Chapter 7
Several other trailers were already parked when Gemma crawled out of the truck on the rodeo grounds at sundown. Excitement floated in the mountain air like smoke in a cheap honky-tonk. The smell of dust, animals, and beer and the summer weather brought on what Gemma tagged “rodeo weather.” Since she’d been a little girl, she couldn’t wait for winter to end and spring to arrive so they could start going to the rodeo on weekends. She loved the whole scene: cowboys, bulls, horses, hats, boots, trailers, long rides, noise—all of it. And she loved getting to the grounds a whole day before she had to ride the next night.
She’d barely gotten the electricity hooked up and was back inside the trailer when Trace knocked on the door and then opened it a crack. A hand slithered through the small opening and held out a beer.
Gemma grabbed it and slung the door open all the way.
He stepped into the trailer and said, “It ain’t Coors but it’s cold.”
She shut the door. “Where’s your buddies? I saw them headed toward your trailer the minute you parked.”
“Jealous?” he asked.
“No, I am not. I just figured you’d be off checking the bulls and broncs and seeing what mean critter you drew for the ride tomorrow night.” She guzzled down several long gulps of the beer.
“I told them we were claiming a spot, but leaving soon as we did. We are headed on out to Lester’s dude ranch to let you get the lay of the land before you take on ten girls,” Trace told her.
She looked him right in the eye and didn’t blink. “Did it ever occur to you that I want to be here tonight, that maybe I don’t want to go out to the dude ranch right now?”
“Well, pardon me.” His head did a bobble with each word.
You are letting a little jealousy ruin things, girl. The voice in her head sounded a lot like her grandmother’s.
I’m not jealous, she argued.
Of course , you are. You thought he’d come running to open the door for you like the gentleman he is and instead he talked to his rodeo buddies.
Oh, hush! she thought and then looked around to see if she’d said the words out loud.
“You are doing that again,” he said.
“Doing what?”
“Arguing with yourself,” he replied.
“How do you know?” Gemma’s tone sounded aggravated in her own ears.
“Because I do the same thing. Let’s start all over,” he said. “Would you like to spend tonight at the ranch to get acquainted with the place before the kids come? You can do laundry, unpack, take a bath in a big claw-foot tub, and relax.”
“I’d kill for a bath in a big, deep tub. My granny has one like that, so yes, I would like to spend the night at the ranch. And what will you be doing while I do all those things?” she asked.
He shot her his best killer smile. “That’s up to you, darlin’.”
“And if I want something kinky?”
“I told you I don’t do kinky,” he said.
“Not even leopard-printed fur handcuffs and maybe a little watermelon on your body if I promise not to bite?” she teased.
“That’s not kinky. That’s plain old cowboy sex.” He chuckled. “Want to practice right now?”
She shook her head. “Not after that drive we just did. Let’s take my truck. It’s got a club cab, and we can throw the laundry bags in the back seat. In yours we’d have to put them in the back, and they might blow away.”
“You are changing the subject,” he said.
“Yes, I am. Much more of that kind of sexy talk will burn down my trailer, and I need it to get from rodeo to rodeo,” she said as she pulled a laundry basket out of her closet.
His arms slipped around her waist and pulled her back against him. “I missed you today. Short phone conversations don’t let me touch you or smell your hair or kiss you.”
She turned, and he pinned her against the doorjamb with a hand on either side of her shoulders. She rolled up on her toes, and his lips met hers in a scorching kiss that sent shock waves to her toes.
He broke the kiss and stepped back. “I’ll go get my stuff ready and unhitch the trailer for you, then.”
Gemma barely nodded. To get her mind off what she wanted to do, she did what she should do and filled a long tubular bag made of oatmeal-colored canvas with sheets, towels, clothing, and the rest of her laundry. Then she packed a small duffel bag with clothing and was crossing the floor when Trace stuck his head in the door again.
His eyes slowly undressed her—an item at a time. A wide grin split his handsome face and he said, “Well, shucks, I was hoping you’d meet me in nothing but your boots and a smile.”
She giggled. “And a hat?”
“That does sound sexy. Hold that thought for a few hours. Here, I’ll take those to the truck for you,” he offered.
She handed the laundry bag to him, locked the trailer door, and turned to see Trace standing a few feet away with his hand in the air. “Toss me the keys.”
“I’m driving,” she said.
His eyes narrowed and his lips almost disappeared when he clamped them together. “I’ll drive. I know the way,” he said.
