Chapter 6
Trace reached across Gemma’s naked body and pulled the cord to raise the mini blinds. She turned over, used his arm for a pillow, and pulled the sheet up over them. A burst of color filled the whole window in dazzling sparkles. Before it had time to fall to the earth in slow motion, the next shower came with a loud pop and an array of red, white, and blue. It wasn’t completely dissolved when another crack brought about a purple, pink, and lime-green display even bigger than the one before.
“This is the way to watch the fireworks. Lying in bed with a beautiful woman in my arms,” Trace whispered.
Gemma looked over her shoulder into his eyes. “Fireworks inside the trailer and now fireworks outside.”
A loud sizzling noise took her attention back to the window. “Oh! Look at that one. It filled the whole window.”
“I’d rather look at you,” he said huskily.
She giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Do you tell that to all the girls who watch fireworks naked with you?” she asked.
Trace removed his arm and sat up. “It was not a line, and I meant it. And for your information, smart-ass, I’ve never watched fireworks with another naked woman. You are the first one.”
She popped up and drew the sheet tighter around her body. “Hey, don’t get pouty with me. I just asked a question.”
“I do not pout, and FYI, I meant what I said,” he said with a sharp tone.
“Well, on that note, I’m going home. Thank you,” she declared as she got out of bed.
It had been wonderful, even better than wonderful, but now she was angry at herself for allowing it to happen. Having sex with him had not put out the desire but made the yearning even more acute. She should have said no and left his trailer instead of giving in to those steamy-hot kisses. This could not work if they were going to compete for the title.
“Don’t thank me for the sex,” he growled.
“I didn’t. I was thanking you for everything else today. And FYI, I don’t thank men for sex,” she said.
***
She slung her legs over the side of the bed and gathered up her clothing. Trace propped up on an elbow with the bedsheet covering the lower half of his body and watched her. She was a spitfire when she wasn’t mad; angry, she was a force resembling a pissed-off tornado.
Her butt wiggled into cute little black underpants that weren’t even an inch wide on the side. Watching her slide them up her legs caused a stirring that he didn’t think was possible after that bout of sex. She reached around behind her back and fastened her bra and then bent over to shake her breasts down into the black lace cups. His fingers itched to touch them one more time before she put them away. Then she pulled on jean shorts and a shirt.
He sighed.
His toys were all put away and suddenly he wanted to get them out again and play until morning.
“Stay with me, Gemma. The fireworks aren’t even over, and you could spend the night right here,” he said.
“I’ve had all the fireworks I’d better have for one night,” she said.
“Then just snuggle with me,” he said.
She bent over the bed and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night, Trace. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Breakfast is at seven in my kitchen. Wagon train leaves at eight,” he said.
“My wagon might leave earlier than that,” she told him.
“And you called me pouty?” he said.
She turned quickly and shot him a drop-graveyard-dead look. “I do not pout, and I’ll be here for breakfast. What can I bring?”
“A healthy appetite for food and for anything else you might have in mind.”
“In your dreams! Good night. This was a one-time thing that should never have happened,” she said as she opened the door.
When she opened the door, Sugar bounded into the room, up her special stairs, and landed on Gemma’s pillow where she turned around several times and then plopped down to sleep.
Trace turned over and watched out the other bedroom window until he saw her lights come on. In a few minutes they went off again. There she was, no more than twenty feet from him and yet she might as well be across the whole state. He turned over to see another bright flash of sparkles in the other window and hugged a pillow.
“Sugar, I should put an end to this, but I don’t think I can, and I don’t think she meant it when she said it was a one-time thing.”
The Chihuahua’s tail thumped against the pillow.
“Nothing permanent can ever come of it,” he continued, trying to talk himself out of feeling the way he did.
Sugar shut her eyes and sighed.
“That’s just the way I feel too, girl,” Trace said.
***
He dreamed of Gemma again that night. She’d wrecked in the final ride in Vegas, and he’d won the prize. Then he dropped down on one knee and proposed to her. She looked at him the same way she had when they were arguing and walked off with a foggy mist closing around her. When he awoke the next morning, he was hugging a pillow and frantically calling out her name. Sugar stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.
