Cowboy Husband

What is wrong with me? Up until now, waiting until marriage has been the easiest part of my personal rules. I’ve been attracted to plenty of guys, sure, but I’d never even been tempted to let them go farther than fooling around in my truck. I have rules, boundaries, and I never let anybody cross those.

Until Ruckus swung his way into my life.

“I was wondering if you could check in on Ruckus again, see if he’s ready to be released,” I say, grinning through the bright red flush on my cheeks.

The doc, on the other hand, frowns at me like I’m crazy. “Of course he’s ready. I just walked him out a minute ago.”

I glance back over my shoulder, confused. I must have gotten turned around. Wandering through these hallways distracted by the thoughts of that kiss. “Oh. Well, thanks.” A sudden, terrible thought springs to mind. I remember our other rules. The plan for the evening that we agreed to before he got into that ring. No drinking. He can’t go to a bar right now. “Do you know where he’s headed?”

“Back to the ring, I think. A lot of the guys get together after the show, go out on the town, you know.” The doc is playing with the stethoscope around his neck. “Normally I’d tag along, but I’ve got a few more cases of bad whiplash to look at…”

I drown out his next words, my mind already racing ahead. “Thanks, Doc!” I call over my shoulder as I sprint for the doors.

I know all too well what the rodeo guys get up to when they go out on the town. And I’m not about to let Ruckus go down that path. Not after everything he’s been through today.

I think, not for the first time since I saw it, about the tattoo on his chest. The meaning behind it. He got that tattoo for his father, after he died. I wonder when that was. I wonder if I checked the obits, whether it might line up perfectly with the time two years ago when Ruckus went from a star rodeo champion who liked to party to being the notorious troublemaker bar-fighting cowboy that half the shows on the rodeo circuit were leery about hiring.

I’m not going to let him do that to himself again tonight.

The whole way to the rodeo ring, I keep replaying his words in my head. Family meant everything to him. He always wanted me to have a family. Maybe there’s more to the notorious Rudolph Ruckus than I thought.

When I finally reach the ring, though, the guys are already loading into another competitor’s car.

“Hey, you’re the new girl right? Another field manager?” one of the cowboys calls to me. “We’re headed to the watering hole down the road if you wanna join.”

“Ruckus with you?” I call back, trying to keep my voice light and even.

He snickers, then wiggles his eyebrows. “No, but I can give you plenty of ruckus myself, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

I snort and roll my eyes. “Move along, cowboy,” I shout, already turning away from that truckload. Okay, so not there. Maybe he left already? Maybe he’s already at said watering hole breaking rule number one?

Or maybe…

I stride into the now quiet stadium. With the lights out and half the gates open, and only a few janitors picking through the messy wasteland that the spectators left behind, it looks like a completely different world in here. I skirt the stands, following my instincts—and my nose—toward the distant stables out back.

Sure enough, when I push through the back gate into the rear stables, where all the horses and the bulls are kept, I spy a familiar silhouette ahead of me, outlined by the rising full moon.

Ruckus stands on the pen in which his horse and a few of his fellow competitors’ are grazing. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t call his horse over or move to climb into the pen with them. He just watches the horses pick their way across the field. In an hour or so, the stable hands will come and round them up. Put them to bed for the night. But for the time being, for just this brief moment when they aren’t performing or dozing or being fed, I’m reminded of what these horses really are.

Wild animals. Creatures just like us, with hopes and dreams of their own.

I sidle up to Ruckus as quietly as I can, but he must hear me coming anyway, because without turning around, the moment I’m within earshot, he says, “Beautiful, ain’t they?”

“Gorgeous.” I grab the fence beside him and pull myself up onto until we’re almost even in height. “Which one is yours?” They all look similar in the dim and the moonlight.

But sure enough, Ruckus points him out in a heartbeat. Staring at the jet-black stallion, I can see the resemblance to the tattoo on Ruckus’s chest—and also to Ruckus himself, with his wild dark hair and big, serious eyes.

Eyes that train on me now, the moon reflected in them.