“You can tell me where to make the turns,” she answered.
He rounded the front end of the truck and held the driver’s door open for her, waited until she had buckled the seat belt, and then slammed the door shut with enough force to rattle the windows.
Sugar whimpered from her perch on the console.
Gemma scratched her ears and whispered. “Men are like that, Sugar. They get mad if they don’t get their way. Be glad that you don’t have to deal with little Chihuahua boys who think they are God.”
When Trace was in the truck, Sugar crawled over into his lap. He folded his arms over his chest and ignored the dog, which made Gemma even madder.
Gemma put the key in the ignition and started the engine. “Sugar didn’t cross you. I did, so don’t take it out on her.”
“I’m not,” Trace growled.
“Which way?” Her tone was cold.
“When you get out of the grounds, go south for six miles, then turn back to the west.” His was just as chilly.
“So, you don’t like to sit in that seat?” she asked.
He kept his eyes straight ahead. “Not when there’s a lady in the vehicle.”
“Why? Do you have to be in control?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“When I’m in the vehicle with a woman, I should drive. It’s respect, not control,” he declared without looking at her.
“Are we fighting?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. We are having a discussion. When we fight, you won’t have to ask,” Trace told her in a chilly tone.
Five miles south of Colorado Springs she saw a sign advertising Coleman’s Dude Ranch. She quickly read the directions that said to turn right in one mile and checked the speedometer. At the end of a mile, she turned and passed under a metal arch with Coleman welded across the top in big letters. The road was wide enough for two vehicles but narrow enough that she was glad she didn’t have to pass a semi or even another pickup truck. Trace still sat on his side of the truck like a puffed-up toad frog. She fought the urge to stop the truck, kick him out on the side of the lane, and put it in reverse.
“Okay, macho man,” she said when she reached the end of the lane, “which way now?”
He pointed straight ahead. She passed horse corrals, several barns, and three long shotgun-style cabins near the white two-story house. Two hounds were sleeping on the steps of a wide front porch. Rocking chairs beckoned from deep shadows, and light flowed in golden splendor from the windows onto the lawn.
“Which cabin is mine?” she asked.
“Menfolk are next to the house, then the dining cabin, and finally the ladies.”
“Okay, this is enough, Trace. If you are going to be a jackass because I drove, then get out and go have fun with your cousins because I’m going back to the rodeo grounds. I don’t have to put up with your pouting crap.”
He chuckled.
Gemma didn’t see anything funny. Her green eyes flashed anger and she raised both eyebrows halfway to her hairline.
“You are a pistol when you are angry,” he said.
“You are a jackass when you are angry,” she shot right back.
He held out his hand. “I’ve been told that before. Guess it could be true. Truce?”
She ignored it. “Do you realize that as long as you call the shots and I play along, everything is all fine and dandy? But the minute I cross you, you act like a grizzly bear with an abscessed tooth.”
He folded his arms over his chest.
She did the same.
“Now we are fighting. Want to have makeup sex later tonight?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
The tension in the truck was thick enough that a sharp machete couldn’t have cut through it, but when he asked that last question the whole scene was hilarious. They were fighting over who drove her truck six miles. She burst into laughter so loud that it bounced around in the truck like marbles in a tin can.
“Dammit, cowboy! It’s not funny.” She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt.
“I didn’t say anything funny. I just asked if you wanted to have makeup sex,” he declared.
“I know, but why are we fighting about driving?” she asked. “That’s a piss-poor thing to fight about when we’ve got bigger things we could really put to the test.”
He unfastened both seat belts and leaned over the console, cupped her cheeks with his hands, and lowered his lips to hers.
“It’ll take more than that to be called makeup sex,” she whispered.
“Oh, darlin’, that was just a teaser. We’ll get around to the real thing later tonight. Lester said supper is at eight, so rather than having pickup sex, we’d best go on inside. Most of the time supper is at six, but he and the twins were making hay all day,” he said.
Gemma sputtered. “You did not tell me we were invited to dinner. I didn’t even change clothes.”
He kissed her again. “You look like a million bucks. Hungry?”
She looked down at her shirt and jeans. At least she hadn’t spilled anything on them that day, even if they were wrinkled. She pulled her hair loose from the braid and pulled the sides up with a clamp from her purse, leaving the rest to fall in soft waves down her back. She checked her reflection in the rearview mirror and applied a bit of lipstick and mist of perfume.
