Must Love Cowboys (9 page)

Wow. Two cowboys in my bedroom.
I would have entered that momentous bit of data into my diary, if I'd ever kept one. I'd flipped through one of Grandpa's journals after he died. He had diligently recorded the high and low temperatures and the amount of rainfall every day along with a list of the things he'd done, but he never mentioned his thoughts about what was happening.

Not like those letters Dean and Wyatt were reading. I was still hesitant to start poking around in Calvin's belongings, but continuing a fruitless search when I could be doing something productive was a waste of time.

“I'm going to look for the other letters,” I announced.

“Think you'll find anything useful in them?” Wyatt asked.

“Probably not, but I can't read the letters Calvin wrote. I just can't.”

He shrugged. “I'm sure Calvin wouldn't mind if you read the others. At least, not any more than he'd mind us reading these.”

“Feels intrusive, doesn't it?”

“A bit.” It was nothing like reading letters written in another century, even if the correspondents happened to be my ancestors. I barely knew Calvin, but I had known my grandfather quite well.

I glanced at Dean. As riveted as he was to what he was reading, Wyatt and I might not have even been on the same planet.

With a nod, I rose from the desk and headed down the hall to Calvin's room.

Nothing had been touched since the ambulance crew had left the night before. The bed was stripped, the mattress still askew on its frame. The pill bottles sat on the desk, leaving me to assume that the medics had made a list of them. Choosing one at random, I read the label, just as Wyatt had done. That particular prescription had been filled several months prior, and the bottle was practically full—sufficient evidence to prove he hadn't been taking them.

I returned the bottle to the desk and glanced at the bed. Tidying up his quarters was the least I could do. I had just shoved the mattress back into place when I heard something hit the floor. A tiny glass bottle rolled across the bare wooden surface. Curious, I stooped to pick it up.

The cap was screwed on tight, but the bottle was empty. I stood there, staring at the label for several long moments.

Nitrostat.

Once again, I didn't have to be a medical professional to know nitroglycerine was used to treat chest pain. According to the expiration date, the tablets would still have been good if there'd been any left. Had he taken the last one right before I found him? Or had the bottle been empty to begin with? And if so, for how long? Surely if he'd been using them often, he would've refilled the prescription.

Unless he'd been putting it off. Still, anyone with a known heart condition would understand the importance of having those tablets on hand at all times. He might've even carried them in his pocket.

I stared at the meds on the desk. Had this bottle been among them?

Only one way to find out.

Returning to my room, I handed the bottle to Wyatt. “I found this on the floor just now. Was it with the other medication bottles you checked last night?”

His brows knit together in a satyr-like frown. “No, but the fact that it's empty explains a lot.”

Dean looked up from the letter he'd been reading. “What's that?”

“Nitrostat,” Wyatt replied. “Used to treat angina. It won't stop a full-blown MI, but if he'd taken them, last night's episode might've turned out differently.”

“Maybe he did take them,” Dean said. “And that's why the bottle is empty.”

“But why put the cap back on an empty bottle?” I asked. “Seems kinda odd, doesn't it?”

“Not necessarily,” Wyatt replied. “Most people would probably recap an empty bottle without even realizing they'd done it.” He hesitated for a moment, his slight frown suggesting an inner debate regarding the wisdom of voicing his thoughts. “What's weird is that your grandfather died and then you came to see Calvin right before he had a heart attack.”

I stared at Wyatt, aghast at what he seemed to be inferring. “Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with either of those things?”

He shook his head. “No, but you have to admit, the timing is peculiar.”

I certainly couldn't argue with that. If I hadn't arrived when I did, Calvin might have been dead before I ever had the chance to give him Grandpa's medals. “Do you think my visit caused Calvin's heart attack?”

“Probably not,” Wyatt said with a shrug. “But stranger things have happened.”

“And if you hadn't been here,” Dean said, “he wouldn't have stood a snowball's chance in hell. Don't forget that part.” Returning his gaze to the letter in his hand, he let out a gasp. “Holy shit! I think I've found it. Listen to this:
Jeannine married some rich guy from Houston while I was in Nam and doesn't want anything to do with the likes of me anymore. But then, she always did have a fondness for the finer things.
Figure this Jeannine is his sister?”

