Cowboy Heaven (5 page)

Wow! Can I pick them, or what?

A few choice words from Troy and I was ready to pounce on him right there in front of the bunkhouse—and I would have if Calvin hadn't come strolling out of the barn.

“Hey, Calvin,” I called out in greeting. “This is Troy Whitmore. He's going to fill in for Dusty for a while. Have you got time to show him around?”

“Not unless you want me to burn the men's dinner,” he replied. “I'm heading over to start cooking now.”

Calvin Douglas was primarily a ranch hand, but he was also a damn fine cook, although you wouldn't have guessed it to look at him. A tall man in his sixties with iron-gray hair, he was about the skinniest man I'd ever seen, but that didn't mean he wasn't strong. I'd once seen him pull a wooden fence post out of the hard, dry ground with his bare hands.

“Anyone else around?”

“Naw, they're all out—but I'm sure they'll be home in time for supper.”

Having been an Army cook in Vietnam, Calvin was kinda particular about how the meals were served. If the men weren't on time they might not get anything to eat, and the guys knew that. I glanced at my watch, noting it was four thirty. The others wouldn't be back until around six.

Hmm…
That meant the bunkhouse would be empty—except perhaps for Dusty. That is, if he was taking it easy like he was supposed to.

“What's Dusty doing?”

“He went out in the truck to drop off that fencing you brought home,” Calvin replied. “Don't think he's back yet.”

“He really shouldn't be doing stuff like that,” I said. “Almost makes me wish he'd broken his right leg instead of his left. At least that way he wouldn't be able to drive.”

Calvin shrugged. “Can't say as I blame him. He's probably bored stiff with nothing to do but feed the stock.”

“I suppose you're right,” I admitted. “I don't like the idea, though.”

I hadn't known where Dusty was when Troy and I arrived at the ranch, and I couldn't help wondering whether he'd seen us drive in together—although he had to have known I was back if he'd taken it upon himself to deliver those supplies. I'd already decided it wasn't terribly important that no one knew I'd brought Troy home. The problem was his having been a hitchhiker. I didn't care much for all the secrecy, but I figured I'd have to get used to it if I was ever going to get to play with my new toy.

“Bunkhouse is empty, huh?” Troy murmured. “For how long?”

Clearly we were operating on the same wavelength.

“An hour at least,” I replied, keeping my voice down. “Maybe an hour and a half, unless Dusty gets back before dinnertime.” I shot Troy a knowing glance before returning my attention to the cook. “Okay, Calvin. I'll show Troy around myself.”

I would give him the grand tour, all right. We just wouldn't get much farther than one of the bunks.

Calvin waved good-bye and headed for the kitchen, which was on the far side of the mess hall, well away from the bunkhouse and showers. Only the cook's quarters and Rufus's office and bedroom were farther away…

“You weren't really going to hand me off to one of the other guys, were you?” Troy asked.

“No, but I figured I should at least make the attempt. Don't want anyone getting suspicious. How's your equipment?”

“Raring to go,” he replied. “How's yours?”

“Are you kidding? I've been in heat all day.”

“Nice of you to say that,” he said. “Seems like most women won't ever admit to wanting a man—like it's the farthest thing from their minds anytime you mention it.”

“Aw, they're just trying to be coy,” I said with a grin. “Trust me, it's never far from our thoughts—not far from mine anyway. There've been times when I'd have loved to catch Dusty in the bunkhouse alone—with or without a broken leg. He's a cute little bugger.”

Troy's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of steel in his gaze. “You mean I've got competition?”

“Not really. I mean, I think he's adorable, but he's never so much as hinted he might be interested in me—although he
is
kinda shy. Maybe he thinks it wouldn't be appropriate since he works for us.”

“Aren't you glad that minor detail doesn't bother me?”

“Yes, but I'm the one who hired you,” I reminded him. “You haven't met Rufus yet.”

“He's the foreman?”

