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She dared to take one hand off the wheel and gripped his lightly; she had buttery soft hands, her white skin contrasting against his own darker tone. Her touch reverberated somewhere down low in his belly, where he felt a stirring. Shaking it off, he pursued the small talk. It kept him from thinking about how he’d ended up here, anyway.
“Where’d you start from?”
“Hartford, Connecticut.”
He whistled. “That’s about as East Coast as you can get, huh? They don’t have roads like this back there. No wonder you’re so tense. You know, it’s just a matter of getting into the rhythm of the drive.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” she said sardonically, but he noticed she sped up a little and took the next curve more smoothly.
“So what about you? You live here, you own a ranch. Nice tux,” she mentioned meaningfully, asking the question without really asking it.
“Hate these damned monkey suits,” he growled, yanking at the collar, even though it was loose. “On my way back from a formal event, and blew something on the bike.”
“From the rose on your lapel, I’d guess a wedding. Best man?”
“Apparently not,” he muttered in a tone of voice he hoped barred any further questions. Images from the morning flashed in front of his eyes again. How was he supposed to admit that he’d run away from his own wedding, left the bride stranded? Not that she didn’t deserve it. Still, it wasn’t his way of dealing with things, to cut and run.
Brett couldn’t say he gave a damn what people thought most of the time. This time was different. He thought at first it was because he was so angry he might have done something he’d later regret, like busting his longtime friend’s skull. But as he’d ripped down the highway on his bike, he’d almost felt free for the first time in months.
Relieved. And guilty. Maybe if he’d stepped up sooner and told Marsha he wasn’t sure that they should be getting married, none of this would have happened, but it hadn’t seemed so clear at the time. He’d never been in love with Marsha, no more than she’d been in love with him. Their decision to get married was more of an automatic step, the next logical thing to do after they’d been seeing each other on and off for several years. When Marsha had suggested they make it permanent, she’d taken his silence as a “go,” and before he’d known it, he was picking tuxes.
It hadn’t seemed like a half-bad idea, when he thought about it. He was thirty-five, and the ranch had been his life. He hadn’t dated too much since he left college at twenty-two, except for Marsha and a few stray lovers. Marriage had seemed like the thing to do; he and Marsha made as much sense as anything.
But love? No. Neither one of them expected that.
He’d known her since high school, a local girl from a ranch down the line, bigger than his, and more profitable, sure. Marsha liked being involved with things, and Brett had been left with a ranch to run and a thirteen-year-old brother to raise when he was just twenty-three, himself, so having Marsha around had worked out. She knew about ranch life; they had a decent relationship, good in the sack—or so he’d thought—and she didn’t ask too much from him. So he’d let it ride when she wanted to get married.
Until he’d been driving to the church and it hit him he couldn’t go through with it—and then he’d found them, and he hadn’t known what to think. To pretend to be outraged would have been a lie, but deep down, he was more embarrassed than anything. He’d obviously been less of a man than Marsha needed, as well.
In all the times they’d been together, he’d never seen the raw passion on her face that he’d witnessed her sharing that morning with Howie. That truth stung deep, sticking into a particularly tender area of his male ego that he’d never questioned before. Obviously he hadn’t been paying enough attention, in a lot of ways. Romance had never been big on his agenda, but still, a man liked to think he could satisfy a woman, and Marsha clearly hadn’t been satisfied. Not by him, anyway.
Maybe when she’d realized he was gone, she’d been relieved, too.
He returned his gaze to Lauren; she didn’t seem to mind the lack of conversation. He inhaled the sweet smell of her soap or shampoo, or some damned flowery thing that was attracting him like a bee to a blossom. It was going to be a long ride to Soul Springs, where he assumed his ride was heading. He took another stab at conversation.
“You have any plans once you get where you’re going?”
“Not really. Find a place to live, find a job, start fresh.”
“Fresh from what?”
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Fair enough.”
She bit her lip and it made him pay more attention to her mouth than he probably should. Turning, he looked out his window. Just because he’d been cuckolded didn’t mean he should go jump the first woman he came across.
“I’m divorced,” she blurted, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“You don’t look old enough to be married, let alone divorced.”
“Thanks, but I’m more than old enough to have made my share of mistakes.”
“Must’ve been a bad situation that would drive a woman to the other side of a continent.”
“Bad enough.”
