The White Cowboy - Complete BWWM Romance Box Set Page 3

  Did that mean she felt it also? Would she accept his bed invitation if he marched into the living room and told her how he felt?

  Not as if he would do that.

  When it came to women, he was gun shy. Give him a calf to rope or a bull to castrate, and he could do the job in his sleep. Talk to a woman or even get her to sleep with him, no way.

  Despite his nights being lonely, he hadn't sought out companionship. Not even a friend with benefits.

  He'd have to take care of that. There were some single women in town. Maybe they'd be interested.

  He shook his head. How did you approach a woman with that idea?

  Frowning, he crawled back into bed, not bothering to turn the light off. His dog opened one eye at him as if annoyed at the disturbance.

  "What are you looking at? You have it easy. You have no balls to worry about."

  His dog yawned, then shifted position, but didn't answer him. Not that Brandon expected him to.

  Just once, he did wish his dog could talk.

  What words of wisdom would he impart? Probably to go for it. Unless Spike had to move, he wouldn't care if Brandon took a woman to bed.

  ***

  Gemma stared up at the ceiling, not seeing it in the dark. She wished she'd brought her Kindle so she could at least read to pass the time.

  Reading would be preferable to thinking about the hot guy in the bed in the other room. He had had no shirt on as he stood in the hallway. The light from his bedroom had illuminated him enough for her to see the hair on his muscled chest.

  His voice had remained deep and gravelly, like whiskey over pebbles. Her insides tingled at the thought of that voice telling her what exactly he was going to do to her body. She shivered.

  She would probably let him do anything he wanted.

  Damn.

  Could the morning just come so she could get out of here? Hopefully, she would be able to walk to her car and keep on driving until she reached California.

  She had four days before her appointment with the agent. She could make even if she left the next day, but she didn't want to chance it.

  Rolling over one more time, she curled up. Then she heard footsteps. Brandon walked past her and into the kitchen.

  She sat up and watched him as he stalked like a cat in the near darkness.

  What the hell.

  She could pretend to sleep, or she could just give in. Maybe he had a better method of getting sleepy.

  Well, other than the sex she'd been thinking about all night. That would certainly make her sleepy. She bet his bed was comfy, and he would be warm, cozy sleeping partner.

  She made some noise before she entered the kitchen so he wouldn't be startled.

  "Still can't sleep?"

  "No," she said. "I usually sleep like a baby."

  She slid onto one of the stools. He stood behind the island, he shirt still off. He wore only sweatpants. No socks on his feet.

  The look worked for him. She like a man who was comfortable enough to walk barefoot.

  "Me, too. Guess this wind howling is keeping me up."

  "It is pretty loud," she said.

  What an inane conversation. Should she bring up the elephant in the room, or was she the only one seeing it? And feeling it.

  "So, you're heading for California?"

  "Yes, I have a meeting with an agent for a record company," she said. "He heard me sing in a bar and gave me his card. I didn’t think he was serious, but he was."

  "Lifelong dream?"

  He poured some scotch from the bottle he'd retrieved. He slid it over to her, then poured some for himself.

  "Yes. I've been singing in bars since before I was old enough to be in a bar."

  "What does your family think?"

  She sipped the drink, the laughed. "That I should use my college degree and get a job," she said.

  That had been their mantra for the two years since she'd graduated. She hadn't listened to them and wasn't going to start now. They knew how independent she was, well, except for the money.

  But if she became a star, she'd have her own money. No more hitting Daddy up for everything she needed.

  He'd like that. She'd like that because he'd have no say in her life.

  Well, he could state his opinion, and she'd go and do exactly what she wanted.

  That's why she couldn't understand why she didn't just jump this guy's bones. This whole electricity thing felt much bigger than a quickie. Would they implode if they made love?

  She was a little afraid to find out. She was also afraid that she'd get sidetracked. That wouldn't do. Her ex had wanted her to settle down, but she wasn't ready.

