Second Round Cowboy (Second Chance Series)

Second Round
Cowboy

2014 Rhonda Lee Carver

Copyright © 2014
by Rhonda Lee Carver

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States

“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.”
 
                                                                                                                                ―
 
Marilyn Monroe

CHAPTER ONE

THE SCRUFFY-BEARDED BARTENDER
grabbed a Budweiser from the cooler, popped the lid and passed it down the pock marked and pitted bar to Stryker Mason.

Stryker
grabbed the bottle and held it up in salutation. "Thanks, Lucky."

"There's more where
that came from, pal." Lucky tipped his hat.

Taking several long dra
gs from the bottle, Stryker swiveled on the squeaky barstool, pushed his hat back on his forehead, and stared into the grimy darkness of Whistle’s Saloon. Nothing had changed in the country bar since he’d stopped by a year ago. One of the neon signs in the window still had a bulb missing, the same dusty deer heads lined the wall and familiar-faced rednecks surrounded the pool table.  A sad tune wailed from the jukebox mingling with the cracking of the balls.

He took another drink as he peered down the long neck.
Oh shit!
He almost sent the mouthful splattering onto the bar. At one of the tables in the corner sat a couple, tongues buried in each other's mouth and hands knuckle deep in each other's jeans.
What the hell?

Turning
away from the public display of affection, he spotted old man Richards clinging to the wall, head bobbing, and a yellowish tint to his skin. He'd had too much to drink again. The fifty-something welder looked one beer away from liver failure. Stryker liked the man and hated seeing him drown his sorrows, whatever they were. Before much longer, Richards’s wife would be rolling in and dragging him out.

Stryker scrubbed his jaw.
Why had he bothered coming in? Had he gotten this miserable?

Hell,
everyone had his reasons for being there and every man deserved a cold one now and again.

He’d been driving back from the rodeo when he
’d gotten a thirst for something more than his usual sweet tea. Sure, he could have grabbed a six-pack on his way past the grocery, but there was something about drinking alone that he’d never liked.

He swallow
ed half his drink and swirled the liquid around the bottle.

“You nee
d another, Stryker?” Lucky yelled from down the bar.

“No, I think this’ll do me. But thanks
anyway.” Stryker reached into his front pocket, pulled out a couple of bills and laid them on the counter. Laughter drew his attention across the room to a couple dancing. The man twirled the woman and her long, dark hair swung around her shoulders. His chest tightened as memories came flooding back of someone he knew long ago. She liked to dance and he liked to hold her. It'd been a win-win situation.

When would he be free of
her?

Lord knew
he’d tried forgetting her, but nothing had worked. He was beginning to think he’d live in the nightmare until he was six feet under.

At times, he wondered what she was doing and who she was doing it with. When she'd left, he'd driven himself crazy imagining her in the arms of another man.
He’d never been a jealous man, but losing her had turned his world upside down.

"Lucky, I've decided I'll take a six-pack to go." Stryker withdrew a few more bills and slid them toward the bartender. Tonight he'd drown his
despair.

His cell buzzed and he
pulled it out from his jacket pocket, checking the caller ID. He recognized the number and clicked talk. “Hey, Suzie. Feel like dancing tonight?” She was his sister's best friend and co-worker. He liked to tease the woman. It was all harmless banter because she was happily married with three young kids. In fact, he was good friends with her husband too.

“Stryke
r, where are you?” The panicked tone in her voice made him sit straighter as the hair lifted on the back of his neck.

“I’m heading home. What’s wrong?” He was already out of the bar and in the parking lot, anticipating her answer.

“It’s Justine…she’s been in a car accident.” A sob vibrated the line.

His grip tightened on the phone. “Where is she? Is she at the hospital? Is Lilly with her? I can be there in ten minutes.”

“Lilly wasn’t with her. Yes, Justine was brought here, but there’s something you should know.” He heard the plastic of his cell crack and his knuckles ached. “It's bad, Stryker, real bad. The doctor doesn’t think she’ll make it.”

****

Leslie Bakerfield
slid off her red stilettos and tossed them into the corner of the bathroom. Her feet ached and her toes were blistered from being at the Rancher’s Ball, but she didn't care. She was far from tired and could have danced the night away. She hadn’t had that much fun in, well, longer than imaginable.

Unzipping the back of the sequined gown, she let the material drop in a
satin puddle at her feet, then grabbed the black silk robe off the hook and tugged it on.

She checked herself in the mirror. Her earlier updo was now a half-do
and her lipstick was smeared. Removing the bobby pins, her long hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders. She started to pull it up in a ponytail, but decided to leave it down. It wasn’t often that she got all dolled up. As a veterinarian, she spent more time with horses than humans, and her patients didn’t care how much makeup she wore or how fancy she dressed.

