Page 19 of The Cowboy's Downfall
“Who cares what you have in common? All you want from him is sex,” Taryn said snidely, shocking Shauna further, because what could her baby sister possibly know about sex?
“Oh please.” Taryn correctly interpreted her speechlessness and dismissed it with a shrug of her eyes. “How many virgins do you think there are at my age?”
Shauna had assumed—hoped—at least one. She counted to ten.
You’re not her mother.
Her little sister was past the age of consent, and as long as she didn’t get pregnant—which Shauna was forced to concede seemed highly unlikely, because Taryn was too smart to not take precautions—then there wasn’t much she could do about it, except make it as difficult for her as possible to find alone time with boys.
Nix was a whole other matter. Maybe he really did have cause for concern—although he’d made it clear that he did, indeed, prefer women. Shauna went hot, head to toe, whenever she thought of their kiss, and a shot of pure lust dislodged a thought from her brain.
She could get him into bed if she wanted. And she wanted to. Very much. She’d almost forgotten what sex was like, and she had no doubt that sex with him would be good. Very good.
But she’d promised herself that she’d set a good example for Taryn, and Nix was a good place to start. She wasn’t competing with her little sister over a man.
She’d meet with him. They’d clear the air. Then, once Taryn saw for herself that Nix wasn’t interested in either of them, she’d give up on bull riding and find new ways to try Shauna’s patience until Christmas.
Shauna grabbed her car keys from the hook beside the door that led to the garage off the kitchen. She didn’t need to make up any excuses to get out of the house. She was the adult in this relationship. She was the one who could do as she pleased.
“I’m going out. Call my cell if you need anything. No need to wait up.”
*
Nix
Nix pulled intothe Methodist church’s parking lot a few minutes early.
Pretty, stained-glass front windows that faced the main road were lit up from outside by flood lights mounted into the lawn. The rear of the church, with its weather-worn graveyard overlooking the Tongue River, remained shrouded in shadows, thanks in part to the massive cottonwoods that had grown beside it for decades.
He parked close to the back of the building, out of sight of the road, then rolled down the half-ton truck’s window and killed the engine. He liked to hear the night sounds, and between a lonely heron, the calling song of crickets, and the gurgling of water flowing over stones, the river did not disappoint.
He regretted being abrupt with Too Good on the phone, but she’d interrupted a dream where she’d been the star, and the reality of the chasm between them wasn’t nearly as sweet. He liked women. Adored them, in fact. Why he had the world’s worst luck in dealing with them was a puzzle he’d lost the will to unravel. He’d been so close with his mother and sister… When had they disappeared from his life?
Opposing their marriage hadn’t endeared them to Peg. And Peg had never liked them, so that factored in. Looking back, it wasn’t much of an excuse. She’d never liked anyone who took his attention off her. He’d kept in touch with his father for a while, but his dad wasn’t much of a talker, and they’d drifted apart.
He tipped his hat forward to cover his face, propped the back of his head against the seat headrest, and closed his eyes. Just for a second. The cowhands were repairing two miles of fence that cut through a wetland, and he’d spent the day mired in mud up to his hips, pounding posts and stringing barbwire. He’d wrestled with bogged-down four-wheelers, and he was more tired than he cared to admit. Rather than fight with Shauna, he’d do well to remember that they had a common goal—to convince Trouble to take herself elsewhere. If she’d thrown a grown man for a loop, imagine the havoc she’d wreak on a bunch of hormone-addled, teenaged boys.
Someone shook his shoulder. He shot upright, his heart riding his ribs like a rookie bull rider and almost put his head through the roof. He cracked a knee on the steering wheel. He grabbed someone’s wrist. It was skinnier than he’d expected, but his brain barely registered that fact. He jerked his head around to get a bead on his assailant, his free hand curled tight in a fist.
Shauna stood next to the open window of the truck, looking pretty, but wary. She stood her ground, although she’d backed as far away from him as she could get, considering he had a tight grip on her wrist. He dropped it as if she’d burst into flame and ran a scratchy palm over his face, wiping away the remnants of two seconds of sleep. He must have dozed off because he hadn’t heard her drive up.
“You aren’t drunk, are you?” she said, because of course, that was the obvious conclusion.
“Tired. Not everyone works at a desk pushing papers all day,” he fired back, but then she looked hurt, and he asked himself when he’d become such an ass. His heart, still hopped up on adrenaline, gave his ribs a few final kicks. “Sorry. You caught me off guard. Too many nights sleeping at truck stops left me jumpy. Get in.”
She hurried around the bumper, opened the passenger door, and then took a quick inventory of the truck’s interior as if inspecting a gruesome crime scene. It was reasonably clean, all things considered, and he’d taken the toolbox out, so he didn’t see any problem. It was a working truck, not a sports car, and she wore jeans and a gray sweater, not her fancy lawyer attire.
He leaned across the bench seat and held out his hand to help boost her in. She wriggled her ass on the hard seat when she landed, a move which guaranteed that those few minutes before she arrived were all the sleep he’d be getting that night. She had a great ass.
“Why were you sleeping at truck stops?” she asked, once she had herself settled.
Why indeed?
Night crept across the churchyard as he scrutinized possible answers, filtering out anything that made him sound too pathetic. A great horned owl had been hanging around, and its deep, soft hoots stuttered out of the sentinel of cottonwood overlooking the river. Too Good didn’t rush him, but instead, let him think his thoughts through, which was a nice change. Peggy had hammered at him until he was so confused he couldn’t think straight.
He’d liked the months he spent drifting. They’d helped him clear his head and get his priorities in order. Best of all, nothing kept a man single quite like homelessness. Most ladies preferred a man with ambition. Life was a lot less complicated when a man didn’t have any.
“My ex-wife got the house,” he said.