“Best I can do on short notice. You could have told me this morning,” she said grumpily.
“I didn’t know it until an hour ago when Lester called and invited us. Then you got all huffy and had to drive.” Trace slid out of the passenger’s seat, rounded the front of the truck, and opened the driver’s side door for her. “You look beautiful, as always. Just don’t let my cousins take you away from me.”
“Hmmph,” she said. “You’d have to own me first, and that ain’t damned likely, cowboy.”
“Hey, you made it!” a man who was definitely related to Trace came around the end of the house and waved. He was as tall as Trace and built like him—tall, muscular, square-cut jaw with a slight cleft—but his eyes were clear blue and his hair was blond. “Lester, meet the woman I told you about,” Trace said. “This is Gemma O’Donnell. Gemma, this is the oldest one of my cousins.”
“Right pleased to meet you, ma’am, and thank you for agreeing to sponsor our girls’ cabin this week. Supper will be ready in a few minutes. Y’all have time to take that glorified rat you travel with to the guys’ cabin and show Gemma where she and the girls will be bunking.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting the girls, and it’s nice to meet you,” Gemma said.
“Gemma, you can’t imagine how glad I am that you agreed to take on the job this week. I was scrambling. The lady who usually does the job had to have a hip replacement, and my back-up woman just had a new baby last night. You are a lifesaver!” Lester wiped his brow in a dramatic gesture. “See y’all in about fifteen minutes for supper?”
“We’ll be there,” Trace said as he got back into the truck. “If you drive to the ladies’ bunkhouse, we will unload your things first.”
“You do look beautiful, Gemma. I’m not shootin’ you a line,” he said when she had driven the short distance and parked the truck.
“Yeah, well, it’s dark out here so you can’t see what I really look like,” she told him.
“I don’t need light to see you.” Trace chuckled. “My imagination is really good.”
“Much more of that kind of romantic talk, and we’ll be late for supper,” she said as she helped him unload her suitcase and garment bag onto the porch.
“Food or spending the…”
She butted in before he could finish. “Enough of that, Trace, and I mean it. I don’t want your family to think I’m just a buckle bunny.”
He opened the door into the cabin. “You do realize that for the next week we have to be good?”
“Yep, and I figure it will be a test to see if we really like each other,” she answered.
“Will there be a quiz at the end?” he teased.
“Yes,” she answered without hesitation and tossed him the keys to the truck. “You drive. I’m not sure which one of these buildings we’re going to.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You are trusting me with your vehicle?”
“Don’t start a fight with me, Trace,” she warned him. “I eat a lot when I’m nervous or angry, and you wouldn’t want me to embarrass you in front of your family.”
“Not possible,” he said with a grin.
Gemma stayed in the vehicle while he unloaded his things and took Sugar inside the cabin. Then he drove back to the main house and parked beside three other trucks. This was definitely cowboy country, and Gemma felt right at home even before she and Trace stepped out into the night air.
“Did I hear someone coming to dinner?” Lester asked as he slung open the front door and motioned them inside.
“You did,” Trace answered.
“Well, then, let’s go eat. Hill has it on the table, and you know how cranky he gets if it gets cold,” Lester said as he led the way out of the foyer. “We’ve heard all about your folks up in these parts. Anytime you want to sell Glorious Danny Boy, me and the boys will hock the ranch to buy him.” His voice wasn’t as deep as Trace’s, and it didn’t have that slow Texas drawl.
“Mama would sell her soul before she would that horse.” Gemma followed Lester through the living room that reminded her of home—soft leather furniture, huge television, and hefty oak coffee table, a fireplace at one end with stuffed bookcases on either side.
Her eyes took in the whole room, including the stairs to her right and doors to her left. Another tall blond cowboy came out of the nearest door, wiping his hands. “Hi, Trace, and you have to be Gemma. I’m Hill Coleman. Trace told us you were beautiful, but he didn’t do you justice. Come on in and set up to the table. Harper will be down in a minute. He had to go wash up a bit.”
Harper yelled from the top of the stairs, “I’m on my way. Don’t be startin’ without me. Trace will get all the best parts.”
Boots made a rat-a-tat noise on the steps as he hurried down.
Gemma looked up at still another handsome blue-eyed, blond-haired cowboy and then back at Hill. They were so much alike that she couldn’t tell them apart.
“Twins, remember?” Trace said. “Hill is an inch taller, and Harper has longer hair.”
