Cowboy Take Me Away

Cal smirked. “No problem. I’m sure I can find a warm bed to sleep in.”

“I’m sure you can.” But his focus was already on a black bull, lying down away from the other bulls. “Was 729 acting sickly yesterday mornin’?”

“We didn’t check yesterday; it’s been two days. But no, he was fine.”

“Don’t look like he’s fine now. Come on, let’s go check it out.”

The bull was dead. Which meant they needed to move the bulls out of that pasture now. Normally he and Cal would’ve just taken care of it, but Cal insisted he get cleaned up and head to Gillette.

Poor Cal was still arguing on the phone with Casper about getting his lazy ass out of bed and helping him deal with the dead animal when Carson took off.

Casper. His younger brother had had a vindictive streak since they were kids. Had a big damn chip on his shoulder too, where Carson and Cal were concerned, claiming they got preferential treatment from their father. Well, yeah, they did. Because they actually worked.

Thinking about Casper was sure to put him in a foul mood so he shoved it aside. He turned up the radio and hauled ass to Gillette.

He pulled into the church parking lot at twenty-five after eleven. His worry she’d be gone evaporated when she climbed out of a 1955 Oldsmobile 88. Seeing her in a slim skirt, a floral blouse, a tight short sweater and a pair of high heels that did amazing things for her calves, had him bailing out of the truck to meet her halfway.

She smiled at him. That beautiful I’m-happy-to-see-you smile that lit up her entire face. “Hi.”

“Hey. Sorry I’m runnin’ a little late.” Rather than haul her into his arms and lay a big wet kiss on her, he reached for her hand and brought it to his mouth for a soft kiss. “Sugar, you are pretty as a picture in your Sunday mornin’ finery.”

“Thank you.”

Carson noticed she’d pulled her hair back and piled it up into some fancy hair-do. She wore just enough makeup to make her look polished, but not plastic. Instead of the vivid red lipstick she usually wore, her lips were a soft pink. Innocent looking but he knew the power of what that mouth could do to him.

“Umm, Carson?”

His eyes connected with hers. “Yeah?”

“Do you realize you made a…growling noise when you were staring at my lips?”

He grinned. “Nope. But it’s only because your mouth looks so tasty and I can’t wait to take a bite.”

Carolyn stepped closer and placed her hand on his chest. “Maybe it’d be best if we left the church parking lot before you start chewing on my lips.”

“That works for me. Are you hungry? The truck stop is a dive, but the food is good and I doubt you’ll run into anyone you know.”

She cocked her head. “The truck stop is fine. But I’ll remind you that you’re the local, not me, if you’re concerned about anyone you know seeing us together.”

“I could give a damn who sees us together, Caro.”

“One of these days very soon, McKay, I’ll expect you to prove that.”

He stole one quick kiss. “And I’ll be happy to.” He opened the passenger door for her and helped her inside. The sleeve of her sweater snagged on a wire sticking out of the seat. “Hang on a second. You’re caught.” Carson gently pulled the metal free and smoothed the section of yarn back in place. He said, “All fixed,” but kept running his fingertips over the back of her arm.

“Carson?”

His glanced up at her. “Did you buy this sweater because it’s the exact shade of your beautiful eyes? Or because it’s as soft as your skin?”

Something dark glittered in her eyes before she grabbed onto his chin. “Give me a taste of that silver tongue.” She fit her mouth to his and kissed the holy hell out of him. Right there in the church parking lot.

And her lips formed a very sneaky, self-satisfied smile when she released him. “Drive, cowboy.”

At the truck stop they chose a seat at the back of the restaurant.

“So what’d you tell your family you were doin’ today after church?”

“They didn’t ask. I put a roast in the oven and told them when it’d be done. As long as they’re fed, they probably won’t even notice I’m not there.”

Carson reached for her hand. “I’m sad to hear that. I imagine bein’ the oldest girl in a family of boys and your mama bein’ sickly that most the household stuff fell on you.”

Carolyn squirmed and sipped her Coke. Then she said, “It wasn’t all bad.”

But that didn’t convince him. “How old were you when you started doin’ all the cookin’?”

“Ten. But I didn’t do it all. My brothers sort of helped and my mother supervised. She taught me how to do everything. I didn’t look at it as a chore until a couple of years ago when I came home and my father expected me to do everything around the house.” She disentangled her fingers from his. “What about you? How much work does your father do on the ranch?”

He pretended not to notice her physical retreat when his question hit too close to home. “He still runs everything. Me’n my brothers are just pups to him, as he reminds us every day. But he does listen to us. At least he did when two parcels of land came up for sale in the last year and he bought ’em up. With the extra grazing areas we added more cattle to our herd.”

“I know I’m not supposed to ask a rancher how many heads he runs, but I’m asking you.”