The Cowboy (29 page)

“They do, too,” Hannah countered. “Mommy shaves her legs and her—”

“All right,” Trace said, gripping Hannah’s tiny hand to keep it steady while he filled it with shaving cream. He watched as the child studied the coveralls that concealed her legs and the shirt that hid her underarms, before she spread the lather across her cheeks and chin.

When Trace turned back to the mirror, Eli was facing him, waiting expectantly. “Now what?” the boy asked.

Trace glanced once at his own half-shaven face before he handed Eli the razor and instructed, “Stroke gently and steadily downward on your cheeks and upward from your throat.”

“I don’t have any shaving cream on my throat,” Eli pointed out.

“Just work on your face for now,” Trace said.

The boy reminded him a little of himself at the same age, eager to begin the rituals of manhood. He noticed the stubborn cowlick on Eli’s crown. He’d had one just like it. Nowadays he kept his hair long enough to slick it down.

“What about me?” Hannah asked, patting his arm to get his attention.

Trace tousled her blond curls and said, “Wait your turn, scamp.”

He turned back around just as Eli yelped, “Ow!” The boy dropped the razor, which clattered into the sink, and grabbed his face. “I cut myself!”

Seeing the tears of pain welling in the boy’s eyes, Trace quickly tore off a sheet of toilet tissue and said, “Second lesson in shaving.” He brushed Eli’s hand aside, swiped off the rest of the shaving cream until he found the cut, then stuck on a tiny piece of toilet paper.

Eli looked at himself in the mirror. “My dad cut himself sometimes,” he said, turning his head back and forth to see the grown-up effect of Trace’s bandage.

“What about me?” Hannah said, tugging on the skimpy towel that surrounded Trace’s hips.

Trace barely managed to catch it before it fell off. He tucked it back in around his waist and said, “I think maybe you better do a finger shave.”

“What’s that?” Hannah asked.

Trace copied something he’d seen his father do with his sister. He caught Hannah’s chin in his grasp and aimed her face toward him, then used his forefinger like it was a razor, to scrape off the excess shaving cream.

Hannah beamed up at him. “I want to see how I look!”

Trace picked her up and held her so she could see herself in the little bit of mirror that wasn’t filled with Eli’s face.

Suddenly, he saw Callie’s face reflected in the mirror, looking wistful. As their eyes met in the glass, her gaze turned wary.

At that moment, Hannah let out a squeal of delight. “Am I done, Trace?”

“I guess you’re done,” Trace said.

“But I see you’re not quite finished,” Callie said, unable to suppress a grin of amusement.

Trace glanced at his half-shaved face in the mirror, then turned and thrust Hannah into Callie’s arms. “I’ve been too busy playing barber.”

“Look at me, Mom!” Eli said, turning his cheek so his mother could see his war wound. “I shaved, too!”

“You’re growing up too fast, Eli,” Callie said as she kissed her son just above the piece of tissue. “Supper is on the table,” she announced to her children as she ushered them out of the bathroom.

She turned back to Trace and said, “Thank you for being so patient with Eli and Hannah.”

“I told you it would be no problem if I stayed here.”

“Oh, it’s a problem, all right. But I’ve learned to handle all kinds of problems over the years. I’ll see you downstairs …” She eyed his naked knees and winked at him. “As soon as you’re decent.”

As the excited babble of children’s voices faded, Trace turned back to the mirror. The shaving cream had dried on half his face, and his chest bore rivulets of sweat from the steam that hovered in the un-air-conditioned bathroom. As his stomach growled its hunger, his lips curved into a grin.

This is what it would have been like
, he thought.
If Callie and I had married
.

The grin faded. These weren’t his kids. This wasn’t his wife. And the way things were looking, Callie was never going to be free enough from her family obligations to marry him and go back … where he’d come from.

Time was running out. Trace couldn’t stay here in
Texas forever. He had responsibilities of his own that were being taken care of by someone else. He’d only intended to stay long enough for his father to get back on his feet. Now, before he left, he also had to get the breeding operation set up and make sure his father saw the benefit of keeping it—and employing Dusty, who would also have to be convinced to work for Blackjack—once he was gone.

Trace hadn’t counted on the complications Callie was causing in his life. He hadn’t counted on wanting her so much. He hadn’t counted on needing her at all.

One thing at a time. First he’d get his fill of her body. Then he’d deal with saying good-bye.

Trace picked up his razor and finished his shave.

C
ALLIE LAY IN HER BED LISTENING TO THE
house settle, as it did every night as the heat left the earth and it cooled in the moonlight. She had felt Trace’s avid gaze on her all through supper, all through the game of Scrabble they’d played at the table afterward, and even while she got Eli and Hannah ready for bed. She knew he’d be coming to her after everyone was asleep. Her body betrayed her by wanting it to happen.

She wished she’d barred the door to Three Oaks against him, as she’d threatened she would. But it was too late for that. Sometime over the past few days, he’d breached the emotional walls she’d put up to keep him out. From now on, she’d be fighting for her life.

While she’d tucked Hannah in, Trace had stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, watching. She hadn’t expected Hannah to want a good night kiss from him. Or for Trace to press his lips to her daughter’s forehead with such gracious ease.

She’d seen Eli’s agitation, when her son thought he’d be subjected to the same sort of “mush” in front of Trace. She’d been surprised by Trace’s understanding, by the
way he bent to remove the cherished piece of toilet paper from the wound on Eli’s baby-smooth cheek and said, “That’ll be healed by the time you need to shave again.”

Eli had carefully brushed his fingertips across the spot, then sat up a little straighter, pulled his knees up a little higher beneath the paperback in his lap, and said, “I expect so.”

