Page 30 of Cowboy Dreams

“I think I’m falling for you too.”

I turned my head to nip at his thumb. “You don’t have to say that to keep me around.”

“I know. My dick and abs would be enough to do that.”

I blinked, then laughed. A gift, after thinking about my dad. “They sure would.”

We sat for a while. The thin rug was hard under my ass. Sylvester’s breathing eased and his hand slipped to dangle off the bed, maybe the meds taking hold.

I said, “I’ll go sleep on the couch tonight. Wouldn’t want to jostle you.” All the other rooms were stripped for remodeling.

“I hate to say yes, but thank you.”

“Want to try to get your jeans off first?”

“Sadly, no. I’m going to lie here like this and remember how to breathe.”

“Aw.” I stood, then bent and kissed his cheek. Taking his phone from his back pocket— sadly, the only touch on his ass he’d welcome right now— I set it on the nightstand within his reach. “If you need anything, like more meds or reheating the warm pack, or help getting to the john? Text me. Promise?”

“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to baby me!”

“Not a baby to take help when you need it.”

“Sorry.”

“I was a bitter touchy bastard when I broke a couple of ribs and had to hobble around for weeks. I get it. Promise?”

“Damn. All right.”

I’d almost closed the door behind me when I heard his voice. “Joe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a hell of a good man.”

“Takes one to know one.”

That couch wasnotdesigned as a bed for a six-foot-three man with stiff hips. By six a.m. I was up and dressed, in the kitchen making coffee. Black gold, that every ranch ran on. A ban on coffee would bring the whole beef industry to its knees.

I didn’t hear anything from upstairs. Sylvester had been up once in the night, floorboards creaking faintly overhead. He didn’t text me, though, so I wasn’t going to hover. If he was sleeping now, I’d let him rest.

Cold November air hit me as I stepped out the kitchen door and I was glad of my warm jacket. Must’ve been right on the edge of freezing, but the water in the trough by the pasture gate didn’t have any ice yet. I ducked into the side of the barn for lead ropes and a bucket with a handful of grain. Ro was a sweetheart and an easy catch, but Donner would run me round the field for an hour if I didn’t lure him.

When I had the horses, I led them inside and put them into their stalls. Donner kicked his door, demanding his breakfast.

“It’s early, greedy-guts,” I told him. “Calm your tits.” Still, I gave them their grain a bit ahead of schedule and slipped in beside Ro, brushing her as she ate. Normally, Sylvester would groom her. He’d confessed once that he liked being around the horses even more than riding. But a bad back wouldn’t take to wielding a brush and curry comb with the effort a muddy horse needed.

After I had Ro all clean, feet picked out, burrs removed from that silver mane— and I tell you, she had more talent for finding burrs than any horse I knew— I turned her back out. Riding wouldn’t be in the cards for Sylvester today, either. I groomed and tacked up Donner, though, and led him into the yard. He did best with being worked regular. I swung up and headed him off toward the hilltop trail.

Our short fall days meant the sun hadn’t risen yet, but the sky had lightened enough to show the way. Donner was fresh and he danced and jibbed at every fluttering dry leaf and creak of branches. “Jeeze,” I told him, reining him in yet again. “Maybe I should quit giving you grain, make you live on plain hay till you settle your ass. Whadda you think you are, some polo pony?”

He ignored my threat to snort at a pair of redwing blackbirds rising from a field as we passed. I tipped my head back and grinned at the first hints of pink and gold overhead. Nothing on Earth beat this. Well, maybe being in Sylvester’s bed, but given my man was probably creaking around like a rusty hinge this morning, I’d take my ride. The wind chilled the back of my neck and I should’ve worn gloves, but the fresh air above and the fine horse under me were all I needed.

When Donner quit spooking at everything, I turned for home. The sun peeped over the horizon, its mellow golden light throwing long shadows across the ground. As I jogged Donner through the field leading to the barn, I saw the first workman’s truck coming up the drive. I raised a hand to wave, but then he plowed to a skewed stop in front of the barn, spraying gravel, and sat there. I rode over, vaulted off, and led Donner up to the driver’s window. “Are you okay?”

He waved at the side of the barn. “Did you see that?”

I turned. Looked. “Well, fuck.”

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