Caught Up in a Cowboy, page 24
His eyes squeezed tightly shut then opened, and he stared into hers with an intensity that had a million sparks of heat licking at her spine. “I want to be with you with every fiber of my being. I want to hold you and kiss you. Hell, I want to tear your clothes off right now and take you against the wall of this barn.”
Heat, warm and molten, surged through her veins. She wanted him too. And this time, she was going after what she wanted.
She hadn’t stood up for herself before.
All those years ago, Rock had left, but she had let him walk away. She hadn’t gone after him. She’d reacted in defense and tried to hurt him back instead of digging in her heels and fighting for him.
She pushed back her shoulders, narrowing her eyes as she stared deep into his, trying to convey the depth of her emotion. There was no tremble in her voice this time.
This time, her words came out not as a request, but as a command. “If you still want me, then take me.”
He stared at her, indecision clouding his eyes, then the hand holding her cheek skimmed down and around her neck at the same time his other hand slid around her waist. He pulled her to him, yanking her against his chest as his lips crushed hers, taking her mouth in a passionate assault.
Her arms wound around his neck, and her fingers tunneled through his hair.
The tiniest of moans escaped her lips, and she arched her back, pressing into him, giving herself to him. Giving him everything.
His one hand clutched her neck, and the other moved roughly over her back and down her hip, cupping her butt and pulling her tightly against him.
She felt his groin harden, and she pressed closer, aching for the delicious friction.
His tongue pushed between her lips, pillaging her mouth as he feasted on her, tasting her, devouring her.
And she loved it. Wanted it. Wanted him.
Her body responded to his with its own desire, her nipples tightening and her breasts swelling with need. Her legs threatened to buckle, and she melted against him, holding on as if she were drowning and he was the only thing that could save her.
He could have done anything he wanted to her—could have peeled off her clothes and taken her on the barn’s workbench or laid her down on a bed of hay in one of the empty stables.
Instead, he’d stripped her bare, laid open her soul as she’d confessed her feelings for him, then he pushed her away.
Gasping for air, he held on to her shoulder, holding her away from him as his face contorted in pain. “Stop. I can’t. We can’t. We can’t do this.”
What?
“Why? What’s wrong?”
Suddenly, a thought hit her, slammed into her like a Mack truck flying down the highway at seventy miles an hour. A terrible, awful thought.
She tried to speak but couldn’t say the words.
Pulling back, she let his hand drop from her arm. Her mouth had gone dry, her throat constricted. She swallowed, then choked out, “Is there…is there someone else?”
His shoulders fell forward, slumping in defeat as he hung his head.
His voice was barely a whisper. “Yes. There is.”
Chapter 21
Quinn’s heart felt like it had stopped beating.
Frozen in place, all she could do was blink as his words burrowed through her shocked brain. There was someone else? But then why did he…? How could he…?
Before her mind went to all the dark places of who this other woman was and what she and Rock had done the past week, Fury stepped in, pushing the hurt defensively behind her as she championed for Quinn. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she spat. “You’ve been sleeping with me while you’re committed to another woman?”
His expression softened. “Geez, Quinn. No, of course not. It’s not like that. It’s not another woman. I wouldn’t do that to you. But there is someone else. Someone I’m thinking of. That I’m trying to think of. Someone who deserves something better.”
She was so confused. Her emotions were tumbling like they were being spun in a mixer. “What are you talking about? Who?”
“Max.”
Her breath caught, and she brought her hand up to cover her mouth, a shudder of emotion ripping through her chest.
Max?
Not another woman. But her son?
“Max? Why? What does my son have to do with this? I thought you liked him.”
“I do. I love that kid. I know that sounds crazy. He’s not mine, but this last week, spending time with him, with you both, I completely fell in love with the little guy. He climbed right into my heart, and that’s why we can’t do this. Why I can’t do this. I can’t do this to him.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“No. You wouldn’t. That’s because you’re not a young boy that’s had to grow up without his dad.”
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, feeling his words like a slap to the face.
“I’m not saying you haven’t done a great job. Max is an amazing kid, and so much of that is attributed to you and how you’ve raised him. But he has a chance to have his dad in his life, and I can’t be the one to screw up that chance.”
“His dad? What are you talking about? This is about Monty? Rock, you’re not making any sense.”
“I saw you, okay. I saw you through the window last night when I brought the books and the LEGOs for Max.”
“I knew they were from you.”
“Who else did you think they were from?”
“Max assumed that Monty brought them, and he didn’t do anything to correct that assumption.”
A muscle twitched in Rock’s clenched jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. Those were really thoughtful gifts, and Max loved them. Why didn’t you give them to him yourself?”
“I was going to. But then I saw you through the window. You were all three sitting on the floor, playing with the dog. I could hear Max giggling, and you…” He paused and swallowed. “You were laughing too. You looked like a family, a real family, and it struck me, in that moment, that that’s what you would look like if I weren’t around.”
