Rode Hard, Put Up Wet (Rough Riders #2)(66)

Channing leaned forward. “Dish the details.”


“It’s hot and spontaneous and fun.” She hesitated and blurted, “And dark.”


“Dark like kinky dark?”


“No dark as in: we always have sex in complete darkness. Or he makes me wear a blindfold. I’ve never seen his body completely nude.”


“Whoa.”


“Yeah. So I have to wonder: Is it a shyness thing?”


A calculating look entered Channing’s eyes. “I doubt it. Those circuit cowboys are used to stripping down to their underwear in a whole room full of strangers.”


“That don’t make me feel better, Channing.”


“Sorry. Go on.”


“Then I wonder: Is he weirded out by my body? I sag in spots. Maybe he’s noticed the pockets of fat and wrinkles, but he’s okay touching it if he doesn’t have to see it?”


Channing choked. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say, Gemma Jansen.”


“You wouldn’t think it was ridiculous if was you in the damn dark all the time.”


“There has to be a reason he insists on darkness. He’s not burned or physically scarred?”


“No.”


“Some weird secret tribal tattoos?”


“I don’t think so.”


“Then it has to be emotional. Maybe a woman laughed at him once and he swore he’d keep all sexual activity hidden in the dark.”


“He ain’t got nothin’ to be ashamed of.”


“Is it a different kind of Indian thing?”


Gemma’s beer stopped halfway to her mouth. “I don’t know. Maybe.”


“Shoot. Then I’m out of ideas. But I think you need to force the issue so you can tell him how you feel. Being in luuurrrrve and all?”


“Right. He’s only been here two months and I’m gonna confess my love for him?


He’d hit the South Dakota state line in record time.”


She rolled her eyes. “Give him a little credit. And yourself too. He probably feels exactly the same way.”


A bunch of male whoops echoed from the yard.


“Sounds like the mechanical bull is functioning.”


Channing scrambled to her feet. “I better make sure Colby isn’t showing those boys how it’s done.”


At the paddock, Gemma sidled up to Macie. “You sick of cookin’ yet?”


“Nope. Thanks for sending Keely and Amy Jo in to help me.” She gave Gemma a mocking sideways glance. “I managed to accomplish absolutely nothing, but I sure had fun.”


“Good. You deserve fun. I’d forgotten Keely was close to your age.”


“Whenever Carter’s mentioned her he makes her sound about twelve.”


“Where is Carter?”


“No clue. I thought he’d be here by now.” Macie sighed. “He tends to lose track of time when he’s working. That’s all he’s been doing lately.”


“Any idea on how his pieces are coming? I know last time I talked to him he was a little behind schedule.”


“Carter sort of mumbles about it when I ask. I’ve never seen a single finished piece.


Yesterday he was disassembling an old tractor for parts for some kind of sculpture. Said he needed to weld so he shooed me home.”


Gemma sensed a problem but opted not to press Macie to talk about it.


They focused their attention on the men standing next to the mechanical bull. Colby explained something, complete with hand gestures. A round of laughter broke out. Then Cash stepped up; the crowd stepped back.


“You ever seen your dad ride?”


“A couple of times. I know he’s pretty good but I still think he’s crazy for doing it.”


“Amen.”


When Cash climbed on the back of the machine, Gemma’s stomach clenched. Colby turned the machine on high. Barely two seconds passed before Cash was on his ass on the ground.


Macie gasped.


“Easy, hon. He’s fine. Just watch.”


Sure enough. Cash stood, put his hat on his head and climbed back on. He nodded at Colby. Four seconds later Cash was on his hands and knees in the dirt. A minute later he was back on the bull.


“He’s gonna keep doing it, isn’t he?” Macie said. “He’ll keep doing it until he gets it right, or until he figures out what he’s been doing wrong.”


“I reckon. He don’t know the meaning of the word quit. When it comes to anything.”


“I’m glad. It makes me hopeful.”


“Me too, Macie. Me too.”


Chapter Twenty-six


Firelight skittered across the ground, cutting through the shadows. Wood crackled, sending a shower of orange sparks skyward. The air was temperate, reminiscent of bathwater. His family was here. The food was good. The beer was cold. The soft twang of Western music drifted in the background. Nights didn’t get any better than this.