“Let me turn on the light, Hope. I want to see you.”
“No.” She waggled her head on the pillow. Light might wake her from this dream, and she wasn’t ready for that.
Not yet.
Acquiescing, his fingers traced up her bare thighs, then back down again before they stopped at her knees to press them apart. She waited, listening to the sound of his breath as it fell rough and heavy from his lungs. Anticipation grew, and she jumped when his hot, wet mouth settled over her.
He was gentle at first. A sweep of tongue. A sip of lips. But slowly he settled into a tempo that brought her back to the edge again. Her thighs closed around his head, and her hips lifted. But before she could take flight, he pulled away. Not that it was easy to unclench her fingers and squeeze past her thighs.
“Easy, baby,” he said. “I’m not going to leave you hanging.”
Then he moved up her body, and she felt the hot length of him, nudging for entry. Opening her legs wider, she angled her hips and welcomed him home. Although at the
first deep thrust, reality broke through her sexual haze, and she pressed a hand to his chest.
“I’m not on birth control.”
He leaned down and kissed her, his lips tasting musky and sweet. “No worries. I’m already suited up, honey.”
On the word honey, he drove deep, taking her breath and reality with it. He stretched her to the limit, filling a space deep inside. A space she’d forgotten existed. With each thrust, the emptiness and loneliness of the last five years receded.
She tried to savor everything at once. The deep, satisfying stretch. The brush of his hips on each thrust. The strength of his arms braced beside her head. The sound of his breath as he neared climax. But it was too much for her mind and heart to absorb, so she closed her eyes and sank into her own universe of pleasure.
Soon after, Hope fell into a dreamless sleep. And when she awoke, Colt was gone. No good-bye. No note. Just the indentation of his head in the pillow next to her, along with the scent no other man could duplicate.
C
OLT DIDN’T KNOW
where he was going when he left Shirlene’s. All he knew was he needed to ride. So that’s what he did. Without glancing at mile markers or highway signs, or worrying about putting mileage on a bike that wasn’t his, he rode. Rode until his butt ached and his back throbbed. Rode through the frigid, appendage-numbing cold of the dark night to the cool dampness of the early morning. The only time he stopped was to get gas, use the bathroom, and down an energy drink before heading back out to the long stretch of blacktop that gave him solace when nothing else could.
When he finally arrived in Austin, he pulled into a restaurant, where he drank numerous cups of coffee in an attempt to defrost. Unfortunately, once his body had thawed, his mind still remained frozen, and he found himself watching the other occupants of the restaurant in a dazed kind of trance.
An older couple complained about the service and haggled over the bill. A young man sat and punched the keypad of his phone, using just his thumbs, while across
the table his girlfriend did the same. A woman struggled to keep her two toddlers from ripping open the little jam containers and tipping over creamers while she tried to pacify her crying baby in the high chair. It turned out to be an impossible job, and finally she sat back in the booth and let all hell break loose.
Her gaze swept over to Colt, and they stared at one another for a few seconds, both defeated and at a loss for what to do.
Finally, Colt got enough gumption to call the man who had bought the custom bike and set up a time for delivery.
Travis Mossman’s house was nothing short of spectacular: A sprawling estate on Lake Austin with a three-story main house and a scattering of outbuildings that included a boathouse, two guest cottages, and a huge garage that stored a variety of vintage cars and motorcycles.
If Colt hadn’t been comatose, he might’ve been impressed, if not with the estate, at least with the nice collection of Harleys, Indians, and one Victory. But with no sleep and the effects of the coffee wearing off, his mind could barely stay focused on Travis as he walked around the bike Colt had brought, and looked at it from all different angles.
Compared to the classics, it wasn’t all that impressive. Still, Colt was glad he’d taken the time to stop at a car wash and clean off the road grime. The chrome and custom paint sparkled in the sunlight that spilled in through the open doors of the garage.