“But you are around.”
“Not really. Not all the time. I have this whole other life. My career. I don’t even live here. I still have the team, and I’m gone all the time. I’m not even home long enough to have a dog. I’ve made a lot of selfish decisions in my life, things that affected not just me, but other people around me, people I cared about. People I loved. And I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I don’t want to be that selfish guy who only cares about himself.”
“But what about me? Do I even get a say in this matter?”
“No.” His voice was soft but stern. “Because your say doesn’t matter. The only one who matters is Max.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “I know. I know what it’s like to grow up without a dad. And I don’t want Max to know what that feels like.”
“But what about us? What about everything that’s happened between us the past week?”
“This last week has been amazing. And maybe things would have been different if Hill hadn’t shown up when he did.” He reached his hand out, as if to touch her, then changed his mind and let it fall. “Hell, I know they would have been. But he did show up. And he’s here now, and he’s making it pretty clear that he wants to be in Max’s life. So, it doesn’t matter what I want, or even what you want. It matters what’s best for that sweet kid.”
How could she argue with his logic? He was making perfect sense. To her head. But all her heart heard was that he was leaving. That he was walking away from her again.
“We can work this out.”
“I am trying to work this out. I’ve been thinking about this for days. And this is the answer. The only answer. The thing that is best for Max. He’s a great kid, Q. You’ve done an amazing job with him. You’re a great mom. But a kid needs a mom and a dad. And Hill is stepping up and trying to be there. And as much as I can’t stand the guy, my opinion doesn’t matter. So far, he’s proven he wants to be a father to his kid.”
She rolled her eyes. “After eight years of ignoring him.”
“I hear you. But he’s here now.”
“He’s only been here for a few days.”
He pounded his fist onto the workbench again. “Damn it, I’m trying to think about someone besides myself. I’m trying to be a better man than I’ve been in the past. Don’t make this harder on me than it already is.”
She winced and tried to take a step back, but he reached for her, pulled her to him, and held her in a tight hug. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, then drew his head back and looked down into her face.
He touched her cheek, laying his palm tenderly against her skin. His voice was low, gruff with emotion, and his pain shown evident in his eyes. “I love you, Quinn. I always have. I always will. But it’s not enough to tell you that. I’ve said it before. This time, I’m trying to show you. Show you that I love you and your son enough to let you go.”
He tilted his head and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. One sweet, tender, beautiful kiss that left Quinn’s body aching for more. Then he did what he said he would do.
He let her go.
He turned and walked out of the barn, leaving her standing—heartbroken and stunned—next to the workbench, disregarded and abandoned. Both her thoughts and his tools were jumbled, spread in disarray, the only sounds in the barn the hushed flutter of the swallows in the eaves and the sad country song playing softly on the radio.
* * *
The walk back across the pasture was spent crying over and cussing at Rockford James. He made a crazy sort of sense, and Quinn tried to see it from his point of view. But that’s what kept sticking in her craw. It was all from his point of view. She didn’t even get a vote.
Well, screw him.
She didn’t need him anyway.
She didn’t need anyone. She’d taken care of herself and her son just fine over the last eight years. It was time to quit pining over a guy she’d loved when she was a teenager.
So what if she still loved him and he said he still loved her? Sometimes things didn’t work out. That was life. Shit happens.
She still had to get out of bed in the morning and face her day and take care of herself and Max. No one else was going to do it for her.
Pushing her shoulders back, she wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand as she rounded the corner of the barn. She didn’t want Max or her dad to see her crying. Didn’t want to have to explain that she and Rock were through.
But she didn’t have to worry. Her dad’s truck was gone. The only car in the driveway was Monty’s beat-up blue sedan.
Great. Just what she needed. More humiliation.
It was bad enough that Rock no longer wanted her, now she had to face Monty, the man who’d made no secret of the fact that he hadn’t wanted her all those years ago.
His car was empty, and she didn’t see him in the living room or kitchen as she climbed the porch steps and peered through the front windows.
Is this how it had been for Rock the night before? When he’d seen them through the window, laughing and playing with the puppy?
How they must have looked like a perfect, happy family to him.
Where was Monty?
She scanned the outbuildings. He must be in the barn or walking around the farmyard.
Maybe she could slip quietly into the house, and he wouldn’t even have to know she was there. Then maybe he’d drive away, and she wouldn’t have to face him at all.
The last thing she wanted right now was to make small talk, or any kind of talk at all with her ex.
All she wanted to do was crawl back into her bed—the bed where she’d made reckless love to Rock only a few nights before—pull the covers over her head, and lick her brokenhearted wounds.
She stepped into the house, catching the screen door so it didn’t slam behind her.
