Shattered Read online

  After a while, she sighed and turned to face me. “I didn’t know how much I needed that. I feel, I don’t know, lighter, freer, I guess.” She placed a hand over my still thundering heart and stroked her fingers over my nipples and chest.

  “You and me both,” I replied, placing my hand on top of hers.

  She laid her head on my bicep and played with the hair running from my belly button down to my cock.

  “Do you think I’d make it as a bronc rider?”

  “With the way you rode me just now, girl, you’d give every cowboy on the circuit a run for their money.”

  Chapter Five

  Montana

  Having sex, sex and more sex, was how we spent the next two days. Tricia canceled her visit, saying she couldn’t bear to leave her grandbaby. I missed her, but I was also relieved she’d decided not to come home.

  When Dylan wasn’t working with the new horse, we were between the sheets blowing each other’s minds.

  His imagination was a creative one. He’d shown off his rope skills by tying me up a few times.

  I’d happily stay in our cocoon forever, but I had to be realistic; our time together was running out. That was something I didn’t want to think about too much.

  Everything with him was better, funnier, more exciting. Being with him made me feel like a better version of myself, a stronger, more confident version.

  Ever since I’d accepted the challenge to spend less time on my phone and online—I’d extended it past the three days with no coaxing from Dylan—I found that not obsessing about what people were and weren’t saying about me was liberating.

  The angel and devil were still doing their daily battle, but the angel was winning, and the devil was now shrinking and sulking.

  Yesterday, when I’d stopped by my cabin to grab clean clothes, I’d also grabbed my guitar and sheet music.

  The notes and lyrics twisting around my brain insisted I write. The butterflies in my belly and the voice in my head wouldn’t leave me alone until I got something down on paper.

  I sat in a rocking chair on the porch in front of the main house strumming nothing in particular, waiting for the tune to make its way out of my body. Writing a new song was sometimes like an exorcism but without spinning heads and projectile vomiting.

  Dylan’s truck pulled up the gravel road, and my heart soared. The butterflies in my belly headed down south until they tickled my clit.

  He jumped out of his truck, a wide smiled lighting up his face when he saw me. I poured him a glass of lemonade and bounced down the steps to meet him.

  “I could get used to this,” he said, planting a kiss on my cheek before accepting the drink. He took a sip and smacked his lips. “A girl who can make lemonade and give blowjobs as good as you is a keeper.”

  “Be still my beating heart.” I went back to the rocking chair, picked up my guitar, and strummed a few notes.

  “Will you sing for me?” he asked.

  “I’m rusty,” I lied. Singing for only him would be more terrifying than getting up on stage in front of thousands of people. “My voice hasn’t been used in a while.”

  “What’s that you’re playing?”

  “Just something I’ve been working on.”

  “Let me hear it.”

  “I don’t like anyone hearing my songs until I know they’re ready.”

  “Tell me what it’s about.”

  I smiled. “Waterfall kisses, long summer nights, and a cowboy who knows me better than I know myself.”

  A blush formed on his cheeks and the emotion on his face and in his eyes left a lump in my throat. “A song about us.”

  “More like a song about you,” I admitted. “How I feel when I’m around you. How you make me feel like I’m not the Antichrist.”

  He took a long step toward me and got down on his knees, placing his hands on my thighs. “You’re an angel. A beautiful, complicated, stubborn as an old mule angel.”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the compliment.”

  “I had a thought today.”

  “One whole thought? Are you feeling okay?”

  “Come into town tonight. Let me take you to dinner.”

  I looked at him like he was a few pickles short of a barrel. “I can’t. That’s too public. The paparazzi—”

  “Nothing happened when we went to the clinic. Nothing will happen tonight. Do you trust me?”

  “You know I do. It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

  “The whole time you’ve been here, you’ve left once. It’s time you took a step into the real world again. You want to sing again, don’t you?”

  I chewed on my inner cheek. “I don’t know that I do.”

  “Bull crap.” He sighed in exasperation and stood. “You wouldn’t be sitting here strumming your guitar and writing songs about me if you didn’t.”

  “None of my clothes fit.” Panic clawed at my chest. I would use every excuse I could not to go anywhere that involved seeing people, being around people, or talking to people. “My hair’s dryer than a bale of hay. My roots need done. I look a hot mess.”

  “Stop making dumb excuses.” The green in his hazel eyes flashed. “I’m not a man who wants much or who asks for much, but I’m asking if you’ll go on a date with me. Usually, I like to buy a girl dinner before I fuck her.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not like other girls. I don’t need fancy restaurants or romantic gestures to sleep with you. I just need you, me and this place forever and ever.”

  Dylan let out a slow breath. “You know this isn’t forever, right? I need to compete. Be on the road. I haven’t made a secret about that.”

  “How long are we talking?”

  “Sooner rather than later. The World Championships are only a few months away, and I have to be ready if I’m going to win. That means I need to start riding bulls again.”

  I momentarily froze. Hearing him say the words was like standing beneath the waterfall on a winter’s day. “I know,” I said and shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m fine, but for now, can’t we just pretend that this is our own piece of paradise? That this is forever?”

