Traveling along such a rough road made conversation difficult, which left my mind free to consider what to do with my new stray.
My first thought was that offering Troy a job might have been a mistake. As an employee, he would live in the bunkhouse with the other hands and be out working all day. If I kept him in the house, I’d see a lot more of him.
I reminded myself that he still needed a few days for his feet to heal. During that time, I could indulge myself by nursing him back to health before I had to break down and actually make him work for his keep. Realistically, I couldn’t expect his blisters to heal up overnight, nor would it take a week before he could walk without pain.
On the other hand, he might think there was something funny about staying in the house with Dad and me after he’d accepted the job. Dad might think there was something odd about it too.
These and other points to ponder kept my mouth shut and my mind occupied during most of the drive. Fortunately, Troy had figured out I was the quiet type and wouldn’t assume I was ignoring him. I couldn’t decide how to relate to him. I wasn’t old enough to be his mother, nor was I his contemporary. Being employer and employee wasn’t much better. Thinking of us as friends was the best alternative I could come up with. I would be friendly with him—perhaps more so than with the other hands because I…
Because I what? Liked him more? Thought he was cuter? There had to be some explanation as well as a reason for allowing a total stranger into my home. I could say he was a distant cousin of a friend of mine, but that would be too easy to disprove if anyone decided to check into it.
I waited until we’d reached one of the smoother sections of pavement before I broached the subject. “Troy, I feel sort of weird about this. I really don’t know you from Adam, and it’s going to seem strange when I tell everyone I picked up a hitchhiker and brought him home. I need some sort of…justification.”
“What, my being a handsome devil isn’t reason enough?”
He was laughing when he said it, but I doubted he was kidding. Chances were good that his looks were the reason he’d acquired his previous girlfriend. It was also the conclusion almost anyone would reach for what I’d done—no matter how pitiful he might’ve seemed at the time.
“Really, Angela, you don’t need an excuse to hire me. I’m a cowboy—not a con artist or a serial killer. I know there’s no reason for you to believe that, but it’s the honest-to-God truth.”
I ignored the crack about the serial killer and focused on his first question, which was first and foremost in my mind. “So you think I picked you up because you’re a gorgeous hunk, huh?” If that was the case, then he already knew me too well. I wouldn’t get away with much.
He arched a brow. “Am I wrong?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. But even if you are a real cowboy, there must be something wrong with you, or your girlfriend wouldn’t have left you stranded on the highway.”
Troy didn’t answer me right away. Whether he used the time to fabricate a lie or search for the truth wasn’t clear, but if I’d had to guess, I’d have said he was genuinely puzzled.
“I dunno,” he finally said. “Maybe I waited too long to ask her to marry me.”
“Were you planning to?”
“Nope.” With a sheepish shrug he added, “Actually, it never even occurred to me. I haven’t got what you’d call a shining future as a rodeo cowboy, and I never have any money to speak of. I can’t afford a wife.”
In my humble opinion, he could have sold his body on the street corner and been rich enough to retire in a month.
I didn’t say that, of course. Instead, I suggested he model Levi’s.
His grimace led me to believe he’d heard that line before. “Maybe. But I couldn’t do that forever. Maybe it’s time I admitted to myself that a ranch hand is all I’m cut out to be. There are worse things a man could do for a living.”
The streetwalker notion came to mind again, but I modified the idea slightly—feeling him out, as it were. “Like being a boy toy for a rich socialite with a thing for cowboys?” I hoped my accompanying giggle would encourage him to assume I was joking, but I wasn’t. His viewpoint on sex with older women was a topic I had a considerable interest in at the time.
Obviously not a man to speak without thinking—a trait I found quite appealing—he took his time to reply. Either that or he was stunned speechless. “I don’t believe I’d like that,” he said slowly. “I wouldn’t have much to talk about with the socialite type. Rich people are too…different from the rest of us.”
At least he hadn’t rejected the boy toy suggestion out of hand, only the rich socialite part—which was a good thing, since I wasn’t rich. Perhaps I still had a chance to recruit him. “So it’s not the boy toy thing you object to, just the rich socialite part?”
