The Trouble With Cowboys (3 page)
“Amy, your panties are coming off now.”
She set her feet on his chest. “Cowboy, you better get busy before I remember why I shouldn’t be doing this.”
All right then.
He tossed the panties aside and touched the smooth, wet folds that told him she was as turned on as he was. He eased a couple fingers inside her and swirled his thumb over her clit.
Her reaction was a thing of beauty. She threw herself into the experience with the same reckless fire she seemed to do everything else with. Whimpering, she fisted the quilt, pulling it taut as he settled into a slow, steady rhythm.
“Better than celery?” he teased.
She grinned and pulled away from his touch, rising to her knees on the bed. “It’s time for your clothes to come off, cowboy.” She reached for his jeans and, with impressive one-handed skill, undid the buttons.
She shoved his jeans and boxers to his knees and wrapped her hand around his cock, then her lips. Oh, man, did it feel dynamite. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, tangled his hands in her hair, and concentrated on the friction of her wet, hot mouth against his shaft. He stopped her while he still had enough reserves to fuck her brains out the way he wanted to. Gently but firmly, he pushed her onto the bed and stripped her skirt off, then grabbed a condom from his nightstand drawer, rolling it on while she watched.
She slid her toes up his leg. “I want to ride you.”
He’d planned on being the one doing the riding, but he was a smart enough man to give a lady what she wanted. He stretched onto the bed and pulled her up to straddle him.
He drove her onto his cock with a slow upward thrust. Her head dropped forward and she braced her hands on his chest, her hair falling in sheets around her face. Her skin, damp with perspiration and flush with desire, glowed in the morning light streaming through the window. She was so pretty, he forgot about everything except giving her pleasure. Then she rotated her hips in a slow grind and took him straight to the edge of control. He clamped his teeth together and fought against his body’s demands.
“Touch me.” Her voice was low, thick.
His hand trembling with his wavering control, he burrowed a finger against her clit. She gasped her approval as she moved, her hips rocking them both straight to the finish line.
Kellan held himself inside her until the last pulses of his orgasm faded away, then, panting and sated, he eased her to his side and tucked her into the crook of his arm. Just as he was congratulating himself on being the man to help Amy Sorentino relax, she shot from the bed like someone had stuck her with a cattle prod.
“Rule number one,” she shrieked.
They were back to that, were they? Kellan propped a pillow behind his head and regarded her with lazy interest as she hopped around, trying to stick her feet though her panties. “What’s rule number one?”
She shot him a withering glare, like he was guilty of some heinous crime against humanity. “Rule number one is to stay away from cowboys.”
Her admission was so unexpected, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “That rule doesn’t seem to be working for you. What’s rule number two?”
She pulled her skirt on. “Go to church every Sunday.”
“Seems like your priorities are messed up if the cowboy rule trumps church.”
The lacy black bra went on next and he bid a silent farewell to her fantastic rack.
“True, but there’s a much greater likelihood of me making it to church, with or without the rule book, than me staying away from—” She lifted her sweater over her head and sniffed her arm. “Ugh. I smell like sex. I can’t face my sisters like this, not to mention the lawyer. I have to take a shower.” She wrestled her clothes back off and stomped in the direction of his bathroom.
No doubt about it, Amy Sorentino was adorable. And sexy as hell. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, slipped his jeans over his hips, and headed for the hall linen closet. Grabbing the towel on top, he let himself in through the closed bathroom door.
“Brought you a towel, but something tells me you’re not going to let me wash your hair.”
“Back off, cowboy. I had a moment of weakness, but I have myself under control again.”
“I hate to burst your bubble, but I consider myself more of a rancher than a cowboy.”
“I can’t hear you,” she hollered, ducking her head under the water. He chuckled again and left her to scrub the sex off her body in peace. He, for one, wanted the smell of her to linger on his skin all day long.
Ten minutes later, when she sprinted into the kitchen, he had her celery ready to go in a plastic grocery bag. She peeked inside, sighing. “I’ll take those onions, too, if you can be fast about it.”
He must have been feeling merciful, or at least extremely satisfied, because he didn’t even consider teasing her. “You got it.” He walked to the pantry and rummaged through a bin. “What’s rule number three?”
“Apologize when I know I should.”
Good rule. One he wished he were better at. He dropped three fat, golden onions in her bag. “Does that happen a lot?”
She hustled out the door, speed-walking so fast she was almost running. “More than I like, that’s for sure.”
Kellan’s time with Amy was coming to a close. He jogged ahead and planted himself in front of her car door. “May I at least get your phone number?”
She went still. “What?”
“We still have business to discuss.”