  "So you haven't listened to them?"

  He slid onto a stool at the other end of the island.

  She shook her head. "No. I know I have it in me to be big. And apparently this agent thinks so too."

  "Then I guess you'll follow your dream."

  "Do you have a dream?"

  He grimaced. "I used to ride the rodeo circuit. I got injured, and now my life is simple. I don’t think I have the right stuff to follow that dream."

  "What was it?"

  "What? My dream?"

  "Yes, what was your dream?" she asked.

  "I sell beef and chicken at the market. I wanted to write a cookbook for those meats."

  "So why haven't you?" she asked.

  "Haven't had time. Don't know if I can write," he said.

  "So find out."

  "You make it sound easy."

  This was a pretty deep conversation with someone she had just met, but she was a big believer in following your dream. She was that personified. She'd packed her things in a car and was driving across the country. "It is. I've sung in many bars, some pretty nasty ones, but that put me in the right bar at the right time to see that agent."

  "It isn't that easy."

  "Yeah, it is. And if any of your food is like that soup, then your cookbook should be a hit."

  He shook his head. "It really isn't that easy."

  She waved her hand feeling impatient. This was none of her business, but she was still not letting it go. "You're just seeing the obstacles."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As he lay in bed later, Brandon knew he was going to be exhausted, but the animals needed to be fed, and he had to shovel to get to the barns. His joints ached from the storm. He never felt so old as when a storm was upon them.

  He'd never shared his desire to write a cookbook with anyone. Now he felt he'd given away a part of himself that he'd guarded for so many years. Why? Why had he told Gemma about the cookbook? Thankfully, she would be gone tomorrow.

  Spike whined at him every time he moved, but didn't leave the comfort of the bed. Brandon reached down and scratched the dog's head.

  Brandon hoped that by the time he was done with the morning chores, his visitor would be gone. She only had to walk back to her car, then keep on driving west.

  He would keep the memory of her in his head for a few days, then he'd forget that anyone had disrupted his orderly life. He could go back to being a hermit except for those few times he was in town.

  The loneliness would bother him less and less, he figured. But that hadn't happened yet. He was still lonely, and still feeling like his wife had just left him, even though she'd done the walking out more than two years ago.

  His animals were his only family.

  His parents were already gone. He had no siblings. His life was uncomplicated.

  And probably boring. Was that why Jessica left? Had he bored her?

  "Do I bore you, Spike?"

  The dog yawned in his direction, and shifted a little closer to Brandon. He took that as a no, but dogs didn't need much beyond food, shelter and some affection. Maybe a job, but the dog always helped him herd the cattle.

  Brandon yawned, too, knowing the night would not get any shorter, but he didn't want to disturb his visitor. Usually on nights like this, he would rise and cook something. He had a new recipe in m
ind, but he needed more supplies, and some of them he couldn't get at the local grocery store.

  He sighed and opened his book to lose himself in a story.

  ***

  Gemma's phone rang way too early. She scrambled to answer it before she woke up her host. If she hadn't been woken up so suddenly, she would have sworn she hadn't slept at all.

  She’d finally drifted off in the early hours of the morning. Now her heart pounded in her chest from the sudden interruption. Looking at the screen, though, her grumpiness faded.

  "Hi, Dad," she said.

  "You still asleep?"

  "Dad, it's only five here. Different time zone," she said. She pulled the covers around her. Tucking her feet under her, she looked around the room. She hadn't gotten a good look at the place last night.

  "Forgot, sorry. You know I'm up early, anyway."

  This was the first time he'd called her since she left. She hadn't expected him to wait this long. "I know, Dad. Did you call to check on me?"

  "Yes, of course I did," he said. "My baby is driving across the country."

  "Whose fault is it that I'm driving across the country?"

  "You need your car in California. Besides, it'll be good for you to see the country. Where are you?"

  "Snowed-in in Iowa."

