Shoulda Been A Cowboy (21 page)

“
You spoil her.”

Cam ruffled the fur between Gracie's ears. “She
deserves it. She's a good girl, aren't ya, Gracie?”

Gracie barked twice.

“
I worry about you sometimes, McKay, out here
alone in Wyoming, a dog as your only companion. You need a woman. And
a whole houseful of kids.”

Cam revved the engine, cutting off Brock's
diatribe about how Cam needed to start “living” again.
Wouldn't his buddy be shocked to hear how Cam had been spending
his nights? Relearning how to be the sexual man he'd been in
the past?

Except it's not all about sex with Domini.

Was that why he was hesitant to tell Brock about her?

Putting such girly thoughts out of his mind, he gunned
it through the pasture, following the rutted tracks. Since there were
plenty of paths to choose from, Cam picked one that zigzagged from
the hills and the plains to the valley marking the end of McKay land.

They rode in silence, as was their custom. Brock's
life as a soldier didn't allow much time for quiet
contemplation. Everything Brock did had specific purpose—usually
as a result of a direct order. When Brock was on patrol in the
sandboxes of the world, he sure as hell wasn't enjoying the
scenery. So Cam knew aimless wandering appealed to him.

A bank of clouds covered the sun and Cam shook off an
odd feeling of…foreboding.

Brock shouted, “Up there?” breaking Cam's
reverie. Cam nodded and dropped behind Brock's ATV.

They detoured to the top of the ridge and parked. Brock
practically ran up the last hill. Cam lumbered to the ledge and let
his gaze encompass the area.

A valley spread out below. The tall grass was mostly
burned away from the summer sun; what remained was bleached out and
trampled down. Outcroppings of boulders in shades of pewter and
russet popped up across the rock-strewn field. No water ran in the
empty riverbed, it was merely a deep gouge in the landscape. Scrub
oaks and cedar brush sporadically lined the hillside. Clumps of
sagebrush and yucca were scattered here and there. The wind blew, as
it always seemed to do in Wyoming. Bugs and birds and critters were
conspicuously absent.

“
I forget how damn beautiful it is here.”

“
Hell, I live here and I never get used to it.”

Brock swigged from his water bottle, staring across the
vista. “Tell me, Cam. Are you happy? Living around home?”

Weird question, but if Brock asked it, he needed an
answer. “Most days I guess I'm pretty content. My job
isn't bad. I respect the hell out of the guys I work with. And
they don't give me much shit for fulfilling the county's
ADA quota.” Cam paused. “Why?”

“
I've gotta decide whether to re-up in the
next couple months.”

“
Is that why you're headed to Seattle? To
see if you could live around your family on a permanent basis?”

“
Yeah. Lemme ask you something else. If you hadn't
gotten injured, would you be here right now?”

Cam didn't hesitate. “Nope. I'd still
be a soldier.”

Brock nodded.

No further explanation was necessary.

A cold, damp wind whipped up from the canyon and they
headed back. They'd crossed the halfway point when the skies
opened and drenched them. Gracie couldn't stay on the back of
the vehicle with muddy paws, so Cam had no choice but to let her run
home. He kept turning around to check on her, ignoring Brock's
taunts, “She's a dog! She's supposed to run!”

Cam's concern for Gracie meant he wasn't
watching out for his own safety. Brock's warning shout about
the sinkhole was too late. The front right tire of Cam's ATV
hit the hole, bouncing the vehicle up and ejecting Cam out of his
seat. He crash-landed on his ass right in a puddle of mud.

“
Fuck!” That smarted. The kill switch from
the ATV hung from his wrist and the vehicle was silent, flipped on
its side. He shoved Gracie from licking his face with a stern, “No.”

Brock parked close and slogged over. “Buddy, you
okay?”

“
Yeah.”

“
Need help up?”

“
Nah. I got it.” Cam pushed to his right
side and rolled up. But he'd misjudged the angle of the hill.
Once he was upright, all his weight was on his left side. He heard
that familiar sickening pop and the suction broke, separating the
socket from his stump. He fell into the mud again.

“
Jesus fucking Christ!” He wasn't hurt
so much as he was embarrassed and pissed as hell.
This
was what he fucking hated. He hated being helpless. He hated that
someone had seen him helpless. He grabbed onto his useless leg and
pulled. Nothing happened. “Fuck!” He yanked harder but
his prosthetic foot was lodged in the mud. Great. Not only was he
sitting on his ass, not even the sheer brute strength of his upper
body would move the goddamn useless thing.

“
Cam—”

“
I said I've got it,” Cam said through
clenched teeth.

“
Don't be so goddamned stubborn. Let me help
you.” Brock crouched. “It's me, remember? We've
been down this ‘I don't need your fucking help'
road before and the result is always the same: you do.”

“
You are one fucking pushy-ass bastard, Tennyson.”

“
You can try and kick my ass for it later.”
Without asking, Brock gently worked the prosthetic out of the mud.
Even though it'd mostly detached from Cam's stump, he
still felt a sting of pain.

He hissed.

“
Up you go.” Brock clasped Cam's hands
and hauled him upright. He wrapped an arm around Cam's back,
steadying him as Cam bunny hopped to the vehicle. Brock's focus
stayed on Cam's lower half, not the blush discoloring his face,
and for that Cam was immensely grateful.

“
Now, Hop-along, we're both gonna have to
ride side saddle on the four-wheeler.”

Cam lurched toward the ATV. He was sweating, muddy and
livid he was gasping for air after walking ten fucking steps. Once
his lungs weren't failing him, he forced words out through his
compressed teeth, “Thanks. It'd be easiest if I sat on
the left side so I can brace myself with my right leg.”