She wasn’t surprised when Eli pretended to be engrossed in his book to avoid her good night kiss. She smoothed his cowlick and kissed his forehead anyway. She saw how he glanced at Trace in man-to-man commiseration as he ducked away from her caress.

Her children and her brother should be asleep by now. She should go to sleep herself, if she didn’t want to be exhausted again tomorrow. Trace was right about one thing. She needed more rest than she was getting.

Callie hadn’t heard a sound, but she was suddenly aware that she was no longer alone. The moonlight kept it from being totally dark in the room, but the silver glow didn’t extend to the doorway. She heard the door being locked and realized with chagrin that she’d never even considered locking Trace out.

“Trace?”

“Yeah,” he answered from the shadows.

She sat upright, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging the covers around her. She barely stopped herself from asking, “What are you doing here?” She knew why he’d come. He’d paid for the privilege.

“I’m tired,” she said.

“Good. So am I.”

When he passed through the stream of moonlight, she saw he was barefoot and wore a pair of jeans low on his
hips. She heard a zipper and then the rustle of denim as he slid them off. He lifted the covers on the other side of the bed and slipped in with her.

Before she could say a word, he turned his back on her and pulled the covers up over his shoulder.

She stared at his back, confused by his unexpected behavior. “Trace?”

“Good night, Callie,” he murmured.

“If all you plan to do is sleep, you could have stayed in Bay’s room,” she said irritably.

He rolled onto his back and laced his hands beneath his head. “I tried to stay away. I know you need to sleep. But I felt like I was going to drown in Beanie Babies in your sister’s bed.”

Callie smiled at the image he’d conjured. “I thought you would want to …”

“I do,” Trace said as he turned on his side toward her. “But you’re tired, and so am I.”

Callie slid back down in bed, keeping the covers pulled up to her neck. She stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open, sleep the farthest thing from her mind. A sardonic smile curved her lips, as she acknowledged that her body had been anticipating Trace’s lovemaking, and that what she felt as a result of his restraint was not relief, but sexual frustration.

“I was expecting you to make love to me,” she said into the stillness.

Trace lifted his head from the pillow. “I’m trying to be considerate.”

Callie blew out a breath of air. “The considerate thing would be to make love to me. Then we could both get some sleep.”

“Come here,” Trace said gruffly, as he reached across the bed for her.

Callie scooted the short distance between them and found herself body to body with Trace, with only the T-shirt she was wearing to sleep in between them. She pressed her cheek against his throat and inhaled the pine-scented aftershave he wore. She told herself she just needed the warmth and comfort Trace could provide in the cold, lonely night. Soon he’d be gone, and she’d be alone again.

“Love me, Trace,” she whispered. “Love me.”

She felt his arms tighten around her. “You’re exhausted, Callie. You need—”

“I need you inside me,” she said, sliding her hand down between his legs.

He groaned as his mouth found hers in the darkness.

There was nothing frantic about this coupling. Trace took his time, his tongue stroking lazily into her mouth, his hands slowly searching out the places where he knew she liked to be touched. Callie felt cherished, relished, valued.

She tried to return the favor, but Trace caught both of her hands in one of his and kept them pinned against the pillow.

“I don’t want to be hurried,” he said. “I want to take my time.”

She was writhing beneath him, begging for release, before he finally began to push himself inside her. Even that he did slowly, inching his way inside until she thought she would die of need. He held her hips in his hands, preventing her from thrusting upward, until he was fully seated within her.

They moved together, in a rhythm as old as time. His groan of satisfaction called forth an answering moan from her throat, and he caught the sound with his mouth.

Afterward, he kept her hugged tightly against him, their bodies heaving air in unison, his cheek brushing against hers. He already had enough of a beard to tickle her, and she gave a breathy laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Your beard tickled me.”

He stilled for a moment, then tightened his arms around her. “You should have been mine, Callie. You should have—”

“Don’t, Trace,” she said, cutting him off. “We’re together now. Until you’ve had your fill of me,” she finished bitterly.

The silence stretched between them.

“Have you ever wondered what it would have been like if we’d gotten married?” he asked.

“No.”

“I have.” He rolled over onto his back, but kept her body tucked against his side. “We’d have had at least six kids by now.”

“You’re ambitious,” she said with a chuckle.

“Big families are more fun.”

“But more work,” Callie said, thinking of all she had to do with only two children.

“There would have been two of us to share the load,” he reminded her.

“And of course you’re rich, so we wouldn’t want for anything.”

“I wasn’t rich when I left home. But yes, I am now.”

“What have you been doing? Where have you been all these years?” Callie asked.

He hesitated, then said, “I’ve been a cattleman. In Australia.”

Callie laughed in disbelief. “I pictured you as a playboy in a casino in Monte Carlo. Or in a steel-and-glass building in Hong Kong manipulating the Asian market. I never figured you would travel around the world and end up working as a cowboy! Why didn’t you tell anyone where you were?”

“Owen always knew where I was. I figured he could get in touch with me, if I was needed at home. And he did. I didn’t want my father knowing where I was, because I didn’t want him pressuring me to come to work for him. So I asked acquaintances who were traveling to send postcards from distant locales.”

“You could have told Dusty where you were. He wouldn’t have told your father.”

“I never told Dusty where I was, because I knew he couldn’t keep it from Lou Ann, and once Lou Ann knew, the whole county would, too.”

“True,” Callie said with a chuckle. “So how did you end up in Australia?”

Trace’s fingertips idly followed the shape of her collarbone. “I did my share of playing around the first few years I was gone. Then I went to visit a distant cousin of mine, Alexander Blackthorne, in Queensland. Turned out he owned a cattle station nearly twice the size of Bitter Creek.”

Callie tried to imagine a ranch that large. “That would be over two thousand square miles of land!”