Chasing Liberty, page 4
Damn, now he knew he had it bad.
He was caught between a rock and a hard place.
Anger rushed through his veins like scalding water added to ice. Damn Liberty and her cold heart.
Shoving to his feet, he was ready to call it a night. He fished out his wallet, took out some cash, and tossed it onto the table. “You boys have fun and be careful.”
“Where are you going?” Jinx asked.
“I need some sleep. It’s been a long week.” He didn’t need to tell his crew that he was sex starved and only one woman would satisfy him, and she wanted nothing to do with him. He could see the pity in their eyes.
He pushed his wallet into his back pocket and took a step toward the door when a slender hand fell onto his bicep. She was one of the dancers and her smile and body promised things that would spank the holy ghost right out of a man. She was beautiful, he’d give her that, with sultry eyes and pouty lips, and the tight sequined top showed off all her assets. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m on my way out.”
She looped her arm around his elbow and brushed against him. She smelled like whiskey and trouble. “Don’t be shy, cowboy.”
A lot of people mistook his quiet nature for being shy. “Have a nice night.”
“Just one private dance?” Her bright eyes caught the overhead neon light.
He resituated his Stetson. “I’m flattered, but I’m going to have to skip the dance.”
The dancer was persistent though.
She grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the VIP section.
Irritation gnawed at Wyler, but he was too much of a gentleman to be unkind to the lady who was just trying to earn a living. He could relate. He’d been kicked out of his house by his father at fifteen and he’d had to scrape his way through life, until he found something he was good at. He’d been hired as staff in a rodeo circuit to take care of the horses, then he worked his way up to the eight-second ride. There he found the family he never had growing up. The riders were like brothers and showed him the ropes, took him under their wings. They too had similar stories to his. Living on the road for months on end meant they had to rely on each other because sometimes, even for tough men who didn’t think twice about jumping on the back of an angry bull and roping feisty cattle, the loneliness could start working on their minds. They suffered through isolation for the adrenaline rush they gained by pleasing the fans.
Wyler hadn’t minded the long tours on the road. He’d enjoyed traveling from place to place, state to state, and performing for an audience while racking up points for the circuit. Until the day came when he started waking up in the morning sore in places he never knew existed. He was getting the hell beat out of him and he wasn’t bouncing back as quickly.
One day he got a call from Cave McCoy who said Sagebrush Rose Ranch needed some reliable hands. It took Wyler about an hour to decide he needed a change of scenery. He’d been ready for some time to hang up his spurs and plant some roots.
He could still remember the day he’d driven onto Sagebrush. He’d stopped and looked up at the swinging sign with the Rose brand, knowing the place had to be something special. It had been a scorching afternoon when he met Sam Rose, the man whose reputation preceded him, who was sitting underneath the shade of an old oak tree nursing a scotch and smoking an expensive cigar. He didn’t stand to greet Wyler but did extend a firm gripped hand. The seasoned man had a power about him that warned others that he had a long, invisible reach.
Wyler had met a lot of people over the years, powerful people, but none were like Sam. He had confidence and many stories in his leathered, wrinkled skin and crooked hands. Cave had told Wyler that Sam was a good boss and worked right along his hands. Never asked his crew to do anything he wasn’t willing to do himself.
He’d invited Wyler to sit in the extra chair and while the patriarch took a long puff on his cigar, he looked Wyler directly in the eye. “McCoy said you’re a hard worker, responsible and like glue in the saddle. Hard to find those attributes these days.”
“Not ringing my own bell, but yeah, I take pride in my work.”
“I have three rules.” Sam held up three gnarled fingers. “Number one, break the next two and you’re out.” He lowered one finger. “Number Two. This is a working ranch. Look around you, son. The land doesn’t run itself. That means you work until the day is done. I don’t have any use for hell-fired lazy cowboys. And there comes number three. Take care of your business in town on the weekends.” He lowered his hand and looked at something beyond Wyler’s shoulder.
