Читать книгу Cowgirl, Unexpectedly - Vicki Tharp - Страница 10

Chapter 5

The floor of the cabin vibrated as four exaggerated footsteps landed on the front porch. “Don’t shoot,” Hank called out moments before he opened the door.

“Very funny,” I replied. “Lucky for you my hands are occupied.”

I was sitting at the kitchen table, twisting like a pretzel and trying to doctor the scrape on my side and finding two hands were not nearly enough to get the job done right.

After dumping his coat and hat on his bunk, Hank sat beside me and placed a pink plastic bottle on the table. On the label was a cartoon monkey with his shorts pulled down exposing a painful, red monkey butt. “What’s this?”

“Jenna wanted me to give this to you. For your saddle rub. She said she can’t watch you walk around like your jeans are made of razor wire anymore.”

“Thank God” was all I could say as I set the medicated powder back down.

Hank leaned down for a closer inspection of my side, then whistled softly. “Pretty impressive. More shades of purple than a little girl’s wardrobe.”

“You should see the knot and bruise from where I landed on that rock.” I realized my mistake as soon as the words left my mouth.

He tipped his chin up, indicating for me to stand and show him. I rolled my eyes, but stood up anyway and tugged the waistband of my boxer shorts low enough to show the hard knot and purple-black bruising, but not so low I was indecent.

“Hurt?” he asked in all innocence, knowing full well it did.

I sat back down and dabbed more hydrogen peroxide onto a couple of cotton balls. “Like a bitch.”

“Maybe you should sit out a day or so. Dale would understand.”

“I’ll survive. It’s a long way from my heart. Besides, I don’t see you lying around on your bunk with your bum leg raised while the guys are out working all day.”

He sat back, ran a hand absently down the leg in question, and regarded me. I wasn’t sure if he was more surprised I’d noticed how much the leg bothered him or that I’d called him on it. Then a smile curved up one side of his lips. “Like you said, it’s a long way from the heart.”

I couldn’t help but smile back. There was something sexy and admirable about a man who did his work without complaint despite a painful injury. As I twisted my body to apply the disinfectant, Hank snagged my wrist. If he felt my pulse spike and thrum beneath his fingertips, he didn’t let on.

With his other hand, he removed the cotton balls from my fingers and then lightly cleaned my wound. I grunted at the sting, tapping the table with the heel of my hand, but he didn’t pay me any heed. He let go of my wrist so he could ease down the waistband of my shorts and underwear, exposing my hip, half my butt cheek, and my raw skin. I glanced at his face to see if this affected him in any way. He was focused, but only on the job at hand. I chuckled softly as he released my waistband and tossed the used cotton balls into the nearby garbage can.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” I said. “I know I’m not all that, but with my waistband that low there wasn’t much left to the imagination, and yet you acted like you’d popped the hood on your truck to check for an oil leak.”

His laugh was hearty and warm, and heat pricked in my chest. He placed his hand behind my neck and stroked the side of my jaw with his thumb. I knew what was coming even before his eyes drifted to my mouth. I watched as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine, gentle, but not tentative. He lingered, then leaned back before I had the chance to kiss him back. “If that”—he dropped his eyes to my side to indicate what that was and raised them back to mine— “was what greeted me every time I popped a hood, I would’ve become a mechanic.”

He stood then and headed for the bathroom without a backward glance. I smiled to myself at his cheesiness as I used a non-stick pad to cover the part of my scrape beneath the waistband and let the rest of the wound get air. Hopefully by morning, it will scab over enough so that I won’t need to bandage it at all.

After cleaning up my mess, I turned all the lights off except for the one over the kitchen sink, pulled the curtain, and crawled into bed. Hank emerged from his shower, switching off the light on his way by. His wet towel thumped against the floor and then came the soft scuffle of sheets as he slid into bed. Naked. Again.

I tried very hard not to think about that. Then the kiss popped into my head instead. To say that I craved touch now, after my time on the road, would be a misstatement, much the same way saying I hadn’t enjoyed the warm touch of his lips on mine would be a lie.

“So I guess this means you like me,” I stated.

He chuckled softly. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

“I never saw the point in that.”

“What’s not to like?”

Besides my aggressive tendencies, especially when surprised, my preference to be alone, and oh yeah, my previous relationship track record that my boyfriend didn’t survive? Besides all that, I’m a real catch.