He kicked the sheet off and slung his legs over the side of the bed. “She’s going to be the death of me, and I’ve only known her a few weeks.”
Sugar meandered down the bed and onto the floor.
“She might be playing me yet, even after last night. She might just be messing with me until I can’t ride for thinking about her and then laugh when I lose everything.” He continued to talk to himself as he got out of bed.
Sugar barked at the front door.
Trace pulled on his jeans and a shirt, slipped his feet into flip-flops, and took down the dog leash from the hook beside the door.
“Okay, I’ll stop thinking about her and take you out for a walk. And I don’t think she’s that kind of woman either, Sugar. I’m just confused, and I hate this feeling.”
The dog danced around so much he had trouble getting the leash hooked.
“Stand still. I swear all women are trouble, no matter what the species. Can’t live with them and it’s against the law to shoot ’em,” he grumbled.
He finally clasped the leash on her collar and slung the door open to find Gemma standing there with her hand up, ready to knock.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. As if she hadn’t been surly the night before.
As if she hadn’t accused him of pouting. Point proven about his tirade against all females, no matter what the species. She wore a white sundress and matching white sandals. The sun peeking over the horizon behind her parked a halo-like aura above her head, and big white fluffy clouds in the sky behind her looked like angel wings. But the night before, Gemma had proven that she was not an angel. She was all hot, desirable woman in bed and hot, mad woman when she was angry.
“You are beautiful this morning,” he said.
“Thank you. You just getting up?” she asked.
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Timewise or otherwise?”
“You know what I mean,” she stammered.
“Timewise, yes. But otherwise, it could be arranged.”
“Your mind is in the gutter again!” she fussed at him.
He held the door open for her, but she didn’t come inside. “You bring out the worst in me. Come on in. We’ll have breakfast in a few minutes.”
“We could do fast food,” she suggested.
He shook his head. “We have time to cook. I’ll start coffee if you’ll take Sugar out for her walk.”
***
Dreams of Trace had haunted Gemma all night. In the last one he had fallen off a bronc, and the way he was doing a nose dive from horse to ground in slow motion, she was sure he would break his neck. Before he hit the earth, she awoke with a start and sat straight up in bed. She realized in that moment that the whole thing with him had to end, or she’d be crazy by the time the circuit was finished. The best way to do it was cut it off cold turkey, so she would simply back her rig out and be on her way. She’d be sure not to stop at the same campgrounds and double sure not to park beside him at the rodeos.
But if the tables were turned and he was about to leave with no explanation… Well, she had to talk to him just to be able to live with herself. She owed him more than just running away—for the friendship on the road and all they’d shared—and especially since he’d saved her from the sorry cowboy who drugged her. She didn’t like having to explain, but she couldn’t leave without talking to him. So she had marched right up to his door and knocked.
She planned to tell him that any kind of relationship complicated matters too much and that this was goodbye. Then he opened the door, and his dark hair was all mussed up and he said she was beautiful. She sucked up the drool and opened her mouth to tell him what she had to say, but it wouldn’t come out, so there she was five minutes later, taking Sugar out for her morning walk.
The dog stopped to squat in a bed of clover, and Gemma looked out toward the horizon. The sun was an orange and yellow ball climbing up on the far horizon. She should be seeing it in her rearview mirror, not holding on to a leash with a Chihuahua at the other end smelling every single blade of grass.
After breakfast she was determined to have a heart-to-heart with Trace Coleman, even if she had to shut her eyes so she couldn’t see him. No matter who won, this wasn’t something that could last. Like Chopper said, it was like two wild grass fires that send shooting flames halfway to heaven when they collide, but soon they burn themselves out and there’s nothing left but dead grass, dead trees, and lots of black ash. If she won, she could take a huge belt buckle and enough money to buy her own place, get out of Dewar’s house, get the title she wanted, and take a broken heart with her back to Ringgold. If she didn’t, she could take home a broken heart. It was a lose-lose situation.