“Darlin’, can’t you see I’m busy?” Sam said.
“It’s as hot out here as Dolly’s oven on Sunday,” came the sweetest voice Wyler had ever heard.
Curious, Wyler had turned to see who “darlin’” was, expecting to see an angel coming his direction but instead it was a cowgirl with curves that could make the devil himself cry. The white hat had shaded her eyes and the button-down shirt and tight-fitting jeans made him shift in his seat as she marched across the grass like a warrior princess going into battle.
“Hell, it feels good to me,” Sam snorted.
“Daddy, why in the hell didn’t you tell me you got rid of Dr. Vanhoose and hired Keller Abbott?”
Sam, who probably never bowed under any man, no matter how big and commanding, looked a bit more vulnerable as the woman he called “darlin’” sashayed with lots of attitude toward them. “Honey, can’t this wait?”
Now honey?
“For what?” She whipped off her hat and smacked it hard against her denim-clad thigh. Her long, strawberry-blonde curls with lighter wisps around her face tumbled down her shoulders. Wyler sat there staring like an idiot feeling unarmed in a battle of wits.
“I’m talking to our newest hand, Liberty,” Sam said with a sigh, but the irritation in his broad jaw didn’t quite reach his grey eyes.
She finally noticed that Sam wasn’t alone because she glanced over at Wyler, not showing much care either way, and continued her tirade. “If you’d warned me that we had a new veterinarian on staff I wouldn’t have just ripped him a new asshole because he was touching my prized mare.” She tilted her hip and planted her palm right there.
Wyler had wondered if her lips tasted as sweet as the cherry-red color suggested.
“You’ve known Keller all your life. Retract your claws.” Sam drew in a long inhale from the cigar and slowly blew it out. “If you would have shown up at the family meeting then you’d be acquainted with the comings and goings. Like Miloh Vanhoose’s retirement.”
One brow lifted over dazzling silver-blue eyes. “I was out of town. It takes two seconds to send me a text. How are we supposed to function if we don’t use modern technology. Just like I’ve been telling you for years it’s time we update to digital files.”
Wyler had sat there awkwardly watching the interesting exchange.
“Must have slipped my secretary’s mind. Oh, wait. I don’t have a secretary.” More irritation tightened Sam’s features.
“I’d just appreciate some inclusion. Staff meetings are outdated.” She slammed her hat back down on the bouncy curls. “What do you think, Cowboy?”
It took a few seconds and a delicate clearing of her throat before Wyler had realized the lady was asking him.
He’d thought maybe this was some sort of test to see if he could pass.
“Cat got your tongue?” she asked while cocking the other flared hip. Those eyes—those amazing eyes had burrowed so deep inside him he felt it all the way into his past.
This most definitely could have been a test, and Wyler wasn’t stupid. “I find that weekly meetings are a chance for bonding. Makes everyone feel important. Regular meetings create a culture and inclusive decision-making. On large ranches like Sagebrush Rose things can get overlooked, hands can feel isolated, which can therefore cause conflict in the ranks. Communication with everyone is key to maintain trust.”
“Well knock me a cocked hat.” She blinked then burst into laughter. “Daddy, it looks like you’ve found your long-lost clone.” She turned on the heels of her well-used cowgirl boots and started back the way she came. “And what did Doc tell you about smoking?” She yelled over her shoulder.
Wyler didn’t even realize he’d been staring at the sweet sway of her bottom until Sam’s growl drew Wyler back onto the reason he was there in the first place. He couldn’t admit it aloud, of course, but he was super stoked that the beauty wasn’t Sam’s girlfriend.
“Let me finish up discussing rule three. No women in the bunkhouse. Want to wet your willy, then go into town and leave your mess on someone else’s fine sheets. This is probably the most important caveat.” Sam snuffed out his cigar in a crystal ashtray. “My daughters, they’re off limits. I’m not hiring potential sons-in-law. A man being led by his dick can’t think past his zipper. I need reliable cowboys who can think with their brains.”