I also wasn’t one to share, if it ever came to that. “What about Jenna?”

He took in a breath as if he were going to reply, then stopped himself. After a long moment, he said, “This has nothing to do with Jenna.”

“What is she to you?”

“That’s something you’ll need to ask her.” His voice had dropped to a whisper as if it hurt to say it any louder. Clearing his throat, he said, “Go to bed, Army.”

Army. Why did he keep calling me that? I mulled the word around in my mind. He had yet to call me Mac like the others. It was always Parish or Army. If anyone else had called me Army, I’d have decked them, but for unknown reasons, I liked the way it sounded coming from his mouth.

“Marines,” I mumbled more to myself than to him.

His breathing had grown slow and even. “What?” His voice was thick and I was surprised he was awake enough to hear.

“Marines,” I stated louder. “I was in the Marines.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

* * * *

I had stall duty the next morning. After cleaning the first stall, I’d tossed the oilskin coat Lottie had given me to wear in place of my leather jacket over a bale of hay. By the time I’d finished the second one, I was down to a T-shirt despite the fact the sun wasn’t above the horizon and I could still see my breath.

Then Jenna and Quinn came tumbling in the rear sliding doors of the barn, laughing and giggling. From where I was digging the manure out of the corner of the stall, I couldn’t see them, but there was no mistaking who it was. Before I could call out to let them know I was there, the laughter stopped and the stall wall beside me shook slightly when someone bumped against it. A puff of dust rained down from the cracks between the horizontal boards and I stifled a sneeze.

They started kissing, and immediately the image of Hank and his lips on mine came to mind. He’d said he was interested. I didn’t have a clue as to what I wanted or expected from him. I didn’t want a relationship, I didn’t even know if I wanted a friendship, but something about him captivated me.

The kissing started to get a little steamy on the other side of the wall and I wondered if maybe Hank was right about the kids not needing too much privacy. Besides, standing still in the stall, I was rapidly cooling off. I was about to make a noise, clear my throat or scuff the manure fork against the wall to let them know they weren’t alone before things got too hot and heavy, but Hank beat me to it.

I didn’t know he’d come in, but even through the boards I heard the whoosh of air as he exhaled. In my mind, I pictured a fifteen-hundred-pound bull with a red-caped matador in his sights, steam billowing from his nose as he pawed at the hard-packed dirt. “Quinn. Outside. Now.”

“God, Hank. You don’t have to manhandle him,” Jenna protested.

Boots scuffled and then came sounds that could only be Hank ushering Quinn outside, then came Hank’s heavy footfalls as he strode back inside the barn.

“Looks like he was the one doing the manhandling,” Hank said, sounding as if he’d forced the words from between his teeth.

“We were just kissing.”

“Just kissing?” Hank’s voice rose an octave. “His hands were on your…”

“My what, Hank? My ass?”

“Jenna,” he warned.

“So what? So what if his hand was on my ass or anywhere else for that matter. It isn’t any of your business.”

“It is my business. You’re my business.”

“No.” Her voice instantly lost its fight, replaced by a deep sadness. “You gave up that right a long time ago.”

“You’re only sixteen.”

“Seventeen, Hank. I turned seventeen last month.”

“Sweetheart—”

“I have work to do.” The stall boards creaked as she heaved herself off them and excused herself from the conversation.

Hank’s footsteps retreated, and I couldn’t help but peek out the back of the stall over the Dutch door and watch as Hank clasped a firm hand on the back of Quinn’s neck. “Is that how your father taught you to treat a lady? To push her against a stall and…”

Hank’s voice faded as they walked away, and I was unable to catch any more of the conversation, but I could hear Jenna crying in the aisleway. It might embarrass her to see me come out of the stall, but I still had more stalls to clean, and I figured she could probably use a friend.

I left my rake in the stall and stepped into the aisle. Jenna was sitting on the bale of hay by my jacket a couple stalls down from me, her arms wrapped around her legs, her head resting on her knees. She lifted her head when my boots thunked against the concrete floor.

Wiping at her tears, a sheepish smile crossed her face. “I guess you heard all that.”

“Sorry.” I plopped onto the bale beside her.

“’S okay.”

“You all right?”

She shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head at the same time. “Just frustrated. You’d think I’d be used to my dad dropping in every few months or so thinking he has the right to parent me when he hasn’t been here.”

Dad? Hank’s her father? Whoa. Before I could process that little tidbit of information, she prattled on. I don’t think it mattered that I was almost a complete stranger. I think she just needed someone who’d listen.

“He’s a fine one to talk. He knocked my mother up when she was sixteen.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want you making the same…” I stumbled over the sentence, trying to choose the best words.

“Mistake?” she ventured with a rueful chuckle.

“That wasn’t the word I was searching for.”

“Maybe not, but it’s the one everyone uses. Mistake. But I’m a person. I shouldn’t be someone’s greatest regret.”

“I’ve seen the way Hank looks at you. Regret isn’t what I see in his eyes. At least not in the sense you’re speaking of. Parents want what’s best for their children. My best friend in high school got pregnant her senior year. It isn’t an easy road. I don’t think it’s bad that a parent would want their child to wait until they’re grown up and better equipped to handle a family.”

“I know. I know. I get it. Trust me if anyone gets it, it’s me. If he’d been here more, if he’d spent any amount of time with me, he’d know I’m well educated about birth control. More important, he’d know I’m saving myself for someone who matters.”

Her words stuck deep. Rahim had been my boyfriend, for lack of a better term, when I’d been in Iraq. I’d liked him. I’d had fun with him when fun had been hard to find. I’d trusted him. If the situation had been different, I easily would have slept with him.

Had he really mattered to me? In the way someone you gave your body to should? Probably not. Not if I had to ask myself that question—or take the time to think about the answer.

“Waiting for marriage is never a bad idea,” I said.

She laughed. A real one this time, and as I glanced over, I noticed her face was dry and her skin wasn’t all red and splotchy anymore. “Well, don’t go all June Cleaver on me, Mac. I don’t have a problem with trying before buying, but I’m gonna be darn sure I don’t plan on returning him first.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “Fair enough.”

Her smile slipped from her face and she grew serious again. “Thank you. It’s nice to have someone to talk to around here.”

“Your grandmother seems very sweet. I’m sure you could talk to her.”

Jenna wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Not the same.”

I stood and held my hand out to help her to her feet. “Ooh-rah.”

She quirked a questioning brow at me and suddenly I saw the softer version of her father in her expression.

“Military slang,” I explained with a smile. “Kind of like a motivational call.”

Jenna smiled back. “I’ll have to remember that.”

* * * *

Hank climbed over the round pen fence with the barest hint of a limp and a scowl strapped on his face, his mood unimproved from when he’d ushered Quinn from the barn at dawn. He stalked to the center and ordered me to take up the posting trot. Ever the good soldier, I followed orders, making sure my heels were down this time. The sooner I got this riding thing down, the sooner I could stop these lessons.

After changing directions a few times, he had me halt in the center near him. “Not bad,” he said, hands on his hips. “At least, you won’t embarrass Sierra in front of the herd.”

“Careful, Nash, or you’ll give me a big head.”

The corner of his lips twitched up. Considering where his mood had started minutes ago, it was practically a rodeo-clown grin.

Then he proceeded to explain to me the footfalls of the canter, or lope, versus the trot as well as leads, when to use which one and how to ask the horse for the one you wanted. I nodded along, trying to pay attention, but several times, I realized I’d been letting his rich baritone roll over me as I watched his lips move as he spoke. I wasn’t certain I caught everything he said.

“Parish!” he bellowed like my old drill instructor.

I shook my head and focused on his words. “What?”

“Where’s your head? Did you hear anything I said?”

Quickly, I scanned my brain for what little of his lesson that had sunk in and boiled it down to the essentials. “Put my right leg back for left lead, left leg back for right lead, kiss to go.”

He glared up at me. I wasn’t sure what he’d wanted, but I met his gaze and refused to turn away before he did. He waved his hand toward the rail indicating for me to move out. “Close enough.”

As I circled the rail again, Hank explained two ways to start the lope. “You can ask her to lope from either the walk or the trot. Some horses take a big first step into the lope from the walk, but Sierra is smooth from either, so you choose.”

Since I was already sitting the trot and going counterclockwise, I put my right leg back and kissed to Sierra, asking for the left lead. She surged forward and then settled back into the trot and shook her head and jerked a foot of the reins from my hand.