“I do not,” Harper argued, and wrapped Trace up in a fierce man hug, “and he’s only half an inch taller.”
“And there’s the way you really tell them apart.” Trace said with half a chuckle. “Harper will always argue the point about being shorter than Hill. I’ve known them since they were born, and sometimes I can’t even tell who is who, but if I mention their height, then Harper argues.”
“It’s on the table,” Hill said. “And if you really want to tell us apart, then remember I cooked tonight. Harper does a pretty good job of simple things, but you won’t ever get yeast bread when he cooks. He and Trace, neither one could make a pan of biscuits that couldn’t be used for skeet shootin’.”
Harper led the way to the country kitchen. “Come on now. Stop telling tales.”
“So, you all cook?” Gemma asked.
“Yep, we do,” Trace answered as he pulled out a chair for Gemma.
“We take turns,” Harper answered. “Mama said boys had to learn to cook just like girls.”
“You have sisters?” Gemma asked.
“No, ma’am,” Harper replied. “Mama said after she had three boys she was afraid to try for a girl because she might get another mean boy. You got sisters?”
“One sister, Colleen. Three brothers,” Gemma replied.
“Bless your mama’s heart,” Hill said.
“She’s pretty tough and she believed in boys being able to cook and girls being able to ride a bronc or pull a calf,” Gemma said. “She always said that what was good for the goose was good for the gander.”
“Wise woman,” Lester said.
“Pardon me for changing the subject here, but how is Uncle Teamer?” Hill asked Trace.
“Doin’ good. He’s ready to retire and I’m ready to buy him out soon as I get the money together,” Trace answered.
“He’s been ready for a couple of years,” Hill said as he passed a platter of fried chicken to her.
“Little bit of history, Gemma.” Hill smiled. “There are three brothers in the Coleman family. Teamer, our father, and Trace’s dad are brothers. Trace’s dad didn’t take to ranchin’. He’s a lawyer in Houston and Trace is the only chicken in that nest. Teamer never married and didn’t have any kids, so he wants to give Trace the ranch, but Trace has a stubborn streak a mile wide and won’t take it without paying for it. My daddy and mama retired about five years ago and turned this place over to the three of us.”
Gemma put a chicken thigh on her plate and glanced around at the three blond cowboys. Every one of them—except Trace—fit the fortune Liz had given her, and yet not a one of them made her heart do double time—except Trace.
“I can believe that about Trace having a stubborn streak,” she said with a nod.
Hill passed a bowl of mashed potatoes to her. “Oh, yeah! He’s got the worst one of all of us.”
“Hey, now!” Trace argued.
“Okay, change of subject. We want to make another offer now that we got you here. How about staying for two weeks? Kids one week and senior citizens the next?”
“Senior citizens?” Gemma asked.
“I like the kids, but I love the old folks. The same ones have been coming for the past five years. The youngest one in the bunch is about seventy and they are a hoot,” Lester said.
“You could drive up to Cheyenne for the rodeo and come back the next day. That’s when they arrive, and they’ll stay a week. You’d have three days to go from here to Dodge City for the next one,” Hill said.
Trace looked at Gemma, and she shook her head. “I’m going home between Cheyenne and Dodge City. I’m homesick, and, guys, this supper is delicious, but it’s not helping cure my homesickness. Every bite tastes just like my granny’s cookin’, and I swear these hot rolls are as good as Mama’s. Why would you need counselors for senior citizens anyway? Aren’t they considered adults?” she asked.
“Well, thank you for the compliments,” Hill said. “Higher praise ain’t even possible than what you just said, but we were hoping to hang on to Trace another week. We don’t get together nearly often enough.”
“I understand, and you can keep Trace if you want, but I can’t stay away from Ringgold, Texas, too long or I get all melancholy. He doesn’t have to go where I go or even take me to the airport. I’m a big girl.”
Trace snorted. “You? Melancholy? More like another m -word.”
“And what would that be?” she asked.
“Mean. Don’t let her fool you, guys. She’s meaner than a junkyard dog,” he teased. “You should hear the way she talks to me about the competition.”
“Are you calling me a bitch?” She accentuated every word with a poke of her fork.
“No, ma’am. I’m not nearly that brave,” he said.
Hill laughed. “Man, you done backed yourself up in a corner. You’d best do some sweet-talkin’, or we’ll have to call the undertaker when she kills you with that fork.”