“
That'll work.” Brock waited until Cam
situated himself before he climbed on the four-wheeler. “Ready?”

“
Let's go.”

Brock drove like a little old lady. They bumped through
the field so slowly that Gracie—who'd raced ahead—was
napping on the back deck by the time they'd returned to the
house. Cam fought another burst of temper while Brock trudged inside
for his crutches.

At least Cam could hobble into his house under his own
steam. He'd barely cleared the welcome mat when Brock spoke
behind him.

“
If you don't need my help, I'll run
back and get that other four-wheeler.”

“
Run? It's like five miles in,” Cam
said.

“
I haven't done PT today so it'll be
good for me.” Brock's pearly whites flashed. “Plus,
it ain't often I get a chance to run in the rain
and
sling mud from the tires.”

“
Have a ball.” Truthfully, Cam needed time
to put himself back together. Literally.

 

 

A few hours later, after Cam and Brock cleaned up, they
were glued to an MMA event on the big screen. Things were back to
normal, placing bets and shouting insults about the opposing
competitor. Cam's work phone buzzed in his pocket. “Shit.”
He hit mute on the TV. “McKay. Uh-huh. No. It's okay, I
know exactly where it is. I'll be there in a bit.” He
shut the phone.

“
What?”

“
Deb can't find a file and since Sheriff
Shortbull is in the office, she doesn't feel comfortable
picking the lock on my desk to get it. So I have to go in. Won't
take long.”

Brock's gaze fell to Cam's left side. “You
sure you're up for it? You did crash today. Maybe you should
tell them—”

“
I'm fine.”

“
Then you'd better get some beer while
you're out. I'll just hold down the couch—ooh,
Jesus that had to hurt.”

Cam rolled his eyes. Brock was obsessed with MMA; he
probably wouldn't notice Cam was gone.

Brock shouted, “Hey, pick up some food too. I'm
starving and neither of us can cook worth a shit.”

 

 

Domini had driven out to return Cam's shirt, which
she'd washed, pressed and hung up. But Cam's truck wasn't
around and a cute red sports car sat next to the garage.

And yes, maybe she wanted to meet the guy who hadn't
given up on Cam in Iraq. But Cam hadn't invited her over. Maybe
Cam didn't want his friend to know about her.

Just drop off the shirt and leave.

Cursing her flip-flopping behavior, she grabbed the
plastic bag and headed for the front door.

Several minutes passed before a nearly bald man, wearing
camo and a Vin Diesel scowl, loomed in the doorway. “Yes?”

“
Is Cam here?”

“
Nope.”

“
Oh. Well, I stopped by to drop off his shirt.”

“
Who are you?”

“
Domini, umm Domini Katzinski. I'll just
leave it—”

“
How do you know Cam, Domini, umm, Domini
Katzinski?”

What was with the sarcasm and the third degree? Was this
guy a cop? Too bad she didn't have the guts to snap off, “I'm
fucking Cam. What's it to you, asshole?” Instead, she
said, “We're…friends.”

“
And your
friend
Cam just happened to leave a dress shirt at your house?”

Shoot.

“
Does this happen often?”

“
No. It was the first time.”

His sharp gaze softened and those melted chocolate eyes
widened. Then his mouth broke into an enormous grin that would've
made her weak-kneed—if she hadn't already succumbed to
the power of Cam McKay's smile. “Why don't you come
in?”

“
That's not nec—”

“
I insist.” The guy strong-armed her into
the house. He flashed that devastating smile again. “I'm
Brock Tennyson. Cam and I go back to basic training.”

“
Cam mentioned you'd planned to visit.”
This Brock guy was absolutely mouthwatering. Brown eyes and skin the
color of rich coffee. He was built like a dream, deeply cut muscular
arms, a contoured chest, trim hips and waist, yet he wasn't as
impossibly muscle bound as Cam.

“
Funny, Cam didn't mention you, sweet
Domini.”

“
I'm not surprised.”
Since
it's just sex between us.

“
Cam'll be back any minute. Would you like a
beer while you wait?”

Say no
. “Maybe just
one.”

“
That's a girl.”

Domini followed Brock and froze in the entryway into the
kitchen. “Is Gracie here?”

“
She's sleeping on the deck out back. She
did a lot of running today. Why? Did you want me to bring her in?”

“
No! I mean, that's good she's
outside. I don't really…get along with dogs.”

“
But Gracie isn't just any dog.”

Where had she heard that before?

Brock popped the cap on a bottle of Corona and handed it
over. “Didn't Cam tell you how he ended up with Gracie?”

She shook her head.

“
When Cam was rehabilitating in Cheyenne, this
do-gooder group began showing up with ‘therapy animals'.
At that time Cam was in his bitter stage and he didn't want
anything to do with anyone, let alone an animal. He refused the
therapy, but one day Gracie escaped from her handler and cowered
under his bed.

“
He didn't rat her out. He realized she
didn't want to be a therapy animal any more than he wanted one.
Long story short, they bonded and the people were more than happy to
pass Gracie off to Cam, because she'd broken the rules and
attached herself to one person.”

“
Cam.”

“
Uh-huh.”

“
I know how she feels,” Domini muttered.

Brock's eyebrows drew together but he didn't
comment.

Domini stayed mum and swigged her beer.

“
You an MMA fan?”

“
What's that?”

He sighed. “I'll have to whip that white boy
for your lack of education. Come into the living room and prepare to
be enlightened on the ways of the ring warrior.”

She perched on the edge of the couch and watched two
guys beating the crap out of one another with punches, kicks and
wrestling moves. Brock cheered them. Booed them. It wasn't her
thing, but she saw how it'd appeal to men with an abundance of
testosterone. Like Brock. Like Cam.