Bull By The Horns [Wayback Texas] Page 6

  "Can you what?"

  She tugged his shirt in opposite directions, but instead of the ripple of unsnapping buttons, she heard the ripping of fabric.

  He stepped back and stared at his shredded shirt. The snaps of his shirt had held stronger than the soft fabric, which now hung in tatters on either side of his placket, baring his hard-muscled bare chest.

  Lavender raised her hand to her mouth and her eyes to his. “I'm so sorry! I thought it would just unsnap! I'll buy you a new one."

  The glint in his eyes promised retribution. A thrill sparked her blood and she edged away from him, sliding free and bolting toward the back of the trailer, and presumably, the bedroom. She squealed when he chased her, caught her around the waist and fell with her to the bed.

  "Turnabout's fair play."

  She squirmed underneath him, making his eyes go dark again. “No, please don't! I love this blouse."

  He slid his hands from the hem to the waist of her jeans.

  "And these jeans. Please, don't, Taylor."

  He slipped his fingers under the waistband and found the silky fabric of her panties. He lifted his eyebrows in question.

  "No, no! These are the only sexy panties I have, and you know there's no place to get them here in Wayback!"

  "Sexy, hm?” He rubbed the fabric between his fingers.

  "Well, as in, not cotton."

  "This I have to see for myself."

  He pulled her upright and stripped her blouse over her head as she pushed his ruined shirt from his shoulders. His eyes glinted at the sight of her full breasts in her best black lace bra and he dragged his mouth from the underside of her chin, down her throat and over the curves, pressing kisses between them, lifting them in his hands, his thumbs sliding over her nipples. Heat shot straight to her core at the caress, then he closed his mouth over one lace-clad nipple, drawing it into his mouth, hot and eager, suckling, then abandoning it for the other.

  Just when she slid her hand up to close over the back of his head to hold him to her, he lifted his head and reached for the waistband of her jeans. She returned the favor, tugging his belt open, then diving for his button fly.

  "Can I trust you?” he asked solemnly, dropping to his side facing her.

  "I told you it's been awhile. I may be a little overeager."

  "I like overeager.” He let her skim his jeans down his legs and started peeling hers, panties and all.

  So much for picking her sexy underwear.

  But he made her feel so good, not self-conscious at all, as she'd feared. He made her laugh, and he made her ache, and then he made her come, his fingers quick and skilled, and he dragged out the sensation before she begged him to fill her. He reached across the bed to fumble in a drawer with one hand while he unhooked her bra with the other. The rustle of cellophane filled the tiny room as he nuzzled her breast, suckling, stroking. She reached between them for his erection and he gasped against her skin when she closed her fingers around him, stroked slowly, learning him, learning what pleased him. Which seemed to be everything, judging by his breathing.

  He lifted his head and pressed the open condom into her hand. “Don't rip this, too."

  "Why? Aren't there more?"

  "There's more."

  "Thank God,” she murmured, and sheathed him. Then she parted for him and cried out as he filled her slowly, slowly, waiting for her body to accept him before he started moving. He cradled her face in his hands and looked at her when he started to move.

  Then she was moving too, and they found a rhythm, only to lose it and find another, then another.

  "I'm fine if you want to lead this time,” he teased.

  "I don't remember how."

  He withdrew and rolled onto his back, reaching for her. “You'll figure it out."

  Never would she have thought she would have the confidence to be on top, not with a young, handsome cowboy. How had he managed to melt her resistance, her self-consciousness? But this wasn't just a young, handsome cowboy. This was Taylor, and she brought him into her, dragging a moan from both of them. He didn't touch her until she found a rhythm that suited both of them, then he closed his hands over her hips and surged into her, matching her movements.

  "I don't think I can—"

  "Oh, yes, you can.” And he dipped his thumb between them, dragging it along that bundle of nerves and bringing her to a shattering orgasm before tumbling her onto her back and driving into her, finding his own pleasure before collapsing over her.

