Going Cowboy Crazy (12 page)

“No, I just thought…”

He slipped over her, his hands braced on either side of her head. “Don’t think.” He dipped down and kissed her lips. “Just feel.”

Always the good listener, Faith closed her eyes and just felt. Felt the heat of his breath on her face. The brush of muscle and lightly furred skin as he guided her legs apart with his. The nudge—then stretch—of smooth, hard muscle as he pressed deep inside, touching a spot she didn’t even know existed. She knew now. With each penetrating stroke, the intensity grew until her hips tipped and met him thrust for thrust.

Her second orgasm took her by surprise, coming hot and fast in jumpy little spasms. Slate followed closely behind, his head bent forward as he groaned out his release. His body was heavy as he sagged against her, but she didn’t mind the extra weight pinning her down to the crisp sheets. She liked the feel of being beneath him. Liked it so much she actually giggled.

He came up on his forearms and looked down at her. “Is there a problem?”

“No. No problem at all,” she said as she hooked her arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss.

Faith had just discovered something she liked better than red shoes and pink lip gloss.

And she planned to get her fill while she could.

S
LATE STOOD NAKED IN THE DOORWAY OF THE TRAILER
and stared out at the Texas sunrise. It wasn’t as spectacular as a sunset, but it was nice in its own right. Of course, spectacular or not, he’d rather be back in bed. And if Buster hadn’t had a bad case of the trots, he would be. Dang nuisance of a woman trying to kill his dog.

Buster ambled back up the steps and pressed against Slate’s leg, staring up with soulful eyes.

“Sorry, boy.” He scratched the dog behind his woolly ears. “She was just trying to be helpful. But in the future I’d keep a little distance if I was you.”

The dog pulled away and headed inside. Slate followed him back to the bedroom only to shake his head when Buster flopped down on the floor right next to Faith’s side. Obviously, the dog didn’t care if she killed him. In a little over a day, he’d grown attached.

Slate looked down at the woman who slept on her stomach with one hand dangling off the bed and one small foot peeking out from the sheet. Damn, if he didn’t know exactly how Buster felt. If Slate didn’t get her out of
there fast, she would be the death of him, too. Or at least, the death of his coaching career and his sanity. Except he didn’t listen to his own advice, either. Instead of hopping in the shower, dressing, and getting on with the car search so he could then get on with his coaching responsibilities, he slid beneath the sheets.

The feel of his morning-chilled skin made her grumble but she didn’t wake up, not even when he nuzzled his nose into the soft hair on the nape of her neck and ran a hand over the curve of her rear end. She smelled good, like his Irish soap and peaches. And she felt even better. All toasty warm and as soft as a downy chick. He pushed the sheet off, so he could look at the sweet flesh he caressed. Her skin was as lily white as his ass. Except all over. He traced the bumpy trail of her spine up to her shoulders, then down again, before he switched positions so that his head was down by her feet.

Leaning on an elbow, he lifted one dainty foot to examine it. The nails were clipped short and devoid of polish. He kissed her pinkie toe, no bigger than a pencil eraser, as he ran a thumb over her instep. At Duds ’N’ Such, he’d learned her feet were size five. Cinderella’s couldn’t be smaller. He kissed the high arch. Or prettier. He licked his way around her ankle. She tasted good. Like warm peach cobbler, or maybe that was the way she smelled. His senses seemed to get all jumbled up when she was near.

Running a hand along her calf, he noticed how toned she was and wondered if she worked out at one of those stuffy fitness gyms or if she liked outdoor sports. He pressed his mouth to a spot at the back of her knee where a blue vein throbbed beneath the pale skin and for a second absorbed the rhythm of her heart. Then he
moved up her firm thigh to her cute little curved bottom. He cupped the smooth hills, the tips of his fingers brushing the crevice between them.