Sweat had beaded Wyler’s forehead, then and now.
He’d passed the test, if that was what it was, because within fifteen minutes of the meeting Sam had welcomed Wyler to the ranch by putting him to work on a fence.
Thankfully, Sam hadn’t broken Wyler’s neck when he learned of Liberty and Wyler’s elopement. Hell, the old man had to know she’d gotten hitched primarily just to piss him off.
Over the months, Wyler and Sam had become friends. He knew exactly what he was doing by forcing his daughters to settle down. Women like the Rose sisters were spoiled, strong-willed and had a feisty side the length and width of Texas. They hadn’t learned the art of striking a fine balance between strength and flexibility. A good boss wasn’t made by only a firm hand, but he had to respect his subordinates, treat them as equals. The sisters treated the hands like potential lovers who they could sleep with and dispose of when they were bored.
Sam had every right to be embarrassed and he had run out of patience. The man wanted some grandchildren to hand the Rose heritage down to.
Wyler had heard many rumors about the sisters. He’d never been one to put a lot of stock in idle gossip, but in his own personal situation, he certainly had been used and he’d loved every minute of it.
Hell, he didn’t blame this all on Liberty. He’d wanted her the moment he watched her walking his direction and she flipped off that hat in such a way that stirred some forgotten emotions in him. He’d never been a saint because there’d been plenty of buckle bunnies in his past, but none that ever awakened the sleeping beast. He would have crawled across a desert with no water to drink from her ocean.
Now fast forward. Wyler had to put his foot down.
Liberty was now in his past too.
The dancer pulled him down the hallway lit by cheap wall sconces that had cobwebs stretched from one to other like a macabre garland. There were holes in the wall, one looking suspiciously like the mold of a man’s face. At least the place smelled like perfume and not a few places he’d visited back on the road.
Even if there was no Liberty that had him turned inside out, he still wouldn’t be interested in revisiting his old ways.
Once he was away from the watchful eyes of others, he fished out his wallet a second time and flicked through the bills. “How much for a dance?” He’d give her the money then bolt.
“I’ve already been paid, honey.” She opened the door to her right and gave him a shove inside the small, closet-like space that was barren outside of a wooden chair that looked a bit too flimsy. Even the color of the green walls sent his claustrophobia into high gear. He liked wide open spaces, and freedom. “Look, I don’t know who paid, but save your energy and time.” He guessed one of his crew thought it’d be funny. Whomever had done it better hope he didn’t find out.
He started to take a step when the lady grabbed the back of his shirt and forced him into the chair that creaked in resistance. He’d probably splinter the relic into toothpicks if he wasn’t careful. Now, he was a bit more annoyed. “I offered to pay. Why can’t you take no for an—”
The door whipped open, cutting off his words. Ah, shit. Now there were two he’d have to fight off. The newest dancer was wearing a white cowgirl hat pulled low and wide sunglasses that covered more than half of her face. She was also dressed differently than the first dancer. The long-sleeved button-down shirt tied at the waist showed off a sliver of stomach and the skintight denims that showed off nice curves.
Something about her seemed…familiar…
So, he wasn’t seeing things. Wyler gnawed at the inside of his cheek.
The dancer laughed. “You’ve certainly got yourself a runner here, honey. Hope you brought rope.”
“I’ll handle him,” the lady said in a soft voice. “I know my way around his type.”
“Good luck.” The first dancer exited and closed the door with a soft click.
“What the hell, Liberty?” Wyler muttered.
“Enjoying yourself, cowboy?” She pulled off the sunglasses and hat and her shiny hair fell onto her shoulders, reminding him of the first time he saw her.
“This is ridiculous.” He should have known.
Liberty dropped her hat and glasses to the floor then planted her palms on her hips, smiling. “Hello, hubby. Am I interrupting your night out with the boys?”
Even though he was angry with her, his body still responded. She was a heady combination of feisty and confidence.