She smacked her forehead and seemed to wilt a little. “Oh my gosh. I forgot about the beef contract. This is why I need rules.” She wrung the handles of the bag. “Just so you know, I didn’t sleep with you so you’d give me some sort of deal on beef. I’m not . . . I mean—” Regret dropped like a rock in his gut. Why couldn’t he have kept his hands to himself until they’d solidified a contract to avoid all this awkward misunderstanding? Apparently, Amy wasn’t the only one who needed rules.
“I know, Amy. It’s okay. I needed a little stress relief too. No big deal. We’ll work out a business arrangement just fine.”
Her spine steeled again, her shoulders squared. “Good. I’ll have my sister Jenna call you about the contract.”
He knew Jenna Sorentino as a neighbor, and could easily work out a supplier contract with her, but no way was he about to let Amy weasel her way out of meeting with him again that easily. “I don’t want to talk to Jenna. How about you come over one night this week and I’ll fix you dinner.”
Whoa, boy. That came out sounding more like a date than he intended. Last thing he wanted was to give her the wrong impression. A little harmless sex was one thing, but he wasn’t in the market for a relationship and probably needed to make sure Amy was clear on that point as well. He was confident they could come to a mutually beneficial understanding. Such as neighbors did who occasionally got together for a little stress relief when the mood struck.
“No way in hell is that going to happen.” She shouldered him out of the way. He could’ve held his ground, but wasn’t in the practice of overpowering women. “What part of rule number one do you find so hard to grasp?”
“For the record, I wholeheartedly object to rule number one.”
If she heard him, she gave no indication as she jumped behind the wheel, slammed the door, and barreled forward. At the edge of the driveway, the car skidded to a halt. After a considerable pause, she reversed it, her window opening. Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “I apologize. That was rude.”
It was hard work, not smiling. Actually, looking at the earnest expression on Amy’s face, Kellan wanted to rip her door open and kiss her senseless. He didn’t think that would go over too well. Instead, he leaned in through the open window and managed to keep a straight face. “Apology accepted.”
“I’ll have Jenna call you about the contract.”
“You do that.” He’d just have to politely explain to Jenna that he’d only deal directly with Amy. Over dinner.
She rolled her tongue along the inside of her lip. “Thank you for the celery . . . and the other thing.”
“You’re welcome.” And because he knew it would rile her, he planted a big kiss on her pursed lips, praying she didn’t raise the window and choke him. Lucky for him, she merely squeaked in protest. “Bye, Amy. I’ll see you soon.”
“Cowboys, ugh,” she muttered as her window rolled up. Then she shot out of his driveway like his house was on fire.
Chapter 2
Amy pushed through the squeaky front door of her house and stopped in the foyer, inhaling deeply. The space smelled of Christmas and daily living, of the bacon and Gruyère omelets she’d prepared for her sisters and nephew that morning, of evergreen and the dust of heirloom holiday decorations that had long since passed their prime. It smelled of home.
Jenna, five years Amy’s junior, had done an amazing job sprucing the house up for their new business. The front room had been rearranged to accommodate a welcome desk for the inn’s guests, and a large, ornately decorated Christmas tree commanded attention near the front window. A smattering of family photos remained on the bookshelves, but now, instead of rows of photo albums and their father’s favorite books, the shelves housed tomes of New Mexico photographs and guidebooks of the state’s points of interest.
Although the sisters would soon be sharing the house with strangers, the rooms guarded the secrets of its history. The couch she, Jenna, and their older sister Rachel hid behind during hide-and-seek. The spindly-legged side table Amy once knocked over in her hurry to answer the door when her date, Bucky Schultz, a junior rodeo champ, pulled into their driveway in his father’s truck. The gash in the hardwood floor from the time Rachel, after receiving a pony as a tenth birthday gift, dragged her new saddle across the floor because she couldn’t stand the idea of parting with it overnight.
The floor creaked under her boots as she deposited her purse in the coat closet, a hollow sound that reminded Amy she was alone. Being that it was eleven o’clock in the morning, Rachel would be tending to the endless demands of the farm’s maintenance. Jenna, probably the same, only with her son, Tommy, in tow.
This was a new experience for Amy, being alone in her family’s house during the day. Until she graduated high school, she worked seven days a week with Rachel, their father, and various hired hands to keep their alfalfa business afloat. Before Tommy, Jenna had never lifted a finger to help, and their mom was usually preoccupied, dosing herself with prescription downers or hiding from the world in her darkened bedroom.
Increasingly often, Dad had been preoccupied too, off on some lark of a moneymaking scheme, and the responsibilities of the farm had shifted onto Rachel’s and Amy’s shoulders. Then Amy, bursting with the need to escape the crushing pressure of the farm, fled New Mexico for a culinary academy in New York, leaving a twenty-one-year-old Rachel alone with the burden.
