Page 41 of Ride a Cowboy

And just like that, Macie forgot about his fully dressed state again. Using his tongue, fingers and teeth, he dragged one orgasm out of her and got her damn close to the second before rising to shrug off his jeans and kick off his shoes. To her surprise, he even pulled off his shirt.

“Get in the middle of the bed, Whiskey. I don’t want to fuck you tonight.”

She scowled and started to assure him there was no way in hell they weren’t having sex, but he just dragged her where he wanted her.

“I’m making love to you.”

“Oh.”

Her legs opened and then he was there, sliding inside her. He rocked in and out, the two of them swaying like a boat on a placid lake. Throughout it all, he whispered so many perfect things, she felt certain she was dreaming.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“God, I love you.”

“How did I live a second without you, Whiskey?”

“Want you in my bed every night.”

As they reached their climaxes, he kissed her softly. Macie went over first, but Hank was only seconds behind. Then he withdrew, moved behind her and spooned her as he fell asleep within minutes.

Macie lay there listening to his slow, deep breathing and every bad thought, every anxiety she’d suffered, simply drifted away.

Chapter 7

Hank walked into his kitchen, took one look around and wondered if he’d been robbed.

“Macie?” he yelled out. Silence answered him. He’d spent the entire day in Douglas at a stock sale and had called earlier to say he was running late. At the time, he noticed Macie sounded flustered.

Stepping into the room, he tried to take stock of the disaster surrounding him. There was a scorched skillet soaking in the sink that was never going to be saved. The stench of burned meat assaulted his nose. He followed it to the trashcan under the sink, where he discovered a huge pile of black…something. Maybe chicken.

There was flour all over the counters, the floor and the table, and in the midst of the sea of white was a very flat pancake-looking thing in a cake pan. Next to it was some concoction that looked like butter, sugar, milk and food coloring. He didn’t have a clue what that was supposed to be.

There were lumpy mashed potatoes in a pot, raw broccoli in a bowl and a half-drunk bottle of wine.

Concerned when she didn’t appear, he dug out his cell phone and called her. And was instantly greeted by her ring tone, “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere,” coming from beneath a pile of sticky paper towels on the counter. The woman was infamous for leaving her phone behind. Most of the time, he thought it was funny. Right now, it was frustrating.

“Whoa. What happened in here?” Porter asked as he stepped into the kitchen.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

When Porter looked around and mumbled a curse, Hank looked his way for an answer. “You figured it out?”

Porter nodded. “It’s your birthday.”

“I know.” And the light went on. “Macie tried to make me dinner.”

“And a cake, I think,” Porter said, pointing to the pancake and blue milk in a bowl. “I might’ve mentioned how Sharon always went all out for your birthday. Home-cooked dinner, cake, presents.”

Hank closed his eyes and sighed. “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

“I didn’t realize her skills were quite this…I mean…shit, man, she works in a restaurant.”

“As the bartender. And she’s sort of sensitive about Sharon comparisons. She feels like she needs to compete or measure up or something.” Hank thought he’d talked her off that ledge last week after delivering the cow, but given her efforts tonight, he feared there was still some convincing to do.

“She what?” Porter asked. “Why does she think she needs to compete with Sharon? Macie’s awesome the way she is.”

Hank grinned. His best friend was definitely starting to come around after his initial assessment of Macie. “I know. And I’ve told her that. More than once.”

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