The Loneliest Cowboy. Pamela Macaluso
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Teresa’s refusal was a major blow to his ego. When Teresa stormed off in her car, Skye found herself feeling sorry for him. She walked over to Clint and invited him to the Rocking W for a cup of coffee.
“Coffee?” He looked at her as though she’d suggested a cup of rattlesnake venom. “You want me to drink coffee? That’s just what I need! Then I can be wide-awake, drunk and horny as hell.”
“I take it that’s a no.”
“Hey, one point for you, sugar.”
Skye turned and started walking away, sorry she’d even bothered trying to help.
Sure, Skye, she’d thought, as if your main concern was to be helpful...it couldn’t have anything to do with this being your one big chance to get Clint Slade to notice you’re alive.
“Where in blazes is my truck?”
Clint’s question wasn’t directed at her in particular, but since she was the only person within earshot, she answered. “Probably right where you left it.” She kept walking.
“Sugar, help me find my truck.”
She’d helped him find his truck, all right. At that point, she should have walked away, but he’d offered her a kiss as a reward. Young, naive and in awe of the sexy cowboy—how could she resist?
The arrival of an eighteen-wheeler snapped Skye’s thoughts back to the present. She finished crossing the parking lot, then the graveled road to her parents’ home. After entering the house as quietly as possible, she tiptoed past the living room where her aunt and uncle were asleep on the foldout couch. Her mother’s brother and his wife had driven over from El Paso to help out while her father was in the hospital. Skye continued up the stairs to the room she had shared with her two older sisters while growing up.
The room was lit by a soft night-light. In one of the bottom bunks, Dawn lay curled on her side, one hand resting under her cheek, the other holding on to a muchloved, stuffed Snoopy. Leaning over, Skye placed a gentle kiss on Dawn’s forehead and tucked the blankets snugly around her.
My baby...my little girl...my daughter.
A surge of possessiveness spread through her. Despite the similarity in their coloring and their eyes, Skye rarely thought of Clint when she looked at Dawn. Other than that one night six years ago, he hadn’t been part of their lives. But after seeing Clint Slade tonight, she couldn’t help thinking about him.
Dawn’s dark hair against the white pillowcase was a visual reminder that although Skye had been solely responsible for taking care of their child up to this point, Clint had provided half the genetic material that had created Dawn.
A dull ache began to throb behind Skye’s temples.
I can’t think about this now. I have to get some sleep so I can be rested to help out tomorrow, and a splitting headache won’t make it any easier.
She changed into her nightgown and climbed into the bottom bunk of the other bed. Although she was bonetired, her mind was busy reliving Clint’s visit to the coffee shop.
Terrific, Skye, start mooning over Clint Slade again. Nothing like asking for a bushel of trouble.
In an attempt to settle her thoughts, she looked around the familiar room. The two sets of bunk beds, nightstands and mirrored dresser were in pretty good shape considering they’d been hand-me-downs way back when. She looked across the room where Dawn was sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to the turmoil her mother was going through.
The last time Skye had slept in this room, Dawn had been only a slight curve of her belly.
There wouldn’t be any tranquillity thinking along those lines, either. It was going to be a long night.
Clint shot into a sitting position. The bed covers were a tangled mess and the shout of “Wait! Don’t leave me!” hung in the air. He covered his face with his hands, then clawed his spread fingers through his hair.
Damn, he hadn’t had that dream for almost a year now. The shadowy sights in the darkened cab of his pickup, the sounds, feel and taste of a woman having her sexual awakening in his arms. Tonight the vision had been as real as always.
The vision was so vivid that the first time he’d had the dream, he’d thought it was really happening. He’d been so sure that he and Teresa Donnelly had made love that he’d presented himself on her porch the next afternoon with an engagement ring in his pocket.
Not only because it seemed like the right thing to do after she’d surrendered her virginity to him, but because the power of the lovemaking had convinced him that he’d found the female who’d been made just for him. Since he’d found her, it would be senseless to look any further.
He’d walked around with his cowboy boots in the clouds and a perpetual smug smile on his face all through their engagement and up until he’d slid on top of his new wife, entered her and encountered a barrier that he was so sure he’d already passed through.
That’s when he realized he’d been dreaming.
If he hadn’t had such a hangover the morning he’d woken up in his truck, he might have checked for more definitive physical evidence than his jeans being open and pushed low on his hips. But the lovemaking had seemed so real, he hadn’t even thought to question its authenticity.
Some of the ranch hands from the Diamond S confirmed that he’d left the bar with Teresa and hadn’t come back in. They’d noticed his truck when they’d left, but since the windows were fogged, they’d figured he and Teresa were making up after the fight that had driven them outside.
He was a little surprised that Teresa had left him to sleep it off in his truck, but he figured she’d tried to wake him with no luck until she’d had to hightail it home to meet her curfew. With his fuzzy memories of that night, for all he knew, she might have left when he was still awake.
The details weren’t important. The bottom line was that the best sex of his life had turned out to be a dream....
Since he was awake and not likely to be able to fall back to sleep, he got up, dressed and headed for the mess hall. He ate alone in the ranch house most mornings, but occasionally he joined the men.
“‘Mornin’, boss.” Smokey Joe waved a spatula in Clint’s direction. No one knew how old Joe was. He’d had a head full of gray and a beard to match as far back as Clint could remember.
Clint returned the greeting with a nod and took his place at the end of the breakfast line. The other cowboys added a respectful echo of the cook’s reception, which Clint acknowledged.
It was a diverse group. Some had been working on the Diamond S since before Clint was born. Others had been with the outfit off and on over the years, drifting in when the cattle and the open range called to them and drifting out when the lure of the open road was louder. Some of the men had been born and raised in Harmony Ridge, while others arrived from somewhere else on their way to who knew where.
Even though he knew most of them by name, an invisible wall stood between him and them. It had been there as long as he could remember. First, as a barrier between the workers and the boss’s son. Now, between the workers and himself as boss.
It was important that he have their respect, but he paid a price for it. While their loyalty to him and the Diamond S was undeniable, none of them were likely to invite him to join in their after-hours pursuits. And he wasn’t likely to tell any of them how he felt more single than divorced...he still couldn’t get over how he’d blurted that out last night.
Once he’d had his breakfast, Clint took his steaming mug of hot coffee and went to sit across the table from foreman Luke Conner.
“‘Mornin’, Clint.”
“Luke.”
“The boys have about finished breakin’ in the new horses.”
“Good. I saw a few more this