  "What's in Iowa?"

  "Lots of flat land. My car got stuck in a snow bank, and I'm hoping I can get it out and be on my way this morning."

  She decided not to tell him that she was holed up in a stranger's house. He'd just worry. Besides, she'd be on the road in an hour or so, and Brandon would be a memory.

  One she would think about for a while, but that would be it. She had a goal.

  "Did you call Triple A?"

  "Not yet, Daddy. I will," she said.

  "I wanted you to have that SUV not the Mustang, ya know."

  This again. They'd argued on the car lot. She'd won, of course. "I know Daddy. You told me so, but I have my own mind."

  "Yep, and that's why you're driving across the country."

  She chuckled. He vacillated between supporting her and protecting her. If she didn't take this agent's appointment, she knew she'd never get out of the dive bar scene. She would never know if she could really make it on her own.

  Her father had always coddled her, and she didn't mind, but in this instance she had to show some independence.

  "I'll be okay, Daddy. I didn't even call you when my car was stuck."

  "Making progress," he said.

  She could hear the pride in his voice.

  ***

  Brandon heard the phone ring as he was heading to the shower. He stretched and tried to work out the kinks. He hadn't slept well, and that meant he would feel all of his old injuries today. He also had to shovel snow, and he was not looking forward to today.

  Tonight he'd soak in the tub, drink some scotch and take some ibuprofen.

  He'd hoped that Gemma wouldn't wake up before he left the house.

  What would he say to her over breakfast? Did he eat breakfast? Did she look rumpled like a kitten when she awoke?

  He wanted to be out of the house before she showered. The thought of a woman naked in his shower made his body hum in anticipation.

  "Down boy," he murmured to his dick.

  There would be no sharing of the shower. Gemma would be on her way this morning, and he'd go on with his life as if she'd never been here.

  He showered quickly, then dressed and heading to the kitchen. Gemma was stretching on the living room floor.

  Was that yoga? If she did downward facing dog, he lose it. Really, he'd run from his house screaming. That butt in the air would push him over the edge.

  When she saw him, she smiled.

  "Good morning," she said, yawning.

  "Was the couch okay?"

  "Yes, I just couldn't get to sleep. I guess too much adrenaline from driving in the snow."

  "You need breakfast?" he said.

  He hoped she would say no, but he was prepared if she gave him an affirmative answer. Maybe she would just have coffee and be on her way.

  A guy could hope. This meal would be painful.

  "Whatever you're having is fine," she said. She stood, stretching her arms over her head. Her shirt pulled up with the movement, revealing the smooth skin of her belly.

  He could have stared at that all day. He shook himself.

  "I'll cook if you do dishes," he said.

  She smiled. "Deal. Do I have time for shower?"

  "Uh, not really."

  Hell, no. He would not be in the house with her in the shower. He wouldn't think about her naked and soapy. That was too much for a man to endure. Too much.

  What had he done in his lifetime to endure this torture?

  "Okay. I'll do that later."

  She bounced behind him as he entered the kitchen. "Can I set the table for you?"

  "Sure." He pointed. "Plates there. Silverware there."

  He had pancake batter made in the refrigerator, but he needed some bacon cooking first. Turning on the griddle on his cook top, he set it for four hundred and fifty degrees.

  In a few minutes, the bacon was sizzling in the pan. This was bacon he'd made from his neighbors’ pigs. No chemicals, just smoked. He couldn't eat any other bacon anymore.

  Outside, the day hadn't really dawned yet, and unless the sun planned on coming out, the day would remain gray and overcast. He couldn't see much out his kitchen window.

  "That smells amazing," Gemma said. She'd slid onto a stool.

  "The coffee will be done in a moment."

  What else could he say? He still felt a little vulnerable about revealing his dream. Only his dog knew that story.

  Where was his dog?

  He turned. Spike was stretched out on the floor by Gemma’s stool, getting his stomach scratched. His eyes were blissfully closed, and his tongue hung out in obvious joy.