“I was on my way out before your friend took me hostage. You know, there’s at least a dozen easier, more suitable, ways you could have gotten my attention. Text message. Snail mail. Air mail. Smoke signals. Maybe even a social call.”
“That would have worked had you answered my calls.”
He touched his empty back pocket. He’d left his cell in the truck. “Patience is a virtue. How’d you find me?”
“It’s not a mystery that some of the crew hangs out here on the weekends. I took a stab you were here too when you weren’t at Mav’s. It’s interesting how well a wife knows her husband.” She laughed.
“Funny. Real funny,” he bit out.
“I didn’t want to start tongues wagging by walking up to you when you’re with the crew. Now that we’re separated, we need to be careful.”
“Hard to separate when the marriage was fake,” he growled.
“Such a bad attitude.”
“You and I agreed we weren’t seeing each other any longer, remember?” He felt an ache take up residence in the center of his chest. He remembered all too well, every detail, the last time they saw each other. Hell, he’d agreed to the entire farce from the beginning, and it wasn’t like they’d had much of a marriage anyway, outside of sex. Good sex. She spent most of her time away while he worked as hard as ever at Sagebrush Rose.
“Tsk. Tsk. You must have had a bad week,” she teased. “I heard it was a rough one.”
He had half a mind to drag her over his lap and swat her bottom, but he knew from experience that she’d like it. Back when they were sneaking around, she loved to explore.
“Why did you go to this much trouble? Let me guess, you were bored?” He swiped off his Stetson and hooked it on his knee and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. This might take a while because nothing was ever easy with a Rose.
She leaned over him, bracing her hands on his thighs. He caught a whiff of her scent—a pungent combination of vanilla and femininity—and he felt his zipper stretch. He hated that his body reacted so strongly to her.
“I had to get creative when I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”
The way her shirt opened in front, just enough to show off the tops of her full, firm breasts, became too much of an enticement to keep his gaze focused on her face. He’d spent a lot of time kissing and fondling her lovely breasts because she had nice big nipples that were sensitive. She once had an orgasm just by him lavishing special attention to the mounds. “I’ve been busy.” He forced the words through his constricted throat.
“I can see that.” She jutted her chin toward the outer room. “All that entertainment.”
Wyler didn’t like being played, and tormented. So, he removed her hands from his legs, slapped his hat back on his head, and stood. The room was so small their bodies brushed. He looked down at her and thought it was funny how she was shorter, but she could still look down at him.
Whenever she gave him that annoyed look before, he’d haul her up over one shoulder and deposit her on a bale of hay, the bed, or onto the grass. Hell, neither of them were picky. He’d also liked how her face would become so animated; her stormy eyes would appear like the eye of a hurricane when he found a move that she really liked.
But what he really liked, and missed, was how she’d once looked forward to seeing him. Had he been fooling himself to think that a part of her wanted to marry him because she liked him some? Most of their time together had been occupied with sex, but they’d also stayed up for hours talking about their hopes and their dreams.
Her tongue came out to moisten her cherry pink lips. The wicked woman!
He was done worrying about the future with her. She wanted their relationship to be over, then so be it. He’d followed through on his side of things now it was her turn.
“Did you bring divorce papers for me to sign?”
Her gaze narrowed. “What’s the rush, cowboy?”
“We made a deal. Now it’s up to you to make good on it,” he pushed through thin lips.
“Have you ever known me to not make good on my promises?”
“Ask someone who knows you, sweetheart. I’m just the husband.” He hated that he was angry. Hurt. He’d always prided himself on being tough but when she was near all he felt was weakness. Even Superman had his kryptonite he supposed.
“I understand you’re angry, but—”
“Nice chat. But I’m done with the games, Liberty. You made your choice. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for the divorce papers. See you around.” He touched the brim of his hat and got as far as his hand on the doorknob.
“Not so fast. You and I need to chat.”
“Not interested,” he quipped.
“You will be once you hear what I have to say.”