Gemma laid her fork down. “Darlin’, you’d best never get that brave or I won’t need a fork. I’ll take care of you with my bare hands. And I am homesick. I like getting away from Ringgold, but that’s where my roots are. I love traveling and the excitement of the rodeo, but what I really like is my chunk of north Texas dirt.”
“Amen!” Trace agreed. “I feel the same about Goodnight.”
Hearing him say those words put a whole new spin on things for Gemma. She would never leave Ringgold. He’d never leave Goodnight, and there were more than two hundred miles between the two small towns. She definitely had some serious thinking to do during the week they worked for his cousins.
“Y’all got unpacking and settlin’ in to do. We’ll take care of cleanup,” Hill said after they’d finished supper.
“He means I’ll take care of cleanup,” Harper teased. “But you do both need to check the agenda for next week to see if you want anything changed, so get on out of here.”
“Thank you for supper, for the cleanup, and for everything else,” Gemma said as she pushed her chair back.
Trace followed her lead. “I’ll add my thanks to Gemma’s, but we don’t mind helping.”
Lester shook his head. “You go on and get your beauty rest even though you don’t need it.”
“Be careful, she’ll be accusing you of shootin’ her a line,” Trace said.
“Darlin’, that’s the gospel truth. Ain’t no bullshit to it.” Lester grinned.
“Thank you—again,” Gemma said.
Trace looped her arm into his. “Do you want to leave your truck here and walk over to your cabin?”
“Sounds good to me,” she answered and wondered if she and Trace would have another argument when she told him that she needed time to think before they fell into bed together again. “I don’t expect to be driving anywhere before morning.”
He walked her to the door and raised an eyebrow.
She rolled up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Good night, Trace.”
He took a step back and frowned. “Are we okay, or are we still arguing?”
“We are fine,” she said with a smile.
“Okay, then,” he said. “I’ll just show you around. I don’t want you feeling sorry for one of the girls and giving them your room. Believe me, by the end of the first day, you will want a room where you can shut the door and leave them on the other side of it.”
She stepped inside to find a long rectangular room lined with bunk beds on either side. An open door at the very end showed a bedroom with a king-sized bed. She headed straight for it with Trace right behind her.
“Is this one really mine?” she asked.
“Yep,” he nodded. “We get the royal treatment for the job we do.”
The big bedroom had a recliner, television, private bathroom with the big claw-foot tub that Trace had promised, and a stacked washer and dryer combination.
“This is great,” she said. “And this bathroom is all mine? I don’t have to share with the girls?”
“All yours,” Trace laced his fingers in hers. “I’ll show you the one that they use.”
At the end of the room a door led into an enormous bathroom with several stalls and five divided showers with pink shower curtains. Vanities had plenty of outlets for hair dryers and one long mirror above it stretched the length of the whole wall.
Trace led her back out into the main room with walls of rough-hewn logs. Area rugs separated the living area from the bedroom space. Two deep leather sofas in a dark-brown color, a big television, and a computer station took up space on one side. Comfortable chairs and a wall filled with books were on the other side. She wondered which area would entice her girls the most: books or entertainment.
Between the sofa area and the beds there was a small kitchen area with a stove, cabinets, and a refrigerator. She pointed at it and asked, “Do we cook some of our meals here?”
“No, three meals a day are served in the dining cabin. The kitchen is for night snacks or whatever you want to do with the girls, like craft projects or popcorn.”
He picked up her laundry bag and carried it to the bedroom at the end, came back, and got her duffel bag and set it on the bed. “What do you want to do first?”
She raised a dark eyebrow. “You’re asking and not telling?”
“I am,” he said.
“Then I’d like to take a bath in that tub over there. I’d like to lie back in it and not get out until I look like a prune.”
“You think that big old tub would hold both of us?”
“Maybe.”
He slipped his shirt over his head and reached out to help her remove hers. “You ever had sex in an old-fashioned bathtub?”
She shook her head. “Not any kind of bathtub. You?”
“No. That makes us both bathtub virgins, but I betcha we can figure it out.”
She kicked off her boots and peeled her jeans down over her hips while he started running the water. When he turned around, she was wearing only bright-red lacy underpants.
“Nice outfit there, Miz O’Donnell,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Coleman. I wore it just for you,” she flirted.
After another night with Trace, it would be a miracle if she could even stay on a horse eight seconds at the rodeo. Was that what Trace was attempting to do—wear her out and give her too much to think about to win the purse in Colorado Springs?