I nodded. “He's a good man, but I wouldn't want to cross him if I were one of the hands. They don't call him Ruthless Rufus for nothing.”

“Ruthless Rufus, huh?” Troy chuckled. “I promise I'll be careful. I'll only speak of you with the utmost respect. He'll never get so much as an inkling that I'm your, um, boy toy.”

“Just don't be calling him ruthless to his face,” I cautioned. “I'm not sure he knows the men call him that, and I doubt it's a term of endearment. He can be pretty tough. Not mean or unfair, but he doesn't take shit from anybody. Shiftless cowboys don't last long around here.”

“He won't have any complaints about me. I'll work very hard.” He paused, giving me an impish smile. “At both of my jobs.”

“Dammit! Don't call it a job! You'll give me a complex and I won't be able to participate effectively.”

“We can't have that, can we? How about we refer to it as my extracurricular activities?”

“That's better.” I opened the bunkhouse door and ushered him inside. “Here's your new home. It's not much, but it's air-conditioned and clean. The roof doesn't leak and there aren't any mice or snakes or anything creepy—although you won't have much in the way of privacy.”

Originally built for a much larger group of men than it currently held, the bunkhouse was a long, low building with windows at regular intervals along both sides. The extra beds had all been shifted to the far end, but there were a couple of mattresses that weren't in too bad a shape. If Troy complained, I'd buy him a new one.

“You can gather up any of the extra furniture you like for your space,” I said. “Most of the guys have their own things, but you can use what's already here for now. You might want to clean the cabinets out before you put anything in them, though. This stuff hasn't seen much use for a while.”

“I haven't got much to put in them anyway,” he said. “I'll take care of that later. Right now though, I'd like to try out the bunk.” Sliding his arms around me, he pressed a bone-melting kiss to my lips.

Somehow or other, I managed to retain a smattering of common sense. “Want to put sheets on it first?”

“I will if you insist.”

My knees were still weak as I selected a set of sheets from the linen cabinet and handed them to Troy. “The sheets and towels are kept in here, and there are plenty of extra pillows. Take whatever you need. It's all community property. I think Rufus makes everyone strip their beds and wash the sheets once a month—might even be once a week. He's pretty strict about keeping this place clean.”

“I've got no problem with that,” Troy said. “Just as long as no one strips the bed while we're in it.” His eyes flashed as his eyebrows rose in a highly suggestive manner.

Honest to God, I hadn't seen an expression of his yet that wasn't charming. How could anyone dump this guy on the highway? Simply being able to look at him on a daily basis was worth putting up with any shit he might dish out—and I
still
hadn't figured out what sort of shit that might be. He had me so distracted I had to give myself a mental slap before I could figure out what to say next.

“No chance of that happening.” Not that spending that much time in bed with him sounded bad. “I don't come out here very often, and when I do, it's to check the supplies to see if anything needs replacing. I don't do that when the guys are here.”

He took a step back in mock dismay. “What? You mean you've never been gangbanged in the bunkhouse? You don't know what you're missing.”

“Yeah, right. You haven't met the other guys yet. Dusty's about the only one I wouldn't kick out of bed. I had a bit of a crush on Rufus when I was a kid, but that died a long time ago—and he doesn't strike me as the gangbanging type. Like I said, I don't hang out in here much. Dad would probably throw a fit if I did. He's always been pretty strict with the men, which is one reason he and Rufus get along so well. If Cody had been one of the hands, I'm not sure either of them would've let him near me.”

“Protective, huh?” Troy purred. “Me too. I won't let any gangbanging ideas get started. You're mine, Angie. I'm not going to share you.”

Those words reminded me of Cody. “
Mine
,” he would say. “
No
one
touches
what's mine.
” Troy's claim gave me the same shivers of desire that Cody's had.

Damn, I miss him.

I liked the idea of a man staking a claim on me and demanding exclusivity. In return, I expected the same from him. I wasn't the jealous type, but I'd made it perfectly clear to a number of women that my husband was off-limits. No conniving harpy was getting her claws into
my
man.