Sugar chased a grasshopper, checked out a spider, made another wet spot on the grass, and ran back to Gemma with her tongue hanging out. Gemma started back toward Trace’s trailer, but Sugar didn’t move. She tugged on the leash and the dog still didn’t budge.
“You lazy girl. You want me to carry you home, don’t you?”
It was the word home that finally lit up the light bulb in her head.
Gemma needed to go home. She couldn’t make a sensible decision as long as Trace Coleman was right in front of her, but she could figure things out in Ringgold, Texas. And she could easily be on her way in just a few days. There was a whole week between the next two rodeos, plenty of time for a trip to Ringgold where she could put Trace out of her mind and heart.
She picked Sugar up and carried her toward the smell of sausage and coffee. The mixed aromas made her even more homesick. Her Granny O’Malley would be bustling around in her kitchen that morning and there would be coffee brewing, and possibly sausage since Grandpa liked it so well. Gemma often stopped in when she was exercising the horses in the early morning. If she went home to her regular routine, everything would be just fine; she just knew it!
She opened the trailer door and Sugar bounded inside.
“Smells good in here,” she said.
She bent down on one knee to undo the leash, and when she stood up, Trace was in front of her. He extended a hand, and she took it. His eyes locked on hers and he drew her close to his chest. She had intended to use that moment to explain to him what was on her mind, but she could not force herself to move. The back of his hand inched its way down her cheek and her breath caught. His eyes were soft and unfocused, and he brushed sweet kisses on her eyelids.
Her whole body hummed. The night before, his kisses had been fervent, passionate, and hot enough to scald the hair out of the devil’s ears. That morning they were soft, gentle, and left her aching for more. Finally, he worked his way to her mouth and ran his tongue around her lips, teasing them open for a kiss so full of passion that it made her gasp.
“Good morning. I wanted to do that before, but watermelon wine does not make for decent morning breath,” he whispered.
She was breathless, but she managed to say, “Good morning to you.”
He was everything she’d always wanted. Why did fate have to put him in her pathway at the wrong time?
He took a step back and motioned toward the table. “Have a seat. Breakfast is almost ready. Sausage gravy and canned biscuits. I can’t get the hang of biscuits. I can do toast real good, but biscuits in my house come out of a can. The only time I ever made them Uncle Teamer said that I’d best put them in the trash because the government men might come haul me away for making weapons of mass destruction.”
She swallowed a giggle. Trace was a weapon of mass destruction. He could destroy a heart and paralyze a brain with his long, slow kisses.
“I’ll get the juice and coffee.” She busied herself.
The way the air crackled around her and Trace every time they touched, they needed a kitchen the size of a football field. If the kiss hadn’t solidified her decision to go home for a week, preparing breakfast in a trailer dang sure finalized her plans. He definitely was a WMD!
Yes, sir, she was going home between the Colorado Springs and Cheyenne rodeos, and nothing could change her mind. Maybe her sister-in-law, Liz, would read the tarot cards for her again and tell her that Trace Coleman was evil, and she should stay away from him. Or maybe Austin, her other sister-in-law, who had a famous gut that always got in a twist when something wasn’t right, would have some words of wisdom for her. Something or someone at home would put her back on the right track, one in which she was in total and complete control. Of that, she was sure.
Trace put the food on the table and sat down. “Did you sleep well?”
“Just fine,” she lied. “How about you?”
“Like a baby,” he answered.
She giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“People say that, but a baby doesn’t sleep well,” Gemma told him.
“Then, yes, ma’am, Sugar and I slept very well. You got plans between the Colorado Springs and Cheyenne rodeos?”
“Why?” she asked and wanted to bite her tongue. It was the perfect opportunity to tell him that she was going home, and then with a week’s distance between them, it would be much easier to rearrange her plans so that they weren’t constantly thrown together.
“My cousin in Colorado Springs called this morning while you were out with Sugar. There’s a week between that rodeo and the one in Cheyenne. He wants me to help him with kid week on his dude ranch. There’s a bunch of city kids coming to the ranch. They’ll learn all about ranching and spend a lot of time outdoors. I’ll be the boys’ cabin sponsor, but he needs a lady to be in the girls’ cabin. He pays really well for the week. Want a job?”