  “Sure,” he said, knowing full well I wasn’t fine. “We can pretend this is the real deal. Now go get dressed, I’m taking my girl to dinner.”

  My heart tumbled to my toes. I didn’t have to pretend this was the real deal, because, for me, it was. The sudden, overwhelming realization that I loved him stole my breath.

  Why did I have to be one of those all or nothing people? Why did I have to go to extremes with everything? One drink was never enough. One kiss was never enough. One hookup was never enough.

  He had a life to go back to. Why in God’s name would he want to stay shacked up on a ranch with me when he had a successful career beyond the mountains?

  “Pick me up at my cabin in an hour,” I said, sounding more cheerful than I felt. “I’ll be the one wearing a horse’s blanket because nothing else will fit.” I stood and set my guitar on the chair. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”

  “Because I give you mind-blowing orgasms.”

  “You do have some talent in that department.”

  He reached around and smacked my butt. “You bet your ass I do.”

  I nuzzled my lips along his whiskers and grinned. “Save that for later, cowboy.”

  “I have that and a lot more in mind. I’ve been practicing my rope tying skills.”

  “Like you need any practice.” I walked away to the sound of him chuckling. I smiled too, but that was for show. The devil on my shoulder rubbed his hands together and whispered that now would be the perfect time for a drink because it would be the only thing that would get me through tonight.

  He might be right.

  Dylan

  How could I tell her I was leaving tomorrow?

  After pestering the crap out of Mason, he said if I took a concussion test and passed, he would clear me for riding.

  Earlier, when Monta
na had gone back to her cabin, I made my way to his office in town, took the test, and passed by the skin of my teeth. He suggested I wait a while longer, but I told him, no, that my head was fine.

  There was a rodeo coming up in Tulsa. I’d already registered online, and if I left before dawn and drove like the devil, I’d make it.

  The time was right to get back in the saddle and get back to my real life. One filled with ropes, roughstock, and re-rides.

  I’d be in Nashville in two weeks’ time for the Music City Knockout. I’d love to see Montana in the stands, cheering me on, but I wasn’t hopeful she’d come. Dinner was one thing. Expecting her to go to an arena with twenty thousand spectators would be asking too much.

  In my dreams, she would come on the road with me. But there was no way she would last a week roughing it. What kind of life could I offer her? One of me always going from one rodeo to another. Never knowing if I would get hurt or killed.

  As a kid, I’d watched my mom go through that with my dad, and I swore I’d never put a wife or kids through anything similar.

  I didn’t know if a family was something Montana wanted. I sure didn’t. I didn’t want my kids to hear fights about my life on the road. And I sure as shit didn’t want to be the type of dad who only came home when he was too beat-up to ride.

  What if... I shook my head. No what-ifs. My world wasn’t hers, and her world wasn’t mine.

  Besides, her mind wasn’t in the right place yet. I had faith she would get there and overcome her fear of going new places and being around people she didn’t know. I didn’t doubt that the draw of the crowd, the fame, and the glory would entice her back one day.

  Whistling Wind Ranch had been good for both of us, but all good things always had to end, didn’t they?

  I pulled up outside her cabin and jumped out of my truck. I wouldn’t share my news with her until after dinner. I didn’t have the heart to do it sooner. Who was the coward now?

  For the first time in almost ten months, she would leave the ranch without being forced, and I wouldn’t ruin that by telling her I was leaving.

  She was writing again, and from the sound coming from behind the closed door, singing again, too. Her voice drifted out to the porch. Something about dirt road kisses and lemonade.

  Not wanting to barge in on her when she was in the middle of something, I rapped my knuckles against the door. After a few seconds, she opened up.

  My heart lurched against my rib cage. “You’re breathtaking.”

  “Why, this old thang?” She wore a short, flower-covered summer dress and a pair of well-worn cowboy boots. Her hair streamed over her shoulders, and her lips were painted fire-engine red. Later, I hoped she’d wrap those lips around my dick.

  “I’m in two minds about staying in or going out to dinner now,” I admitted.

  She took my hand and tried to pull me inside. “Let’s stay in. I’m not much of a cook but I’m sure I could rustle something up for us.”

  “Nice try, Calamity Jane.”

  She dropped my hand and ran her shaking fingers down the front of her dress. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  I took her hands in mine and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Darlin’, I’ll look after you. It’s going to be okay. Baby steps. We’ll leave if you start to panic or feel uncomfortable. I promise.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Throughout the drive into town, Montana stayed silent, and no matter how much I tried to get her to talk, she barely said a word.

  At the restaurant—a local Italian owned by the parents of one of the ranch hands—we sat in the parking lot for over five minutes, neither of us talking.

  I broke the silence by saying, “You know you’re one of the strongest, fiercest women I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot because the rodeo women are as tough as cowhide.”

  She kept her eyes fixed on the parking lot. “I don’t know if being strong is going to be enough tonight. I feel like I need a drink. I feel like I’m going to throw up, and I’m sweating buckets. Any time I went out to dinner, I always got sloshed. Two bottles of white minimum and whoever was unlucky enough to be my date would end up with a glass in his face. God, I was a nightmare.” Her lips twisted into a sad smile. “My mom was right about me.”

