Bring the Rain (8 page)

Dressing for
a date with a cowboy is easy. Racer back tank, jeans, a good spritz of bug spray and whatever shoes will stay in the stirrups. I push aside my gold-sequined, open-toed flats and opt again for my Coach sneakers—which I hosed off out back, twice. I have some decency. There's no poop on my shoes tonight, especially not for what I have planned. Colt’s silhouette against the setting sun, even with a cowboy hat on, is stunning. He smiles at me as I lead Howdy out of the barn. I love how he can look so perfect in a plain cream-colored v-neck tee.

 “Hey there.” He holds Howdy’s reins and wraps his hand around my lower back. I’m pulled against him, his forehead pressed to mine

“Hi,” I say. He smells like fresh pine.

He taps his knee and I grab the horn, pushing off against his knee to swing myself up onto the saddle. My leg protests a bit, but that’s okay. I’m not letting a little pain slow me down tonight. He hops on a gray mare. It’s odd he’s not riding a gelding.

He clicks his tongue. “Come on, Baby.”

Baby? Ugh. He better not plan to speak to me like the guys who hackle me on the city sidewalks.
Over here, Baby. Come home with me tonight.
New York men never quit. I thought my summer on the ranch would give me a temporary Baby break. I guess I was wrong.

“Baby? I’m so not your baby.” I set him straight as his grey mare prances on the path next to me.

“Oh?” He says with a half-smile.

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, that’s good because...” he reaches down and pats the mare’s neck, “she is.”

Boo. My cowboy may be turning too soft. Now, a guy loving animals is a must on my list, but a guy who talks to them like they are babies is totally a turn off. My desire to fool around drops a notch but I lead Howdy into a trot, following Colt. Something about the way he kissed my neck yesterday in the kitchen encourages me not to give up, at least not yet.

I keep pace with him. “She’s your baby?”

He chuckles, “Not like some crazy cat lady, no. Her name
is
Baby.”

“You named your horse Baby?”

“Nope. My parents did. We were born on the same day, same hour, on the same ranch.”

“You were born at home?”

“Mom knew she’d never make it to the hospital on time, not with the two-hour long drive. I showed up in our living room while Baby arrived in the barn.”

“But why Baby?” I ask.

“Why Colt?”

My jaw drops. “Wait, for real? Your parents named you after a baby horse?” I bite my tongue, realizing how offensive that comment could be. I hate when people take it upon themselves to inform me that my September first birthday technically means I wasn’t born in Autumn. People suck.

I wait for his smile to fade and grow cold, but it does the opposite as he shrugs. He’s so much more relaxed than me. It’s admirable. I wish I could live like that.

“I don’t mind it.” He pats her neck, and she pushes back into his palm. She adores him. “Baby’s a good horse… my best friend. Plus, Colt’s a strong name. I’ve seen many colts give an unsuspecting cowboy a fast swift kick to the ground. They’ve got spunk.” He tips his hat, winks at me, and clicks his tongue. Baby launches into a gallop.

She doesn’t get more than a few paces ahead before Howdy breaks into his own stride. He’s not to be outdone. Both horses bolt forward, acting far younger than their age suggests, carrying us onto what used to be a prairie. We ride over the cracked ground and trot down a dead brook. The cattle clump near the water troughs. It’s hot out, but the dusk sun settles the temperature into the upper eighties. We’re still careful not to overheat our horses though.

Colt leads us down a gravel road, trailing from the property. A little red barn and clapboard house rests in the distance. Baby and Howdy blow thick air through their nostrils. He takes off his hat and wipes his brow. “I think we need to give them a break,” Howdy heaves in a near wheeze. “Do you mind hanging out at my place for a bit?”

“No. Not at all. I like your Mom.” After watching this broad-shouldered cowboy ride next to me for the past hour, I've feverishly plotted how to get those arms wrapped around my waist. The damn snakes make any mid-meadow make-out session a horror story and the barn’s hayloft the set of a horror movie. Hopefully Grace is out for the evening.

“Good. She likes you too. She says you’ve got a quiet soul.”

I suppress an ugly chortle. “I’m not quiet. It’s impossible. I’m a New Yorker.”

“New Yorker?” He slows Baby down, so our horses are walking next to one another. I swear he paces her a little more so he can be a step behind and eye my ass.

 “Hey now.” I post higher to give him a good view.

“I’m sorry,” he whistles, “but a New Yorker can’t ride in a saddle like that. You’re an Oklahoma girl whether you want to admit it or not.”

We clomp up his driveway and he slides off Baby. She never stops, heading straight for the water trough near the barn. I could mimic his dismount, but where’s the fun in that? For a moment, I turn off my feminism and hope he’ll help me down. It’s a good way to measure a man from a boy. Not to disappoint, his hands are there, guiding me into his arms.

“Hi there,” I say softly. Howdy shuffles and pushes me with his side. I roll my eyes. “Go drink, boy.” He eagerly trots toward Baby. They snort at one another, like they’re making fun of us.

Colt’s strong arms wrap around me. His left hand slips into my jean pocket. Yum.

“So, your Mom?” I ask.

“Is out.” He says. “Brother’s soccer tournament tonight.” 

My throat swells while my heart flies. We'll be alone. Colt finds my hand and leads me to the front porch swing. He sits, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. "This is my place."

"It's nice," I say as I slide onto his lap, kissing his neck until I hear that telling lion-like purr.

