Cowgirl Come Home (23 page)

The lips she remembered. The way he kissed? Not so much. The boy she’d kissed had segued into a man who knew what he wanted, what he liked and what he damn well planned to give her.

Paul could honestly say he hadn’t seen ‘sex with Bailey’ as even a remote option when he fired up the Cessna. He’d figured the trip would involve a lot of pacing in hospital waiting rooms and ferrying OC back and forth from the hotel.

To wind up sharing a room with Bailey…a pleasant surprise. To be invited back into her life as a confidant of her worst fear, to hold her, kiss her…damn, he couldn’t quite get his head around the bounty.

“I want you worse than when we were in high school,” she’d said.

He knew exactly what she meant. He’d gone hard the moment she’d pulled off her T-shirt.

Every inch of her skin smelled like honey and roses. He wanted to go slow, remember every sensation, but Bailey had never been patient. Once she made up her mind to do something, it got done.

“Do you remember our first time?” he asked unbuttoning his shirt.

She brushed his fingers aside and took over. One, two, three, pull out shirt tails, four, five… “We came close so many times, but I think it was in my barn, right? The hayloft. Your Boy Scout sleeping bag.”

He unbuckled his belt and unzipped while she pulled the belt through the loops. “The hay smelled good but the sleeping bag wasn’t thick enough to keep the poking parts from poking you.”

His belt joined her shirt on the floor. By wordless agreement, they both wiggled out of their jeans. Her panties didn’t match her bra. Lime green bikinis with black polka dots. “Cute.”

She touched the raised fabric of his navy blue stretch boxer briefs. “No more tighty whities.”

His breath caught in his throat as her hand cupped his erection. “Not since college.” Not since Jen started shopping for him.

She turned her attention to his bare chest. “Your muscles are so filled out. Chiseled, even. From swinging a hammer, I suppose. You’re so manly, now.” Her tone held a hint of teasing, but he thought he detected a bit of wistfulness, too. He felt the same.

“You’re thinner
and
more voluptuous. How is that possible?”

She flexed her bare arm to show her well-defined biceps. “Exercise. For a while after the accident, I couldn’t do anything. I felt like my body was melting into the sheets. As soon as I started physical therapy, I went gung-ho. One of my trainers, who also became my friend, called me Bailing Wired.”

He squeezed the muscle. “Hey, that was my nickname for you.”

“That’s what I told her. Although I was never sure it was a compliment.”

He locked fingers with her and leaned in close enough to nibble her neck. “It was. I admired your drive and fearlessness. Scared the bejesus out of me at times, but, man, you were something to watch.”

She moved her head and shoulder in a way that told him she was enjoying his touch. He trailed his tongue to a pronounced bump on her clavicle. A broken collarbone from falling off a horse when she was ten. A scare like that might have stopped other kids, but not Bailey Jenkins. From what her mother told him, she was back in the saddle while her arm was in a sling.

She dropped back on her elbows. “This,” she said, shifting to her right side to touch her collarbone, “was the first of many. Two cracked ribs. My kneecap is all screwed up. I broke my elbow, but it’s stronger since I started lifting weights. A couple of toes. And fingers. And that’s not even counting my ankle.”

He slid off the bed so he could start at her feet. “Which toes?”

She wiggled her left foot. He kissed them all, which made her laugh.

“And your right ankle.”

“Obviously.”

The scar wasn’t as furious a red as when she first arrived in Marietta. He nuzzled his cheek against her wound, their gaze locked. “I’m sorry you were injured, but I’ve got a few war wounds of my own, you know.”

He licked the inside of both her knees.

“You do?”

“Viral paper cuts. I give myself a yearly bonus to make up for the grievance.”

He advanced to her mid-section, checking each rib with his lips. When he reached her bosom, he unsnapped the front-closure bra and separated the two halves of pink lace. Her small, perfect breasts greeted him, nipples erect. He had to taste them. He couldn’t
not
.

She squirmed in a happy way that made conversation superfluous. Her hands moved to his bare back, stroking, finding her way again. She touched his hair. “Don’t mention the gray,” he said, glancing up.

“You have great hair. Always have. I used to dream about your hair.”

“My
hair
?”

She laughed. “Don’t sound so outraged. Maybe dream isn’t the right word. There were times with Ross when we’d be making love and when I’d run my fingers through his hair, I’d think of you. Except in summer.” He waited. “In summer, he shaved his head.”

He didn’t know what to make of that admission, but the thought disappeared when Bailey reached between them and worked her hands under the waistband of his shorts. She cupped his buttocks, squeezing. “You still have a pretty amazing butt.”

Then she worked the fabric lower. It took both hands to free his erection. “Ah, there’s my big Z.” Her private name for his penis.

She petted and fondled until he feared he might shoot his wad the way he did the first time she touched him. Something that would have been mortifyingly embarrassing with anyone else.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Paul?”

“Positive. Are you having second thoughts?”

She blinked coquettishly. “I’m having naughty thoughts. Where are those condoms?”

He had to walk into the bathroom to his toiletries bag. When he returned, the bed was turned down, the lights lowered and pillows plumped…with Bailey naked and waiting, one hand touching her breast, the other lazily rubbing a spot between her legs.

“There’s so much I want to do with you—”

“Later,” she said, opening her legs for him. “I’m ready, if you are.”

He sheathed himself then moved to the spot made for him. Wet heat beckoned, her womanly scent adding to his lust. One finger, then two, opening her to him. Her legs wrapped around him. She made a small peep but brushed aside his concern. “I need you inside me, now, Paul. Now.”

He gratefully obliged.

They’d always fit together as if made from one whole. He’d always—well, after the first few times—been able to read her rhythm, feel the build inside her core.

Each thrust re-established their connection.