“Do you ride?” he asks me. “I know you work the circuit, but…”

I shake my head, an embarrassed flush creeping up my neck. “Never. I love them, don’t get me wrong—always have loved animals of every kind. But I grew up in the city, and my parents couldn’t afford riding lessons or anything fancy like that. I got into the rodeo because I wanted to be around them, wanted to experience this life.” I wave a hand toward the field, but I mean so much more. The road, the small towns we visit and perform in, the country life. Everything seems so much simpler out here.

Usually, I think, with a hot flare of desire as Ruckus leans closer to me, and his leg grazes mine.

“But now, I’m older, and… well… I don’t know, probably too old to learn.”

He barks out a laugh. “No such thing.” With that, he hops the fence in one smooth motion, and offers me a hand over. I hesitate. He must see that in my face, because he arches a brow and skewers me with that far-too-knowing gaze of his. “Come on. I’ll show you.” Then his voice drops, lower. “You don’t have to be embarrassed around me, Sheila.”

The unexpected sound of my name in his baritone, Southern drawl makes my cheeks flush hotter. Before I can think better of it, I’m placing my hand in his and swinging a leg over the fence. I leap toward the ground, but he catches me halfway down, both hands tight around my waist, his hands so large they almost entirely encircle my waist. He sets me lightly on the ground at his feet, and it’s hard to catch my breath, even though I barely moved.

Then he’s striding away from me, toward the horses, and I jog to keep up, forcing my brain to focus on the present. Not on how good Ruckus’s ass looks in those jeans he’s wearing, or on the way he confidently steps up to his horse and gently pats the stallion’s nose, at the same time slipping something from his pocket to let the horse munch on.

“His favorite,” Ruckus explains, showing me the half of an apple he’s extending.

Sure enough, the horse swallows that whole, crunching down with apparent delight before he shifts his head to nuzzle against Ruckus’s cheek.

Never thought I’d be jealous of a horse before.

“You try.” Ruckus offers me the apple, and I extend a hand, nervously. “Steady,” he advises.

I hold my hand flat. Then I laugh with delight as the stallion laps the apple straight out of my hand, his tongue warm and soft on my palm.

“See? That’s not so scary.”

“I never said I was scared,” I protest.

“Good.” Ruckus’s teeth gleam in the moonlight as he grins at me, and I worry I’ve just walked into a trap. “Then up you get. We’re going for a ride.”

Dammit. My knees tense and my breath hitches. I definitely walked into that trap. “At this hour?” I say, trying to stall.

“You did tell me I wasn’t allowed to drink myself stupid tonight,” he points out. “Or fight anybody. Or fuck anybody either.” His voice drops at that, and he steps closer to me, until I can feel the chilly evening air heat up between us. “Unless you’d like to revise one of those options, give me a little leeway…” His hand brushes my shoulder, ever so lightly. Trails down my arm, and leaves an earthquake of shivers in his wake.

I suck in a deep breath and force a scowl. “I told you. I’m not breaking the rules.”

He just keeps grin

ning at me, all too knowing, damn him. “Then what other option do I have for entertainment? A night ride it is. Come on.” He makes his hands into a stirrup and offers it to me. “Leg up.”

I glare at him for a moment longer. But when it becomes apparent that I won’t be able to scowl or bargain my way out of this one, I finally sigh and kick my leg up until the sole of my foot rests in his hands.

“Now stand up,” he says. “I’ve got you,” he adds when I shoot him a dubious look.

I place both hands on the stallion’s back for balance and let Ruckus hoist me up. When my hips are even with the horse’s back, I swing my free leg over his rump, until I find myself sitting on the horse’s bare back, legs clamped tight on either side of him.

“There you go,” he says, a grin in his tone. “Clench with your thighs, you’ve got it. You’re a natural.” I watch him feed a bit into the horse’s mouth before he hoists himself up onto the horse’s back behind me.

“It’s high up,” I point out, unable to keep a tremor from my voice.

“He’s eighteen hands,” Ruckus says. “If you can ride this bad boy bareback, then you can handle just about anything.”