Knock! Knock!

“Yes?”

“Everything okay in there?” Dillon Brooke asked through the door.

She nervously tightened the belt at her waist, not understanding why she was uneasy. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you. If you’d like, grab yourself a drink. I have beer and there may be some wine left.”

His footsteps faded down the hall.
He'd accompanied her to the ball and had been the perfect gentleman—opening doors, saying please and thank you, grabbing her wine when her glass was empty. He’d also made her laugh with his jokes. While they'd danced, he'd held her close and things had gotten a little heated. After several slow songs, he’d asked her if she wanted to leave and she’d known exactly what he was asking. She didn't mind getting away from the dwindling crowd or the possibility of continuing things at her place.

He’d brought her home and she’d asked him to come inside, she’d wanted—maybe even needed—for things to go to the next level.

In the next room waited a handsome and willing cowboy. He was everything she found sexy about a man—tall, brawny, virile and available.

Why
am I stalling then?

Maybe the idea of sleeping with Dillon was a lot more tempting than the actual opportunity
for action.

She buried her forehead
against her palm and sighed.

If only her nerves would chill.

Lifting her head, she stared at her pale reflection. She barely knew Dillon. And she couldn’t deny the three glasses of wine had sweetly intoxicated her brain cells.

What the hell was wrong with her?
She should follow her heart, wherever it led her. She was a grown woman who hadn’t enjoyed adult playtime in a long time—too long. Why did she feel guilty? Where did it come from? Guilt had no place inside of her.

An image
sparked of another tall, brawny cowboy with a smile that oozed charm and deep eyes that could see right through her. This cowboy wasn’t waiting and willing. In fact, she hadn’t seen him in years. A day hadn’t gone by that he hadn’t crossed her mind.

But
he
belonged in her past.

She gave her
head a quick shake, hoping to dislodge her forbidden cowboy. No luck.

Although she’d gotten good at
building walls, there were times old memories and a lost cowboy trickled through the holes of her protection. Now wasn’t a good time for the dam to break. Years had passed and she had every right to move on.

The time had come
and she needed to prove to herself she was ready to forget the blue-eyed man who’d haunted her day and night.

Turning,
she opened the door and shimmied down the hall in her short robe, readying herself to knock the fancy boots right off Dillon.

“About time.” He
was sitting on the couch, his arms were over the back, his long legs stretched out and his ankles were hooked. He’d lost his jacket and bowtie, and a few buttons were loose on his shirt, showing off a smooth chest.
How old was he again?
For heaven’s sake. He was an adult—and looked masculine enough to her. What was the big deal? It wasn’t as if she was robbing the cradle.

“Sorry it took so long,” she finally said.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure.” She sli
pped her fingers through her hair as she spotted the empty tumbler sitting on the floor. “Care for another drink?”

He shook his head. “No.”
He lifted a hand and motioned for her to step closer.

Swallowing, her heart thumped against her chest
. She took several steps until her bare toes touched his boots and she stopped, placing her hands on her hips. He sat up, his smoldering gaze held hers as the heat from his body seeped through the thin material covering her. She knew what was coming—and anticipated it.

He loosened the belt of her ro
be and the front fell open. A cool breeze swept across her body. Her nipples bunched against the bra.

“Y
ou’re beautiful.” His touch came at her knees, moving upward along her outer thighs as he slowly smoothed his palms over her hips. Her skin trembled when he bent his head and licked her belly button, swirling his tongue in and out of the dip.

His fingers pressed up her back then she felt him fumble with the clasp. A soft click sounded and the lace fell down her arms, then to the floor. His needful gaze caressed her bare breasts before he found the buds with the tips of his fingers, circling and rubbing until tingles of urgency burst through her.

With his other hand, he
slipped past the wisp of satin covering her wet center and slid a digit inside of her. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back, a deep moan sliced the air and she realized it came from her. Clinging to his broad shoulders, she rode the waves of sexual intoxication.

“Yes, baby, yes.” The huskiness of his words broke through her
state of pleasure and she drifted.

She was straddling her coal-haired cowboy, riding his thick cock as he cried out, “
I’m all yours, sweet baby. Forever.”

She gritted her teeth, fighting through the image
of a man from the past. Her pussy grew wetter with the memory, and as hard as she tried to move beyond the thought, her body tensed. “I can’t!”

“Huh? What is it?” Dillon pulled his finger from her.

Taking a step back, she opened her mouth to tell him the truth…

Knock! Knock!

She jumped.

His
eyes narrowed. “Expecting someone?”

"No."
She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “There's no one I want to see at midnight."

“T
hen let’s ignore them.” His words seemed more of a blast of cold air than encouragement to continue.