could wrangle a cow with his bare hands, could take more pain than most men, but one woman—a petite blonde with penetrating eyes and a sexy pout—could bring him to his knees.

If he ever got over the betrayal of her leaving, which he doubted he would, he’d find someone who deserved his love. He’d have that family he’d always wanted.

Acid washed into his throat. The family he’d dreamt of having with Hope.

They’d been so close to grasping the dream.

He looked into the distance at a group of deer grazing along the edge of the woods. “Are you the bastards that caused her to wreck?”

At the sound of his voice, they turned their heads and nailed him with wide-eyed glares. He guessed if they had hands instead of hooves, they’d have flipped him off.

He blinked and laid his head back. The quiet moved his mind back to that doctor’s visit when he and Hope were excited to see their baby at twenty weeks of gestation.

As the doc rolled the ultrasound tool across Hope’s slightly swollen abdomen, an expression washed over the doc’s face—an image Tucker would never erase from his brain. Minutes had flowed into an eternity, until the doc explained he couldn’t find a heartbeat.

Hope’s wail as she absorbed the news was forever branded inside his head, and played like a broken soundtrack on lonely nights.

The other babies had been lost early, during the first trimester, but the last pregnancy had been different. They’d believed they were beyond losing the baby. They were both wrong.

His vision blurred and he pressed his fingertips into his eyelids.

He was a grown man and should be stronger.

There were moments in a person’s life when the world stood still and that was his. After that gut-wrenching news of no heartbeat, he’d taken Hope home and silence had governed like a black hole, threatening to suck them in.

No parent should ever have to lose a child. It was against human nature.

He shook his head, hoping to dislodge the thoughts.

And now, Hope was stuck here, alone with him until her car was fixed. They were out in nowhere. The closest store was twenty miles away, and that was just a corner market where he could pick up basic items. Next door to the store was a shop with the best mechanics this side of Texas. They just weren’t the fastest.

His gaze drifted to his empty coffee mug, wishing it’d turn into a wishing well, when he got a strong smell of coconut and vanilla.

He brought his eyes up to the petite woman watching him through the screen door. She pushed it open and stepped out, letting it slam back into place. He dropped his eyes over her slender body. She was a little on the skinny side but she had curves in all of the right places—spots he’d explored with his hands and his tongue many, many times. Her blonde hair hung in damp tresses over her shoulders. A stirring erupted in his groin, not surprising him one bit. He still craved her—in fact, he hadn’t wanted—truly wanted— another woman since he’d met her eight years ago at the rodeo. She was watching from the rail and he’d just gotten off a spitfire of a bull that had made his balls ache. He must have been walking bowed-legged because she’d offered him some ice with a smile that had made the ache turn into a throbbing need. They were hooked ever since.

Until…

He wasn’t going there.

Instead, he tore his gaze downward over her legs. Nice, slender legs—nicer if they were wrapped around his hips.

She took a drink from her cup, drawing his gaze back up as she eyed him through the steam.

Damn, his faithfulness and loyalty to her had gotten him nothing.

Yet, he still wanted to sample her as much as he wanted to on day one, the day they’d snuck off into his truck and explored one another naked for the first time. He’d wanted it to be more romantic, thought a woman like her deserved candles and soft music, but she’d practically torn his clothes off—and damned if he would have argued. He’d never been into candles much anyway.