Faded Cotton (Erotic Romance) (13 page)

Her colorful deep rose and black shirt was
splashed with rhinestones, in a paisley pattern in just the right
spots. The low cut revealed what he’d already assumed. Beautiful,
soft but firm and just the right size for his hands. Her jeans were
newer and hugged her curves. Her boots had carved overlays in
different colors of brown and tan leather. She looked and smelled
incredible. He sunk down in the seat a little and pulled his cap
over his head, feigning a nap. It was going to be a long ride with
her that close.

Laurel saw that he wore the new jeans, shirt,
and boots she’d bought him. The braided leather neckband he wore
accentuated his neck making him look even bigger, stronger. She
noticed he’d put the diamond stud back in his ear after she had let
him know that it would work where they were going.

She’d felt a sharp pang of jealously. She
knew in a college town like Columbia he would be mobbed by
beautiful women. She also knew there was nothing she could do about
it. She had no claim to him.

Traffic picked up and Derrick realized they
were getting closer to the big town. He pulled himself up from his
casually draped position to reseat his cap.

“We deserve some fun for a change,” Laurel
grinned at him.

Still daylight, she treated him to a driving
tour of the campus.

“It’s my alma mater.” Central was huge.

“I didn’t know you had a degree,” Derrick
noted.

“Ag biz—between Adam and Shannon and Tyler;
little by little, but I did it.”

When they skirted the giant football stadium,
she grinned wide. “Football is all about tailgating and cheering
while freezing your ass off!” She grinned. She showed him several
notable buildings and areas around the campus. Derrick had not
thought about the prospect of college for quite a while.

“There’s the law school,” Laurel noted.

They stopped at King Arthur’s Pizza so Laurel
could introduce him to the popular spot and they could grab a bite
to eat. The pair drew quizzical glances.

“You can study almost anything here.” She
almost yelled to be heard over the music. She sipped a beer while
he wondered if she meant academics or people.

As they were leaving, they were separated,
and Derrick was thronged by a group of girls. “So how’s football
handsome?” “Wanna study me?” He attempted to bolt, his head
swimming when another girl caught his arm. “Wanna dance?” He pushed
past the giggling group of ogling eyes and rushed for the door.

Laurel chuckled a little when she saw his
deer-in-the-headlights look. “You better relax, cowboy. That’s sure
to happen at least one other time this evening.” She buried her
jealousy underneath the words. She knew he could never be hers, but
it didn’t stop her from wanting to break the last girl’s nose.

His good looks were certainly not lost on
Laurel. The weeks of hard work had toned him, light ripples
replacing the soft chest. Arms, legs, and face even more chiseled
than before. He was ripped. She would certainly be making waves
tonight with a man like him on her arm.

She grinned at the thought and threw him the
keys, “You drive.”

__________________________

Turning into the parking lot at Wild Horses
Saloon, he looked at her as he turned off the truck ignition.

“Concert night. It’s fine. Besides, you’re my
DD.” She grinned. Derrick knew the apprehension showed on his face.
He hadn’t been out like this in a long time and didn’t have a fake
license anymore.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to make you dance
with me or anything.” Laurel gave him a funny, taunting, girly
pout.

He would rather dance with her than be mobbed
by drooling, drunk groupies any day. But how could he tell her
that? He’d grown to like the modern country music she had playing
in the house and barn all the time. He relished the idea of pulling
her close to dance to one of her favorite songs. The place was
loud, smelled like beer and people, but had a comfortable, easy way
about it that enveloped him as they joined the massive crowd.

It didn’t take long for Laurel to find the
friends she was meeting at the bar and for Derrick to be dragged to
the dance floor by a pretty girl. Country here seemed to have no
boundaries of race, color, or creed, and Derrick found it a
refreshing change from the narrow minds of Summerville.

He was finding it easy to talk to people and
was soon making new friends. His dance partner turned out to be a
fun, bright girl who was pre-law. She was good company, really
pretty, a little tipsy and—he looked back to Laurel’s place at the
bar with her friends.

