Rode Hard, Put Up Wet (Rough Riders #2)(79)

Jack looked at him. And laughed. Hard.


“What?”


“You’re all of twenty-six. How does that make her young?”


“I don’t know. It just does.” Carter drained his beer and reached for another. Now, why in the hell hadn’t he thought of that before now? Because most days he felt so much older than his chronological age?


“So let me get this straight: You called me, in a panic, dragged me to Wyoming, because you need me to f*ck your new, young girlfriend?”


“It ain’t that crude.”


“Details, man.”


“Fine. Macie has this fantasy of bein’ with more than one guy. She’s told me she’s had dreams about it. And I wanted to make her fantasy, her dream come true, since she made mine… Shit. I sound stupid. Like a f*ckin’ sap. Never mind.”


Jack waited a beat. “Because she is your dream come true, isn’t she?”


Carter didn’t answer. He just drank steadily. Finally, he said, “Yeah. I’m thinkin’ she probably is.”


“Dude. You are so totally f*cked.”


“Yes I am.” He passed out another round of beer. “So will you do it?”


Jack shrugged.


“She’s beautiful.”


No response.


“Sexy. Killer body.”


Jack shrugged again.


“She’s very adventurous in bed.”


He lifted a brow without comment.


“Anyway, I have an extra pair of boots and a hat around here somewhere. I can’t see you fittin’ into my chaps, but maybe that won’t matter to her.”


“She wants me to dress up like a redneck? With shitkickers and a big belt buckle and a stupid hat and a syrupy ‘Hey howdy, pretty little lady, can I ride you hard’ drawl? Oh hell no.”


Carter smiled. Spitefully. “Pretend you’re a sophisticated city-boy all you want, Donohue. But we both know you’re just a South Dakota plowboy with a fancy degree.”


“Insulting me isn’t helping your cause, Carter.”


Carter pretended not to notice when Jack changed the subject. He’d let it go. For now.


As darkness fell, they caught up and talked about Jack’s job with the architectural firm in Chicago and Carter’s upcoming art show. More and more beer cans piled up by his chair. Why was he getting drunk?


Liquid courage, man. You didn’t want to ask Jack for this favor because the thought of any man—even your best buddy Jack—ever touching Macie, makes you mad as a bucking bull. But you love her so goddamn much you’ll do whatever Amazin’ Macie wants to make her happy.


Love?


Her?


Whoa.


Did he love Macie?


He’d have to close his eyes and think about that one.


“Hey, McKay. Wake up. A car just pulled in the drive.”


Dammit, if he could just grasp these important thoughts that kept spinning inside in his brain…before they spun away.


Carter had company.


Macie tamped down her disappointment. She hesitated as she climbed out of her vehicle, studying the two forms in the lawn chairs in front of a dwindling campfire.


“Carter?”


“Hey, shweet darlin’, howsh’s it hangin’?”


Sexy, low male laughter drifted from the other lawn chair.


Macie took another couple of steps and noticed the beer cans. A whole lot of empty beer cans. Beside Carter.


The man stood and thrust his hand out. “Hi. You must be Macie. I’m Jack Donohue.”


“Jacksh’s my beshtesht bud from college.”


Macie looked up at the man. Good God, he was a god. Firelight glowed behind him, making him look as if he’d been forged from steel. He was huge. Muscular. With a brawny chest, ripped biceps, big hands, and never-ending legs thick as tree trunks.


Longish coal-black hair framed his square face. He had a roguish smile boasting brilliant white teeth; a deep cleft in his chin, and eyes the color of green grass. Those same eyes were highly amused.


“Nice to meet you, Jack.”


“Ain’t she beautiful in firelight?”


“Yes, she is. Hang on. I’ll get you a chair.” Jack disappeared into the barn.


Whoo-ee. The beefcake was a gentleman to boot.


“Come over here and give me shome shugar, shugar.”


Macie skirted the fire and looked into Carter’s face. He had a silly smile. And glassy eyes. She bit back a grin. He was unbelievably adorable. “Hey.”


“Hey. I misshed you, my shweet darlin’.”


“I missed you too.” She brushed the springy curls from his damp forehead. “What are you celebrating?”


Carter frowned. “I don’t remember. You probably.” He cupped his hands around her face and brought her mouth to his for a deep, wet, beer-flavored kiss. Even drunk the man knew how to melt her with his kisses.


She gradually removed her lips from his. “I won’t stay, since you have company, but I wanted to tell you thanks for the apology and the picture.”