  * * * *

  "I hate sending you home.” Taylor lay on his side, one hand propped under his head as he watched Lavender gather her scattered clothes and put them on again.

  She was still shaking from their second go-round, and knew if she didn't leave now, she wouldn't. And boy, wouldn't that cause all kinds of problems.

  "I hate leaving,” she murmured, afraid to look at him. “What time are you heading out tomorrow?"

  "Early."

  A lump formed in her throat. “So I won't see you again."

  "I'll be back in three weeks."

  She made herself turn to him then. “I don't need promises.” But God, she wanted them.

  "Lavender.” He rolled to his feet, pulled on his jeans without his jockeys, and reached for her.

  She let him pull her close, tucked her head under his chin. “I'm not kidding myself about what this is. I know there's not a future."

  "But it doesn't have to already be the past, either. I'll be back in three weeks. I'll want to see you."

  She eased back and placed her fingers over his lips. She'd heard it all before. “No promises, Taylor, okay? Thank you.” She pulled out of his arms, hating how empty she felt without him wrapped around her. “This is the most fun I've had in ages. The whole weekend, not just tonight. Thank you.” And before she could start bawling, she hurried out the door.

  She wondered how debauched she looked when she came in the front door of the house. Just when she was about to reassure herself that her grandmother wouldn't see her ‘til the morning—well, later in the morning—she heard raised voices coming from the kitchen.

  "Mrs. Aguilar?” she asked, rounding the corner.

  And stopped short to see a strange woman facing off with Gertrude.

  Okay, not strange, just unexpected.

  "Mother? What are you doing here?"

  Eleanor Prouty turned to look at her daughter, her expression softening from the mutinous look she'd given her mother. “Lavender! Have you been out?"

  Out, and she smelled like Taylor. Oops. She didn't duck fast enough and Eleanor enveloped her in her arms. Lavender did not return the embrace, and Eleanor withdrew, nostrils flared just enough to tell Lavender she smelled Taylor on her.

  Refusing to be ashamed of her behavior, Lavender crossed the room to the refrigerator with a glance at her grandmother. Gertrude was pale, her face set stubbornly, her eyes trained on her daughter. Wishing for a beer, instead Lavender pulled out a pitcher of water and poured herself a glass with shaking hands before turning back to face her mother.

  "What are you doing here?” she repeated.

  "I didn't think I needed an invitation to my own home."

  "This hasn't been your home for awhile. And why come in the middle of the night? How long has it been?"

  She didn't have to ask. She knew to the day—four years, three months, a week and four days. She just wondered if Eleanor was aware.

  "Too long.” Eleanor tried for a soothing tone but it had no effect on Lavender.

  "Are you hiding from someone? Or just running away again?"

  Eleanor's expression hardened into a replica of Gertrude's. “You are just like your grandmother."

  Lavender bit back the desire to say she wouldn't be if Eleanor hadn't abandoned her to care for Gertrude all these years, but that would only hurt her grandmother, and she couldn't do that, no matter how she hurt.

  She took inventory of her mother. Eleanor looked worn out, her long hair graying from roots to ears, e
xhaustion dragging at her face. She'd gained weight, so the gypsy skirt she wore stretched over her hips, and her battered sandals displayed equally battered feet. What had her mother been doing the past four years? Did she really want to know, or did that give her mother too much power?

  "I just came to see the two of you, see how you were doing."

  "We're fine. Does that mean you'll leave now?"

  "Why do you hate me so much?"

  "I don't hate you. I don't feel anything for you. You are nothing to me.” Liar, liar, liar. She didn't hate her mother, that was true. But seeing her raised all kinds of hope, hope she hadn't let herself experience in four years. And in two years before that. And five years before that. She took a deep breath. “How long are you staying this time?"

  "As long as you'll have me."

  Lavender buried the hope those words raised. Hope that she could visit Taylor in Alpine, hope that she could move forward with her life, give some of her responsibilities back over to her mother.