There was still pain in her voice, and he was curious about why. As he hadn’t shared any of his, he didn’t feel right asking for hers. Pointing down to the town that looked like a scattering of Monopoly houses from this height, he changed the subject.
“There’s Soul Springs. If you can drop me off I can call for a ride and get someone to pick up the bike.”
“It’s bigger than I thought.”
“Part retirement community, part resort. It’s a fairly new community, actually, only about thirty years old.”
“A senior community? In the desert?”
“Old people love it out here. The dry, hot air is good for what ails them.”
“I guess that makes sense. It’s beautiful here, too.”
“I’ve lived here my whole life, never tire of it. Can’t imagine why anyone would want to be anywhere else.”
She pulled down a main street, and he pointed her to a nice-looking motel that he knew was clean and safe by reputation. They got out, and he turned to look at the horizon.
“Might be too late to get help now. I guess I’ll wait until tomorrow. Thanks for the ride.”
“You’re welcome. I hope your bike’s okay up there.”
“It’ll be fine. It’s far enough off the road, and if it gets stolen, well, it’s insured. I never cared for it much—touchy beast, seems like something breaks every time I take it out.” He shrugged, knowing he should be ending this conversation, but was dragging it out. Maybe the more he talked, the less he had to think about what was waiting for him back at the Slanted-W, the name of their family ranch.
She shoved her hands in the pockets of well-worn jeans that fit very snugly, he noticed when she got out of the car, and smiled as she looked out past the cactus gardens that surrounded the motel.
“Well then, bye. I guess I’ll go check in.”
As she turned and walked to the door, he couldn’t quite ignore the way her nicely shaped backside fit into those jeans, and found himself calling out again.
“Hey, Lauren.”
She turned, holding her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun.
“Since we’re both stuck here, how about catching dinner? Least I can do to thank you for the ride.”
She paused for a moment, considering, and he realized he was holding his breath.
“Thanks, but I’m really tired. I think I’m just going to turn in.”
When she turned back to the door, he couldn’t deny the bite of her rejection. This just wasn’t his day.
2
“IS HE CUTE?”
Lauren grimaced. “Cute doesn’t really cover it. Salivatingly hot, or, please-rip-my-clothes-off handsome might be a little closer to the mark. And he’s got that whole gruff, young Clint Eastwood thing going for him.”
“Wow. God, I love Clint in the old Rawhide episodes. I just got them all on DVD, just for him,” Becky sighed. “So why’d you turn him down?”
“I don’t know him. He’s just a cowboy or something.”
“Lauren, there’s no such thing as just a cowboy.”
“You’ve known a lot of cowboys I take it?”
“A few.”
She could hear the satisfaction in Becky’s voice even over the cell phone crackle. Becky was one of the most intelligent women she’d met, but Lauren wasn’t sure Becky knew the definition of monogamous. Lauren envied Becky’s lifestyle, not to mention the confidence and excitement that came with it. Seven years in a bad marriage had left Lauren severely lacking in that department. It was exactly why she was standing alone in a motel room instead of having dinner with a sexy guy who’d asked her out. Her old, fearful self just wouldn’t back down.
“I picked him up on the side of the road, and that’s not exactly a safe way to meet someone.”
“Is there a safe way to meet anyone? Nothing’s ever that cut and dried, I’m afraid. I met one of the creepiest men I’ve ever known in church.”
“You go to church?” Lauren teased.
“It was for my niece’s baptism, and don’t deflect. Your cowboy doesn’t sound like a drifter or a bum, from what you said.”
“No,” Lauren said, out of excuses. “I didn’t get that impression either.”
“So what happened to no wimps allowed?”
“There’s a difference between wimpy and stupid.”
“They sound like the same thing in this case.”
“Hey!”
“Hey back. People hook up like this all the time, Lauren. Airplanes, parties, bars. The one-night stand is an American classic, and if done right, with the right guy, it can be something that will make you smile at the memory when you’re eighty.”
Becky was right. Lauren knew she was right.
That’s why she’d called her, to get some much needed courage. Somewhere in this motel, her supersexy cowboy was sitting alone in his room. She wanted to be daring, sexy and spontaneous, but she was wimping out; she’d known Becky wouldn’t let her get away with it.
“Lauren, it’s one night. An adventure, remember? Go take your cowboy for a ride.”
Taking a deep breath, Lauren dug through her large suitcase and pried back the layers of her jeans and T-shirts to retrieve what she was looking for. Finding the package she slowly drew away the tissue, and took in the layers of luxurious black satin.