“I’m not sure I’d make a very good boy toy, either,” was his cautious reply. “I think I’m too old for that.”
He still seemed to be skirting the issue. Searching for a slightly different tack, I chose the most obvious. “Aha! Now we’re getting somewhere. I know why your girlfriend dumped you. Viagra is too expensive.” My cowboy fantasy was already beginning to fade into oblivion. He wouldn’t be hard in another twenty miles—it would be more like another twenty hours, or twenty days, or twenty weeks, or—
“That isn’t the problem,” he said, interrupting my dismal appraisal of his sexual stamina. “Trust me, everything works fine. I just think a guy would have to be younger and not have much of a mind of his own for that sort of occupation. I’m not what you’d call submissive.”
Damn. Clearly, none of my fantasies about him were going to come true. He was too old and so was I. At least I assumed that was the problem.
Back to the drawing board.
On the other hand, I didn’t think I’d care for a totally submissive man. I liked a little sexual aggression now and then—liked the idea that a man could be so strongly attracted to me that he might get carried away sometimes.
“Bullheaded, huh? Is that what your girlfriend didn’t like?”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “Although, now that I think about it, for all practical purposes I probably was her boy toy. We were roughly the same age, but she did have money. I guess you could say she sponsored me, buying the horse and trailer and paying my entry fees when I couldn’t come up with the cash. She probably got tired of wasting her money on a cowboy who didn’t win all the time. Maybe she figured she’d have a better chance of finding a new guy without me tagging along.”
He was making me wish I’d never brought it up. “She couldn’t have found one who was better-looking, that’s for sure.” I tried for a teasing tone but didn’t quite make it. The conversation was getting a bit deep for that.
My pathetic attempt at humor drew a mirthless chuckle. “Nothing more than a pretty face, huh? Lots of women complain they aren’t taken seriously because they’re beautiful, but I can relate to that in a way. No one seems to think I have a brain—that I’m the male equivalent of a dumb blond.”
I was beginning to feel guilty about my fantasy but consoled myself with the knowledge that he didn’t and—if I kept quiet about it—wouldn’t ever know I’d had such erotic thoughts concerning him. I was regretting the “slutty cowboy” part, too—until I remembered it was all in my head.
“Why is it that so many people feel the need to categorize others? You know what I mean—the whole ‘he’s a geek, she’s a brain, he’s a hunk, or she’s an airhead’ thing, when the truth is that everyone has more than one defining characteristic. Some people have it all—brains and beauty and money and talent—but most of us don’t, and we always seem to want what we can’t have. You wish people wouldn’t look at you and see only a pretty face, whereas I, on the other hand, would like very much to have a problem like that. Too bad we can’t ever be satisfied.”
“Being satisfied might not be a good thing,” Troy said. “If you were satisfied, you’d never do anything different or strive to be better at what you already do, would you?”
This was a much deeper thought than I would have given him credit for having, which made me as guilty as anyone who’d decided he was all beauty and brawn and no brains. I peered at him out of the corner of my eye. “Now, there’s a deep, insightful comment if I’ve ever heard one. You’re absolutely right, Troy. Point made.” I gave him a quick once-over. “There’s certainly more to you than a pretty face.”
“And you’re a lot prettier than you think you are.”
“Bless you for that,” I whispered. Tears stung my eyes as I focused them on the road again. I didn’t want him to see me cry any more than he’d wanted to shed tears in front of me. We’d come to another bumpy stretch of road, so I concentrated on that for the time being, but in truth, all I wanted was to simply stop the truck and hug him. Pain swelled within my chest as I realized I would probably never get the chance to do that. I never seemed to get hugs from anyone anymore.
“Hey, now, don’t cry.”
Only then did I realize I was crying. Tears slid down my cheeks in salty little rivers, puddling in my eyes and fogging up my contact lenses until I could barely see.
“Why don’t you pull over for a minute?” he suggested.