She really meant to say that she was going home for a few days, but what came out of her mouth was, “Sure! That sounds like fun.”
The words were out.
Trace grinned like he’d won the lottery.
Those horrid drugs must still be in her system from the beer two days ago. Never in her entire life had her mind said one thing, her heart another, and her mouth a third. Now she understood multiple personalities. She’d always figured that only one at a time came out to play. The personalities in Gemma all wanted center stage and fought like siblings.
“What will I do?” she asked. “Just supervise?”
“You’ll be in a cabin with ten girls. There’s an itinerary, but part of the time you’re on your own. Like for the craft things and keeping peace between them. That’s your decision and no one gets in your way. It’s kind of like you are the teacher and principal both for a week. You ever heard of a leadership conference?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“My folks are big on them. They even sponsor one in Houston. It’s a learning experience that teaches teamwork and to lean on your team members in times of stress or need,” he explained.
“That’s what family is for,” she said.
“These kids come from broken homes or no homes. Some of them have a mother. Some a father. Few have both. There might even be a couple from an orphanage, and you can bet there will be some from foster homes. They’ll be wary, but you’ll be amazed what friendships get formed in a week. Lester’s been doing this for several years now. Some of his first kids are graduating high school, and they write him these awesome notes about how that week turned their life around.”
Her heart melted at the softness in his voice. “Sounds like a pretty big responsibility.”
“You can do it. They’ll love you,” he said.
“Have you done this before?” she asked.
“A few times. My cousins make a lot of money with the dude ranch, but kid’s week is their way of giving back. Not one of the kids has to pay a dime for their week. The rest of the summer and fall is for adults. This is the only week that he takes in kids. Adults don’t need supervision, but he’s always scrambling to find someone to help out on kid week.”
“I will have ten girls? You will have ten boys, right? Where are they from? All the same place or different towns?” she asked.
“All from inner cities,” he answered. “They’ll come from Dallas. Chicago. New York City. Detroit. Los Angeles. Cities like that. They learn about horses, cows, gardening, ranching, and making new friends. It’s a working ranch so you’ll be right at home.”
She swallowed hard. How in the devil would she chaperone ten city girls? She’d lived in Ringgold, Texas, population less than a hundred, her whole life. Country girls she could take care of without a problem. They spoke the same language, listened to the same music, but inner-city kids. Lord, they’d have her running circles like a dog chasing its tail. What was she thinking? Evidently her brain lost the ability to do that basic function when Trace was in the room.
He reached across the tiny table and laid his hand on hers. “They’ll love someone like you.”
Her mouth was as dry as if she’d just bitten into a green persimmon, but she managed to get a few words out. “And why is that?”
“You are independent as hell. Sassy as the devil. And beautiful as a model,” he answered.
“Thank you.” She slid her hand out in the pretense of needing both of them to slather butter on a biscuit. She could bluff her way through anything, but not while his touch was sending up dazzling sparks that rivaled the fireworks show the night before.
It was one week, for goodness’ sakes. She wasn’t signing her life away in blood forever, amen. It would last seven days, and when it was over, she’d ride in the Cheyenne rodeo and then go home where she’d sort everything out once and for all.
Trace reached for the coffeepot and refilled their cups. “My three cousins run the ranch. Lester, Hill, and Harper. They are all older than I am but not much. We were like stair steps—Lester was born one year, the twins, Hill and Harper, the next, and then me the next. We’re the only grandkids on my dad’s side of the family. On Mother’s side, I’m the only grandchild and she’s an only child.”
“Okay.” Gemma wondered why he was telling her that.
“They all three live on the ranch,” he went on to say.
“Wives?”
“None of us are married or have ever been married. You have cousins?” he asked.
She laughed. “A lot more than three. Mama is the baby of a big family, and Daddy is the oldest of a big family. The Irish like babies.”
“So do I,” Trace said and then changed the subject. “Your girls will be in the nine- to eleven-year-old range. They arrive in time to throw down their bags, eat supper in the dining cabin, and load up in the two ranch vans to go to the rodeo. After the rodeo is over, we’ll drive out to their place and start to work right then. You are going to love it.”
