Read Online Just a Cowboy and His Baby (Spikes & Spurs) by Carolyn Brown - Free Book Online
Authors: Carolyn Brown
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bed.
He’d made it to the finals that year but wrecked in the Las Vegas ride. So one year he had stayed away from rodeo sex. The next year he’d had one weekend of it. Neither year had been a good one.
He looked over at Gemma again and wondered what this year, the third one and supposedly the charm, would bring. Neither Ava, nor the two women he’d fancied himself in love with, made his mouth go dry and his heart do double time like Gemma O’Donnell. She couldn’t begin to understand how important it was to him to win that title and the money that went with it. He’d worked for his Uncle Teamer for the better part of ten years, and Teamer had offered to sign the ranch over to him lock, stock, and barrel.
“I haven’t got kids and you’ve been like a son to me, Trace. Let me give you this land and cattle. Your grandpa left it to me so it’s rightfully yours,” he’d said.
“There are three more male cousins who deserve this as much as I do. I’ll buy it, but I won’t take it free of charge,” Trace had told him.
Winning the bronc riding event in Vegas would give him the rest of the money he needed to make that happen. Gemma O’Donnell just wanted the glory and she could get that another year. He’d even sit in the crowd and cheer for her the next year, but this year belonged to Trace Coleman.
Sugar roused and looked at the woman lying on her pillow.
Trace shook his head slowly. “Wild horses couldn’t wake her up. But I will guaran-damn-tee that come morning that Irish beauty is going to wake up cussin’ mad.”
Gemma’s arms were still beside her, her hair fanned out on the pillow, and her boot toes pointed straight up. She looked so much like a corpse that he checked her pulse to make sure she was alive.
“Hey!” he yelled again, but she didn’t move.
“Gemma!” he yelled louder, and Sugar growled at him.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear so he could see her face. He liked her better when her pretty green eyes were wide open. If she was happy, they dazzled. If she was mad, dark storm clouds brewed in them.
He fell asleep pondering over what he’d see in those green eyes if they suddenly snapped open and saw him lying beside her. Would they go all soft and dreamy, or would a class five tornado come streaming out of them?
***
Gemma awoke to the aroma of coffee and bacon. Bless her brother Dewar’s heart; he’d gotten up early and cooked. It must be Sunday morning because that was the only day of the week he’d even consider making breakfast. Her eyes snapped open and she sat straight up, grabbed her aching head, and fell backwards on the bed. Good God Almighty, what in the hell had she done the night before? She remembered a rodeo, so she and Dewar must have gone down to Mesquite, Texas. She could remember hearing the crowd whooping and hollering.
She drew her brows together in a deep frown and groaned. Her head throbbed like a son of a bitch. What in the hell had she drunk? She felt like she’d fallen into a vat of pure white lightning and sucked half of it down while trying to get out. She remembered riding. Was it the mechanical bull or a bronc? There was a beer when she first got to the dance and one after that, but when did she start drinking the hard stuff?
She distinctly remembered settling into the saddle and nodding at the clowns to open the gate. So she rode a bronc and then what? Why didn’t Dewar stop her from getting so drunk that she’d pass plumb out? Some brother he was.
She eased one eye open, then realized she was not in her bed at home, and she wasn’t even at Liz and Raylen’s house, either.
What in the hell had she done? And worse yet, who did she do it with?
She snapped her eyelid shut and took a deep breath. Just that much effort shot an extra bolt of pain into her head. She reached up to grab it, but her arms felt like they were encased in concrete.
Shit! That must’ve been some raw liquor , she thought.
She remembered Trace Coleman having
He’d made it to the finals that year but wrecked in the Las Vegas ride. So one year he had stayed away from rodeo sex. The next year he’d had one weekend of it. Neither year had been a good one.
He looked over at Gemma again and wondered what this year, the third one and supposedly the charm, would bring. Neither Ava, nor the two women he’d fancied himself in love with, made his mouth go dry and his heart do double time like Gemma O’Donnell. She couldn’t begin to understand how important it was to him to win that title and the money that went with it. He’d worked for his Uncle Teamer for the better part of ten years, and Teamer had offered to sign the ranch over to him lock, stock, and barrel.
“I haven’t got kids and you’ve been like a son to me, Trace. Let me give you this land and cattle. Your grandpa left it to me so it’s rightfully yours,” he’d said.
“There are three more male cousins who deserve this as much as I do. I’ll buy it, but I won’t take it free of charge,” Trace had told him.
Winning the bronc riding event in Vegas would give him the rest of the money he needed to make that happen. Gemma O’Donnell just wanted the glory and she could get that another year. He’d even sit in the crowd and cheer for her the next year, but this year belonged to Trace Coleman.
Sugar roused and looked at the woman lying on her pillow.
Trace shook his head slowly. “Wild horses couldn’t wake her up. But I will guaran-damn-tee that come morning that Irish beauty is going to wake up cussin’ mad.”
Gemma’s arms were still beside her, her hair fanned out on the pillow, and her boot toes pointed straight up. She looked so much like a corpse that he checked her pulse to make sure she was alive.
“Hey!” he yelled again, but she didn’t move.
“Gemma!” he yelled louder, and Sugar growled at him.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear so he could see her face. He liked her better when her pretty green eyes were wide open. If she was happy, they dazzled. If she was mad, dark storm clouds brewed in them.
He fell asleep pondering over what he’d see in those green eyes if they suddenly snapped open and saw him lying beside her. Would they go all soft and dreamy, or would a class five tornado come streaming out of them?
***
Gemma awoke to the aroma of coffee and bacon. Bless her brother Dewar’s heart; he’d gotten up early and cooked. It must be Sunday morning because that was the only day of the week he’d even consider making breakfast. Her eyes snapped open and she sat straight up, grabbed her aching head, and fell backwards on the bed. Good God Almighty, what in the hell had she done the night before? She remembered a rodeo, so she and Dewar must have gone down to Mesquite, Texas. She could remember hearing the crowd whooping and hollering.
She drew her brows together in a deep frown and groaned. Her head throbbed like a son of a bitch. What in the hell had she drunk? She felt like she’d fallen into a vat of pure white lightning and sucked half of it down while trying to get out. She remembered riding. Was it the mechanical bull or a bronc? There was a beer when she first got to the dance and one after that, but when did she start drinking the hard stuff?
She distinctly remembered settling into the saddle and nodding at the clowns to open the gate. So she rode a bronc and then what? Why didn’t Dewar stop her from getting so drunk that she’d pass plumb out? Some brother he was.
She eased one eye open, then realized she was not in her bed at home, and she wasn’t even at Liz and Raylen’s house, either.
What in the hell had she done? And worse yet, who did she do it with?
She snapped her eyelid shut and took a deep breath. Just that much effort shot an extra bolt of pain into her head. She reached up to grab it, but her arms felt like they were encased in concrete.
Shit! That must’ve been some raw liquor , she thought.
She remembered Trace Coleman having
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