  She set the glass down on the counter. “Well. The sheets on your bed haven't been changed in awhile, but otherwise the room is ready. Church is at nine.” Lavender crossed the room to kiss her grandmother's cheek, nodded to her mother, and headed up the stairs.

  * * * *

  Lavender dropped into the pew at church the next morning. Eleanor's sudden appearance had one benefit. She commandeered the gossip that would have focused on Lavender and her behavior at the Blue Bug last night. She had no illusions her actions would remain secret from Gertrude, but she was grateful for the reprieve.

  Eleanor made her way to the seat beside her and Lavender struggled to balance her emotions. The little girl in her was excited to see her mother, more a fun relative than parent. Another part of her also held a childlike hope that her mother would step in, take over her own responsibilities, freeing Lavender.

  For what? To chase Taylor to Alpine? She wouldn't do that, even if she could.

  Who was she kidding? They'd had one night, that was it. No telling if he ever wanted to see her again, if he even wanted her to come to Alpine.

  Still lost in her own thoughts after the service, Lavender wandered out of church with vague greetings to her neighbors and the minister. Her focus sharpened on a white horse trailer hitched to a battered blue Ford pick-up. And the long, lean cowboy with his arms folded over his chest, leaning against the fender. Her heart kicked hard, but she schooled her steps, excusing herself from her mother and grandmother to cross the lot toward him.

  He'd had his gaze on her since she walked out of the church but he only straightened when she was a car length away. She wanted to throw herself against him but was too aware of her family no doubt watching. His eyes flicked behind her, confirming her suspicions.

  "I thought you'd be on the road already,” she said, stopping a few feet away, close enough to smell him but not close enough to be tempted to touch.

  "I thought you might want to say goodbye to Angelina.” He inclined his head toward the far side of the trailer, away from the curious eyes of the congregation.

  "Yes, I would,” she murmured, her pulse picking up as she followed him.

  Once they were out of sight, he spun and caught her in a fluid move, scooping his hand under her hair and covering her mouth with his. Only a moment passed before she overcame her surprise and parted her lips, sliding her palms across his shoulders, pressing against him, wanting the feel of him against her.

  "I wanted to say goodbye,” he said, easing back just enough to look into her eyes, his fingers still threading through her hair.

  She tilted her head and smiled. “You said goodbye last night."

  "That was last night."

  "How did you know where to find me?"

  "I checked each of the churches until I saw your car.” He inclined his head toward her Toyota.

  Surprise and pleasure bubbled up in her. She hadn't even realized he knew her car. They'd only known each other three days.

  "Who's that with Gertrude?"

  She followed his gaze between the truck and the trailer to where Eleanor stood on the steps, in the same clothes she'd been wearing last night. Lavender hadn't even seen her bring in any luggage, but then, Lavender had other things on her mind.

  "My mother showed up last night."

  He raised his eyebrows. “Not good news?"

  She sighed. “That remains to be seen. Usually, no."

  He stroked his fingers down her cheek and kissed her again, slowly, regretfully. “I've got to go."

  She squeezed his shoulders, not wanting to release him. “It's harder to say goodbye today than it was last night."

  Something flickered in his eyes and she instantly wished she hadn't said anything.

  "I'll be back in three weeks,” he said, releasing her and backing toward the cab of his truck. She folded her arms in front of her and watched as he drove off with a wave out the driver's side window.

  And then he was gone and she was left to face the congregation, all lined on the sidewalk, watching.

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  Chapter Eight

  "You did get in late last night,” Gertrude chided when the three women filed into the house after a silent ride from church.

  Lavender rubbed a hand over her stomach as if that would relieve the tension tightening it. “You didn't notice this last night?” She was determined to remain casual about this as she walked to the fridge for eggs and sausage.

  "I didn't realize you'd been making a fool of yourself with a rodeo cowboy."

  Lavender bent over to retrieve the cast iron skillet from the cabinet beneath the stove, struggling to find words to defend herself. Heck, why should she have to defend herself? “Why shouldn't I have some fun?"