I gulp. “But, we’re not going to go fast, right?”

“Of course not.” His arms circle my waist then, and he pulls me back against him, until we’re crushed together atop the horse. I can feel every inch of Ruckus’s muscular body behind me. His abs, his pecs against my shoulders, and, against my ass, the tight dig of his hips.

Somehow, that feeling of him behind me, enveloping me, makes me feel safer.

At least a little bit. Then he kicks the horse’s flanks, and I gasp and reach down to grip Ruckus’s thighs, staying clear of where he was injured. He laughs into my hair as he steers the horse toward the open gate at the far end of the paddy, where a stable hand just stepped inside to refill the water troughs.

“Pardon us,” Ruckus calls, and the boy jumps aside as we jog past.

I know the jog is the slowest gait, and I know too that Ruckus won’t push his horse harder than he ought to with us both on top. Still, I have to gulp back my nerves when we reach open air, and Ruckus steers the horse toward a trail ahead of us, one that winds away from the stadium, up a nearby hill through the trees.

“Is this really the best idea?” I ask, finally finding my voice. Still, I maintain that tight grip on Ruckus’s thighs, my heart in my throat as we pick up speed into a trot.

“Trust me,” Ruckus whispers against my neck, his voice a warm whisper against my skin. And despite myself, despite all my fears and misgivings, I realize…

I do.

I lose track of how long we ride for. All I can focus on are the sensations of the horse underneath us, and Ruckus’s arms around me, one hand on the reins, the other tight around my waist, pinning me against him. At some point, I finally get used to the sensation enough to allow myself to relax, sinking back against Ruckus and letting my body roll with the movements of the horse as we pad through the woods.

Of course, that’s not the only sensation I notice. With every step and arch of the horse’s back, Ruckus’s hips glide against mine. I can feel the hard press of his hardening cock against the small of my back, and I don’t doubt he’s just as distracted as I am by this ride. I arch my own back and slide against him, making sure to wiggle my hips side-to-side just enough that he’ll feel it. I’m rewarded by a sharp inhale, and his arms tighten around me.

He wants me just as badly as I want him.

I try to remind myself of my rules. The carefully-laid plans I had for all of this. The rules that I never break—the ones I’ve never even been tempted to sway from before.

Then I think about him, and all those rules seem stupid. Like a fantasy from another world that doesn’t matter.

What’s real is the hard press of his body against my back, the warm, solid scent of his that envelops me as we ride—he smells like hay and pine and sweat and masculine in a way that makes me want to just turn right around and kiss him again, feel the way his rough stubble grazes my cheek as his mouth captures mine.

The scenery around us doesn’t help keep me grounded in reality. It looks like something out of a forest fairy tale. We wind farther and farther up the horse-beaten path, until we’re so far into the woods I can’t even see the lights of the town or the stadium behind us anymore. All we hear is the soft whisper of the wind through the trees, the padding of the horse’s hooves, and the occasional whistle or call of night owls in the trees.

Then the trees part, and we stride into a clearing, lit by the full moon, a soft bed of grass that stretches in front of us, soft and inviting.

“What do you think?” Ruckus whispers against my neck, the first words either of us have said in ages. “Good time for a break?”

Without waiting for my response, he dismounts in a single easy motion, then offers a hand up to me. I take considerably longer to climb down, my legs stiff from the ride and my body far too distracted by the way Ruckus’s big hands circle my waist as he catches me on the drop. He lowers me to the ground, and doesn’t let go. I spin in his arms to study the intense expression in his eyes. Every part of me yearns to give in. To lean closer to him. Surrender.

Instead, with a painful twang, I force myself to step backward. Away.

Hurt flashes across his eyes for a second. Then he chases it away with that grin of his, the lopsided one that makes me think about how he’d look poised above me, head between my thighs, about to kiss his way down to my already wet pussy…

I clench my teeth hard against the image.

“Still all about those rules, huh Sheila?” he murmurs.

Then, without warning, he drops to one knee in the grass.

Unable to help myself, I laugh and grab at his hand to pull him upright. “What are you doing?”