A makeshift gate of blankets and chairs had been stretched from the wall to one side of the kitchen island. She could see Truman asleep on a blanket next to the refrigerator, most likely comforted by the steady hum of the appliance.
The note she’d written still sat on the kitchen table, but it had been flipped over, and her dad had scrawled another note back, telling her he’d taken Max into town to pick up the things for the dog.
She jumped as a noise sounded from down the hallway, like a clink of metal against plastic.
Grabbing a chunky candle from the center of the table, she held it up, her first instinct to reach for a weapon, ready to clobber a burglar. Not that a cupcake-scented candle was much of a weapon, but at least it was something.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to slow her pounding heart, laughing at herself as she realized it probably was not a home invasion, but more likely Monty. He must have decided to wait for Max in his room.
She quietly approached the door to her son’s room—just in case—but the laughter died on her lips when she saw Monty standing next to Max’s bed, dumping out the contents of his savings bank and stuffing the bills into his pockets.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Monty’s head whipped up, his eyes round, his gaze searching the room as if desperate to find a plausible explanation for why he could possibly be stealing from his own son.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” he stammered.
Quinn could see the sheen of sweat on his upper lip. “Oh, really? It’s not? Because it looks like you’re stealing the money from Max’s savings bank—the money he put aside to give to his Sunday school class and to save for something special. But if it’s not what it looks like, then by all means, please enlighten me.”
He had the gall—and the arrogance—to look offended. “I’m not stealing it. I’m just borrowing it. Just until my next paycheck.”
“Paycheck? What paycheck? You never even mentioned that you had a job.”
His face changed, like a mask shifting into place. His features went from slack guilt to contempt, his lip curling into a disdainful sneer. “You think you’re so much better than me.”
She cringed, drawing her head back as if he’d thrown something more at her than his scornful words. “What are you talking about?”
“You walk around, acting all holier than thou, with your schedules and your expensive car and your filthy rich boyfriend.”
She let out a harsh laugh. “Who? Rock? He’s not my boyfriend. And I don’t have an expensive car.”
He crossed the room in two large, foreboding steps and pressed her back against the wall. His eyes narrowed in hatred, and she could smell onions and stale cigarettes as his hot breath grazed her cheek. “Don’t lie to me. I see the way he looks at you. The way you look at each other. I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but you’re not fooling me.”
“I’m not trying to fool you. Or anyone. Why would I? I don’t care what you think of me.”
“You should care. Because I know things. Things that could tear your perfect little life apart.”
What the heck was this guy talking about? “Are you threatening me?”
He offered her another scornful sneer. “Not threatening. Just letting you know that you’re not holding as many cards as you think. I didn’t realize what claiming Max as my son could do for me before, but I do now.”
“What did you say? You didn’t realize what claiming Max could do for you?” Fury built in her, forming a swirling ball of heat in her gut and spreading out through her limbs. This man was in her son’s bedroom, stealing money from his piggy bank, and he had the audacity to tell her that he just realized what Max could do for him, like her child was some kind of commodity. And then to threaten her?
No. This shit was not going to fly.
She pushed back against him, summoning up all of the bravery she could muster. “Get the hell out of here. I knew this was a mistake, letting you in here. I want you out of this house and out of Max’s life.”
He laughed, a hard, mean huff of a sound. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll throw you out.”
“Yeah? You and whose army? I don’t see anyone here but us.”
Shit.
He was right.
Heart pounding, she realized the desperateness of her situation.
She was alone.
Even if she screamed for help, no one was around to hear her.
This is what she’d just been thinking on her way back from Rock’s. She was on her own. In this room and in her life. The only one she could really count on was herself.
She tried not to panic. Her gaze darted frantically around the room, looking for a weapon, anything to defend herself.
She still had the chunky candle in her hand. It might smell like vanilla cupcakes, but it could do some damage if she smacked it against the side of Monty’s head.
His gaze followed hers, and his lip curled in contempt. “I hope you aren’t getting any crazy ideas in your head now, Quinn. You might think you’re tough, but you’re not. You’re nothing.”
Anger simmered in his words, in the barely controlled tremor in his voice, in the pungent smell of his sweat. His body tensed, his muscles quivered, and she knew she was in trouble.
Before she had a chance to even raise the candle, he struck. His movements quick, like a snake striking its prey.
With one hand, he grabbed her arm, and with the other, he seized her collar, twisting it in his fist and hauling her tighter against him. The chain of her necklace popped and slid from her neck, and the sound of fabric ripping tore through the air.
But all she could feel was the tight grip that he had on her upper arm, the intense pressure of his fingers digging into her tender flesh.
“Drop the candle,” he ordered.
She bit down on her lip, trying not to cry out from the pain. His knuckles were pressing into her windpipe. It’s not like she could use the stupid jar candle anyway. She’d have to think of something else. A different kind of weapon. Like her brain.