With the clack of her boots echoing in the stillness, she strode through the den-slash-dining room. Jenna had removed the dividing wall and refurbished the space as the restaurant’s dining hall, with long communal tables locally crafted from weathered barn doors. She skirted the tables and pushed through the door into the kitchen. Her domain. Always had been, even in the years before Tommy’s birth, when Amy rarely made it home for a visit.
Resenting the inevitable clashes with Rachel and unwilling to witness her mother’s mood swings or her father’s money spending, Amy couldn’t even bring herself to show up for Christmas, often volunteering to spearhead holiday brunch at the restaurants she worked at so people with children and close-knit families could be together.
Tommy, Jenna’s son, had changed Amy’s priorities. The little blond-haired baby breathed new energy into everyone’s lives. On holidays and Tommy’s birthdays, Amy learned to endure Rachel and her parents for the sake of harmony, though a lot of teeth gnashing and silent counting had been involved. And now, with both her parents gone in their own ways, she felt blessed to have had that time with them. Still, regret clawed at her. So much time lost, so many things she’d do differently. But she was home for keeps now, stronger this time, less selfish. Ready to fight for her family’s survival.
She unloaded the celery and onions from the bag, then picked up her knife. She pet the blunt end of the blade with her fingertips, then angled it so the light from the window above the sink glinted off it, creating a rainbow of color and light against the far wall. “Ready?” she whispered, smiling, as she wrapped her fingers around the hilt. Light shimmered on it in response.
Squaring her hips to the counter, she separated the ribs of celery, took a cleansing breath, and began to dice.
The rhythmic
snap-snap-snap
of the blade on the board soothed her as much as the steady, repetitive motion. Her shoulders relaxed, the world with all its stresses fell away, and soon the cutting board was covered with mounds of tiny, perfect, green cubes. Beautiful.
snap-snap-snap
of the blade on the board soothed her as much as the steady, repetitive motion. Her shoulders relaxed, the world with all its stresses fell away, and soon the cutting board was covered with mounds of tiny, perfect, green cubes. Beautiful.
Halfway through the second bunch of celery, though, something terrible happened. Amy’s mind locked implacably on Kellan Reed. The celery got her thinking of how grateful she was to have acquired it, which led to the memory of Kellan at the Quick Stand, with his patronizing smile and lazy drawl. From there, it was a mere skip of the mind to the feel of his lips on hers, the dark look of need in his eyes when they reached his bedroom, and the hard plane of his chest against her palms when she rode him.
A small, stinging pain sizzled up her arm. She sucked a breath in through her teeth and watched a drop of blood trickle over her knuckle from the side of her finger. She’d nicked herself.
“Cowboys,” she cursed, turning to the sink to run the cut under water.
Once again, she’d allowed herself to be distracted by sexy boots and the next thing she knew, she’d been hurt. One could postulate that, after being humiliated by a two-faced cowboy on
Ultimate Chef Showdown,
Amy would’ve learned her lesson. Guess she wasn’t that smart. In fact, the way she’d courted trouble by catapulting herself into Kellan’s bed, she was getting stupider by the day. With her family home on the line, the last thing Amy needed in her life was more cowboy trouble. Especially with a potential business associate.
Ultimate Chef Showdown,
Amy would’ve learned her lesson. Guess she wasn’t that smart. In fact, the way she’d courted trouble by catapulting herself into Kellan’s bed, she was getting stupider by the day. With her family home on the line, the last thing Amy needed in her life was more cowboy trouble. Especially with a potential business associate.
“What’s wrong?” Rachel stood in the threshold, her cheeks red and filmed with perspiration, her shirt crumpled and her brown hair flat, probably due to one of the utilitarian sun hats she wore while working.
With her finger under the stream of water, Amy shrugged. “No biggie. I cut myself.”
“You okay?”
“Yes. Happens all the time.”
“Then why do you look so upset?”
Because I let another damned cowboy get under my skin.
“I’m mad at myself for getting distracted is all.”
“I’m mad at myself for getting distracted is all.”
The explanation must have worked for Rachel. Or maybe, after their heated conversation the previous night, she was walking on eggshells the same way Amy was. She nodded and pushed off the door frame. “First-aid kit’s in the right drawer of the bathroom. You need my help patching that finger?”
“No. Thanks anyway.”
“Then I’m going to shower so we can get to the lawyer meeting on time.”
“Where’s Jenna?” Amy called after her.
“Dropping Tommy off at the sitter.” Rachel’s voice sounded from the stairwell. “She’ll meet us out front at noon.”
With the weekend chore list at the farm as long as the weekday one, Amy hadn’t had much face time with her sisters—not counting their failed attempt at a calm discussion about their mom’s care the night before—so she welcomed the three-hour drive to Albuquerque as a chance to make peace and reconnect with them before they needed to show a united front to the lawyer.