With her leg bent, he could just make out a shadowy slice of heaven. The sight made him as hard as cherrywood. But instead of coaxing her awake and relieving his need, he was content just to look. It was like watching the sun come up over the flat expanse of a Texas cotton field. Or seeing the faces in a hometown crowd when you scored the winning touchdown. Or looking into this woman’s face when she reached orgasm.

It was beautiful, and a sight he wasn’t willing to miss.

The mattress shifted, and two sleepy eyes the color of Texas bluebonnets gazed over a creamy white shoulder.

Attempting to cover the jump of his heart, he smiled. “Good mornin’, darlin’.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just lookin’.”

Her eyes turned concerned. “At what?”

He trailed his fingertips around each butt cheek. “At the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Her face flushed bright red, and she rolled to her side, pulling all that sweet flesh from his fingers as she covered herself with the sheet. “I’m not beautiful.”

“Really?” He moved back up, lying on his side to face her. “And what makes you say that?”

Her gaze refused to settle on his. “Because it’s the truth. I’ve never been beautiful. Just cute in an ugly kinda way.”

“I disagree.” Slate tipped her chin up and stared down into those deep pools of insecurity. “You’re beautiful, Faith Aldridge. But if you can’t take my word for it, I
guess I’ll just have to show you.” He leaned down to settle his lips against hers, but she put a hand on his chest and stopped him.

“I have morning breath.”

“Me too.” He took the hand and hooked it around his neck. “Which cancels everything out.”

She melted into his kiss with such a warm welcome that it made him light-headed. Her fingers lightly caressed the nape of his neck, and her breasts snuggled against his chest. He liked kissing her, liked it almost as much as he liked being in her—almost. Her lips fit his to perfection. But soon kissing was not enough, and he pressed her back on the bed with every intention of sliding on top of her and slipping deep inside all that warmth.

But just when he was about to sink into heaven, Buster jumped up and barked as the front door slammed. And before he could do more than slip under the sheet and turn around, Hope’s mama—or adoptive mama—strode through the door.

“Well, it’s about dang time.”

Slate held the sheet up to his chin, while Faith dove beneath it. Thank God he’d bought thicker sheets the day before.

“Mornin’, Jenna.” He tried to disguise the horror he felt. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. “I see you got back from Lubbock in one piece.”

“We got back late last night.” The woman’s brown eyes sparkled with unsuppressed joy as she bent down to scratch Buster’s ears. Slate had never noticed before, but Jenna was just as petite as Hope and Faith.

“We stopped to get gas only to discover my long-lost daughter has come home and was last seen driving off with
our football coach. How could you, Slate Calhoun?” It was a weak attempt at outrage, especially when it was followed with a bright smile. “I wanted to stop by last night, but Burl wouldn’t let me. He said this morning was soon enough.” She grabbed the dainty foot that peeked out of the sheet. “Hope, honey, is that you under there?”

The sheet tightened.

“Now, honey, there’s no need to be embarrassed. I could see it if you were fifteen. But you’re thirty years old, and I have long since stopped worrying about your virginity. Especially since you and Slate have been sweethearts forever.”

The sheet was jerked down to reveal a disheveled and confused Faith.

“Sweethearts?” she squeaked.

Suddenly Slate wished he was Buster and could just slink out the door with his tail between his legs. This was worse than not good. This was flat-out bad. He’d been able to stop the townsfolk from spouting off, but there was no way to stop this woman. She steamrolled better than her daughter.

Adopted or not.

“Oh, Good Lord, Hope, what did you do to your hair, child?” Jenna moved around the side of the bed. Except before she reached Faith, she froze in her tracks and her eyes widened with something that looked like wild disbelief. Since the hair had already been mentioned, Slate could only conclude that Jenna was more perceptive than the rest of Bramble.

And he didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad one.

“Faith?” Her voice shook with emotion. “Faith, is that you, baby girl?”

Faith shot a confused glance at Slate, but he felt as confused as she was. How could Jenna possibly know Faith’s name? He grew even more confused when Jenna fell sobbing into Faith’s arms.

“My baby,” she wailed. “My baby’s come home.”