I did so without protest, having no other choice since I couldn’t see well enough to avoid the potholes. I put the truck in park and dissolved into tears, leaning on the steering wheel as it struck me exactly how alone I felt. My husband was dead, my sons had gone off to college, and Dad hadn’t been himself lately, though he’d never been what you’d call understanding and supportive. Mom had been gone for years. I had no one to turn to but—
“Come here.” Troy raised the fold-down console between us and popped the release on my seat belt. Pulling me out from behind the wheel and across the bench seat, he took me in his arms and held me as I added my tears to the sweat already staining his shirt. It seemed I’d gotten my wish, for I’d pulled over to the side of the road and hugged him. Too bad I was crying my eyes out at the time.
At that point, I didn’t care what he was. He could have been a killer, a thief, a rapist, or any kind of creep you could think of. All I knew was that for the moments he held me in his arms I felt safe, cared for—possibly even loved. Believe me, it was heady stuff for a lonely widow. That, on top of all the fantasizing I’d been doing, may have been responsible for what happened next. But somehow I didn’t think I was entirely to blame.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, but you really are pretty, Angie. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that? Not even your husband?”
Sobbing harder, I held tightly to the open edges of his shirt. “Yes, he did. But it was such a long time ago, and now he’s dead. No one’s paid the slightest bit of attention to me since he died, and I miss that. He couldn’t be the only one, could he? I mean, there’s got to be someone else on the planet who would feel the same way. Maybe I need to get out more or something. I tried going out with some friends once, but I only got ignored, so I never tried it again.”
He gave me a squeeze. “Not much of a flirt, huh?”
“Only with my husband. Cody and I used to flirt outrageously with each other, but we were so slick about it, no one ever realized what we were doing. We had a sort of code. One of us would catch the other’s eye, or I would touch him in a way that didn’t mean anything to anyone but us. I miss the closeness, the contact—this sort of thing.” I hugged him even harder than before. “Someone to put my arms around. My dad isn’t much of a hugger, and my sons are both in college—the only ones who get hugs from me are the dogs and the horses, and they never hug me back.”
“You can hug me anytime you like.” He stroked my back, his hands gliding up and down. Soothing yet stimulating. “I’m feeling a little unloved, myself. I could do with a few hugs.”
“I’m sorry.” I sat up, sniffling as I wiped away my tears. “I’d forgotten. You should be the one crying, not me.”
“Yeah, well, I did that already,” he said. “I might do it again, but I’m okay for now. What about you? Are you all right or do you want me to drive?”
“I can drive.”
“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do to help?”
I shook my head, but a moment later I found myself staring at his mouth. I hadn’t kissed him in my fantasy. What would it be like to taste those succulent lips? To feel their heat, to linger over their soft fullness…
I glanced away, knowing I shouldn’t even think about kissing him. Hugs were good—certainly better than nothing—and he’d said I could hug him whenever I wanted. Any form of physical contact was an improvement over my previous situation. For now, hugs would have to do.
In a vain attempt to defog my contacts, I blinked several times. He must’ve thought I was batting my eyelashes, flirting with him, because when I looked up, he had this peculiar expression on his face. I can’t describe it exactly, but it was a mixture of emotions—uncertainty, puzzlement—and then it changed, as though a light went on in his head and he suddenly knew the answer.
Reaching out, he took my face in his hands and leaned toward me. His kiss was whisper soft on my lips, which were parted in surprise. Tentative at first, he seemed to be asking for permission, seeking reassurance that this was indeed what I wanted.
I replied to his unspoken question the best way I could. Laying my hands on his shoulders, I slid them slowly around to his back, enfolding him in my arms.
Obviously needing no further encouragement, Troy deepened the kiss. Slipping one hand to the back of my head and the other to my waist, he pulled me closer until I was practically in his lap. I didn’t think about the fact that only a few miles down the road, we hadn’t even met. Didn’t think about whether he minded kissing a woman older than himself and, comparatively speaking, far less attractive.