He’s totally mine. Colt's still as I kiss along the stubble of his jaw. When I reach his mouth, fireworks explode. He pulls me close, his hands exploring my hair and back while our lips and tongues meet. It’s passionate, but soft. Not that forceful darting and thrusting motion that so many guys mistake for a “good kiss.” Now Colt? He gets how to kiss. The hairs on my arm stand on edge, and suddenly my hands are shaking as his lips part mine.
Whoa.

I revamp my original plan. Fooling around won’t cut it. This cowboy is made to have and explore.

Somehow, I slide off his lap and grab his hand, leading him into his house. Inside the door, I turn around and pull him back into a kiss. He swoops me off the ground strong enough to carry me up the stairs. Never losing his pace. Never taking his eyes from mine. He takes me into his bedroom. Hell yes.

My hand travels up his shirt. Rock hard abs. Six-pack. Whoa. His skin tastes salty good. He kisses the hollow of my neck and my toes curl. This will be amazing.

I slide my hand down just inside his Wranglers and play with the elastic band of his boxers. His whole body shudders. I kiss him near his belly button. He trembles before stilling himself, breath held.

Strong hands pull me up towards his neck again. Fine by me. We can take our time. I kiss from his neck back down his chest. His heart throttles under my palm. Moving south, I approach the Wranglers once again.

He grabs me then and pulls me up. “Wait,” he says between breaths.

“What?” I tease as I nibble on his neck. He takes a long breath. I slide my hand down his chest and he makes a pleading yes-like noise in the back of his throat, but his hand wraps around my wrist before I can unbutton his pants.

“No,” he says, rolling me off him.

What?

He sits up, “I’m sorry, I don’t have a condom.”

“Well, are you a virgin?” I trace my fingers along his back.

I catch a slight nod. Wow. He certainly doesn’t kiss like one. No matter. I rise to my knees and wrap my arms around him.

“Then we don’t need a condom,” I whisper in his ear. “I’m on the pill.”

He hesitates, a tendon running down his neck tenses. “Autumn,” he says in a near whisper before shaking his head. Suddenly, he scoots to the edge of the bed. For the first time, I notice the model of the bat-mobile on his shelf with some baseball trophies. This is a boy’s room. He tips his elbow up, reaching to massage his neck and every muscle pops. He glances to his left where there’s a photo of an older version of Colt on his dresser. This must be his father. Colt’s chest moves in and out with a large breath. Without a word, he finally stands up to face me. “Autumn, is it safe for me to assume you’re not a virgin?”

 I prop myself up on the pillow, trying to pop my hip in a way that should be alluring. “I’m from the city. Mom lets me set my own curfews and overworks herself. It’d be impossible for me to be one.” I reach out to invite him back into my arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I can’t.”

Suddenly, everything feels wrong. How did I end up here? He thinks I'm pathetic, desperately pleading for him to have sex with me. He’s toying with me, probably brought me here just to see how wound up he could make a city girl.

What an ass.

“So why am I in your bed?”

“I don’t know.” He runs his hands through his hair and grabs his shirt off the footboard, sliding it back over his chest. “To make out?”

“You make out on a porch. Not in a bed.”

“You’re right. Autumn, I’m sorry.” He opens his door. “I never should have brought you up here. You just…” he sighs, “God, you drive me crazy in ways I never knew.”

“You want me to leave?”

He takes a deep breath, “I don’t think I can restrain myself any longer if you stay.”

That’s a little better. “Then I’ll stay.”

“No.” He gently takes my hand and pulls me from the bed. “You need to leave. I don’t want it this way.”

“This way?”

“Sex.”

“You don’t want to have sex with me?”

 “No. I do. I mean… Yes, I don’t want to have sex with you. You need to leave.”

He pushes me out his door. I spin to face him, the burn of his rejection catches in the back of my throat. I swallow before I speak, willing it to go away.

“Wait, hold on. Is this because I’m a not a virgin?” I eye him and he says nothing. “You would have done it, wouldn’t you? You didn’t have sex with me because you thought I’d give you an STD.”

He thinks I’m a slut.

A frickin’ slut.

“No, that’s not it. I wouldn’t have had sex with you anyway. It’s not my way.”

“Then why did you ask if I was a virgin?” I push him back. He totally led me on, invading my privacy. What a dick.

He shrugs, “I wanted to know.”

“No. You rejected me because you think I’m a slut.”

I storm down the stairs. The lack of footsteps following me somehow makes it even worse, but screw him. Just because I’ve had sex before doesn’t make me a slut or a certified walking case of herpes or gonorrhea. I storm out the front door, slamming it behind me.

What the hell happened?

***

Dad’s perched on the front stop with a notebook on his lap. I slap a smile on my face, hoping to nonchalant the crap out of the situation.

“How’d the ride go?”

I shrug, “It was fine. The weather was scorching as usual. Howdy had some trouble so I took my time.”

“You returned alone?”

“We were closer to his barn as we thought it best for Baby not to make the trip.”

“Yeah, she’s starting to push it, isn’t she?” he says as he rises, his knees popping with the movement.

I nod and thumb the door handle.

“How did everything go with Colt?” he asks.

“Fine. He’s a nice guy.” I bite the inside of my cheek, sequestering the truth that he’s a judgmental jerk. I’ve never felt so dirty for doing nothing wrong. My nose itches and I know tears aren’t far away. I’ve got to escape before they fall.

“Wait, Autumn. What’s wrong?”

“It’s the dust. Probably allergies," I say with a wave.

“That doesn’t look like allergies. What did he do to you?”

“Nothing. He did nothing.” It's true. He did nothing at all. I sneeze from trying to hold back tears and one escapes down my cheek. Shit.