“That was on you,” he said. “You asked her to lope, then as soon as she went into it, you pulled back on the reins and shut her down.”

I nodded and tried again, but this time, I managed to keep my rein hand forward to keep from giving her conflicting signals. I was bouncing around the saddle like a Mexican jumping bean. With my free hand, I grabbed the horn and tried to steady myself in the saddle.

“Relax your legs and move with the horse. The stiffer you are, the bouncier it will be,” Hank instructed. “Heels down. Relax. Relax.”

His voice rose each time he told me to relax, which was anything but relaxing. It was a lot harder than it sounded. I had to understand what he was saying and form that information into action while trying not to fall off the horse. I clearly wasn’t getting it, because the ride was still shaking my fillings loose as the round pen fence flew by. How fast was I going anyway?

“Stop. Enough.” Hank shook his head and motioned me over when I’d brought Sierra down to a walk. I patted her on the neck and silently thanked her for her patience. She stopped in front of Hank’s chest and nudged him with her nose as if reminding him she hadn’t signed up for this shit.

Hank rubbed her softly between the eyes and murmured something to her I didn’t quite catch, though words like carrots and sugar cubes were liberally mentioned.

Then Hank glanced up at me, his frustration made creases between his brows. “I assume you’ve had sex before?”

Amused, I quirked a brow at him waiting to see where his line of reasoning was headed. He took my silence as an affirmative, stepped up beside me, and placed his hands on either side of my hips.

“Oh!” I exclaimed my voice dripping with melodrama. “Not in front of the horses, dear.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, but his eyes lit with humor. “Move with my hands.” He rocked my pelvis forward and back. “Pretend you’re on top. You have to move with your horse like you would move with your lover.”

I swallowed hard against the tightness in my throat as the heat of his hands seeped through my jeans and I rocked with him. His eyes met mine and his pupils dilated, all but obscuring his deep blue irises. He continued the motion long after I’d gotten his point.

Then he cleared his throat and said, “If they speed up, you speed up. If they slow down, you slow down. Got it?”

I nodded, not quite trusting my voice not to crack. He released me and I pointed Sierra back to the rail again. I took a fortifying breath and kept the visual in my head. This time, when I kissed her up to speed, my hips and my body went with her. It wasn’t pretty at first, but slowly, I caught on and followed her rhythm.

“Good, good,” Hank praised as I circled around him. “There you go. Don’t be afraid to move around up there. Reach up and scratch her on the neck or reach behind and rub her on the butt. It’ll help both of you relax.

“Now try to use your motion to influence her speed. I want you to move your hips faster to encourage her to step it up a notch.”

When I sped up my motion, Sierra went with me. I smiled, starting to enjoy the speed and the wind in my hair. It was as freeing as riding my steel horse, except the scent of exhaust was replaced by the equally intoxicating ambrosia of horse sweat.

I glanced over at Hank and he nodded. “Now slow your roll and get her to come back to you.”

A few seconds passed before Sierra noticed the change of pace, but when she did, she followed me down to a slow, rocking-horse canter. It reminded me of the tiny carousel horse rides in front of the grocery store when I was a kid.

“Very nice,” Hank praised.

Then partly because I was feeling a little cocky with my newfound skill and partly because I owed him one, I exaggerated the motion of my pelvis, keeping the same mellow roll. He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at me as if he was trying to figure out what the hell I was doing. I stuck a finger in my mouth and sent him my best porn-star sultry pout. “How nice, Cowboy?”

His face flushed when he realized what I was doing. He shook his head and dropped his arms. “I think that’ll do it for today,” he said, as he stalked out of the round pen.

I chuckled, reined Sierra down to a walk, and wondered if every time I loped a horse, I’d forever think of sex.

* * * *

After my lesson, Hank and I rode out to meet up with the others. It was going to be a long day working cattle; every warm body was needed, so Lottie had ridden out with Dale and the rest of the gang. Even Angel, the half-dragon, half-horse, had gone. Jenna had ridden him out and given her calmer horse to her grandmother to ride. Only Dink and a few of the spare saddle horses remained back at the barn. Although Dink had quickly learned how to maneuver with his protective cast, there was no way he could travel with the horses.