Her gaze drifted to the stack of paperwork on the table, proof of their mother’s complete and irreversible mental collapse. A whole pile of evidence, from letters by her doctors to bank statements, proving Bethany Sorentino had permanently lost the capacity to care for herself. Though this latest legal development had been coming on for nearly a year, Amy still felt the heavy drag of sadness every time she thought about what happened to her mom.
She wrapped her injured finger in a paper towel and grabbed a bowl for the diced celery. Out back, the four sows squealed at her approach and jutted their heads through the slats of their pen, clamoring for the unexpected treat.
She tipped the celery into the trough. “Here you go, ladies.
Bon appétit
.” They jostled for position, grunting enthusiastically as they chowed down. “And you might as well know up front, you’re going to be dining on a lot of celery from now on. You can bank on it.”
Bon appétit
.” They jostled for position, grunting enthusiastically as they chowed down. “And you might as well know up front, you’re going to be dining on a lot of celery from now on. You can bank on it.”
At noon, Amy climbed into the backseat of Jenna’s car. Rachel, as bossy as she’d always been, took the wheel. Jenna rode shotgun.
Amy patted the empty car seat next to her. “Who’s watching Tommy?”
“Charlene Delgado,” Jenna answered. “She works the early shift at the Quick Stand on Saturday, so she was available. She badgered me about hiring her granddaughter instead because she’s in college and needs the money, but Tommy’s at a tricky age and I trust Charlene to handle him. She’s the best babysitter in Catcher Creek.”
Rachel glanced at Amy through the rearview mirror. “You remember Charlene? She used to babysit us too.”
“We were reacquainted this morning.”
Jenna snickered. “Charlene told me about your great celery search.”
“I’m sure she did. If I’d known it would be so hard to find, I would have stockpiled it in Albuquerque after I flew in.”
Jenna twisted, raising a brow in Amy’s direction. “Good thing Kellan Reed was there to rescue you.”
Amy sank deeper into the seat. “Yup.”
“Charlene said he offered to give you his . . . business.”
Leave it to Jenna to add up the facts faster than a Mensa applicant. “Yup.”
Jenna straightened forward, but Amy saw the bunch of her cheek that meant she was grinning like a madwoman. “I bet he gave it to you and then some.”
A remark like that could only be answered with physical violence. Amy leaned forward and yanked Jenna’s ponytail. She yelped and held her hair off to the side, out of Amy’s reach, giggling under her breath.
Thank goodness Rachel didn’t have an ear for nuance. Jenna’s teasing implication sailed right over her head. Desperate for a subject change, Amy smoothed the binder of legal documents and medical evaluations on her lap. “What we’re doing today, it’s so surreal. I feel like we’re conceding defeat by admitting that Mom’ll never get better.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do, but if we want our farm to be around to see Tommy grow up, this is our only choice,” Rachel said.
“You’re right, I know. With Amarex Petroleum breathing down our necks, we’ve put this off for too long already. How much is this lawyer costing us?”
“One-fifty an hour,” Jenna said.
“We’re paying a lawyer $150.00 an hour to help us legally take on a potential lawsuit and thousands of dollars of Mom’s debt?”
“One-fifty is a bargain. You should’ve heard some of the quotes I got. And besides, it’s Dad’s debt we’re taking over. Mom had nothing to do with it.”
“That’s the truth,” Amy muttered.
The car went quiet. After a while, Amy cracked her window and stuck her fingers into the crisp air, humming in appreciation of the view of the high desert flatlands carpeted with deep green shrubs and cacti, and the red-sand tops of the distant mesas spotted with a thin dusting of snow. And she adored gawking at the tourist shops, motels, and eateries looking to capitalize on the nostalgic appeal of Old Route 66. The neon signs and kitschy themes filled her with a bubbling sense of optimism and sparked her imagination with stories of the people behind each quaint business.
“Amy?” It was Rachel, sounding serious, which could only mean one thing. Damn it all, she had some nerve kicking up the embers again. “I know we got into it last night and our tempers got the best of us, but I want to make sure you—”
“—like I told you, I’m here for the long haul. I understand becoming Mom’s legal guardian means I can’t leave again and I’m fine with that. More than fine, actually. Besides, it’s pointless to debate it. We signed papers to start the restaurant and secured loans months ago. We set a grand opening date and alerted the media. The wheels are in motion. There’s no turning back for any of us.”
“We ought to change the farm’s name to Hail Mary,” Rachel grumbled.
Jenna propped her elbow on the seat. “I can’t believe you two are cutting me out of this conversation again.”
“We’re not having this conversation again. That’s my point,” Amy said.
Rachel let out an exasperated sigh. “We’re not cutting you out of anything, Jenna. We’ve gone over this dozens of times. You have Tommy to worry about, so you can’t drop everything at a moment’s notice and race to Albuquerque every time Mom has a health scare. But Amy can, because she has a flexible schedule. And it makes sense for me to take over Mom’s estate.”
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