On the other hand, Cody had never given me any reason to be jealous. I wasn't sure about Troy. What did I really know about him anyway?

I stole a peek at him, and what I saw in his face made me forget what I'd been thinking about mere moments before. He leaned down for a kiss, and we didn't even get the bottom sheet on the bunk before falling onto it in each other's arms. We were both naked in a few breathless, frenzied moments. I didn't even have time to wonder how well he thought I looked without my clothes.

Cody had always claimed to like my body. In fact, the description I gave of myself in the fantasy with Troy was the sort of thing he used to say to me. Whether he'd only said it to be kind didn't matter. I was no airbrushed cover girl, and I had no illusions that I was—or had ever been—the kind of woman men lusted after.

Troy, on the other hand, gave every indication he believed I was precisely that sort of woman. He might have been pretending, but he certainly seemed out of control with desire—and not at all like a man who had already had a hand job once that day. No, he behaved as though he hadn't been near a woman in ages while I was acting like a woman who hadn't gotten laid in years—which happened to be true…

I took him in without hesitation—like he'd done me a million times before and belonged there—but it was more akin to being invaded than welcoming him home. There was nothing warm and comfortable about it—nothing romantic—only urgent need screaming at both of us to give it all we had. We might have had an hour or so to play with, but Troy didn't seem interested in taking it slow. Perhaps it was due to the fear of getting caught, but whatever the reason, from the moment he threw my feet up over my head and slammed into me, I knew it was going to be memorable.

My orgasm was nearing detonation when he gasped, “Do I need to pull out?”

“No, and don't you dare.” Seizing him by the hips, I pulled him in deeper. “Don't stop.”

My mouth flew open and I nearly slid off the side of the narrow bunk as he doubled his efforts, sending my brain spinning wildly off into space. My groans were loud enough that Calvin might have heard me from the kitchen, but I didn't give a damn. I glanced up as Troy fired off inside me, catching his openmouthed expression of pure, ecstatic release. I damn near came again simply from watching him do it.

I'd never had a more intense sexual encounter in my life. Brief perhaps, but satisfying, leaving me to wonder how much better it would have been if we'd had more time. Then again, if he intended to fuck me every twenty miles, he would need to be fast or we'd have spent more time stopped than driving.

I reminded myself that the every twenty miles thing had been a figment of my own fertile imagination. Nevertheless, I had a sneaking suspicion Troy probably could've done it.

When Dusty hobbled in a short while later, I was putting sheets on the bunk and Troy was stowing his clothes in a cabinet at the foot of the bed.

Good thing he'd been quick.

Dusty must not have spotted Troy right away because the warm smile he gave me morphed into a scowl the moment his gaze landed on Troy. Had he assumed I was alone in the bunkhouse? If so, he'd seemed delighted to see me—and not at all pleased to discover Troy there with me. Perhaps the subtle scent of sex still lingered or our innocent act was too studied, but the suspicion in Dusty's eyes led me to believe he had a pretty good idea what had been going on just a few minutes earlier.

A heartbeat later, his expression seemed more hurt than belligerent. His leg might've been bothering him, but somehow I didn't get that impression. Maybe I hadn't been paying enough attention to Dusty, but I certainly would from now on.

I jumped in with an introduction before he had a chance to say a word. “Hey, there, Dusty. This is Troy Whitmore. He's going to be helping out until your leg gets better. Troy, this is Dusty Jackson.”

The way the color drained from Dusty's face convinced me that even the tiny dab of work he'd been doing had been too much for him. Swallowing hard, he stared at me, his big blue eyes displaying more pain than when he'd first been injured. “You're not planning to fire me, are you?”

My jaw dropped. “Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?”

I felt a swift pang of regret as it dawned on me that his job was Dusty's only concern—not whether Troy was banging the boss. I was absolutely the last thing on his mind. I guess all the attention from Troy had me expecting it from every handsome cowboy who crossed my path.