  She’d only mentioned her parents a few times, and from the small bits I could gather, they’d fucked her up.

  “What was she right about?”

  “This and that. I know I should let that part of my life and them go. I know I should move on. But it’s like she has her fingers in my belt loops and keeps pulling me back to the past.

  “When I was barely twenty, I left her and my dad in my dust and moved in with your cousin. Couldn’t leave my demons behind, though.” She looked up at the roof and squeezed her eyes shut. “I treated him like dirt. Tricia has every right to hate me. I was the Wicked Witch of the West, The Sanderson sisters, and Maleficent rolled into one.”

  “You said your parents died?”

  “She was drunk.” She forced out a watery, bitter-sounding laugh. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess. She killed them both.” A tear trickled down her cheek. She swiped it away before I could.

  “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t imagine growing up the way she had. My dad and mom for all their bickering loved one another and loved us kids to pieces.

  She nodded her thanks. “On nights like tonight when I’m feeling weak, I keep hearing her voice.”

  “You need to see yourself as you are now. How I see you.”

  “And how’s that?” She smiled weakly. “A stubborn old mule?”

  “A beautiful, talented, loving woman.” I reached across the console and grasped her hand. “Have you thought about talking to someone about everything you’ve been through? Everything you’re going through?”

  “I don’t trust anyone but you. I can’t let anyone in. No one needs to know the crap that’s in my head.” She pulled her hand from mine and pressed the heels of her hands beneath her eyes. “I’m depressing myself enough to want to slit my wrists. Let’s go eat, I’m starving.”

  “See, not so bad,” I said once we were seated. “You didn’t burst into flames when we crossed the threshold. No one came after you with pitchforks.”

  Her eyes darted all around, looking for trouble. When she found none, she said, “Give it time.”

  The restaurant was quiet with only a few locals and one or two tourists. If anyone recognized Montana, I couldn’t tell.

  Her shoulders relaxed a little. She picked up the menu and scanned it, but I could tell she didn’t see the words.

  A little girl with red hair and wide blue eyes came up to our table full of confidence. I looked from her to Montana and back again.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Montana, can I have a photo with you?”

  A lady I assumed was the girl’s mom hurried over. “Jamie,” the mom chastised. “Let Ms. Chambers eat in peace.”

  “But, Mom. She’s right there.”

  Montana stood, a little shaky on her feet, and smiled, her eyes filled with gratitude. “It’s quite all right. I’d love to have my photo taken with you, sweet girl.”

  “Oh, okay,” the mom said, sounding surprised. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure if she should come over here what with…”

  Montana flinched, but not enough for anyone but me to notice. “I’m so happy she did.”

  The mom ran back to her table to grab her phone while Montana chatted with the little girl about her favorite song and what she liked best in school. When the mom came back, she snapped several photos, then after a few hugs and thank yous, they both went back to their table.

  “Look at that, you didn’t have a panic attack because someone recognized you.”

  “She was adorable. I’m surprised her mom didn’t yank her away from me in case I did something that would have mentally scarred her daughter for life.”

  “People don’t hate you the way you think they do
.”

  With every minute that passed, she relaxed a little more.

  Near the end of dinner, she set down her silverware and tilted her head. “Now that I’ve done something I really didn’t want to do, there’s something I want you to tell me.”

  “The meaning of life? Why are we here? Are aliens real?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No, and everyone knows aliens are real. Why are you so determined to win in Vegas?” I opened my mouth to speak, but she held up her hand to stop me. “Don’t try to fob me off with it’s in my blood. There’s something that’s driving you. What is it? Please tell me. I’ve resisted Googling the shit out of you. All I really know is that you’re a big deal in the rodeo world.”

  She had shared everything with me, left no stone unturned; I should do the same for her. “The truth is, I’m doing it for my dad.” Not wanting the pain of his death to get the better of me, I took a sip of water to gather my thoughts and emotions. “He was in the later stages of dementia when he died, but that wasn’t what killed him. He was so frail his body couldn’t fight off infections anymore. We made sure he was as pain-free as possible at the end.”

  Heart-wrenching sorrow showed in her eyes, and to stop myself from breaking down in the middle of the restaurant, I studied what was left of my meal.

  “He wanted so badly to be the best bull rider in the world, but he never could quite get there. Before he died, I promised him I’d win the gold buckle in his name. That’s what’s driving me. That’s what’s pushing me.”

  “Was...” She paused. “Was his dementia caused by getting bucked off and hitting his head?”

  I nodded slowly. “Repeated blows to the head can be associated with the development of dementia. I’m sure it was a factor.”

  Not wanting to talk anymore about my reasons or the causes of my dad’s illness, I changed the subject, something I always did when I didn’t want to continue a conversation. “You ready to get out of here?”

  “Sure.” She pushed away from the table and stood. “We should do this again.”

  “We will. Any time I come to town, I’ll take you to dinner before taking you to bed.”