Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders 12)

Ben kicked off his boots and stretched out beside her. He wanted to fix her now. Scoop her up, race to the doctor and demand she be healed. He forced himself to calm down and watch her settle into sleep, reaching for her hand just as he began to drift off.

Ainsley’s restlessness roused him. He glanced at the clock. Only an hour had passed.

She started to push up.

“Easy. Anything you need I’ll get.”

“A drink.”

Ben moved to the edge of the bed and held a glass to her lips. “Here.”

She drank every drop.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

He switched out the skin-warmed washcloth for a cool one.

Ainsley sighed when he placed it over her forehead. “Thanks, Ben. You don’t have to stay.”

“I want to stay.”

“Why? It’s not like I have any new loan information for you.”

That sounded a little cross. “Thanks for the update.”

“I’m surprised you’d be interested in hanging out with me, especially if we’re not having kinky sex,” she said snarkily.

Ben’s voice was pure Dom. “The lack of kinky sex was your choice. And it’s a damn mystery why I’m obsessed with hanging out with a woman like you who’s beautiful, adventurous, smart and sexy as hell.”

She slid the washcloth down and squinted at him. “You really see me that way?”

He ran his hand down her arm. “Yeah, angel, I do. You know I do. I see you a lot clearer than you see me.”

“Why did you come over tonight?”

To remind you that I’m not some pu**y lap dog who will be happy with whatever scraps of friendship you toss at me. “Because I thought you were ditching my calls so I came over to chew your ass.”

“And you probably wanted to spank it too, huh?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Ben. That’s not…who we have to be.”

Yes, it is. That’s who we are. And there’s nothing wrong with it. But she didn’t need to deal with that issue now. “Christ, Ainsley, it scared the crap outta me when I saw you on the bathroom floor.”

She reached out and blindly patted his arm, soothing him. “I’m glad you checked on me. It’s a very sweet, friend-like thing to do.”

Sweet and friend-like my ass. Ben nudged the washcloth back into place. “I need to buy you Motrin as per Doc’s orders. Is there anything else you want from the store?”

“Cherry flavored throat lozenges and 7UP.”

“Got it.” Ben tucked the covers around her. “I’ll be back.”

When he returned, Ainsley had fallen asleep again. He puttered around her kitchen. Putting the flowers he’d bought in a vase. Finding a saucepan to heat up canned chicken soup. He bribed her cats with treats and chuckled when the fur balls became slightly less standoffish.

He heard the toilet flush and booked it to the bathroom. “Ainsley? You okay?”

The door opened. “I’m tired of being in bed. I think I’ll sit on the couch.”

She had a pained expression. “What’s wrong?”

“My head is pounding.”

“Maybe it’s the lights.” Ben flipped on a lamp and sat beside her. “Come here.” He placed a pillow on his lap.

Ainsley rested the side of her face on the pillow and practically purred when he gently stroked her hair. “God. I love how you touch me. No matter how you touch me.”

I know you do. “So…I made nice with your cats.”

“Had to bribe them, did you?”

“Yep. Shamelessly. With multiple treats.”

Her low laugh sent her into a coughing fit. She sat up, blew her nose, took another drink of water and popped a lozenge in her mouth. “Sorry. I hate being sick. You probably were one of those healthy kids, Mr. I-never-get-sick.”

He touched her forehead. Her skin was much cooler.

She snuggled more deeply into him. “I’m tired.” Her breathing changed and he was certain she’d crashed again, when she muttered, “Thanks for taking care of me.”

Ben wrapped a curl around his index finger. “It’s a first for me. I’m more the ‘sorry you’re sick, gotta run’ type of guy.”

“Well, you’re definitely more the ‘I’m your boyfriend and I’ll take care of you’ type now.”

Boyfriend? Was that what he was to her? The role she’d demoted him to?

Oh hell no. Fuck no. The kid gloves he’d been treating her with the last few days were about to come off. Just as soon as she got over this fever-induced delirium.

Naturally, Mr.-I-never-get-sick…got sick.

He swore he was dying. He’d contracted bubonic plague. Malaria. Leprosy. Typhoid. Ben McKay was a horrible patient. But Ainsley stayed with him from the onset of the first sniffles. Fussed over him. Took care of his dogs. And when he reached for her in the middle of the night, she willingly went into his arms and comforted him as he shook from his fever, not from passion.

But even in sickness he’d been in total Dom mode. That’s when the reality of this situation with him began to sink in.

They were at an impasse. Not friends, no longer lovers. They’d be at this turn in the road anyway, even if the loan business wasn’t hanging over them, with the thirty days at an end. So why was she still at a tipping point? Unsure of what she wanted and afraid to tell him?

No. You’re not afraid of Bennett; you’re afraid he’d see right through you when you lie to him.

So an hour later when Ben returned from his trip to town and plopped next to her on his couch after his shower, she had a hard knot in her throat, wondering how she’d keep this discussion matter of fact.

“You’re sniffling. You feel like you’re getting sick again?” he asked with concern.

“No. I was sniffing because you smell nice.”

He lifted a brow. “I’da showered sooner if you’d told me I was stinky.”

“You weren’t. I just like the scent of your soap.” That type of comment is not keeping this neutral, Ainsley.

“Duly noted.” He grabbed the water bottle from the coffee table.

“So your mom stopped by while you were in town.”

He choked on his mouthful of water. “She did? Shit. Sorry about that. She probably was a total pain in the ass.”

Ainsley had wondered how he’d react to Vi’s surprise visit. “No, she was great. We talked about our backgrounds growing up with a father in service to God.”