The Cowgirl Rides Away (Bluebonnet Texas Book 1) (6 page)

"You mean the one where you said what goes on between married people stays between them?"

Dad slowly nodded. "Not only did your brother not try and get away or defend himself or…well hell, Zachary, he just sat there and
took it!
Like it never crossed his mind to raise his voice or even walk away."

"I'd talk to him but he doesn't listen to me. Try Tim."

"I'll do that. And just so we're clear here, I
never
thought you were gay. Damn, son." he snorted then slugged back the last of his scotch. "I'm gonna call it a night."

After his dad left, Zack put his cigar out and replaced the ashtray where it belonged, then locked up. Back at the computer he fired off a quick email to his older brother, Zander, suggesting he call home and sweet talk Momma before she showed up on his doorstep with a basketful of guilt. Maybe even consider coming home for her birthday in June.

He swallowed the last mouthful of his drink and, mellowed by the scotch, went back to Hope's email.
Sex.

Sex is like candy. There's something for everyone and every mood. You probably don't want to know this, but you asked about sex. I haven't been with a lot of women but it's different with everyone and sometimes even every time. I don't know if all men think about sex like I do. Or rather, the way I do. I mean, your brother said I shouldn't ask for a virgin because there weren't any. But here you are.

I remember the first time was really awkward and fast. Don't ask me what type of candy that would be :) . Maybe licorice, it's not that great and it sticks to your teeth or Tootsie Pops—you're too impatient to get to the center. No finesse. Sometimes I've been in a hurry or been with a woman who was. Like Nerds—they're tiny and you pour them in your mouth and bite down and they're really sour and gone really quick. I didn't like that. I prefer slow. Like caramel—Sugar Daddy's. They melt really slow and they're sweet and rich.

But sometimes you just need it really bad. You just want the heat and the release and a warm soft body to hold. Nothing too sticky or complicated. Maybe that would be a Hershey's bar—no almonds.

My oldest brother's a major player—I can't say much for his taste in women though. I won't sleep with a woman just because she's convenient. I definitely think sex is better when you care about the person you're with. When you have feelings for someone, you pick up cues and you just know what kind of sex they want or need. Hard and fast right there at the front door or slow and easy in a bathtub full of bubbles. And it's more intense to touch someone, to be with someone, to be inside a woman you have a bond with. Maybe that would be Godiva.

Godiva? Candy?
Christ, he sounded like a damn therapist. But tell that to his hard-on. He blew out a long slow breath then clicked send.

If she wrote back after this, it'd be a miracle.

He leaned back in his chair and massaged his aching balls through his sweatpants. The thought of being inside Hope, inside a warm soapy cocoon of water, was more than he could stand. He shut down the computer and headed for a hot shower.

Chapter Five
Jessa

I saved all of Zack's emails. Especially the one about sex and candy. I liked that. I liked his ability to paint pictures with words, but that one had left the candy bar melting in my hand. I'd read it twice and then twice more, my thighs clenched tighter together each time, then shut off the light and stared at the ceiling, the down comforter smothering me. Sweat dampened my skin that itched from the inside out and my nipples chafed against my cotton pajama top.

No matter how hard I tried I couldn't seem to get the mental picture of having sex with Zack out of my mind. I closed my eyes, trying to picture us just inside the front door of my condo, our clothes half off, his hands on my body. I'd never even taken that many baths until my injuries kept me from standing up in a slippery shower. Now I took them all the time.

If it wouldn't have brought Jace in to check on me...
To hell with it!

I threw back the blankets and hobbled to the bathroom to start the water, locking the door behind me. Once the tub was full, I slipped in, sinking deep under the warm slippery bubbles, and used my good foot to keep myself from going under. If anything, the hot silky water made matters worse. It felt weird touching myself. I'd masturbated plenty, but it had been like cooking, something you just did to feed a need but didn't think about or look at too closely. I'd never really taken the time to think about my body, about how someone else might see it.

I sat up enough to look at myself, at my heavy breasts that I forced myself to cup in my hands and try to view them like Zack might. My belly twisted in a knot as I ran an experimental thumb over the hard peaks. They were heavy and round, an inconvenience that had always hindered my riding, objects of misery and teasing I'd confined under a sports bra and done my best to ignore. And as for the few men I'd fooled around with, I'd never been able to get past Daddy's words about men only wanting one thing. That one thing that Zack didn't seem to want. Oh, I'm sure he wanted sex, but he didn't view me as a trophy.

Suddenly the ache between my thighs was unbearable. I closed my eyes and imagined I was leaning against the solid wall of Zack's back, not cold porcelain, as I reached between my thighs and squeezed myself, the tender, nerve-filled folds of my sex demanding more as I lost myself in my fantasy.

They weren't my hands anymore but Zack's that spread my lips and let warm water tease my swollen clitoris, and Zack's that stroked me and slid two fingers into me and strummed my clit and Zack's back that I pushed myself against as I came, a lip caught between my teeth, my hips arching against insistent fingers. When it was over, the fantasy popped like a bubble and my harsh breathing bounced off the tile walls.

And I found myself missing Zack more than ever once I was back in bed with my laptop.

Dear Zack... If sex is like candy, that email melted all the chocolate in Hershey, PA. I'll never look at candy bars the same again. What does it say about me since I like to freeze my Snickers, then nibble it apart layer by layer?

His reply a few minutes later only made me giggle more.

You're patient, a hard worker and you have an eye for detail. You know how to enjoy yourself and savor life's pleasures. I also do crystal ball readings for only $69.95 more, payable in person, of course. ;-)

Seriously, I like jelly beans. Caramel Corn Jelly Bellys are my fave. Care to take a stab?