“Impressive.” Travis ran his hand over the custom paint job, admiring the tribal-blade graphics that ran over the tank and fenders. “I knew just by talking with you that you knew what you were doing—which is why I gave
you
carte blanche—
but this is more than I expected. The detail is amazing.”
Colt liked the man and was glad he had his approval. Over the last few months, they’d built a long-distance relationship, their discussions moving from bikes to the trials of growing up in small Texas towns. On the phone, Travis had come across as an honest, upstanding kind of guy who you wanted to count among your friends. And meeting him in person only confirmed this belief. His blue eyes were direct, his smile genuine, and his handshake firm. He was a few inches taller than Colt and about twenty pounds lighter, his body slim and fit. Even with the silver threaded through his dark hair, Colt didn’t figure he was much over forty-five.
“Thanks,” Colt said. “I’ve got a good group of guys working with me.”
Travis finally looked up from the bike. He studied Colt for a few minutes before speaking. “Tough ride?”
Rubbing a hand over his day’s growth of beard, Colt figured he probably should’ve hosed himself off at the car wash as well. “Yeah.”
“I thought you were going to trailer the bike from L.A.”
That had been the plan until the night at the Motel 6 threw him off course—was still throwing him off course.
“I wanted to test it on the highway before delivery.” It was a lame excuse, but Travis didn’t question it.
“So how did she do?”
“She’ll go the distance.”
Travis looked back at the bike, and for a moment, his eyes glazed over as if he was out on the road right then, instead of standing with both feet on the pristine epoxy floor.
“I look forward to that.” The way Mossman said it made it seem like a dream more than a reality.
“Grandpa!”
Colt turned to watch as two bright-eyed kids raced across the immaculate lawn. Since there was no one else around, Colt figured he’d made a mistake in calculating Travis’s age. Obviously, the man took as good care of himself as he did of his vehicles.
“Whoa there, partners.” Travis reached down and lifted the little blonde-headed girl into his arms before he placed an arm around the bigger boy. “Colt, I’d like you to meet my grandkids, Lily and Daniel. Lily and Danny, this is Mr. Lomax.”
The little girl shyly tucked her head into her grandfather’s neck, while the boy stretched out a hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
Travis smiled proudly as Colt gave the small hand a shake.
“Nice to meet you, Daniel.”
Once the introductions were out of the way, Daniel didn’t waste any time relaying his message. “Mima says lunch is ready, and you need to pull your head out of your tailpipe and come and eat before she gives it to Rufus.”
“She said that, did she?” Travis’s blue eyes sparkled with suppressed laugher. “Well then, I guess you better run back in and tell that ornery woman I’m on my way, and I’m bringing Mr. Lomax with me.”
Once the kids were racing back across the manicured lawn, Colt held up a hand. “I really appreciate the offer, but I need to be getting back.”
In truth, he didn’t know where he was getting back to. The long road trip should’ve cleared his mind, but instead
he felt more confused than ever. Hell, he hadn’t even arranged for transportation after dropping off the bike. The original plan had been to take a cab to the airport and fly back to L.A., but the original plan had been shot to hell when he veered off the interstate and ended up in Bramble. Of course, his trip to Bramble hadn’t really changed things. Even if he hadn’t gone, Hope would still be pregnant with his child.
His child
.
The words left him feeling like he had the first time he’d been knocked off a surfboard, struggling underwater with no clue which direction to swim in to find air. Unaware of Colt’s dazed state, Travis pressed his offer.
“Nonsense, after that long trip, you might as well stay the night. We’ve got more guest rooms than relatives, and Sissy loves company about as much as she loves to harp at me.”
“Thanks, but I can’t.” Colt pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll just call a cab and wait out here.”
For the first time since meeting him, Travis’s tone carried a hint of the tough businessman he was. “Being from Texas, you should know Texans never pull out a checkbook on an empty stomach. Besides, once we’ve eaten, I have no problem driving you wherever you need to go.”
