Must Love Cowboys (14 page)

As encouraging responses went, that one was pretty mild. Wyatt, on the other hand, reacted like a horse that simultaneously felt spur and curb, taking a step toward me before stopping short.

Until our eyes met.

In seconds, I was in his arms with my back against the wall, his kiss crushing any shred of resistance I might have offered. What he'd done the day before seemed tame in comparison. Thrilled, aroused, and terrified at the same time, I couldn't fight the emotions; I could only let them flow through me like floodwaters through a broken dam.

The notion that the door to my room was standing wide open flitted through my mind and was immediately dismissed. I flat-out didn't care. Wyatt might've scared the bejesus out of me.

But I liked it.

This time, no door slammed, no boisterous voices broke the silence. My strength and will returned, but instead of pushing him away, I curled my arms up around his neck and clutched the back of his head, a move somehow inherently erotic. My knees sagged. If I'd been against anything less than a wall, I would've pulled him down on top of me.

A moment later, the wall was gone, its solid form replaced by something soft and yielding. My head swam in protest of the sudden shift from vertical to horizontal, but Wyatt's lips never left mine. His hands gripped my head as though ensuring my continued cooperation, then released me to strip off his jacket. My only wish was that he'd gotten rid of the shirt along with it.

He pressed a knee between my legs, nudging them apart. Despite being fully clothed, that intimacy made me feel exposed and vulnerable. Searing need knifed through my core, releasing yet another emotional flood, this one of passion and desire. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, pressing his erection hard against the ache between my thighs.

A deep, gut-wrenching groan emanated from his chest, heralding the sound he'd undoubtedly heard an instant before I did. Booted feet. Slamming doors. Male voices.

Suddenly, he was on his feet, pulling me upright before practically throwing me into the chair.

He stood there, staring at me, controlling his rampant breathing with a visible effort. “Next time, remind me to lock the damned door.”

So that's what it's like to be manhandled.

Scary, but exhilarating, and definitely not the sort of thing I'd ever thought I would enjoy—although I wasn't sure
enjoy
was the right word to describe the way I felt.

Oddly enough, the entire situation seemed rather funny. The more I thought about it, the harder I giggled. By the time Dean stuck his head in the door, tears of laughter were streaming down my face. Wyatt had at least had the good sense to pick up his jacket, but my bed was slightly rumpled. God only knew what my hair looked like.

“What's the joke?” Dean asked.

Wyatt shot him a grin. “You kinda had to be here.”

Thankfully, he hadn't been.

When Dean asked about Calvin, I gave him the rundown of the day's events, ending with the news that Calvin would be coming home soon.

His reaction was similar to Wyatt's. “You won't leave right away, will you?”

Oh, dear…
“Like I told Wyatt, I'll stick around as long as I'm needed.”

Nick's head popped up over Dean's shoulder. “If that's the case, you'll never leave. Calvin's a great guy, but you're a better cook.”

“Thanks, Nick. But for heaven's sake don't tell Calvin that.” I rose from the chair, pleased to note that the rubber in my knees had once again been replaced with bone. “Nothing too exciting on tonight's menu, anyhow. Just hamburgers and potato salad.”

“And blackberry fuckin' cobbler,” Bull added as he joined the crowd at my door.

The way things were going, I was glad Wyatt had moved as fast as he had. Otherwise, we would've had quite an audience. I glared at Bull, forcing myself to keep a straight face. “Bull, if you so much as touch that cobbler before dinner, I'm gonna knock knots all over your bald head.”

“Damn if you don't sound just like my mother,” Bull declared. “You'll be telling me to watch my language next.”

“I might,” I snapped. “It's about time someone did.” I wasn't sure what to make of sounding like Bull's mother. Seemed a little weird. Even weirder was the fact that I sounded a lot like
my
mother.

Bull chuckled, obviously enjoying the banter. “Good luck. If I didn't cuss, I probably couldn't talk at all.”

“Somehow, I don't think she'd see that as a problem,” Wyatt drawled.

Once again, I was overcome with helpless laughter. “You guys are killing me.”

“Well now, we can't have that,” Wyatt said, his drawl still quite pronounced. “You're the best cook we've got.” Snatching a tissue from the box on my desk, he used it to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

I was still giggling when it struck me just how intimate that gesture was. On top of that, he was smiling at me in a very disturbing manner—a smile quite unlike that of a casual acquaintance.

I stole a glance at Dean just as he muttered, “Aw, hell,” turned on his heel, and stomped off, clearly displaying his annoyance—and also the fact that he'd recognized both intimacies for what they were.

He was being replaced, ousted, and bested—something I'd never intended and certainly never expected. Hurting Dean's feelings was the last thing I wanted to do. He'd been so sweet, so understanding.