With the hysterical woman flung over her lap, Faith sat frozen in shock. She looked back at him, but the only thing he could do was shrug. He didn’t have a clue what was going on.

“Jenna, darlin’.” Slate tried to remain calm as his mind struggled to piece things together. “I realize you’re upset. I know it’s a shock to see someone that looks so much like Hope. It shocked me, too. But you need to get—”

Jenna pulled back, but this time there was fire in her eyes. “What I need, Slate Calhoun, is to get a gun and blow your fool head off.” She tugged a bewildered Faith protectively to her chest. “Burl!” She screamed loud enough to knock some of the exposed insulation out of the ceiling. “Burl, get in here!”

Big Burl came charging in the door. “What are you hollerin’ about, woman?”

Jenna pointed a finger at Slate. “I want you to whup his butt.” She flicked her finger. “For violating our baby girl.”

“Now, Mama,” Burl said. “I realize this is kinda an uncomfortable situation.” He cleared his throat. “I sure know it’s uncomfortable for me. But isn’t this what you’ve been praying for?”

“Not with our baby!” She yelled. “Not with Faith!”

“Faith?” Burl looked down at the woman in his wife’s arms. “That’s Faith? But how did she get—” He turned on Slate, and his eyes narrowed.

Now Burl Scroggs had been the meanest defensive end in Bramble High history. His record for most sacks in a season had never been equaled or even threatened. Proof still resided in large purple block letters on the wall of the gym. Slate knew he would never make it out the door without his bones being crushed in those large roughneck hands, but he refused to make it easy. And he also refused to go down naked as the day he was born.

While Burl’s mind was still muddled with anger and confusion, Slate leaned over the edge of the bed and grabbed his gym shorts, slipping into them under the sheet. Once they were on, he stood up in the small space between the wall and the bed.

“Now, Burl, I don’t exactly know what’s going on, but I think we can discuss it like gentlemen.”

“You think it was very gentlemanly to have sex with my baby girl, Slate Calhoun?” Jenna accused.

“Baby girl?” He ran a hand over his face. “You keep saying that, Jenna, but I’m not getting it.” He pointed a finger at Faith, whose eyes were wildly darting back and forth between him, Jenna, and Burl. “You’re right, that’s Faith. And she’s Hope’s twin sister. But how does that make her your baby girl? Not unless…” His eyes widened as his brain kicked in. “Hope isn’t adopted, is she?”

“Of course she ain’t!” Burl yelled. “And I should kick your butt just for thinking it!”

“Then that means…” He stopped, unable to finish.

There was a long pregnant silence before Faith spoke.

“You kept Hope, but gave me away.” She pulled out of Jenna’s arms, her blue eyes filled with so much pain that Slate felt like he’d been sucker punched.

Jenna’s anger drained, and she started sobbing again.
“I didn’t want to, but I had already signed the papers… and your mama was there… and we weren’t married—didn’t even know if we wanted to get married… and both of us were still in school—”

“So you gave me away?”

“Oh, honey.” Jenna reached for her again, but Faith tucked the sheet around herself and scrambled off the bed next to Slate. He tried to hook an arm around her waist, but she jerked away from him.

“Faith, sweetheart.” Burl’s blue eyes filled with tears, eyes that were an exact duplicate of his daughters’. “Please let your mama explain.”

“My mother’s dead,” Faith whispered.

Jenna’s sobs grew even louder.

But Slate didn’t care that Jenna was upset. All he cared about was the devastated woman next to him. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. He wanted to pull her into his arms and shield her from the pain of rejection that he knew only too well. But all he could do was glare at the two people he’d thought were devoted, loving parents.

“I think it would be best if you two left.” For one of the few times in his adult life, his tone was hard, his anger evident.

“Why you scrawny little—” Burl reached over the bed, but Jenna stopped him.

“No, Burl,” she choked out. “He’s right. We need to leave.” She stood on trembling legs, her makeup running down her cheeks in thin black streams. “I’m so sorry, Faith. I’m so sorry.”