“Could be,” Wyatt said. “Unless she was an old girlfriend.”

“Would've been nice of him to mention the rich guy's name,” I said, grumbling. “Even if she wasn't his sister, she probably knew Calvin's family.”

“I guess that means we keep reading.” Not surprisingly, Dean didn't sound as excited as he had a few moments earlier.

“Yeah.” Reminding myself that Calvin's tragedies were his own, not mine, I grabbed a stack of letters and carried them over to the desk. With Wyatt in the room, sitting on the bed with Dean seemed like a bad idea.

Then again, perhaps that was why he'd offered to help.

After reading through several years' worth of Calvin's letters, my brain was fried and my eyes felt like I'd been caught in a sandstorm. “Okay, guys. You can keep on if you want, but I'm going to bed.”

Dean responded to my announcement with a huge yawn.

“I could use some sleep myself,” Wyatt said. “Been a long day.”

I started to remind him he'd had a nap in there somewhere, but since I wanted him to get a move on, I didn't argue. “I'll read some more tomorrow while you guys are out riding the range.”

Dean snorted in disgust. “Riding the range, hell. Seems like all we ever do anymore is fix fences. I'd like to get hold of whoever's been cutting them and give him a swift boot up the ass.”

“I'm sure it would be well-deserved.” I returned my share of the letters to the box, marked my place, and closed the lid. So many memories were contained in those envelopes, some had been joyous, but others…

I'd found the one written after the accident that claimed the lives of Calvin's wife and children. Figuring that if Jeannine had been his sister, Calvin might've mentioned her name, I forced myself to read it. Jeannine was mentioned all right—and she was definitely his sister—but apparently Calvin had seen no need to identify her by her married name, even though her daughter, whom Calvin referred to as “my niece, Carla,” had also been killed in the crash.

If Jeannine hadn't already decided she didn't want to associate with Calvin, that tragic turn of events probably would've been sufficient cause for their estrangement. According to the letter, Jeannine believed that Carla wouldn't have died if she had steered clear of Calvin and his family. While that assessment was probably true, it had undoubtedly compounded Calvin's pain.

That letter sapped my mental energy to the point that I didn't even make it through to the end. Some things were best taken in small doses.

After Wyatt departed with a rather abrupt “G'night,” Dean lingered in the doorway long enough to kiss me one more time, setting my senses awhirl with anticipation, especially when his hands strayed downward to cradle my bottom.

“So, does ‘fun and games' include sex?” he whispered. “I'd love to get you naked and
really
have some fun.” He paused long enough to lick my earlobe, an act that nearly buckled my knees. “I have some condoms. Six of them.”

Oh my…

That question in itself constituted a first. “Umm…not sure. Maybe.”

Dean's hands continued their exploration of my backside as his lips drifted down to the base of my neck to nip and suck at my skin, making me long to throw caution to the wind and rip his shirt off. “But not tonight?”

“Seems a bit hasty, doesn't it?” True, I wouldn't be staying in Wyoming any longer than it took for Calvin to get out of the hospital, but was I really willing to take the plunge with a virtual stranger so soon? I doubted it, although for all I knew, I might be missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime.

Still, I'd gone my entire life without sex. One more night of chastity wouldn't kill me.

To my relief, he nodded. “Okay. I'll be good. But not for long.” He gave my bottom a squeeze. “Good night, Tina.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Stifling a giggle, I closed the door with the squeak of a hinge that could have stood a quick shot of WD-40.

Tina and Dean.
We sounded like a figure skating team.
Hayes and Wayland—or would it sound better as Wayland and Hayes?

Still giggling, I let Ophelia out one last time, took a quick shower, hit the sack, and then lay awake for the next two hours fantasizing about what might have happened if I'd had the guts to act on Dean's suggestion.

He had six condoms. Would he use them all in one night?

Oh, surely not…

I could almost hear the squeak of the hinge again, imagining the lock clicking into place followed by the creak of floorboards as he crossed the room. The thump of Ophelia's tail would be muted by the doormat she had adopted as her bed. A tremor of excitement set off a strange ache in my core.

Or should I think of it as my pussy?

Probably. Vagina sounded too technical, although if I was truly intent on being bad, I could go for the
C
word. Unfortunately, I wasn't ready for that any more than I was ready to screw around with a man I barely knew.