“Nobody's going to fire you, Dusty. A friend of mine was helping Troy find a job, and this was the best we could come up with.” I smiled in what I hoped was a reassuring manner. “Honestly, you don't have anything to worry about, sweetheart. Just take it easy and give your leg a chance to heal.”

Sweetheart?
What the hell had gotten into me? Troy really must've had me on a roll, because I'd never called any of the men
sweetheart
before in my life. My only hope was that neither of them would notice.

Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure they both heard me loud and clear. A slow smile spread across Dusty's face while Troy's eyes narrowed with suspicion. He couldn't have known how I normally talked to Dusty, but he did know Dusty was the one man on the entire ranch I wouldn't kick out of bed. Praying I wasn't setting myself up for a spectacular failure, I was all for crawling off into a deep, dark hole somewhere until Dusty, God bless him, simply grinned and limped over to shake hands with Troy.

Seeing them there together, smiling somewhat warily at one another was a picture I wanted to hold in my mind for a long, long time. If Troy was the epitome of the tall, dark, and handsome cowboy, Dusty was his slightly shorter, blond counterpart.

Dusty was freakin' adorable. The thought of him getting hurt—possibly even killed—had affected me in ways I wouldn't have admitted to anyone. I cared about him. A lot. I couldn't help it.

With a mop of dark blond curls framing his puppy-dog eyes, straight nose, and crooked smile, he was every cowgirl's dream. Dusty didn't shave very often—once a week on Saturday nights seemed to be his limit—so he usually had that soft stubble shadowing his jaw most women, myself included, find so appealing.

Either way, the vision of the two of them together was breathtaking. They should have been a country music duo, although after getting a look at them, most women wouldn't give a damn whether they could sing—and there were undoubtedly some men who wouldn't be too critical. Envious, maybe, but not critical.

Perhaps it was only Troy's influence, but I was seeing Dusty from a different perspective. I already knew what Troy looked like without his jeans, but Dusty? Taking that thought a step further, I tried to imagine him lying naked on his bunk and nearly had a stroke. As it was, I staggered a bit and bumped the back of my leg against the bed frame, sitting down rather heavily on the mattress.

In the race to come to my aid, Troy nearly tripped over Dusty's cast trying to get to me first, but I think it ended up as a tie. All I remember is they each had hold of one of my hands to help me up. It was perhaps the first time I'd ever so much as touched Dusty, and between that and the scent of the two of them together, they had me swaying on my feet again. I hadn't realized I was quite so susceptible, but it was the only explanation I could come up with. Admitting I might be coming down with the flu would be much too easy. This was simply overwhelming sexual attraction that quite literally knocked me off my feet.

Calvin stuck his head in through the doorway to the mess hall. “Hey, Dusty? Mind giving me a hand? I sure could use a potato peeler.”

Dusty grimaced, but his displeasure wasn't evident in his reply. “Be right there.” As soon as Calvin's head disappeared from the doorway, he added, “I'll be glad when I can get back on a horse. I don't much care for helping Calvin with the cooking.”

“You should tell him about all the vitamins in potato skins,” I suggested, thankful that Calvin's entrance had restored the strength in my legs. “Might convince him to cook them whole.”

“Aw, he'd just find something else for me to do,” Dusty grumbled. “Like I said, I'll be glad to be able to ride again.”

I couldn't help it. Dad wasn't there, nor was Rufus. Troy was the only one who might rat on me, and I didn't believe he would. Releasing Dusty's hand, I reached up to give him a consoling pat on the cheek. “Everyone else will be glad too, Dusty. Hang in there.”

The stubble on his cheek was almost long enough to be soft to the touch, and as the pat became more of a caress, Dusty took my hand again, giving it a gentle squeeze. I honestly believed if Troy hadn't been there, he would have kissed it. His gentle eyes and crooked smile nearly melted me into a puddle at his feet.

“Thanks, Angela,” he whispered. “I'll try.”