“I guess this could be as good a time as any to try out the dress,” she said with a sigh, holding the shiny fabric in her fingers. The cut of the strapless dress was deceptively simple. She’d bought it on a no-holds-barred shopping trip with Becky the day her divorce had been finalized; it had cost a fortune. She’d never worn it except in the dressing room.
She knew the silky material clung to every curve, not to mention showing off a few she hadn’t been aware of. Reaching inside her case, she found a thong, sheer strapless bra and garters with hose. She’d thought it was a waste of space in her sparse luggage, but she couldn’t bear to leave them behind.
“That dress was made just for a situation like this. He won’t stand a chance.”
“I guess I’m afraid of what might happen—what if he thinks I’m a tease, or a downright slut? What if I go down there dressed like this and can’t go through with it? What if—”
“Stop what-iffing. Breathe.”
“Becky, I was married for so long, I just don’t know.” Her doubts rang in her mind like a five-alarm fire, and she dropped the dress, watching it collapse into an onyx pool on the bed.
“Lauren, honey, Wes took seven years of your life—don’t let him keep getting in your way. You thought you were playing it safe with him, and look what you ended up with. Believe me, you need to do this. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to—it’s dinner, right? Go to a public place and make sure you have an easy exit route, but do it. And if the best happens, enjoy it. Young Clint Eastwoods aren’t easily come by these days. Enjoy yours.”
Lauren was so tempted, but was she brave enough?
“Listen, hon, gotta client calling in on the other line, gotta go. Have fun. Don’t forget the condoms…”
Condoms? “Becky, I don’t have…”
She stopped, pushing the tissue the dress had been wrapped in aside, and discovered a blue rectangular box with a black ribbon wrapped around it. Spiral specialties that studies confirmed intensified sexual pleasure for men and women, so the box claimed.
“Becky, you are a friend among friends,” she said to the empty room.
Her decision was made. She started peeling off her jeans, walking to the shower, excitement buzzing every nerve ending. Brett was hot, and she could barely remember what sex was like, it had been so long. That part of her marriage had died a quiet death long before her divorce. And Wes, well, he was handsome, in his stockbroker-like way, but he wasn’t a cowboy with dusty, sun-streaked hair and strong, calloused hands.
Stepping out of the shower refreshed a few minutes later, she slipped into the clothes on the bed—the underwear alone made her feel like the sexist woman on earth. The touch of the dress was better than any sex she’d ever had, though maybe it was time to remedy that.
Brett was a question mark, no doubt. It could be the best choice she ever made, or among the worst, but that was what risk was all about, right? She had to do this. Slipping on her low black heels, she took a look in the mirror, applying a scant bit of lipstick, her only makeup.
“You clean up okay, girl.” Pushing up her bust and reorganizing a little, she rebelliously made the most of what nature had given her. Grabbing her purse, she made a line for the door.
She’d find Brett’s room, and see what happened. Maybe he’d changed his mind, or maybe he’d decided to go back to his ranch. If that was the case, so be it. She’d chalk it up and take herself out for a nice dinner. There, she had a Plan B. No need for nerves. There was nothing to lose.
Opening the door, she paused. Running back to her bed, she ripped open the condom box and grabbed a strip of four or five, shoving them deep in her bag like a guilty secret.
“Never can tell,” she whispered before she practically skipped back out the door.
“SO WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO?”
Brett laid back on the bed, contemplating Pete’s question and giving his little brother points for not rubbing it in that things with Marsha hadn’t worked out.
“For the moment, stay here. I can meet you up there tomorrow, we can trailer the bike back, and see what the heck blew on it.”
“I mean about Marsha. She took off you know—Howie, too. She put on a huge act, the bride left at the altar. Made me sick. She took your honeymoon tickets and left. I don’t think anyone knows Howie went with her.”
“How discreet of them,” Brett muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “I hope they have a great time.” On his dime, he thought bitterly.
“You’re better off without her, though maybe if you’d listened to me you could have sidestepped some of this trouble. I may be younger, but I know a thing or two.”
“Okay, I knew that was coming sooner or later,” Brett groaned. “You never took to her.”
“She’s a bitch, Brett, and she’s always been one. How you never saw it was beyond me. Howie probably wasn’t the first guy she was screwing. Hell, she even came on to me, once.”