What would it be like to be in bed with a naked man? Would we talk first or would he get right down to business? I flipped over in bed one more time, noting the twanging of bedsprings and the screech of casters on the floor. A round of energetic sex would have made enough noise to wake up everyone in the bunkhouse, no doubt prompting them to charge into my room to discover the source of the racket. That is, if they hadn't already noticed one of their number was missing.

Talk about embarrassing.

Perhaps I was better off sleeping alone. After all, fantasies had never placed me in compromising situations, infected me with nasty germs, or gotten me pregnant. I didn't have to put up with a man's whims on a regular basis, either. I'm sure there were plenty of perks associated with having a boyfriend or husband, but I'd been on my own long enough to know I could handle most things by myself.

But those kisses had done something to me, and so had rubbing Wyatt's shoulders. In fact, that episode with Wyatt had affected me more strongly than kissing Dean. Was I kissing the wrong man, or was his lack of a shirt the only reason?

Probably not. I'd seen Dean completely naked. Wyatt had my nerves doing jumping jacks from that first meeting.

The mere thought of him sent another gush of moisture from my vagina. I squeezed my legs together, savoring the slickness.

Closing my eyes, I imagined his calloused hands teasing my nipples. I'd never been touched in that manner by another person. Granted, I could do that sort of thing to myself, but a man's lips and tongue? I couldn't begin to duplicate the sensation of being licked and kissed all over, starting with my nipples and ending with my clitoris. Did guys actually stick their tongues inside a woman's vagina? I'd read about it in books, but did they really do that, or was it something women only wished they would do? I didn't know. I hoped it didn't exist exclusively in the realm of fantasy because the reality would be absolutely fabulous.

I'd also read a number of novels in which the heroine had sucked the hero's penis. I wasn't convinced I would like it, but I wanted to give it a try someday. I wanted to know what it was like to have a man's cock, big and warm, in my mouth as I sucked the plum-shaped head, listening to the groans of pleasure that proved how much he appreciated my efforts.

Okay. So there
were
perks to having a man around. Simply because I'd gotten used to the idea of not having a lover didn't mean I didn't want one.

All I needed was a smidgen of courage and I could have a man. Right here. Right now. He might not be the firefighting hero I'd dreamed about, but cowboys were good—better than I'd expected them to be—and most women thought they were hot. I'd envisioned smelly, tobacco-chewing, gun-toting outlaw types, and these guys weren't like that at all.

Too bad the cowboy I was leaning toward hadn't been the one to make the offer.

* * *

The following morning, despite my gritty, sleep-deprived eyes, I managed to get dressed and make my way to the kitchen without running into a wall. Putting the coffee on was my number-one priority, after which, I started on the rest of the meal.

The bacon was already sizzling on the griddle and I was rolling out biscuit dough when Dean sauntered in.

“Sleep well last night?”

“Not really.” I gave him the once-over. “And you'd better get rid of that grin or the others will know what we were up to last night.”

“I'll take full responsibility.” After darting a quick glance toward the doorway, he gave me a kiss that could've melted an iceberg. “Need any help?”

I took a moment to regain my composure before nodding at the stack of plates and cutlery on the counter. “You can put those on the table if you like.”

“Will do.”

Dean had barely left the room when Nick wandered in, his long, dark hair free of its usual ponytail. “Biscuits? On a Friday? You're gonna have us so spoiled…”

“That's the idea,” I said. “Calvin can put you all on a diet when he comes back, but I'm enjoying this too much to be stingy.” I would have welcomed the opportunity to fatten Calvin up a bit as well. In my opinion, he was much too thin. Nick, on the other hand, was just about right. “I don't think I'm coordinated enough to make omelets for everyone just yet, so I'm making scrambled eggs with cheese. Think you could crack some eggs into that bowl for me?”

He didn't seem at all disappointed. “Sure thing. How many?”

“That depends. Are Dusty and Mr. Kincaid joining us for breakfast?”

“Probably,” he replied. “I'm guessing the boss could fry up some eggs, but Dusty isn't much of a cook.”

“Better make it two dozen then.” The amount of food these men could put away still astonished me. They obviously had enough hens to keep them supplied with eggs, but I couldn't help wondering just how big the chicken coop was.