According to Trace, the kids would love her. She would love the ranch. She would love the kids. There was a hell of a lot of love going on in the trailer kitchen that morning, and the l -word terrified Gemma. Just thinking it made her want to run back to Ringgold and hide behind her scissors and hair dye.
Trace pointed to the clock. “Five minutes until eight. The wagon train leaves at eight every morning, according to the wagon master.”
She slid out of the booth, carried her paper plate and disposable cutlery, and tossed them in the trash can. “What else do I need to do to help with cleanup?”
Trace shook his head. “I’ve already washed the gravy pan and the biscuit pan. So, it’s done. Just one more thing.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her with more hunger than before. “That’s to hold me until tonight.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing his lips to hers for a second kiss. She tasted the remnants of sausage and coffee mixed with just a touch of orange juice.
“That’s to hold me until tonight,” she whispered.
“God, Gemma, I could forget about a rodeo and just hold you all day,” he groaned.
“God, Trace, there’s no woman in the world that would make you forget about the rodeo,” she said with a giggle.
He glared at her, his eyes hard and brittle. “You sure know how to wreck the hell out of a good mood, woman.”
“Now if I could just figure out a way to wreck the hell out of your bronc riding, I’d have it made.” She smiled.
“You are a witch in a cowgirl hat!”
“You are a warlock in spurs!” Gemma fired back.
His eyes twinkled. “Go get your broom and let’s move out.”
“I’ll be right ahead of you.” She did a perfect head wiggle and left his trailer.
They had been on the road for less than an hour when her phone rang. She glanced down to see that it was Trace and pushed the speaker button. “Yes?”
“Does the witch mind if we make a pit stop?” he asked. “Sugar is about to explode.”
“You need to teach her to go before you leave.” Gemma wasn’t about to tell him that she was about to flip on the turn signal so she could go to the restroom.
“We are pulling off at the next exit whether you do or not,” Trace told her.
“Oh, okay, but don’t make a habit of it. We’ve got a lot of miles to put in before the day is done.”
He chuckled and the call ended.
If she and Trace had met under different circumstances, they would have still had obstacles to overcome. He was bullheaded. She was stubborn. Not two good qualities to throw in a burlap bag and tie the end shut. But they hadn’t met in another world; they’d met in this one at the worst possible time in her life and career. Sex hadn’t done a thing to put out the raging desire she had for him—not like she’d hoped it would. If anything, it had just made it all the hotter. She mulled over the whole thing all day, but everything was still unsettled when the sun began to set and they reached their destination that evening in Rawlins, Wyoming. The small log cabin office just inside the grounds didn’t offer trinkets for sale so she paid for her parking space and followed Trace out to the front porch.
Sugar chased a butterfly, and Trace leaned against the side of the porch post. “Penny for your thoughts.”
“I was thinking that someday my granddaughter will ask me about this trip and how much fun I’d have telling her all about Sugar,” Gemma answered.
“You going to tell her about the hot sex we had last night?” he asked.
She blushed scarlet. “Trace Coleman! Of course not. A granny doesn’t tell her granddaughters such things. Besides, by then, she wouldn’t believe me anyway. In her eyes, I’ll be an old gray-haired woman with wrinkles who never had or even wanted sex.”
He held up a palm. “You’ll still be hot and sexy when you are old and gray. And don’t be givin’ me no tall tales about that just being a line either.”
She pointed and changed the subject. “Look at that view. Isn’t it gorgeous? But I do miss the trees and rolling hills back home.”
“There aren’t many trees in Goodnight, Texas. It’s mainly land and sky,” he said.
“Like Claude,” Gemma said.
Trace nodded. “It looks like another trailer is turning this way. Guess we’d better get out of the way.”
She stepped off the porch. “Grilled cheese sandwiches and the rest of the fruit salad for supper?”
“Sounds good to me. You bring the fruit and I’ll make the sandwiches soon as I get the electricity hooked up. The trailer will cool down pretty quick when the air conditioner gets going, or we can eat out on the picnic table. It’s a fairly nice night and I don’t hear too many mosquitoes buzzing around.”