***

Other than figuring Zack had one heck of a sweet tooth, I never did figure out what those jelly beans meant. But for Valentine's Day I returned to the gallery's website and bought myself one of Zack's paintings. An old pink house tucked in a grove of live oaks. Silly and sentimental maybe, but it was beautiful and I couldn't seem to help myself. Two weeks later we came home from therapy to find a large wooden crate sitting on my front porch.

"What the hell is that?" Jace unlocked the front door, a frown on his face.

I stood there, perched on my cane, a smile on my face at the gallery name spray-painted on the side. "I bought a painting."

"When the
hell
did you go shopping?" Still scowling, he swung the door open and waved me in.

"I bought it on the internet," I replied, hobbling past.

"When the
hell
did you start collecting art?" He dragged the heavy wooden crate in, grunting with the effort as he propped it against the dining room wall. He said 'art' like it was 'porn'.

"Could you say
hell
just one more time, please?"

"Sorry—oof! Now I suppose you want me to open it. And hang it."

Poor guy.
I grimaced. He couldn't seem to catch a break taking care of me.

"I would like to see it. We can hang it tomorrow though. And while you open, I'll order pizza," I bribed with a smile.

"Extra pepperoni," he said, heading for the kitchen for a hammer.

I lied. After I saw the painting, I made Jace hang it in my bedroom where I could look at it when I woke up every morning.

It was beautiful. From the detail on the bougainvillea running up the porch posts to the leaves on the oak trees. Even the screen door had a life-like quality to it.

"So, what made you buy it?" Jace asked, using his piece of pizza as a pointer.

"I dunno." I took a small bite and chewed, debating on how to answer. "It just felt so...serene."

"Serene?" he laughed softly and gave me a quizzical look.

"Well come on, look at it—" I waved a hand toward the painting, "—and tell me that doesn't make you think of the huntin' cabin up at the ranch. In the spring," I added softly. The Diamond S's hunting cabin sat on the side of a mountain and wildflowers covered the hillside from spring to deep into summer. It had been my favorite hideout as a teenager—when I was home and things got especially tense with Marlene.

"I suppose." He shrugged and turned his attention back to Law and Order reruns.

Whew! That was close.

***

Spring did come. Finally. And my rehab wound down. I'm not sure who was more relieved, Jace, Deek or me.

Through February and March Zack and I had emailed back and forth, and he'd never know how much those notes at the end of a day of Deek's torture meant to me. Or how much they helped me get up the following day and do it all over again. Our emails had grown steadily more personal. Which made my lies bother me even more.

Granny Bea, my dad's mom, is the reason I'm an artist. Dad didn't mind sending my brother, Zander, to college for a criminal justice degree but he never would have paid for art school. So when she died, she made sure I had enough money to study practically anywhere and I chose the University of Florida. I wanted to get out of Bluebonnet and away from my family. Figure out who I was, since I just didn't seem to fit in. Momma is real caught up in who we are. The family name. That sounds snotty and vague but since you're from a small town, too, I'm guessing you know how it is. They all have important families. God! That sounds even worse.

Ty and Tim married local but not well, Zander left for college but never comes home. He's in the FBI, so it's okay 'cause Momma gets to brag on him. And then I came home with Travis. Guess we didn't exactly live up to her expectations.

I was a Stratton, and in Horsehoe Bend, Montana that meant a lot—as much as it did for Zack to be a Boudreaux in Bluebonnet. I knew exactly what he meant and understood about fitting in.

But I don't buy into it anymore than I could buy into just being a Boudreaux, I suppose.

If he didn't buy into the family name business, why did he go home after he graduated college? Why would he go home if he didn't have to? His dad obviously doted on Travis, though, and so did Zack, from the way he talked about his son. And his family was close. They obviously cared about what happened to each other. He'd even told me about his other brother's marital problems and how everyone was all concerned.

A part of me was jealous at that closeness, at how they looked after one another. After all, my own father wouldn't even call or come and see me. I didn't say a word to Jace, but I'd decided to go on the offense and planned to use his birthday as the perfect excuse to swallow my pride and call home.

The following morning I dialed the ranch, pausing to frown at my shaky fingers, then breathed a sigh of relief when he answered and not Marlene.

"Happy birthday, Daddy." My voice shook too, despite my best attempts at early morning cheerfulness. I felt thirteen all over again.

"Thanks, Little Bit," he said. He sounded down, or tired, or not well. I frowned up at Zack's painting on the wall across from me.

"What's up? How are things going? Did we get a good bunch of foals this spring?" I asked, trying to keep it light.

"Your sister's pregnant." Leave it to Daddy to cut right to the chase. It was just his way, but sometimes, I wished it wasn't.

"Pregnant?"
I
know
I didn't hear him right. Princess Caron had actually done the horizontal boogie?

"Yeah, that Cutter LeRoux fella you brought home for Thanksgiving..."

Perfect.
I sighed, praying he didn't hear me. I'd brought Cutter home at Kane's suggestion after he bailed on our annual trip to the coast.

It wasn't a big stretch to put two and two together and get nine, months that is. Cutter LeRoux, a fellow bronc buster and at one time, my biggest competition, was also a notorious lady-killer. Apparently, someone had forgotten to tell Caron.

"Is there anything I can do?" I could hear yelling in the background but still couldn't comprehend it was Marlene yelling at Caron, her Baby Princess Girl.

"No. I think you've done enough. I have to go. Your mama's—"

"She's not my mama," I sighed for the billionth time. I
had
taken him home for Thanksgiving, but it wasn't like I'd forced Caron to sleep with him. That hadn't stopped Dad from heaping a huge portion of Caron's disaster right onto my plate. I recalled Cutter's visit while I was in the hospital and how he'd been unable to meet my eyes. At the time, I'd chalked it up to my accident. Either because he'd taken first after my big wipe-out or he feared catching my bad luck. Apparently, there'd been more too it.