No, what I thought about was the maleness of him, the intoxicating combination of scents. His warmth, the strength of his arms, the tantalizing feel of his tongue as it teased its way into my mouth. He might have been wondering just how far he could go with a lonely widow, how much he could get. I didn’t give a damn what he did as long as he didn’t stop. Looking back on my fantasy, if I’d only known then what a great kisser he was, I would have added kissing to that scenario. Lots of kissing. I would have driven him to Timbuktu for one fabulously, deliciously enthralling kiss…
“I love your braids.” His murmur vibrated against my lips as he allowed one braid to slide through his fingers. “But I’d really like to get my hands in your hair when it’s loose. So soft, so…” A deep sigh escaped him as he kissed me again. Shifting off the seat, he leaned into me, pushing me flat on my back, kissing me all the way down until he was on his knees straddling my hips. I felt him tugging on my braids, realizing after a moment that he’d pulled the bands off the ends and was unbraiding my hair, combing it out with his fingers. I kept waiting for it to end, waiting to come to my senses with him waving a hand in front of my glazed eyes, saying, “Earth to Angela!”
But it didn’t happen. This was no fantasy playing through my mind. This was really happening. I was making out with the hottest, sexiest cowboy this world has ever seen, and it was real. It wasn’t a fabrication of my love-starved mind.
Jesus, what a concept… What a totally mind-blowing concept! I’d been virtually ignored for two years and now this. It’s a wonder I didn’t pass out from the shock.
Somewhere along the line I noticed his hat was missing, and I clutched at his head, reveling in the texture of his soft, springy curls between my fingers. After that, I figured, what the hell, anything was fair game, and I ran my hands down his back and slid my fingertips beneath the waistband of his jeans.
With that tiny scrap of encouragement, he reached down and unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly, then rocked forward on me, moving his hips higher up on my body, allowing me to reach them more easily. I shoved those jeans down as far as I could and went for his bare buns. I sucked in a breath as my hands made contact with his hot, smooth skin. Grabbing his cheeks with both hands, I squeezed hard enough to leave fingerprints.
“Angie likes ass, huh?” His whispered question tickled my ear.
All I could say was, “Mmm…”
“Well, Angie baby, you can grab my ass all you like,” he growled. “Do anything to it you want, although what you’re doing now feels so damn good, I just might come all over you.”
“Guess I’d better stop, then.” I was surprised I could even form the words, let alone carry them out. “You know…save some for later?”
He groaned as though that thought might be the death of him. “No, don’t stop. Keep going, Angie. Keep playing with my ass.”
“I could do it better if it was a little closer,” I said. “Let me scoot down some.”
As he released me and raised his right knee, I slid across the seat underneath him until I was in almost the same position I’d been in during my fantasy. A glistening droplet of fluid dripped onto my lips from his rock-hard penis. I was just about to suck that puppy into my mouth when we were rudely interrupted by the honking of a horn as another vehicle rattled past, reminding us that we were parked on the shoulder of a public road in broad daylight.
No one in a small car could’ve seen us, but Troy’s bare butt may have been visible from another truck. Also, since my truck was fairly well-known in those parts, it was a safe bet that whoever had passed us probably knew I had to be there as well, whether they’d seen me or not.
So much for being discreet.
Troy burst out laughing. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. No, let me rephrase that, maybe this wasn’t such a good place for it. The idea itself was excellent.”
Needless to say, I was in complete agreement. “No shit. Are they turning around to come back for another look?”
He rose up to peer through the windshield, giving me a full frontal view of him that was even more breathtaking than the one I’d imagined. His shirt was hanging open, completely unbuttoned, revealing black, curling hair on his chest that tapered down across his stomach only to flare out again to surround his stellar cock and balls. I had to bite my lip to keep from gasping out loud.
“Nope,” he replied. “All I see is a car driving on down the road. Don’t see anything heading in this direction.”
“Great. Give me just one more second…”
“For what?”
“This.” Pushing up from the seat, I ran my tongue over the head of his engorged penis, lapping up the juice oozing from his slit. That endeavor got me more, but instead of the hot fudge on vanilla ice cream analogy, it was more like maple syrup from a squeeze bottle, although salty rather than sweet. I painted my lips with the slippery sauce before sucking him in like a Popsicle.
“Oh, Angie,” he groaned. “You wouldn’t happen to need a slightly used boy toy, would you?”
I pushed his dick aside to reply. “I thought you said you wouldn’t make a good boy toy. That you were too bullheaded. And you are, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes,” he admitted. “But I’d try to be good.” He rubbed the tip of his cock on my cheek. “I’d be very good. No nasty diseases. No strings attached.”
