Outlaw Cowboy (17 page)

His body jerked, and she could feel the tenseness in his thigh muscles, could feel the groan rumble through him. She took him deep through his orgasm, wanting to relish every last bit of the power she had over him, what she'd been able to drive him to.

When he withdrew, he tugged her up to standing. He yanked his pants up, but before she was even balanced, he walked her back to the wall and held her against it. His hands pushed at her arms until they were above her head. With one large, work-worn hand, he bracketed her wrists together. “Now it's your turn to hush.”

“I thought we had to go.” But she didn't fight him. The delicious way he had her pinned to the wall made her want to rub against him. And, damn, she could definitely use an orgasm of her own. Everything inside of her was wound tight and hot, desperate to catapult over that delicious edge.

“Then you better hurry.” His voice rumbled against her neck, a sensation like nothing she'd experienced, and he used his free hand to undo the snap of her button and the zipper of her jeans.

“You have some impressive one-handed talent.” Her voice wasn't flip as she'd planned—it was barely a voice at all. How could she speak when all her energy was tightly coiled, waiting for him?

“Just wait, baby.” His fingers edged under her underwear, and he groaned in time with her as he slid a finger inside.

She wanted more than that—it was too gentle, too careful, too intimate. His grip on her wrists eased, but she didn't want the sweetness. No, she wanted this quick and rough to chase away all the confusion.

“Don't let go,” she demanded, ignoring the fact that it was more plea than demand. He would hear the demand, because that was who she was—strong, demanding, hard.

His grip tightened, the hard, work-roughened palm and fingers encasing the slim circle of her wrist. The gentleness disappeared easily, because she'd told him not to let go, because he understood.

He didn't tease; he didn't placate; he touched her exactly where she needed him to. He held her arms, pinning her against the wall, and she was so close she didn't even care, moving herself against him and leading those skilled fingers to just the right place.

But it didn't matter how much she hurried, how quick his movements were, she couldn't seem to chase the gentleness away. The feelings built inside of her just as the pleasure did, as though both were standing on that edge, one she desperately wanted to topple over, the other she wanted to hide from forever.

But Caleb's fingers were demanding—
he
was demanding as he groaned her name into her ear before scraping his teeth down the length of her neck. The electric shock mixed with his relentless hands was the final moment. She cried out, unable to stop herself as the orgasm crashed over her, all but dimming the room and leaving her muscles nothing but lead.

And she stood like that, half of her feeling broken and raw, while half of her wanted to rejoice, to laugh, to hold on to him and sigh.

After a few minutes like that, her breathing slowly returned to normal. He released her wrists, took his hand out of her pants, and then before he did anything to straighten himself, he began to set her to rights, fixing her pants, retrieving her bra and shirt and handing them to her. Every movement was so infused with care, she couldn't move. If she moved, she'd cry or break down, and she didn't have time for that.

His gaze held hers for a few seconds, searching for something. She wished she could make sure he couldn't find it.

“You ready?”

The orgasm had done none of the things she'd wanted it to. She still wanted to run, to cry, to toss her lunch, and maybe worse, lean into him and be held, but she couldn't do any of those things. Especially not when he looked at her with concern and care in his eyes.

So she nodded and helped him get dressed. She gathered all the pieces of herself, even though there wasn't the time to put them back together. She could only hold them inside and hope at some point she'd know what to do with them.

Because she'd never be ready for what lay ahead, but she might as well face the music—it wasn't going anywhere.

Caleb wasn't exactly pleased with this part of his plan, but he couldn't deny it was the only way. Unfortunately, the sight of Delia dubiously staring at the camper shell on the back of his truck made his gut clench.

Let a woman give you a blow job, then hide her away in the camper shell of your truck. The things good guys were well and truly made of.

Eyebrows furrowed, she took her gaze off the opening and stared at him. “You put blankets and a pillow back here.”

“I know it's going to suck no matter what, and that doesn't help matters any, but—”

She stopped him with a wave of her hand. “This is first-class travel compared to how I was going to get there yesterday.”

He frowned at that. “I'm so—”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “We're not going to do the apology thing.”

“But I was an ass—”

“Please. What else is new? Most of us are assholes deep down, Caleb. Some of us are careless with it, and some of us can't help it, and some of us…” She fixed her gaze on him. “Some of us are good deep down.” Something in her shoulders slumped, something in her eyes softened, but it was so quickly dismissed he wondered if he'd imagined it. “So, be a man. Own your goodness.”

“Be a man, huh?” Delia had a hell of a way of putting things into perspective. Not a particularly nice way, but maybe that's what he needed for it to actually resonate.

“Let's get this show on the road.” Before he could offer anything else, any warnings or apologies, she shimmied into the camper shell. The windows were blacked out and he'd shoved in as many pillows and blankets as he'd been able to find. Lying on her back, she worked to make a little nest out of them.

He wanted to rip her out of there, to find another way to do this. But there was no other way. “It's going to be bumpy,” he warned, having third or fourth thoughts at this point. What was he doing? What was he risking? For what?