Laurel had kept an eye on Derrick most of the
time. She wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t want him getting
into a fight or because of the cute girl that was hanging on his
every word. Regardless, she didn’t want him getting into trouble—he
was her ride home.

Laurel had been enjoying herself. She had a
few too many, maybe a lot too many. She wasn’t exactly sure what
she was trying to drown, but for the time being, it felt good,
numb.

Suddenly, hairy, tanned arms reached around
her from behind. She stiffened when she saw the wedding-ringed left
hand and high school class ring on the right.

“How did I know I’d find you here, darlin’?”
He said in a jovial tone. He reeked of cheap cologne and whiskey;
it made her queasy as he lowered his mouth to her ear. She froze as
he pressed against her, trying to get her to sway to the music.
“You’re as gorgeous as ever, honey. I don’t think anyone would
notice if you left with me.” He slurred his words.

“Gerry, no.” Laurel twisted in his arms,
attempting to break his hold on her. Gerry Smythe spun her around
to face him, digging his fingers into her arms painfully. She
stayed still, hoping she could talk him down before something bad
happened. The drunken smirk on his face matched the fire in his
eyes.

“Jahn’s dead.” He dug into her arms as he
shook her. “What, you think your
boy
will take his place?
You can’t send a boy to do a man’s work, honey.”

He tried to pull her close, his left arm
grabbed at her backside, but his right arm never made it there. It
twisted high behind his back and his face smashed against a table
sending beers and patrons flying, scrambling away from the
fray.

“Who are you calling
boy
?” The booming
baritone bellowed. “Talk to her again and one of those blades off
your mower is gonna get shoved up your ass!” With that, Derrick
threw the man to the floor, writhing in agony and bloody from his
face hitting the table with such force.

Derrick slipped an arm around Laurel’s waist,
half dragging, half carrying her out of the bar with her yelling at
him the whole way. Finally wriggling free of him, in the middle of
the parking lot, she staggered to regain her balance.

“You think you need to defend my honor,
Casanova? I can dammmnn well take care of m—yself, you idiot.” Her
words were gapping and badly slurred.

He looked at her incredulously. “Are you
kidding me? I just pried that asshole off of you!”

“You’re not Jahn. You’re just theeee hired
ha...nd,” she slurred loudly, wavering. Her words stung him. He
strolled back to her position in the gravel.

“No, I’m not your dead husband. I’m Derrick.
Open your eyes woman. I oughta leave your sorry ass right here.”
His hands on his hips, he stood, his head cocked shaking it in
disbelief.

“Go to hell!” She screamed at him with her
whole body and promptly fell to her knees, puking up
everything.

“Oh, God,—really?!” He rolled his eyes
upward. “So this is your idea of a test or lesson or whatever?” He
ran his hand over his face and under his cap, which he repositioned
quickly, like a pitcher’s tick before throwing a ninety-five
mile-per-hour fastball. “Shit!”

Having nothing else at his disposal, he
pulled off his shirt and wiped her face gently with it. “You
done?”

She nodded weakly.

He gathered her up to stand and decided she
wasn’t going to be walking anywhere. He scooped her up and carried
her all the way to the truck. Wearily, she tucked her head to his
shoulder, and with the rhythm of his steps, she allowed the lights
to fade away.

__________________________

Laurel dreamed that she was nestled against
the broad expanse of Derrick’s chest. Inhaling she could smell him;
a mix of his own manly scent with that wonderful cologne he wore.
Her hand caressed his back, his hip, and trailed up his chest. He
felt incredible. Why was Derrick in her dream with his arm draped
over her hip?

Laurel floated, seeing herself snuggled into
a big sleigh bed, deep in fresh linens, in just her silky black bra
and panties. She slipped from her dream state to reality. The
bright sun of late June blinded her. It crossed her mind that it
was later than usual as she faded from a state of deep, hazy
arousal to being completely conscious, realizing she was, indeed,
face to face, body to body with Derrick.

He smiled softly at her and she smiled
back.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he drawled.