  Traitor.

  ***

  Gemma loved dogs, but had never been around any other animals. She wondered about the cows for a moment, but then remembered she had to get on the road. Focus, Gemma.

  Do not give up this dream, no matter what temptations come your way. Being a star is why you're on the way west. Being a star is your dream.

  She'd repeated that to herself for the last few mornings. Odd that she had forgotten it this morning.

  "Did it stop snowing?"

  "Yes, sometime in the night. Today is supposed to be sunny."

  He didn't turn to her, just tended to the bacon. She'd never smelled bacon quite like it before.

  "That'll be good for my drive. I’d better pay more attention to the weather report," she said. "I don't want to get stuck again. Not that I haven't enjoyed your hospitality."

  He nodded. "California is a long way."

  Far longer than she'd thought, but she remained undeterred. This was her dream. Her last shot. Go big or go home, her father used to say. "Halfway there now."

  "Almost," he said.

  He turned back and flipped the bacon. Almost done, she hoped. Her stomach was beginning to protest at the lack of food. But after a good meal, she'd resume her trek.

  "Can I pour you some coffee? I think it's brewed," she said.

  "Sure. I take it black."

  She had to reach past him to get the mugs. She hesitated, then invaded his space when he didn't move. "Excuse me."

  Her hand brushed his arm, and he jumped as if he'd be jolted. She'd been jolted, too but she had a much better poker face than he did.

  "Sorry," he said as if he'd done something on purpose.

  She cleared her throat. "No, I'm sorry. Should have warned you."

  "No problem."

  She poured coffee for both of them, then stayed on her side of the counter watching him. He moved with the ease of someone who cooked all the time.

  Her family owned restaurants, so she'd seen chefs and cooks of all levels. Brandon knew what he was doing.

  He wore a flannel shirt, but ha
d the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms. The kind that look as if they'd been sculpted from granite. He held the spatula with a firm grip.

  What else could he grip that firmly?

  Her mouth went dry. What was it about a man's arms? Maybe they showed just how capable he was. How strong he was. She was no damsel, but he could save her any day.

  His jeans fit his nice ass. Each cheek was only a handful. That was all she needed. Anymore was a waste. He stood with his legs braced apart.

  When he turned to glance at her, she sipped her coffee to cover the fact that she'd been admiring his butt.

  He placed the bacon on a plate, then set it in the oven which he'd turned on to warm. Then he poured batter onto the griddle.

  The smell of cinnamon and blueberries filled the kitchen. Gemma's stomach rumbled. "That smells so good."

  He threw a smile over his shoulder. She really liked his smile. It softened his face. He seemed so much friendlier when he was smiling instead of scowling.

  Part of her wanted to figure out how to get him to do that more often, but then she remembered that she'd be out of this state by the end of the day.

  "How long were you in the rodeo?"

  He didn't look at her. "Five years."

  "Were you good?"

  He shifted his weight to one leg, tapping his other foot. "Define good?" he said.

  "Did you win?"

  "Yes, I did win. I won a lot."

  Funny that he didn't display any of that. Most people held onto their glory days. Brandon clearly didn't.

  "Why did you stop?" she said. She was curious about him.

  "I got injured. My back. I'm fine for everyday chores, just not sitting atop a bucking horse. The doc said if I injured myself again, I'd probably be paralyzed."

  Ouch. That bites. "Wow. That's tough. How did you get into it?"

  He shrugged. "Don't really remember. Just had a knack, I guess, and someone noticed it. Gave me a break."

  She would bet her last dollar that the story was more interesting than that. He was probably downplaying it. It made her want to know more, but she didn't have time. This was idle conversation, so she let it drop.

  A few minutes later, he put a plate in front of her with bacon and pancakes. He slid a bottle of something syrupy in front of her.

  "Blueberry syrup made from blueberries I've grown."