A Fallow Heart (Tommy Creek #2)(3)

Her frail frame lurched, and between spouts of emptying everything inside her, she whimpered. He grimaced but tucked his Coors under his arm so he could use both hands to hold her up and gather her hair out of the way. Lifting his face from the scene to keep from being sick himself, he glanced around, once more searching for Pretty Boy.

Where the hell was her precious boyfriend? Shouldn’t he be doing this instead? Then again, Coop bet Untermeyer wouldn’t slink within ten feet of anyone puking their guts out, girlfriend or not. No, he probably considered that lowly job fit for dirty, dumb farm boys like Coop.

Cooper rolled his eyes. No wonder why the jackass was nowhere to be found.

Weak and drained, Jo Ellen leaned against him as soon as she finished, pressing her warm, damp forehead to his neck and shivering as if chilled. Instantly, his body went taut. Her smell invaded his nostrils, leaving him dizzy. Never thinking of himself as a flower person before, he suddenly cherished the heady fragrance of crisp carnations exuding from her.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders to support her. She wilted and snuggled trustingly close to let him sustain her weight. He told himself his actions didn’t mean anything. Cooper was a nurturer by nature. He’d lend assistance to anyone in need. But for some reason, this felt different. He didn’t contemplate all the places Untermeyer had no doubt put his disgusting paws. All he could imagine was every place he’d like to put his hands.

Oh yeah, she felt that good.

Didn’t even matter if she’d come within six inches of throwing up on his boots ten seconds ago.

“This way.” Rising slowly to his feet, he drew her up with him. Juggling beer and girl in his arms, he led her from the trees. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Dismissing the idea of seeking out Emma Leigh, he led Jo Ellen away from the crowd, wanting to take care of her himself. A part of him, Coop realized, had always wanted to take care of her.

Like a limp rag doll, she lulled her head back so she could look at him. Her face was slick with perspiration, her eyes sunken and glazed. Yet she still remained breathtaking.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice sweet as an angel’s despite how fragile it sounded.

“Hey, it’s no problem.” He slid his arm down so he could support her around the waist. She meekly followed where he led, clinging to him like a baby kitten.

“Who’d you come here with,” he asked, steering her in the direction of his parked truck.

“Em,” she slurred out the name.

He nodded. “Where’s Untermeyer?” he asked again, though he really didn’t care. Pretty Boy could be sun tanning on a Hawaiian beach with gorgeous, topless women serving him cocktails every hour for all it mattered, as long as he wasn’t here and Coop could keep holding Jo Ellen Rawlings just like this.

“Went with his parents to…” She paused to hiccup, “…to the country club for a family dinner.”

He lifted his eyebrows surprised. “Really? Why didn’t you go with him? Aren’t you considered family?” For as long as she’d been dating Travis, he would’ve assumed she’d be an honorary member by now.

“Guess not,” she sounded depressed to report. “I wasn’t...” hiccup, “…invited.” Cynicism reverberated through her words as she stressed invited as if she’d assumed the same thing Coop had.

Keyed up about the likelihood there might be trouble in paradise between her and Pretty Boy, Coop opened his mouth to question her. But she caught her toe in a prairie dog hole and stumbled.

“Whoa there.” She would’ve pitched face-first into the dirt if he hadn’t tightened his grip and pulled her flush against him. She let him hold her close and even buried her face in his chest, wadding a fistful of his shirt in her hand.

He swallowed and tried to ignore how nice her breasts felt mashed to his ribcage.

“You smell good,” she slurred, humming out a delighted sigh.

Cooper stopped walking, and not so prepared for the abrupt halt, Jo Ellen banged her forehead against his chin.

“What did you say?” he strangled out the words.

“Smell good,” she repeated and rubbed at her injured temple before lifting her face to press her nose into his jugular, where she purred her approval.

The vibration tickled him low in his gut while the fall of her balmy, moist breath on his throat had him going instantly hard.

“Lord have mercy.” He caught her shoulder to yank her away, but instead he found himself holding her right where she was. Glancing around to make sure no one saw them, he asked, “You’re totally wasted, aren’t you?”

Her head fell back again so she could look at him; he was surprised she didn’t crack the back of her skull against her spine she looked up so sharply. With a sloppy grin, she answered, “You’re jus’ now figuring tha’ out?”

He muttered a curse under his breath, closed his eyes briefly to pray for self-control, and took her elbow. “Come on. We need to get you home. Now.”

“You don’t smell like Travis,” she continued, stumbling into step with him.

“That’s because I’m not Travis.” Never so glad to see his ride come into view, he veered her left. Being compared to Untermeyer wasn’t something he wanted to suffer through. Ever.

But Jo Ellen surprised the snot out of him when she made a sound of agreement and added, “He always wears a bunch of stinky cologne; but not you. You smell really good. Like a man.”