Rode Hard, Put Up Wet (Rough Riders #2)(16)

“Oh sorry.”


He was reluctant to remove the blindfold, though he did so, his gut clenched in fear at what he might see in her eyes. Or what she might recognize in his. Cash tenderly kissed her eyelids, her eyebrows, the corners of her eyes, the bridge of her nose, every part that’d been covered by the cloth. She didn’t melt into him, rather, held herself stiff.


With a sinking sensation, he whispered, “I’m gonna head upstairs.” And he turned away so she couldn’t see his face.


After he hit the bathroom he crawled in bed. A sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.


Was she staying away, wallowing in regret?


Eventually Gemma entered the room. He feigned sleep as she climbed between the cool cotton sheets. She didn’t snuggle up to him. They stayed on their respective sides of the queen-sized bed, back to back. Cash had almost drifted off for real, when the bed creaked and he heard her get up. Her light footfalls stopped at the window.


He laid there in silence, in misery, pretending sleep as he listened to her soft sniffles.


Never a good sign to hear the woman you’d just spent hours making love to, crying as if her heart was breaking.


Chapter Seven


Lord it was hot.


Macie wiped the sweat from her forehead with the inside of her arm and dropped the empty bucket near the water pump. A low groan drifted out from the barn. Weird. The door was ajar. Curious about the strange noise she heard, she stepped inside and immediately was plunged from bright sunshine into darkness. She picked her way through discarded tools littering the dirt floor, the scent of hay and feed and horseflesh overwhelming her senses. She rounded the corner by the last wooden stall and stopped.


Three men were crammed in the small space. Three men, naked, except for their cowboy hats and boots. She couldn’t see their faces, but at the moment it wasn’t their faces she was interested in.


They were all buck-ass naked. Oh, man, it’d be a damn shame to cover up such glorious bodies under chaps, jeans and long-sleeved shirts. These hunky cowboys should be all nude, all the time.


Two men studied a man who was bound. His muscular arms were stretched above his head, his strong wrists tied together and hooked to a long rope. His feet were spread wide, though the tips of his boots scarcely touched the hay-strewn ground. His bulky thigh muscles were rigid from the strain. A single thin golden sunbeam blazed between the wooden slats, highlighting his sweat-coated skin.


Macie’s eyes drank him in. Of the three, he was the most striking. Wide, defined shoulders. A hairless chest with sharply sculpted pectorals. His biceps bulged with corded muscles and thick veins. As her gaze swept down to his ribcage and his tapered waist, to the dent in his navel, the other two naked cowboys blocked her view of his groin.


Damn.


But she watched in fascination as the men murmured to him before each one latched onto a flat bronze nipple. The bound cowboy arched, but no sound emerged. The blond man suckling his right nipple reached down between the man’s legs. Although Macie couldn’t see specifics, by the way the bound cowboy bucked, and by the way the guy’s hand moved up and down, she had a pretty good idea what was being done to him.


A fireball of heat blazed through her.


The dark-haired man on the left brought his fingers to the bound cowboy’s mouth.


The bound man parted his lips and sucked the offered digits to the knuckles. The man withdrew his wet fingers and reached around the bound cowboy’s hip, his arm dropping below the phantom belt line.


A stuttered breath left the bound cowboy’s mouth and he jerked once before a low-pitched groan escaped. Sweat beaded his upper lip. More perspiration coated his golden skin. He twisted beneath the men’s ministrations and the ropes, yet his cowboy hat remained in place, covering his face.
 


She glanced at the clock. The red numbers flashed five a.m. No use going back to sleep now—the alarm would ring in another half hour anyway.


Macie cleaned up, dressed, and braided her hair before she hopped in her SUV and navigated her way to work.


Late yesterday afternoon, after she and her father finished their meal at the local diner, he’d sped off to Gemma’s ranch to set up the camper. She’d sensed he needed to be alone with his thoughts and to gauge his new responsibilities without her chattering at him. So she’d lingered in the booth, thinking of her best friend Kat, wondering how she’d managed to be a third wheel again. Then she noticed the “help wanted” sign by the cash register and asked the waitress about the opening.


Velma—the sixty-something owner of the Last Chance Diner—needed a gal Friday to fill in part-time as a cook and waitress. The hours were sporadic, but the pay was decent for rural Wyoming. With Macie’s experience in restaurants, Velma seemed genuinely happy to hire her on a simple handshake.


Macie was glad her first day would be spent in the kitchen. Between the bizarre dream, and her father ignoring her, beating eggs and dicing veggies would be a productive way to channel her frustrations.


Inside the restaurant, the rich scent of coffee caused her steps to quicken and she poured a mug before clocking in.


Velma grinned. “Another caffeine addict, huh?”


Macie grunted.


“Well, I’ve already had four cups so I’ve shaken off the cobwebs and started the bacon.”