But try telling him that.

Lottie had left him in a small side yard by the house for the day and he howled and cried as soon as Hank and I rode out. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t go.

About a quarter mile out from our cabin, a small outcropping of rocks with a well-worn trail going around it appeared on my right. We followed the trail, letting the horses walk to give Sierra time to recover from the lesson. With the long day of riding ahead of us, Hank wanted to make sure we didn’t tire her out too soon.

Sierra and I were in the lead. I didn’t know where I was going, but she apparently did and preferred a quicker pace than Hank’s mount. The trail sloped down and I spotted a hitching rail off to my right closer to the rocks.

I stopped Sierra to allow Hank to come abreast and pointed. “What’s down there?”

Hank’s glance followed my finger then he eyed me for a second as if deciding if he was going to tell me or not. Then he reined his horse to the right, following a narrow trail. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

As we rounded a rocky outcrop, Hank stopped and waved his hand at a pool of water about the size of the round pen. Even though the day had warmed, the sky was overcast. Steam rose from the water’s surface.

“Is that a hot spring?” I asked.

“Lazy S Ranch’s very own cowboy hot tub. Stays around a hundred degrees year-round.”

“You swim in it?”

“Not since I was a teenager. A popular spot for parties back then.”

“Did you and Jenna’s mother come here?”

The smile slipped from his face. Why had I asked that? Jenna’s mother was none of my business and neither was what she and Hank did or didn’t do here. My question was inappropriate and truthfully, I didn’t expect an answer. He pursed his lips and shot me a hard look, then turned his horse back to the trail, but with Sierra’s quick pace, I caught up within a handful of strides.

“So, Jenna told you I was her father.” His voice was low and he sounded a little deflated, as if talking about it stripped all the wind from his sails. I didn’t know all the reasons why that was the case, but from what I’d gathered, he’d been on the road much of her life. It didn’t take a genius to recognize their strained relationship. The hard set of his jaw made me want to explain that I hadn’t barged down to the barn this morning to extract the information from his kid.

“It just came out. That you were her father,” I explained. “I don’t even know if she realized she’d told me. She was pretty upset about Quinn this morning.”

Hank growled when I mentioned the boy’s name. I stifled a chuckle. I guess no matter how much or little time a man spends with his daughter, she’ll always be his daughter whether she wants to acknowledge him or not.

“Why is it a secret she’s your daughter?”

Hank shrugged. “Not a well-kept one. Link, of course, knows. The rest of the hands are new. They don’t know who I am. It was kind of a condition of hers for me coming back. Not that she had a choice in the matter, but I figured there were so many things she didn’t have control over, I could give her that. For a while at least.”

Though I didn’t see my parents much, I’d been very close to my father growing up. I couldn’t imagine not growing up with that bond or not wanting to acknowledge it. “That’s gotta hurt.”

He glanced over at me and held my gaze, his once bright blue irises now almost a dull, slate-gray. There was still a tightness around his eyes, but his earlier anger had been replaced by another dark emotion. He tried to speak but had to clear his throat before the words could escape. “You have no idea.”

We rode in silence for a mile or so. Sometimes I was slightly ahead, and sometimes he was. We’d given the horses their heads and were letting them set the pace. Then Hank came up beside me at a slow trot and brought his horse back to a walk. “Thank you,” he said. “For being there for Jenna when she was upset.”

His eyes were soft and had regained their bright color and warmth with his gratitude. At the risk of making Hank mad again, I asked, “Quinn seems like an okay kid. Is it really so bad they like each other?”

“Not so bad,” Hank admitted. “I know of his family. Quinn’s father is a ranch hand, like his father before him. Not a bad thing. I know the kind. This work is what they like. It’s what they do. It’s enough for them.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

“The problem comes when Jenna decides it’s no longer enough for her. If it happens tomorrow or next week, no problem, but what if their relationship continues? What if it happens later when she’s pregnant or has a kid or two? What happens then?”

Hank kicked his palomino into a slow lope, effectively ending the conversation but leaving me to wonder if he was still talking about Jenna and Quinn or if he was now talking about himself and Jenna’s mother.

I followed close behind and worked on keeping the rhythm the way I’d learned that morning, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t watch the gentle glide of his hips for a few strides and wonder if he would lose any of that tight control in bed.