Cowboy Heaven (13 page)

My arms had been stretched out on the sheets. Now I grasped his head, fisting my hands in hair just long enough for me to do it.

“Oh, yeah, Angie. Love that. Make me eat you,” he whispered. “Push my head down between your legs.”

I was already doing that, but I pushed harder anyway. “Eat me,” I whispered. “Suck my clit.” I'd never said anything like that in my life. It was him, granting me permission, giving me the encouragement I needed to be bold.

“Feels so damn good…” The first touch was a thrust of his tongue into my wet folds rather than a kiss. “You taste so delicious, Angie. Spread your legs a little more.”

I did as he asked, and his head bobbed up and down as he fucked me with his tongue. My clit throbbed. Corny or not, no other word could even begin to describe the intense response to the flick of his tongue on that one tiny spot…

“Damn, that's incredible.”

“Shh… Don't talk. Don't want to be distracted. I'm…busy…” He sounded different, his words muffled against my labia. “Love this.”

He kept on until I thought I'd go mad. I was nearly there when he drew back and pressed my legs together. “Turn on your side and arch your back.”

I couldn't imagine why until he licked me again. That position thrust my clit forward, allowing him free access to my wet, sensitive flesh. His fingertips teased my nipples at the same time, but with a different pattern, a different rhythm. Arching my back even more, I thrust my hips forward as he sucked my clit into his mouth. My nipples hardened as he rolled them between his fingertips, triggering indescribably exquisite sensations. My mind went blank as his lips circled the tight bud, his breath hot on my skin.

So hot, so unbelievably hot…

There it was at last. The signal, the ignition, the point of no return. My eyes squeezed shut as my mind stepped back from the reality to observe it, waiting for it, allowing it to grow until—

My ecstatic cry should've awakened everyone within a ten-mile radius. Despite his smug chuckle, Troy kept right on teasing me, the rough texture of his tongue coaxing, prodding, demanding more. I gave it to him with every gasp and moan and thrust…

With a satisfied grunt, he rolled me onto my back. Nudging my thighs apart with his knees, he crawled up over me and slid inside.

“Oh yeah,” he growled, his voice trailing off as he began to move. “So tight…so hot…so wet…”

I knew him now. Knew the feel of him deep inside me, knew the rhythms he liked, knew his flavor, his scent.

Familiar, yet still something of a mystery.

Rocking into me, he set a pace I was certain he could maintain for a long, long time. I felt his thrusts, heard the creak of the bedsprings and the soft slap of skin on skin. The joining of two separate beings.

Yeah. This is nice. I could get used to this.
Perhaps I already had.

Too bad it couldn't last.

His explanation of why he'd come to me that night didn't quite ring true. He couldn't have known what I'd been thinking about during those wakeful hours. Somehow, he must've read the writing on the wall and realized my true emotions lay in a completely different direction. He could give me pleasure and accept it from me in return. However, this tryst contained an emotion I hadn't felt before. A pang of regret. A wave in farewell. One last fling before parting.

His warmth surrounded me and yet failed to reach the center of my being. Something had happened. Something out of my reach, beyond my control.

He was the same man. He felt the same, smelled the same, and even tasted the same. When he climaxed at last, his cock filled me with the same creamy semen as it had before. He even made the same sounds.

Oh yes. I knew him quite well.

But he wasn't mine.

He wasn't the one who occupied my thoughts and starred in my dreams. Dusty was that man. Troy was a crutch, a substitute for what I truly wanted and needed. His good-night kiss was sweet and the taste of him lingered long after he was gone, and yet somehow I knew beyond that last mind-blowing orgasm lay an abyss. I had just experienced something that could never be repeated. I can't say how I knew it, but this was the last time.

He wouldn't come back again.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep very well after that. By morning, whether I had stayed awake waiting for him to show up or been fucked all night long simply didn't matter. That fabulous frame of mind I'd enjoyed the day before was gone, replaced with inner turmoil and indecision. I plodded mechanically through the morning chores and then went out to check on Goldie.

Her udder looked like it was about to pop. In fact, it was already dripping milk—
white
milk, rather than clear liquid—and as anyone who's ever waited anxiously for a mare to foal can attest, that's about the best sign of impending labor there is.

The mare seemed calm enough, so it was safe to assume she would wait until the middle of the night to foal. If she'd been agitated, I wouldn't have left the barn, and I probably would have camped out in the tack room all day.

Not that horses aren't capable of foaling all alone—in fact, they prefer it. Still, it's one of those events horse breeders like to be on hand for in case there's a problem. Besides, this foal was more important to me than most. I'd bred Goldie to one of the top stallions around, and added to the fact that she'd been a champion barrel racer back in my racing days, their offspring would be quite valuable.

I hadn't talked with any of the men yet. Even Dusty seemed to be making himself scarce, so I had no idea whether Rufus had delivered another lecture the evening before. Troy hadn't said anything about it, so perhaps he hadn't. Maybe Rufus had finally realized the utter futility of his meddling. I certainly hoped so. Now that I knew about those lectures, it embarrassed me to think a ranch foreman would feel the need to chastise the hands for getting rowdy with the boss. Not only was it embarrassing, it was downright ridiculous. Surely, he would get over it eventually—especially if I made it clear that protecting my virtue was not his responsibility.