If you hadn't kissed him, you wouldn't be in this…situation.
I couldn't call it a mess. Not yet.

“What was that all about?” Bull demanded.

“Oh, shut up, Bull,” Nick growled. “For once in your life, just shut the fuck up.”

Either Bull was too dense to pick up on the vibes between Dean and me or he'd forgotten about the hickey he'd so graciously brought to everyone's attention. Then again, perhaps he'd assumed Wyatt had been the culprit. Or not. As befuddled as I was, I couldn't remember.

I had only myself to blame. Well, no. That wasn't completely true. Dean and Wyatt had both initiated everything. At least I thought they had. I certainly hadn't been the one to kiss either of them first. Granted, I'd bitten Wyatt, but—

But what? I'd bitten him and he'd kissed me. What was that? Some sort of mating ritual I knew nothing about?

Oh, bloody hell!

Bull would have undoubtedly said something far more colorful, but that expletive was as profane as I ever got, and I rarely said it aloud.

If I'd had to guess, I'd have said Wyatt knew exactly what he was doing, and also what Dean and I had been up to. Case in point, his irritable reactions when Dean and I started getting chummy.

I wasn't sure “chummy” was the right word, either.

I'm so confused…

Heaving a sigh, I strode from the room, bypassing Nick and Bull and leaving Wyatt to make his own explanations. Before anything else happened, I needed to have a talk with Dean.

I hurried through the kitchen and into the mess hall. Sonny and Joe were both in the process of hanging up their hats and jackets, but there was no sign of Dean.

The door to the men's sleeping quarters stood ajar. Peeking inside, I spotted Dean sitting on a bunk, picking out a melody on a guitar like he knew what he was doing.

“Hey, you,” I said softly. “Can I come in?”

“Sure. Why the hell not?”

I thought it best to ignore the question and take him at his word.

I'd never been in that section of the building before and was a little surprised at how nice it was. Laid out like a dormitory with windows at regular intervals, the long, narrow room had rows of beds arranged along both exterior walls. The amount of space between each man's “room” suggested the bunkhouse had been built to accommodate a lot more men than it currently housed. A hodgepodge of patterns, colors, and mismatched furniture reflected a variety of personal tastes. A doorway at the far end presumably led to the showers, while another appeared to open out toward the stable yard.

Dean's area contained a leather recliner, a small oak dresser, and a nightstand topped with a rather rustic-looking lamp. A Navajo rug lay on the floor, and the quilt covering the bed was crafted in a similar style. For the first time, I realized how little these men had. I assumed they were paid a decent wage, but their needs were obviously simple; the size of their bank accounts probably didn't mean much to them.

They were certainly a breed apart from any men I'd dealt with in the past. They didn't seem ambitious or greedy, but did they dream of more? A home of their own? A family? In his letters to my grandfather, Calvin had made it clear that he'd chosen this kind of life—mainly because he'd lost the ones he loved most and couldn't stand the thought of losing anyone else. However, despite his determination to avoid family ties, his illness had proven just how important those connections could be—and I had an idea he'd found another family here on the ranch. Dean was part of that family, and I didn't want to hurt him any more than I would Calvin.

“I didn't know you played the guitar.”

He shrugged. “Ever since I was a kid.”

“Sounds pretty good.” I sat down in the recliner opposite him and leaned forward, unsure how to begin. “Talk to me, Dean. Tell me what you're feeling.”

He strummed a few chords before he spoke, his gaze directed toward the floor. “I don't know how I feel. Angry, maybe.” When he looked up at me, disappointment showed in his eyes, but no anger, and certainly no tears. “I probably shouldn't be. After all, we did say no strings.”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time, didn't it?” I paused, grimacing. “I'm not so sure anymore. This is all so new to me. You of all people should know that.”

A tiny smile touched his lips. “Yeah. Guess it's a good thing we never got around to using those condoms.” His eyes drifted back to mine. “You've never slept with a man before. Have you?”

“Um…no. Was it that obvious?”

“Yeah. I was kinda nervous about that,” he confided. “I've never done a virgin. It's a little scary.”

I couldn't help smiling. “Imagine how it feels from my perspective.”

“Good point. I really didn't like the idea of hurting you.” The concern in his eyes left little doubt as to his sincerity. “Looks like Wyatt'll be the one to do the honors.”

“Maybe. I don't know if that's what he wants. He's not what you'd call talkative. I mean, I can't see having the kind of casual arrangement with him that you and I have.”

“Had.”

I eyed him curiously. “Is that it? One hint of competition from Wyatt and you're throwing in the towel?”

