Rode Hard, Put Up Wet (Rough Riders #2)(49)

“Damn. I take it back. You did nail her. Congrats.” Carter wiped another streak of blue across the top. “So were they fake?”


“Yep. Who cares? They were just the way I like ’em: big and round and bouncy and then they were gone.”


Carter laughed.


“What about you, bro? Getting any in that godforsaken part of Wyoming?”


Carter glanced down at the canvas. A serene Macie stared at him from the back of a dappled gray mare. Definitely not the image of his wild Macie from last night. With her sexy legs clamped around his waist, his hat sliding off her head, him swallowing her cries as she came from him f*cking her against the wall. Man. She’d hardly made it inside the trailer and he was on her. In her.


The last three weeks had pretty much gone along those lines. She’d work. He’d work. They’d hook up a couple of times a week to f*ck like animals. Then she’d go home and he’d go to bed. Alone.


The ideal set-up, right? No promises. No hurt feelings. Just lots of hot sweaty sex.


He was f*cking sick and tired of…well, just f*cking and didn’t know what the hell to do about it. The first week he and Macie spent together seemed different. Real. Like something special. Now they didn’t talk. They didn’t fight. They didn’t tease each other, or get to know each other, or even eat a damn meal together. They just screwed and that was the extent of it.


He scowled at the shitty picture on the easel, and resisted shredding it to ribbons with his exacto knife. Even his attempts at art were a screwed up mess. Nothing was working in his life.


“Carter? You still there?”


“Yeah. Sorry.”


“So? Since there ain’t no women around…who’s your favorite sheep this week?”


“Fuck off.”


A soft rustling filled the phone lines, followed by a heavy pause. Then he heard,


“…Carter, why? Really? I ain’t surprised. He is kinda rude. Self-centered too.”


“Who are you talkin’ to?”


“Mom. She says you haven’t called her lately. And you don’t answer your cell.”


“Shit. Do NOT hand the phone to Mom, Colt.”


“Yeah? There’s been no problems with the phone line to Gemma’s house as far as I know.”


“Hey, f*ckface. I mean it. I don’t want to talk to her.”


“No, that’s cool. We were done anyway.”


“Colt, you f*ckin’ loser, don’t you dare pass me off to… Hey, Ma.” Colt was dead the next time he saw him. Dead and buried. With a boot up his ass.


“If it isn’t my long lost son, Carter West McKay. Why don’t you get the excuses on why you haven’t called me out of the way first thing?”


Carter heard Colt laughing. He closed his eyes. He really did feel guilty. Especially since his mother was one of the few people he could really talk to. Yeah. Like his brothers didn’t tease him enough for being a momma’s boy.


“Sorry. I’m a terrible son. I know how much you hate it when you don’t hear from any of us, me in particular. Would it help my cause if I took you out for supper, tossed in some flowers and rubbed your feet when I get back to the ranch?”


“More like a recitation than an actual apology but I suppose that’ll do.”


Carter smiled. He’d still be groveling if his dad were near the phone. If Carolyn McKay was unhappy, Carson McKay knocked heads together to get answers as to why his beloved wasn’t beaming rainbows. Those heads mainly belonged to him and his brothers since they were the usual source of her angst.


“So…how are things? You about done with the pieces for your show?”


“Not really. I’m pluggin’ away. Day by day. Seems to be getting harder.”


“Have you talked to your agent about it?”


“No.”


“Gemma working you too much?”


“Actually, she hired a foreman about a month back and so I’m not doin’ a whole lot of work for her.”


“Who’d she hire?”


“Cash Big Crow.”


“Really? Colby’s friend?” Surprise laced her voice. “I wonder if he knows about that.”


“Probably. How is Colby?”


“Busy. And before you steer the conversation away from asking more about you, I’ll give you the rundown on the rest of the McKays: Keely is running wild. Cord is working too hard, as usual. Ky is growing like a weed. Cam won’t be home for Thanksgiving again. Keely is driving your father insane. And Channing is turning out to be quite the little gardener. Am I missing anyone?”


“Dad.”


“Did I mention Keely was making him crazy?”


He grinned. “Once or twice. So, how are you, Ma?”


“You are all a bunch of sweet-talkin’ boys, just like your father. Lord. It’s a wonder I don’t have a dozen grandchildren spread across a dozen counties. I’m fine. I miss you.”


“I’m two hours away. I’m closer than I was when I lived in Colorado.”