I'd forgotten how deep and seductive his voice could be—though to be honest, I couldn't recall whether I'd ever noticed it before that moment. If we'd been more accustomed to doing such things, I probably would've hugged him.

Troy cleared his throat. “It was nice to meet you, Dusty. Have fun peeling potatoes.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Angie, would you show me where to put my saddle?”

My response was slow because I was too busy making goo-goo eyes at Dusty, who held my gaze a moment longer before turning toward the mess hall. I was still standing there, speechless, when the door closed behind him.

Troy spun me around to face him with the hand that still gripped my shoulder. “It looks to me like you don't need a boy toy,” he drawled. “You've already got one.”

“No, not really,” I said. “I've always thought he was cute, but—”

“He likes you too,” Troy declared. “And I think he's got an idea there might be something going on between you and me. He's acting like he just figured out he'd better pee or get off the pot.”

Despite the serious nature of the situation, I couldn't help laughing. “What an interesting analogy to choose. But, honestly, it's never been like this. I don't understand it. There must be something in the air today making weird things happen—or the stars are out of alignment or the earth is spinning backward or something. This isn't normal.”

“Since I've never met you before today, I'll have to take your word for it. But really, Angie. I don't believe you're as hard up for a man as you think you are.”

“Does that mean you won't stay?” How the hell would I explain why he'd quit before even starting the job?

“Oh, I'll take the job,” he said. “But I'm not sure you need me for anything else.”

If past history was any indication, he was wrong about that. Very wrong. “I don't get it. Dusty's never so much as touched me before. No one does. It's like it's against the law or something. Maybe he—? Oh, shit, I don't have a clue, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea.”

“I think it might have been you calling him sweetheart that gave
him
the wrong idea.” His tone contained a sharp edge. Not quite accusing, but close. “Do you always talk to him like that?”

“No, never,” I insisted. “It must be your influence. Although if that's all it took, maybe I should have said something to him a long time ago.”

“So, you
would
rather have him than me, wouldn't you?” he snapped. “Is that what you're saying?”

“No, it's just that I've known him for a long time and I only met you today… Troy, I've never picked up a hitchhiker before, and I've never made love with anyone but my husband. This is so out of character for me. It's impossible to explain. I only know that when I saw you there on the highway, I knew I had to stop—that it was important somehow. I didn't know how or why, I only knew that it was. You've done something to me, something wonderful, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Maybe Dusty was simply responding to the change in me. He can't possibly be interested. If he were, gosh, I've known him for five years—two of them since Cody died. Surely he would have said something before today.”

“I would have if it'd been me. You got to me with those big, brown eyes right away. Then when you started crying… What was I supposed to do? I knew I was a goner the moment I took you in my arms.” He paused, grimacing as he ran a hand through his curls. “I guess boy toys should be more careful about losing their hearts since it's generally not the sort of thing that lasts forever.”

“Yes, but we hadn't discussed your future then, so how would you know—” I broke off as the implication hit me. “Wait a minute. You're saying you fell for me when I started crying and you held me?”

“Might've been when I kissed you,” he admitted. “I'm not real sure about the actual timing.”

“And I suppose being a goner and falling for someone could be two different things too. I probably shouldn't have jumped to that conclusion.”

He shrugged. “It wasn't much of a jump really. I'm not too sure about the difference myself, but I do know it wasn't anything like what I've felt with other women. Ever.”

“Which could be good or bad.” But it
was
encouraging.

Although what if Troy decided to stay forever? What then? Sure, he was cute, but would I love him?

I let out a ragged sigh. “What a day this has been! I don't think I've ever had one quite like it. Let's give it a rest and go put up your saddle, shall we? I need a break.”

Troy grinned. “I'm good for more later on if you want me.”

I just shook my head and led the way to the tack room. This fuck every twenty miles was undoubtedly going to kill me, and even if it didn't, then the two when we got there probably would.

Maybe I was too old for a boy toy.