“I was never even in the ring.” He sounded more realistic than defeated, which was good in a way and really rotten in another. I tried not to think about that.

“To be honest, I don't even know if Wyatt's in the ring. But I think I owe it to myself to take the time to figure it out.”

“Well…you know where to find me if you need me.”

Somehow, I wouldn't have thought it would be that easy, and I still felt as though I owed him an apology. “I'm sorry, Dean. I never dreamed any of this would happen. None of it. From the moment Calvin insisted I stay for dinner, I might as well have been on another planet. And you know how it is with us aliens. We tend to make mistakes.”

He arched a brow. “You think what we did was a mistake?”

“No, and I don't regret it for a second. But I do regret hurting your feelings. I never meant to do that, and no matter what happens between me and Wyatt, I want us to be friends.” The tears I'd searched for in his eyes finally welled up in my own. “I really like you guys. All of you. I've never had any male friends before. I was always too darn shy.”

“Not anymore.” His wry grin gave me a glimmer of hope. “I mean, you've seen me naked.”

“And you've had your hands on my boobs.” It was a testament to my steadily diminishing shyness that I was actually able to say that without stammering or blushing. I still had more to learn, but I'd come a long way in three days, and I'd enjoyed every minute of it.

“Yes, I have.” His smile broadened, then slowly faded. “I'm gonna miss that.” He played an intricate riff, one I recognized. “There's gotta be a song in there somewhere.”

“If so, you be sure and write it. Just don't tell everyone where your inspiration came from.”

The wicked grin I remembered finally put in an appearance. “I'll call it ‘She Was Almost My Fuck Buddy Sweetheart.' Sure to be a huge hit.”

“Don't quit your day job yet,” I advised, laughing—with relief as much as amusement. “Speaking of jobs, I have hamburgers to grill and tomatoes to slice. Hungry?”

“Always.”

“What do you like on your hamburger?”

“Lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and pickles.”

“Hmm…” I tapped my chin. “Onions, huh? Kinda makes me glad I won't be kissing you later on.”

A wistful smile replaced his grin. “So we're really calling it quits?”

“I think it's best.”

Once again, his gaze drifted toward the floor. “Sure was fun.”

Reaching out, I lifted his chin with a fingertip, forcing him to look at me. “Dean, those moments I spent with you were the most fun I've ever had, and if we'd kept on, you might've had the chance to use those condoms.”

“You really mean that?”

“Absolutely.” I wasn't lying, either. Kissing Wyatt was thrilling, but making out with Dean was a blast.

“They say you never forget your first fling—or is it your first love?”

“Doesn't matter. I won't forget any of this, Dean. Not until I'm old and senile, and probably not even then.” Would he be content with that? Being unfamiliar with the mysteries of the male mind, I could only hope.

I had just risen from my chair and started for the door when he began to play a long, wailing riff, complete with enough bends and sustains to satisfy the most discriminating country music fan.

“Do me a favor?” he asked, punctuating his request with a slide. “If Wyatt's a better kisser, don't tell me.”

Then again, some workings of the male mind were astonishingly transparent.

“Fair enough.”

* * *

I went back out to the kitchen and started on the hamburgers, trying to focus on the job at hand rather than all the crazy emotions zinging around in my head. I'd never had a boyfriend—casual or otherwise—therefore, I'd never broken up with one man because another guy was hitting on me. What did I say to Wyatt now?
All clear? I'm yours?

For the moment, I decided it was best not to say anything. Wyatt was messing with my mind in ways I couldn't begin to understand, or even count. Jumping into anything with him, be it my bed or whatever sort of relationship he had in mind, seemed inadvisable. I wasn't technically brokenhearted or even on the rebound, but a slower approach was bound to be less confusing.

Maybe.

Wyatt at least had the good sense to leave me alone with those thoughts. Otherwise, I probably would've burned the burgers. I wasn't exactly in competition with Calvin for best bunkhouse cook, but I suspected that working cowboys could be counted among the ranks of hamburger connoisseurs, unless they ate them often enough to be sick of them. Or disliked the smell of cattle enough to never want any part of them on their plates.

Surely not…

After only our third dinner together, the guys already seemed to be pretty well-trained. Sonny and Nick set the table without being asked, then came back to collect the serving dishes as I filled them up with fixings for the burgers. Bull hadn't so much as stuck a finger in the cobbler.

The mood was different, though. Calvin's improvement should have raised their spirits—they had all seemed pleased to hear the news—but after that, their behavior was more subdued, even somber. I doubted it was because the food tasted bad. Bull looked like he'd died and gone to heaven when he bit into his hamburger, and he didn't mince words when it came to describing the potato salad as the “best goddamned thing I ever ate in my life.”