“Oh, yes,” she cried, eyes closed. She sucked in her bottom lip as a wrinkle of concentration knit her brow.

Paul braced himself with one hand and slipped his finger between them, connecting with the tiny button they’d discovered through trial and error, with the help of some sex book he’d “borrowed” from his brother’s room.

Her whimper jack-knifed through him, bringing him closer to the edge. Her ragged breathing matched his. He was close.

The moment her hips lifted off the mattress, he felt the life force inside him surge and catapult to completion. Aftershocks rocked them both as they panted hard in that most triumphant of ways.

“Better than a 10-K,” he said.

“Better than a buckle run,” she said. “And a lot more fun. Thank you, Paul.”

He pulled back and gave her dry look. “Thanks? You never thanked me before. That’s something our parents would have done.”

She grinned. “You’re right. OMG, we’ve become our parents.”

He rolled off to dispose of the rubber. “Speak for yourself. I’m still young and vital, and after the movie I’ll show you just how vital I really am.”

He was kidding, of course. He’d be ready long before a two-hour movie was over.

She scooted off the bed and walked to the bathroom. “In that case, better order room service. I’m going to need Death By Chocolate to keep up with you.”

He flopped on the bed and reached for the menu. They were going to need more than chocolate for what he had in mind.

Bailey hadn’t said this was a one-night stand, but who knew what would happen when they got back to Marietta? As she’d said, OC might be the deal breaker that sent her hightailing it back to California. He planned to make the most memories possible in the time they were given.

T
he sound of
a braying donkey woke Paul out of the warmest, sweetest rest he’d had since his children were born. He sat upright in bed, the covers pooling at his waist. A sliver of light through the curtains told him he was in a hotel room in Reno. A low female moan—one he’d heard in various incarnations the night before—told him who was in bed beside him.

Bailey Jenkins.

Holy shit, he almost said. A second braying sound stopped him.

“My phone. Damn. It’s OC. I forgot I gave him that ringtone.”

He snatched the phone off the bedside table. Bailey’s snicker was a relief. At least, she wasn’t offended. “Hello?”

“You can come and get me now. We’re done here.”

“Okay. Bailey and I will be there in…” He looked at Bailey who poked her messy head out from under the covers and gave him a Really? Look worthy of any pre-teen. “Give us half an hour. Have you had breakfast?”

“No appetite.”

“We’ll stop somewhere on our way to the plane, then.”

OC didn’t argue. He didn’t say anything. Paul checked the phone to see if they’d been disconnected. When he put it back to his ear, he heard OC say in a gruff, emotion-filled voice, “I need a drink, but Jack made me promise I wouldn’t use what happened to him as an excuse to start again.” He sighed heavily. “I’ll be out front when you get here.”

Paul hit the off button and looked at Bailey, who was sitting up, too. “Whoa. That was heavy.”

“What? Oh, my God, don’t tell me? Jack passed at midnight and Dad’s been at a bar ever since?”

Paul pulled her into his arms. Her bare flesh was warm and fragrant. She smelled of sleep and sex and magic. Being with Bailey made all things possible. There might even be hope for OC.

“He sounded exhausted but okay. He promised Jack this wouldn’t push him over the edge again.” He gave her a squeeze, wishing with all his heart they’d had time to talk before life, families and work intruded.

Focusing on the moment worked great when you were making love for the third time, but they hadn’t made any effort to discuss what came next. Were they dating? Did one night of beautiful sex make them a couple? A thing?

Bailey hugged him back then scrambled out of bed, as always favoring her right leg. She walked to her open overnight bag and picked out a pair of pink silk panties and a black and bronze Copper Mountain Chocolates T-shirt.

“I was hoping we could share a shower,” she said, walking with the same grace she’d shown when she was crowned fair queen, only back then she’d been dressed in Wranglers, Ropers and a white, western shirt with pearl snaps and silver piping. “But I guess we’d better hurry.”

She turned on the bathroom light then paused to add, “Poor guy lost his best friend. I know how that feels.”

Did she mean me?
He thought so. Or he tried to think, but watching Bailey Jenkins parade around naked deflected the majority of the blood flow to his brain in a completely different direction.

He bounded off the bed and crashed through the bathroom door. “We can be fast.”

*

OC looked around
the waiting room where they’d moved him after Jack stopped breathing. The honey brown walls reminded him of a spaniel he once owned. The framed posters were flowery and generic. Four long, narrow windows did little to provide either a view or sunlight.

The designated spot for a wheelchair fit snugly between a low table filled with dog-eared, germ-laced magazines and an empty chair. A nurse had offered him the use of a wheelchair after he’d awoken to a shrill, insistent alarm coming from Jack’s monitor and lunged out of the makeshift bed without thinking.

He’d fallen, of course, adding to the chaos surrounding Jack’s final moments on earth.

OC didn’t know what he believed about death. He couldn’t say what happened after you died. But he’d seen movies with ghosts hovering over their dead bodies. He wondered if Jack’s soul had gotten a kick out of seeing OC being helped to his feet…foot…by two burly male orderlies.

He hoped so.

He glanced at the only other occupant in the room—a man in his early twenties, sprawled across three chairs.

I was that limber once
, he thought.
Jack and I could sleep anywhere
.

They’d camped in places most humans didn’t know existed. Places where you kept one ear open for wolves, the other for bears. When they were in the backcountry, they rarely drank. A sip or two from the flask one of them brought. But once they hit town…look out.

There was a time when they could drink any guy in the bar under the table. They’d had more than their share of laughs.

But OC wasn’t laughing now. He’d stared reality in the face as Jack’s breathing became more and more labored. The nurses visited every ten minutes or so from one o’clock on. They’d fiddle with the morphine drip, check his vitals, and smile sadly or encouragingly at OC, depending on their temperament.