If I'd known what was going on behind my back sooner, I think I would have said something to him then, but the nagging suspicion that Dusty's saddle had been deliberately tampered with made me hesitant. If Rufus was capable of something that heinous, I didn't want to stir up any more trouble by confronting him.

Would a confrontation reveal anything? Rufus was such a hard man to read. Dusty was right about him going blank when any other man would've been cussing a blue streak. Figuring out what might be going on in his head was tough, and it was a given he wouldn't confess.

I'd also considered the possibility that Rufus wasn't responsible for Dusty's “accident.” The only other suspect I could come up with was Bull. Dusty made no secret of his dislike for Bull, and he picked on him constantly. Perhaps that was what Rufus meant when he'd referred to Dusty as a troublemaker. I had a hard time justifying that, though. Dusty might have a broken leg now, but on the whole, he was a decent, hardworking, intelligent man. Why Rufus would favor Bull over him was difficult for me to understand. Bull also had a bit of a temper. I wouldn't have put it past him to try to even the score, although I'd have guessed his retaliation would be more along the lines of a practical joke. Humiliating, perhaps, but nothing that would cause actual harm.

After assuring myself Goldie wasn't going to foal any time soon, I decided to go for a ride. A good gallop across the open range had always been the best way to purge the cobwebs from my brain, and my head certainly needed clearing. I took my big paint gelding out of his stall and saddled him up, still curious as to why Dusty wasn't around to help. Perhaps knowing Troy was more to me than simply one of the guys had made him back off a tad. I only knew I had no intention of nosing around trying to find him. If he wanted to see me, he knew where I was. If I wasn't in the office, I was either in the barn or my work room—which is where I probably should've been. I had orders for three stained-glass doors, and Jenny wasn't the only one getting impatient.

My artwork had been the main thing that kept me sane after Cody died—especially on the days I was stuck indoors. Sometimes, when loneliness threatened to overwhelm me, I worked late into the evening. I knew I had to keep busy, so I'd put a couple of ads in various newspapers and had received several orders as a result. Subsequent orders had come about through word of mouth, and they'd kept me steadily busy for the past year or more. Prior to that, I'd contented myself with doing windows for the house, although the kids had teased me about making the place seem more like a church than a ranch house.

I didn't care. Although living in an all-male household had prevented me from decorating with frilly curtains or lace, stained glass added beauty rather than femininity to an otherwise austere setting and was much better tolerated. From a thematic standpoint, most of the windows were scenes of ranch life, so they fit the overall scheme better than lace would have anyway. I was quite content to design windows using horses, cows, and mountains, in addition to the occasional cowboy or Native American. The local wildflowers were also popular, and I was working on a desert flower scene at the time. The promised date had already passed, but I went for that ride anyway.

Apache hadn't been out for several days, and he was as anxious for a good run as I was, making a whip and spurs completely unnecessary. Knowing the craggy rocks at the top of the slope would slow him down without any help from me, I aimed him up the hill behind the house and let him fly. Upon reaching the summit, we turned and continued along the ridge at a much more sober pace. I thought about heading up to the fence line where the men were working to see how the job was progressing. Figuring it was as good a destination as any, I cantered off in that direction.

I slowed my horse to a walk now and then, taking the time to enjoy yet another perfectly beautiful early fall day. The leaves were beginning to turn and the sky was a crisp, clear blue. I could hear birds calling to one another, but aside from that, the silence was nearly complete—which was why I was able to hear someone yelling for help.

The closer I got, the more familiar the voice sounded.

Dusty.

From my position high up on the ridge, I would never have spotted the truck if I hadn't been able to hear him. The truck had plowed into a thicket at the foot of the hill and was almost completely obscured by branches. The fact that the truck was green didn't help matters, either.

As Apache and I slid down the steep slope to the thicket, I decided right then and there the next truck we bought was going to be red. After that, I was going to put homing beacons on my cowboys. This “accident” crap was starting to get old.

Grateful once again for having a horse that was trained to ground tie, I dismounted quickly and started pulling branches away from the driver's-side door. One of the larger limbs had gone partly through the open window, jamming the door shut. Dusty's blond curls were barely visible through the tangled foliage.

“Oh my God! Dusty, are you okay?”

“I guess I've been in tighter spots,” he said with a weak chuckle. “But I can't remember when that might have been.”

“Stop trying to be funny,” I snapped. “Are you hurt?”

“Not really,” he said. “Although I
am
sort of…stuck.”

“Stuck? Why didn't you back the truck out of there? How the hell did you end up in there, anyway?” I was just scared enough to be angry with him for getting into such a fix to begin with.

“I can't back it up because the front end is hung up on a tree stump or something.” Wincing, he shifted his weight in the seat. “I sort of lost control of the truck.”

“And why was that?” I pulled more branches out of the way, but I couldn't budge the one that had the door jammed.

“Well, you see, there was this rattlesnake, and I got kinda…nervous.”

“Holy shit,” I exclaimed. “Is it still in there with you?”