  "Having fun is one thing, but making yourself an idiot over a man is something else.” Gertrude gave her daughter a pointed look, which Eleanor ignored as she spooned coffee into the filter. “Has he promised he'll be back?"

  This time, Lavender glanced at her mother. “I know better than to believe those promises."

  "It's different with a man, when sex is involved,” Gertrude said in the most matter-of-fact tone Lavender had ever heard her use.

  Lavender's face heated. She did not want to discuss sex with her mother and grandmother. She never had in the past and didn't want to start now, with the memory of Taylor's touch so fresh.

  "Do you want breakfast or not?” Lavender clanged the pan against the burners. “I have a right to a life, to not being lonely, okay? I deserve to be held, to be touched, to feel beautiful and wanted. And if I never see him again, if he never comes back, I have how he made me feel last night."

  Gertrude sat at the table, her jaw set. “You've already been hurt so much."

  "No one has that power anymore.” But even as she said it to the two women who stared at her, she knew it wasn't true. Taylor had already breached her defenses.

  * * * *

  Taylor pulled his truck up in the circular drive in front of his ranch house, shut off the ignition and just sat.

  He'd never had a hard time leaving an event, never spent an entire drive thinking about the woman he left behind.

  What was different about Lavender?

  Her acceptance of him, for one thing. After her initial reluctance to get to know him, she hadn't cared that he was a rodeo rider, didn't know about his former life, just accepted him for who he was.

  That made it easy to be with her, to tease her, to coax out that pretty smile, that fun personality that seemed to be buried under all those layers of loneliness.

  He looked through the dirty windshield at the mountains edging his ranch, framing his dream house.

  His empty dream house. God, he knew what loneliness was.

  He pulled the door handle and shoved his shoulder against the truck door. It creaked open and his housekeeper appeared on the wraparound porch, wiping her hands on her jeans, glancing at the truck in alarm. He didn't usually park this truck up here, usually
left it at the stables with the trailer, but he had been too weary to walk up from the stables.

  "Mr. Creighton? Are you all right? We were getting worried. Are you hungry? Dinner will be in a couple of hours, but if you need—"

  He held up a hand to stop the flow of words and hefted his bag onto his shoulder. “I'll just get a sandwich or something later, Mrs. Bennigan. Don't go to any trouble."

  Her lips tightened in disapproval, reminding him of Gertrude. “It's what you pay me for.” She reached for his duffle.

  He relinquished it reluctantly. What would she think of the shirt Lavender had shredded? She'd probably throw it away and think he was a man-whore. At the last minute, he closed his hand around the strap.

  "There's a few things I need out of here."

  "I'll bring them to you."

  "I'll just toss the clothes in the hamper.” He shifted the duffle back onto his shoulder.

  "Mr. Creighton? Is something wrong? Are you feeling all right?"

  "I'm good.” But he stopped and looked over what passed for a front lawn. “Do you think roses would grow out here?"

  * * * *

  "I figured it out!” Jerri burst into Lavender's classroom after the morning announcements, waving a magazine.

  Lavender looked up, startled, from tying Bethany's shoe. “What?” She straightened, her focus on the magazine.

  "I knew I'd seen your cowboy somewhere.” Jerri jabbed a finger at the picture.

  Lavender took the teen magazine. And there, in the middle of five young men known as Crushin', Taylor Craig smiled up at her, with a very white, very fake smile.

  "He was in a boy band!” Jerri blurted, as if Lavender couldn't see the page in front of her. “I'd seen an interview not too long ago on one of those entertainment shows, you know, and they were talking about how Crushin’ was going to get back together and they showed Taylor's picture and said he couldn't be reached. He's the only hold-out, I think. They're even going back on tour, can you believe it?"

  Lavender lowered herself slowly to the edge of one of the tables, oblivious to the children, only staring at the fake Taylor smile. Taylor Creighton was the name he went by then. He'd liked romantic dinners on the beach, mint chocolate chip ice cream and girls who had the natural look.