“Outside sounds good to me. I’ve been inside that truck all day. I could look at this view until it gets too dark to see anything,” she said.
She crawled into the driver’s seat of her club cab truck and drove slowly toward the lot at the back of the campground. They were falling into a routine and there didn’t seem to be a dang thing she could do about it. If she opened her mouth, the wrong thing came out. If she tried to walk away from a kiss, her legs wouldn’t move. The only thing she could do was let fate have its way and see where it led. Maybe it would grow tired of their bickering eventually and just let the relationship or friendship, or whatever it was, die in its sleep.
She parked in her assigned lot, hooked up to the electricity, and picked up the bowl of fruit. She knocked on Trace’s trailer door and he opened it wearing nothing but boots, a cowboy hat held right below his belly button, and a smile.
“Holy crap, Trace!” she gasped.
“You don’t like my outfit, Miz Wagon Master?” Trace asked. “I styled it after Pepper on your favorite movie. He was skinnier than me, though.”
She stepped inside the trailer and shut the door with her foot. He reached out a hand and took the fruit from her, set it on the counter, and tossed the cowboy hat on the table.
She looked down. “I didn’t ever see what was behind Pepper’s cowboy hat, but it probably wasn’t nearly that nice.”
Trace chuckled. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ve thought about this all day, and believe me, it made for a hard day in every sense of the word. And that, darlin’, is not a line either. It’s the truth as you can well see.”
He pulled her close and his hands were everywhere, unzipping the white sundress, slipping it down over her hips and draping it across a chair in the corner.
Just like the night before, he carried her to the bedroom and closed the door with his boot. Later, when they were both panting, she curled up in his arms and asked, “What was that?”
“It was an eight-second ride that lasted ten minutes. We’ll go for a marathon later.” He stopped between each word to catch his breath.
“Mmmm,” she mumbled.
He adjusted their positions, nestling her in the crook of his arm so he could see her face. “Open your eyes, Gemma.”
They popped open even though she tried to keep them shut. “Why?”
“I love the color. They are the color of moss on the back side of a tree in the fall of the year,” he replied.
She started to say something, but he shushed her with a long kiss.
“It might not sound romantic, but I’m thinking of a big oak tree right beside my house in Goodnight. It might not sound like a romantic line, but it is because I’d love to take you there sometime, Gemma.”
“You are wrong about what you said. That happens to be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” she said with a long sigh.
“Sleep or food?” He nuzzled his face down into her hair.
“Food. Sleep. More sex.”
“Your wish is my command. We’ll have sandwiches and fruit in bed. Take a nap and dream about sex in fields of clover or maybe in a hayloft and then wake up and make it come true.”
“Now that’s definitely romantic.” She smiled, and vowed that tomorrow she would put an end to all this—whatever it was.
His eyes sparkled, and then he smiled. He pulled her into a sitting position and removed a brush from the bedside table.
Her eyes widened. “What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m not into kinky stuff. I’m going to brush your hair and braid it. It’s sticking to your neck.”
When all the tangles were out, he deftly French braided her hair into a long rope down her back, secured it with a rubber band, and kissed her right below the ear.
Forget afterglow. Hair brushing and braiding pushed it out of the picture.
“Now you can feel the air on your neck,” he said. “I love long hair and I’m a sucker for redheads.”
“Trace,” she stammered. “To begin with, my hair is dyed. It’s really dark brown. And next, I’ve never fallen into bed with a man I’ve only known a few weeks before. I just want you to know that.”
“Well, I’m sure I’d like your hair any color you want to make it. And I didn’t think you were that type of woman, darlin’,” he whispered as he massaged her back and neck. “I didn’t plan on this either.”
Her tense muscles relaxed under his fingertips. “That is heaven,” she said.
“ You are heaven,” he said.
So that’s what was in Pandora’s box. She had wondered ever since she was a little girl and now she had figured it out.
Pandora’s box had two sides. Heaven on one side, hell on the other. Which one would still be standing in December?