Then it hit her—she was barely covered and in
bed with a very gorgeous man. “Shit!” Laurel backed away in
disbelief.
What have I done
? She jerked the covers up around
her chest as Derrick lifted his arm from her. She scowled at him
hard.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on there, don’t get mad,”
Derrick started. “You were really drunk and we—I—.”

“We what?” Her eyes flew open wide.

“I didn’t want you to fall out of bed or fall
down the stairs and break your pretty little neck. You were really
wasted, Laurel. I was just—.”

She didn’t give him time to finish. “Just
what? Taking advantage of my drunk, sorry ass? Huh?” She demanded
an explanation, slapping her hand on the bed between them. The
events of the last evening came flooding back to her.

“No. I would never do that. I’m sorry for
what I said, but you were pretty mean yourself,” he said gently.
There was a brief silence as they stared at each other.

“Why did you let him touch you?” Derrick
propped himself up on one arm and stared intently at her waiting
for an answer.

Laurel exhaled and fell back into the
pillows, pulling the covers to her chin, staring at the ceiling. “I
didn’t, he surprised me. I told him no and tried to get away. He
accused me of—of us—well you know.” She looked back at him to
garner his reaction to the statement.

He smiled at her. Derrick was taking the
opportunity provided him.

“Is there something wrong with that?” His
voice revealed his interest in the subject. “We’re both adults. I
may be at a different spot in my life than you, but I can make my
own decisions and so can you Laurel.”

Laurel laughed, “I’m old enough, you mean?
Derrick, I—we—can’t. This is not supposed to happen.” She motioned
between the two of them.

He didn’t let it go. “So it would be wrong if
it did?” She noticed he sounded a little wounded, and for a moment,
she wondered if he really did want there to be something more
between them.

“No—no. It’s just—I just—uh, I don’t know.”
She covered her hurting eyes with her arm. “Where are my
clothes?”

“They were kinda gross. I didn’t want you to
have to sleep in them.” He was still watching her reactions. “I
cleaned you up a little before I put you to bed. You don’t
remember?”

She groaned. “No, sorry. I guess I was pretty
drunk.”

He chuckled. “You could say that.”

Silence fell between them as they lay there,
each trying to figure out what to say next. Identifying a wrong in
the quiet, Laurel’s mouth fell open with a stricken look
over-taking her face.

“Where is Smythe’s crew? I don’t hear the
tractor or haybine or anything?” She abandoned the safety of the
covers and jumped up, running to the window.

“Derrick,” she began slowly, “where the hell
is the hay equipment?”

“Smythe’s stuff was gone when we got back,”
Derrick told her with a hint of a smirk on his face.

“So what the hell am I going to do now?”
Laurel slumped at the thought of having to round up another hay
crew in the middle of the season. The weight of the farm now
sitting squarely on her shoulders, pulling down. She didn’t
appreciate the idea of seeing a hay crop wasted.

“Laurel,” he grinned and ducked his head. He
loved to say her name; it fit his lips so well. “I’m a bit of a
networker. I made some new friends last night.” He pointed down the
road as the roar of trucks pulling heavy equipment groaned
louder.

The mixed mash-up of equipment and operators
unloaded quickly. They started to work on the field that was mostly
cut.

A rake started flipping long, fluffed rows of
hay, while a mower started cutting the balance. A haybine headed to
the south alfalfa field. She watched in amazement as the obviously
experienced crew worked together easily. There was a younger man
oiling a square baler, while an older man threaded a new roll of
twine into it. Wagons and an extra elevator showed up with more
hands to man them. A group of women set up drinks and food.

Laurel watched in amazement. She choked up.
She had truly underestimated Derrick Jones. “Thank you so much,”
she gushed. She crossed her arms and looked back at him in
amazement. “You did all this?”

He nodded. He’d made a lot of phone calls
early that morning, while she was snoring practically face down in
the bed, hair in her face—beautiful. Moving up to stand behind her,
he watched her reaction and the movement outside. She abandoned
caution and turned to grab him in a huge hug. He hugged her back,
drawing her closer, slipping his hands low on her back, pulling her
in, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. She felt so right against
him. He closed his eyes just to feel her. Maybe now she would trust
him.