Once Travis put it that way, Colt didn’t really have a choice. So he nodded and followed him up to the house. Even with the high ceilings and massive windows, there was a cozy charm to the home that made a person feel immediately comfortable and welcome. Or maybe it wasn’t the house as much as the people who lived there.
Sissy Mossman, as hospitable as her husband, was a sturdy cowgirl with flaming red hair that reminded Colt
of his sister’s before she had gone blonde. Though she wasn’t as pretty as Shirl, there was a softness to Sissy’s hazel eyes that Colt found soothing as he sat at the long dining room table and ate lunch.
“Would you like more salad, Colt?” she offered.
“Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t really want more, but he had always had a problem saying no to motherly women, and Sissy Mossman was as motherly as you could get. As they ate, she wiped mouths, refilled milk glasses, and cut up food into small bites for her grandchildren.
“Such nice manners, but
Sissy
will do just fine.” She passed the bowl down.
“Yes, ma’am,” popped out before he could stop it. Travis and Sissy laughed, which set the kids to giggling.
The kids were well-mannered and pretty cute. Daniel reminded Colt of Jesse, although he carried a youthful innocence in his blue eyes that Jesse was lacking. Youthful innocence was something kids lost early out on Grover Road. Still, both boys had the same interest in motorcycles, and Daniel spent most of the time asking questions about the customs Colt had built. Comfortable with the topic, Colt didn’t mind answering his questions, but the conversation soon dwindled when it moved to monster trucks—a subject he knew little about.
The little girl, on the other hand, just sat there and stared at him with eyes the color of Texas sage and as big as the dinner plates they ate off of, which was why he was so surprised when she suddenly appeared at his side.
“You got whiskers.”
Startled, he choked on the bite of chocolate chip bunt cake he’d just placed in his mouth. After forcing the chunk down with a few swallows of water, he nodded.
“Are they scratchy?” she asked.
He glanced over at Travis and Sissy, but they just smiled back like a couple of idiots. So he improvised.
“Would you like to feel them?”
She nodded, and Colt leaned down so she could slide a tiny soft hand over his jaw. When she giggled, he couldn’t help but smile back at her and wink. That was all it took. Without a word, she climbed up on his lap and remained there while he tried to finish his dessert. Her small, crayon-scented body didn’t make him all that uncomfortable. Shirlene had sat on his lap when she was little. He had just forgotten how nice it felt.
When the kids were excused from the table, Sissy ushered him into the living room, where a fire took the chill off the autumn day. Between the deep couch cushions, the full stomach, and the crackling cedar, Colt had a hard time keeping his eyes open, let alone keeping up the conversation.
“So you grew up in Bramble?” Sissy asked, as she took a seat on the couch next to her husband. The arm he hooked over her shoulder seemed as natural an action to him as breathing.
“We went through Bramble,” Travis said, before turning to his wife. “Remember, honey, it was when we made that trip up to Roswell so Travis Jr. could see the aliens. Hell, that must’ve been ten years ago.”
“Closer to twenty-five,” she stated. “T.J. couldn’t have been more than ten. And of course, I remember. How could I forget? You left our youngest daughter at the gas station.”
“Now that wasn’t entirely my fault. I thought she was still sleeping in the back of the camper. How was
I supposed to know she had gotten out when I wasn’t looking?”
Sissy glanced over at Colt and shook her head. “Poor little thing, by the time we realized she was missing, we were halfway to Roswell. Luckily, the nice man working at the gas station took care of her.” She glanced over at Travis. “What was his name? Smith? No, Johnson?”
“Jones,” Colt supplied, surprised at what a small world it was. “Tinker Jones. I grew up with his son, Tyler. He runs the gas station now while his father and mother travel around in their motor home.”
“Jones. Of course.” Sissy smiled at the memory. “By the time we got back, he had taken Shelly over to this cute little train caboose diner and gotten her an ice cream. With three older brothers to contend with in the back of the camper, I think she was happy to get the short reprieve.”