He circles my wrist with one large hand. With his other, he plucks a long blade of grass. “I wasn’t kidding before. When I suggested that way around your rules. You’re a good woman, Sheila, and God knows I’ve met few and far between of those, and none of them quite like you.” He winds the blade of grass around my ring finger. My left ring finger. “I get the whole no drinking or fighting rules, I do. And I respect the way you stick to your guns, the way you follow your own rules. So I want to do this thing right.”

He finishes tying the grass onto my finger. It makes a neat little bow. A ring. When those dark eyes of his catch mine again, I swear it takes every ounce of self-control in me not to drop to my knees and pull his mouth to mine. Then he says it. The words that make me almost unable to believe my ears. “Sheila Greyson, will you marry me?”

I can’t help it. I laugh. But his expression doesn’t waver. And his grip on my hand only tightens.

So I follow my instincts. I drop to my knees in the grass before him and reach up with my other hand to circle it around his neck. Lean in until we’re nose-to-nose in the clearing, nobody to hear us but each other. “You must have really hit your head hard in that fall, Rudolph Ruckus,” I tell him, still grinning.

He smirks right back. “Probably. You should take advantage of my momentary sanity, before I lose it again in the next fall.”

“Only if you promise to take advantage of my lapse of judgment,” I reply, leaning forward until our lips are a breath apart.

“Is that a yes, Ms. Greyson?”

My smile widens. “That’s a very big we’ll see, Mr. Ruckus.” With that, his lips crash into mine and I forget about everything else. The rules. The job I’m supposed to do. All of it.

All I can see is him.

He lifts me up off the grass and flips us both over, rolling until he’s on top of me. The grass feels softer than any of the motel beds I’ve slept in lately, and the scent mingles with his as I grab the back of his head, weaving my fingers through his hair as we kiss.

We break apart just far enough for him to grin down at me, his eyes hooded. “I’ve wanted to claim you since the minute I laid eyes on you, Sheila,” he murmurs a

s his hands run down my sides, tracing my curves, digging into my waist, my hips, then sliding under me to grip my ass hard.

“Only if you promise not to be gentle with me, cowboy,” I murmur back, then grin and catch his lower lip between my teeth, biting down lightly.

He growls at the back of his throat when we part, one hand sliding around to grasp the hem of my shirt. “You like it rough?” In one swift motion, he yanks my shirt up and over my head. Tosses it to the grass beside us, and leans down to kiss and nip his way down my neck to my chest. He bites my nipple through the fabric of my bra, just hard enough to make me gasp and arch my back up to meet his touch. “Well, you came to the right man. And now…” He grins up at me and reaches around to unclasp my bra. Leans down to circle his tongue over my nipple, hot and wet in the cool night air. He sucks my nipple until it hardens, then gently runs his teeth across the tip, the sensation driving me wild, sending spikes through my veins. “You’re all mine. And I’m going to make you come for me all night, my girl.”

He trails his lips and tongue lower, down the flat plane of my stomach. I take advantage of the momentary return of my senses to grip his shirt in return. I yank it off, and trace my hands over his back, his shoulders, marveling at the heat that radiates from his bare skin, the strength that ripples through his muscles as he inches lower and lower down my stomach.

At the hem of my jeans, he pauses to kiss my hips, then bite along my hipbones, just hard enough that I squirm. He uses that momentum to wriggle my jeans off my body, until only the thin line of my panties separates me from him.

I wish I could shred those panties into a thousand pieces, to get him inside me faster. “Fuck me, Ruckus. I want to feel you inside me,” I gasp.

But he only clicks his tongue, smirking. “Not so fast, Sheila. We’re only just getting started.” He slides back up my body to lean over me, as one hand trails between my thighs until he reaches my panties. He strokes two fingers along my panties, on the outside, and his eyebrows rise at what he feels. “You’re wet already, dirty little girl. Enjoying thinking about what I’ll do to you?” He slips one finger under the panties. Strokes it along the outer lips of my pussy, which sends a shiver through my whole body. “I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time. About how I’d like to fuck you.”