For her, you idiot.

“Close it up and drive. We've got shit to do and no time to be wishy-washy about it.”

Right. Besides, this was about her sister, and she'd come this far in conditions he wasn't sure he ever wanted to know about. Blowing out a breath, he closed up the truck bed and the camper shell.

She'd be fine. The window was cracked, and it wasn't all that dangerous. Just uncomfortable. God knew the woman was used to uncomfortable.

It pissed him off to be the next in a long line to make her that way. But. Steph. So. Right.

He climbed into the driver's seat and made a conscious effort to drive slowly, avoiding bumps. He didn't have to worry about much traffic, even on Main Street, but he also couldn't set off any alarms by driving like he had human cargo in the back of his truck.

He winced at every bump and turn, mostly because it took his mind off the fact that he was going to let her off at the front of Mel and Dan's property so she could walk to her family's place and spy.

Alone.

Yeah, couldn't think about that or he'd turn the truck right around and…

That was the problem. He never could come up with an “and.” This was the only way he could figure out to help her, aside from calling the cops.

She obviously had a reason for distrusting them, but the jackass that had been sheriff when they were teenagers wasn't around anymore. Granted, neither he nor Delia had a very good reputation with even the younger members of the Valley County Sheriff's Department, but
still
.

He stopped the truck outside the gate of Dan and Mel's. It was a pretty secluded area of highway, but he darted his gaze between the driveway and the long stretch of road he was parked alongside.

Quickly, he opened the camper shell and Delia shimmied out.

“You know, we could call the cops. Leave this to them. I know we're not their biggest fans and vice versa, but—”

She scanned the highway. “No cops.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “I have to do this. Got it?”

He'd give her that. For now. But he wasn't taking it completely off the table for the future. He unfastened his watch and pulled it off his wrist. It was big, bulky, and plastic, but it kept the time through all of his ranching chores.

There was no way it'd fit on her slim wrists, even at the tightest setting, so he tucked it into her coat pocket. “You're back in the camper shell by seven. No exceptions, got it?”

“If I'm not back, you leave without me.”

He grabbed her arm as she tried to take a step to cross the highway. “It shouldn't take you more than fifteen minutes to walk over there. That gives you an hour to do your business. You're back by seven or I come after you. I can't find you, I will call the cops.”

Something flickered in her expression, though he couldn't make it out. Fear, maybe. It made sense she'd be afraid, but he knew she'd power through anyway.
That
was Delia Rogers.

It didn't take a mind reader to figure out she wanted to argue with him, to threaten him in return. But either she didn't have a decent argument or she knew they didn't have the time.

She yanked her arm out of his grasp. “Seven,” she muttered, and then she strode across the highway and disappeared behind the line of pines that marked the Allsy property. Not even a quarter of a mile down, she'd take a gravel road a ways to the secluded Rogers property.

It took everything in him to get back in his truck, to let her go, not knowing what she was walking into. He drove down to Mel and Dan's house, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, stomach and gut a twist of so many emotions, he didn't know how he was going to power through this.

But she had. So he would.

There were a lot of reasons Caleb had avoided coming out here in the months since Mel and Dan had been married. The Mel and Dan love shtick made him uncomfortable, but on his own turf he could find ways to avoid it. He couldn't avoid it here, and worse…the Paulle place held a lot of not-so-great memories of his wayward youth.

Years ago, the place had been mostly deserted. There'd been parties and there'd been the night with Delia and her father. He had no desire to relive either. Not when he knew she was heading into the danger zone and he had no tools to stop it.

A paddock came into view—if that was what you called a
llama
enclosure—filled with the oddly shaped animals. Why his brother-in-law couldn't raise horses or cattle or any other remotely normal ranch animal was beyond him, but he had no room to judge.

He pulled to the end of the gravel drive, the old house standing before him. Mel and Dan had fixed up the once-abandoned place so it barely resembled what it had been back in his adolescence. That did help push away the memories. He couldn't picture where certain things had happened.

His mind swirled with thoughts of Delia with a gun to her head, her father in a pool of blood, unconscious beneath him. He didn't remember much of the time between seeing the glint of gun on Delia's temple and realizing he'd gone too far.

Or not far enough.

With a muttered curse, he parked his truck next to Mel's and forced himself out. He didn't look around, didn't let his brain trip any farther down memory lane. He walked up the porch, knocked on the door, and let himself in when Mel called, “It's open.”

He stepped into a warm kitchen, the smell of something roasting in the oven hitting him immediately. “Roast beef?”

Mel nodded with a small smile.

“How come you never made roast beef for me when you were living at home?”

“Probably because you didn't deserve it,” she returned easily, nodding to a line of pegs behind the door. “Hat and coat off.” She nodded at the ground. “And lose the boots.”

Caleb managed not to roll his eyes. After all, this was
her
house—she could do what she wanted. “So, where's the old ball and chain?”

“He had a few chores to finish up,” she replied, her focus very much on the food she was preparing. Normally, she was absorbed like this only if she was worried about something. “He'll be in soon enough. Don't get too excited.”