“Uh, yes, it is,” he replied. “Which is another reason why I can't move.”

“Where is it?” Just then, I heard it, rattling ominously from inside the truck cab. Apache heard it too. Although he backed off a few steps, thankfully he didn't go any farther.

“I've got it pinned under my cast,” Dusty said. “I'm afraid if I move, it'll get my other leg. It's already struck at my boot five or six times. It's really pissed, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do,” I replied. “Why didn't you just shoot the damn thing?” I knew for a fact that truck never went out without a rifle in the rack, and there was always a pistol in the glove compartment.

“Tried that. It's kinda hard to get a gun out of a rack when you're trying to keep your foot on a rattlesnake. I, um, dropped it down behind the seat. Can't reach the glove compartment, and even if I could, there's another branch jammed in through that window.”

Peering past him, I saw that the passenger door was also wedged shut by the trunk of a large tree. I couldn't have gotten the door open to get the pistol, nor could I get to the rifle behind the seat with Dusty sitting in it. “Well, shit. I don't suppose you've got a chain saw handy, have you?”

“In the back of the truck,” he replied. “The chain is really dull, though. I was bringing it back to the shed to sharpen it.”

“If it works at all, it'll be better than nothing.” I had to pull even more branches out of the truck bed to find it. The gas tank was full; however, I'd never been much good at starting anything with a two-stroke engine. As a result, I was panting and nearly spent before the engine finally roared to life.

The dull chain seemed to take forever to cut through a relatively small piece of wood, but at last I managed to cut through it and pulled it out of the way before cautiously opening the door.

My first reaction was to scream when I saw how big the snake was—one of the largest rattlers I'd ever seen up close—and I'd seen plenty over the years.

“Boy, Dusty, when you decide to get trapped with a snake, you really pick a monster, don't you?”

“Only the best will do,” he replied with a halfhearted grin. “Do you think you could grab its tail and throw it if I raise my foot?”

“I doubt I could throw it far enough to keep it from biting me, or fast enough to keep it from biting you,” I replied. “I don't think we can count on it to slither out of the truck without sinking those fangs into something if you let it loose. We're going to have to kill it to get you out of there.”

“And just how do you propose we do that?” he asked. “Cut its head off with the chain saw?”

Considering how long it had taken me to cut through that tree limb, I had my doubts. “I suppose I could try—although I don't think I could do that without hurting you.”

“I was kidding, Angela,” he growled. “I've got a good hold on it for now, but it's hard to tell how long I can keep it up. It's pretty strong.”

“I'll bet it is.” From what I could see of it, the snake was huge. Its body was almost as thick as a motorcycle tire and it had a head bigger than a man's fist. “Let me check the back of the truck again. I might find something I can use. Hang on.”

“I'll be right here,” he said grimly.

I climbed back into the truck bed, hoping to find a hatchet or some other sharp object. Unfortunately, beyond a mattock, which I would have no room to swing, there wasn't much. Only an empty gas can, several metal fence posts, and a tangled roll of rusty wire.

“Hey, what about the fence posts?” Dusty asked. “Do you think you could pin the snake down with one of them long enough for me to get out?”

“I could try,” I replied. “You'd have to move pretty fast, though. If that snake gets to twisting around, I don't know if I could hold it for long.”

“I'll be the fastest man with a cast on his leg you ever saw,” he assured me. “Now we just have to figure out the best way to do it.”

I examined the fence posts with a somewhat skeptical eye. That snake was much thicker than the posts, and I wasn't sure I could exert enough force to keep it from wiggling out from under the end of one of them. A smaller snake would have been no problem, but this was one great-great-granddaddy of a rattler. However, no better ideas came to mind, so I pitched one of the posts off the truck and climbed down after it.

Aiming the blunt end of the post toward the floorboard, I worked it gingerly around Dusty's leg. Unfortunately, I couldn't pin the snake down because every time I moved, it struck and I missed. In addition to being quite heavy, the post was difficult to maneuver, and I was already pretty tired from fighting with the chain saw.

“It's no use, Dusty,” I panted, looking up at his sweat-streaked face. “I don't think this is going to work. The post is too long for me to get the right angle.”

“Well, dammit, what else can we do?”

“I could ride for help, but—” I paused as I gazed past him to the rear window and smiled. “I've got an idea.” Climbing up on the running board, I reached past him to unfasten the window. I had to put my hand on his shoulder, and when I leaned over, his face was right up against my chest.

Dusty sighed, wrapping an arm around me for support. “I've always wanted to be in a position where your tits were in my face. Can't say this is how I'd envisioned it, though.”

“Better enjoy it while you can, sweetheart, because I'll only be here for a second,” I said as I fumbled with the latch. “Just don't bite me.”

“Don't worry, I won't. But if I'm gonna die from a rattlesnake bite, I want my last moments on earth to be good ones.”

I finally got the latch undone and slid the two sides of the window open, giggling as another thought occurred to me. “Guess I should have taken my shirt off first, huh?”

“That would have been a nice touch.” He rubbed his face against my breasts like a cat seeking a caress. “Remind me to suggest that the next time I get trapped with a rattler.”