After cutting out the biscuits and arranging them on a pan, I paused for a moment to study Nick as he cracked egg after egg with considerable panache. I don't know why I hadn't keyed on it before—perhaps it was simply because his hair was loose now—but his dark eyes and skin finally clicked, along with features that tagged him as having more than a dash of Native American blood. Although with a name like Reno, I doubted it was on his father's side.

“You look a lot different without the ponytail,” I observed.

He shot me a wicked grin. “More like a wild Indian, you mean?”

“I wouldn't have worded it quite like that, but yeah.”

“I come by it honestly,” he said. “My mom is half Shoshone. Her mother's people live on the Wind River Reservation.” He chuckled, adding, “My parents met in a casino there, if that tells you anything.”

I'd seen the sign for the reservation—and the casinos—at the turnoff in Rawlins. I returned his grin with a wink. “I suppose it does.” Whatever his bloodline, he was a handsome devil, if a bit cheeky, and I liked him a lot. He'd even kissed me. There weren't very many guys I could say that about.

These cowboys were really starting to grow on me. Sonny seemed like a nice kid, and Joe struck me as being an honest, dependable man. Next thing I knew, Bull would begin showing some endearing qualities.

I still didn't know what to make of Wyatt. I'd stolen a few peeks at him while we were reading Calvin's letters. He'd been so intent on what he was doing, he probably hadn't noticed my stares. What went on in that head of his? Even Calvin had referred to him as “that mean-looking varmint.” But did he only look mean? Or did the meanness go deeper than that?

Who knew?

Having read some of Calvin's more emotional letters, I had a better grasp of who he was and the life events that had shaped his character. Wyatt, on the other hand, remained a mystery. Somehow, I doubted I would ever be privy to enough of his thoughts to even begin to understand what made him tick.

“All done,” Nick announced, interrupting my musings.

“Thanks.” I popped the biscuits in the oven and set the timer, then stared at the bowl of eggs, momentarily stymied by the vast quantity until I realized all I had to do was multiply my usual recipe by twelve. Fortunately, mental math was one of my strong suits, and I measured out salt, pepper, and milk as though I whipped up two dozen scrambled eggs every day of my life. I only hoped the end result justified my confidence.

After heating up an enormous iron skillet, I melted a whole stick of butter and added the eggs. I had just given them a few stirs with a wooden spoon and was reaching for the tongs to flip the bacon when another hand met mine.

“I'll do that.”

Wyatt's voice in my ear shattered the poise I'd worked so hard to achieve, and my heart leaped sideways an instant before my body followed it. “Oh…okay,” I said, thankful that I hadn't been holding anything hot or fragile.

A blush prickled my face and goose bumps tightened my skin as I picked up the spoon and continued stirring the eggs, amazed my trembling hands didn't botch the job. Did he have any idea how intimidating he was? Probably. Even if his goal hadn't included making me jump out of my skin, his deft movements reminded me that he was much more comfortable cooking for a crowd than I had any right to be.

“I guess you're used to helping Calvin with the cooking, huh?”

“Some,” he replied. “Not often.”

So why was he helping me now? Did he think I was totally incompetent?

I reminded myself that Nick and Dean had offered to help, and I'd given them each a task. Wyatt hadn't asked, and I hadn't told him what to do. He'd simply taken on the job. That should've pleased me, but once again, his motivation was unclear—unless he couldn't stand the idea of overcooked bacon. Perhaps it had taken him years to teach Calvin to fry it up the way he liked.

Of all the stupid, ridiculous reasons to invent…

Truth be told, Wyatt made me feel more inept and nervous than any man ever had—and that was saying quite a lot. What
was
it about him?

Several slow, calming breaths later, I decided the eggs were done. I was adding the grated cheese when Dean returned from setting the table. Stopping short in the doorway, he aimed a puzzled frown at Wyatt before darting a questioning glance at me. All I could do was shrug.

Apparently unperturbed, he pulled butter and jam from the fridge just as Sonny and Nick came into the kitchen and got out a jug of orange juice and some glasses. Wyatt was transferring the last of the bacon to a platter when I grabbed a couple of pot holders and started to pick up the skillet, intending to carry it into the mess hall.