“Who's excited?”

Mel sighed, rubbing a hand over her stomach absently. “You know, it's bad enough, Dad not giving an inch. I would appreciate it if you at least
tried
to like Dan.”

“I like Dan just fine,” Caleb grumbled, irritated she was already on his case about something. Didn't this feel like old times? “He's at least got a sense of humor.” Which was more than Caleb could say for Tyler. Mel could have married that stick-in-the-mud and been bored and unhappy forever.

She faced him, her hands gripping the counter behind her, her expression scrunched up and weird. “You don't act like you like him. I've had to slowly work up just to getting you to come out for dinner, and I know I'm not the reason you won't come.”

Something was up with her, but he couldn't figure it out, and considering his mind was half on Delia and the hell she was getting herself into, the truth tumbled out. “Look, Dan's a pain in the ass, and you know that—have said that yourself, so you can't be offended. It's not that I don't not like the guy. The thing is, no one would ever be good enough for you. Not one guy on the face of the planet.”

Her shoulders slumped; her mouth dropped open. Then her eyes went way too shiny. “That's nice.” She sniffed.

“Are you okay? It's not like you to get all…” He waved a hand at her face, because Mel's rare tears were always a source of discomfort. He didn't know how to comfort his older sister. She'd spent so much of their lives being the one in charge, the comforter, the fixer. Her tears were always a sign the world was about to end.

Even with his life kind of on track, when he was around Mel he felt like the constant screwup kid who'd never be strong enough to deal with what had brought her to tears. He couldn't solve the world's problems—it was why he defaulted to fucking up even more.

She cleared her throat, her eyes studying him, looking for something he would never know how to give her. Reassurance. No, she'd never taken that from him.

“You're going to make a very good uncle.”

“Uncle,” he repeated stupidly, trying to make sense of the word and the hand on her stomach. “You're…pregnant.”

She nodded, chewing on her bottom lip.

He couldn't read her expression, or what she might want from him. Were you supposed to say congratulations when your sister got knocked up? Or…something else? Maybe she didn't want to be pregnant. He couldn't tell from the stoic if a little teary look on her face, but she was married to the guy she loved, so surely… “You're…happy?”

For the first time, her expression lightened. “I'm not sure I've
ever
been so happy.” She blew out a breath. “Or so completely terrified. I just…wanted to tell you first. Alone. That's why Dan's fiddling with chores. I mean, I told him first, obviously. I meant, family-wise, I wanted to tell you first.”

Christ, she was acting weird. Mel didn't stumble over her words or admit she was scared. It was enough to kick in latent instincts. “Don't be terrified. You'll be amazing.” She would be. God, she'd somehow managed to keep him alive and out of jail. Quite a feat.

“I don't…” She shook her head and turned back to the roast. “I'll try anyway,” she mumbled.

She didn't say anything about their mother, but she didn't have to. Mom leaving had always weighed on Mel differently, probably because she didn't know it was all his fault. He wanted to tell her—for the first time in his life, he wanted to explain to her that she had nothing to do with Mom leaving, that she was nothing like their mother.

But the words stuck in his throat, so he chose different ones. “You will be
amazing
. Look at all you did for me, and I was impossible.”

She jerked open the oven and pulled out the roast. “You weren't impossible. You were lost and scared. I was so busy being both myself that I didn't know how to fix it.” She plopped the roast pan down on top of the range like that was that.

But it wasn't. Not by a long shot. “It wasn't your job to fix me.” He forced himself to cross the warm, cozy kitchen and touch her shoulder. Awkward. He would always be awkward with giving affection. So why the hell was life pushing it at him at every corner?

She turned to him, smiling ruefully. “It will be my job with this one.” She pointed to her stomach, clearly…freaked, but there was a smile on her lips. Excitement and joy mixed with the fear.

Mel, of all people, should get the excitement and the joy without the fear. “You'll have lots of help. And you aren't—” How could he say it, mean it, make her understand it?

“She wasn't terrible, you know?” Mel didn't meet his gaze, but he knew who and what she meant. “And then she left.”

It's in you.
That had been Mom's parting legacy to him. “Yeah, well, she wasn't great either. But it doesn't matter, because you aren't her. You never run. Even when you tried, you didn't really, and you had to put up with the two biggest assholes on the face of the planet.” When she scowled at him, he shrugged. “Okay, I'll amend that to two biggest assholes in Blue Valley.”

“See that you do.” She swallowed and then reached out to ruffle his hair, like she used to do when he was a kid. “I'm proud of you, you know.”

The compliment caught him off guard, so much so he couldn't even find something to say to deflect it. So he'd try to ignore it and the bloom of pleasure, mixed with the cold certainty he'd fuck that up soon enough. “Let's not get all touchy-feely now. My heart of stone can't deal.”

“You
wish
you had a heart of stone.”

Didn't that hit the nail on the head? And because they were being so damn honest with each other, he agreed. “Maybe I do.” A heart of stone would make life a hell of a lot easier. His sister was married and procreating, and he still hadn't quite figured out right from wrong.