“Troy the Boy Toy.” I couldn’t help giggling. “I like the sound of that, but my dad probably wouldn’t. We’d have to be sneaky.”
“Your dad?” he asked with surprise. “I thought you said you’d be the one writing my paycheck.”
“That’s right, but technically, Dad owns the ranch. I just pay the bills.”
“Damn.”
I giggled again. “You’ll probably end up actually having to do some work to earn your money. The boy toy thing would have to be a perk.”
“That would be quite a perk. Of course, if you work me too hard, I won’t have enough energy for my boy toy duties.”
“Yes, but you’re young. You’ll adjust.” To demonstrate how much fun a job like that could be, I tickled his nuts and slid his cock into my mouth again, sucking him hard and deep. The surge of heat in my core served as a reminder of how good his fabulous dick would feel if he ever got around to actually fucking me with it.
“Well, yes, I probably could do both,” he agreed after a moment’s reflection. “I’ve done it before for my, um, girlfriend.”
I paused in my efforts to comment. “Whose name you seem to have, um, forgotten?”
With a nod, he let out a groan of pure pleasure. “I don’t think I even remember what she looks like. All I know is she never made me feel as good as you have in the past hour or so—not in the whole time I knew her.” He sighed deeply. “And not only by what you’re doing right now—which she didn’t like to do, by the way—but by making me feel like I can talk to you, tell you things about myself and you don’t judge, you just accept me for who I am.”
Actually, it was the way anyone’s mother might make them feel, but I chose not to mention that. Instead, I followed his comments with one of my own that put me clearly out of the mother category.
“Which is what? A tasty cowboy with a brain and a dick to die for?” I punctuated my sentence with a kiss on the end of said dick, and slid out from under him. Settling myself behind the wheel, I flipped my hair back over my shoulders. “What do you say we get you back to the ranch before someone else drives by?”
With a pained expression, he nodded his reluctant agreement and pushed up from the seat. After easing himself upright again, he looked down at his groin. “This is gonna be worse than if I’d taken off my boots. I don’t know if I can get into my jeans.”
“Think of something that would make your dick shrivel up,” I advised. “Like going for a swim in the North Atlantic.”
“Or getting left behind on the highway in the middle of Wyoming.” The note of irony in his tone was impossible to miss.
“That might do it—or not. Hmm…” I reached over and cupped a hand beneath his cock, lifting it up for a closer inspection. “It doesn’t seem to be getting any smaller. Maybe I need to suck you off, after all.”
Having said that, I was pleased to note that his penis didn’t shrivel in the slightest, but turned to granite in a matter of seconds.
“I don’t think you’re helping matters any,” he gasped. “Do you think you could…?”
“Suck your dick? Tickle your balls? Play with your ass?” I stared at his stiff shaft, giggling. “Troy, this is amazing! It seems to grow a little more with everything I say.”
“Keep talking and it’s gonna fire off all by itself.” He was moaning now. “Please, Angie. Help me.”
His pleading expression would have swayed a much stronger woman than I’d ever claimed to be. “Pretty pushy for a boy toy, aren’t you?” Scooting closer, I took his cock in my hand and coated my palm with the slick fluid pouring from the head. “I think I’ll do it like this the first time. That way I’ll be able to tell whether you can shoot straight.”
“Anything. Just do it.”
I’d never seen a man look quite so desperate before. Grinning hugely at the effect I seemed to have on him, I put a stranglehold on his swollen member at its base and pumped up and down on the shaft with my other hand. It took longer than I thought it would, but suddenly…
“Wow, Troy! Looks like your first job is going to be cleaning my windshield—along with the dashboard, headliner, seat, floor mat, and”—I aimed the last shot in a different direction—“my mouth.” Licking my lips, I swallowed. “Never mind, I took care of that one. And, yes, you shoot pretty straight. Quite a range too.”
His head had snapped back against the headrest as he came, his mouth flying open and his eyes rolling back in his head, but he still managed a smile. “I can do better if I’m not dehydrated.”
“Well, then…” Lowering the console, I reached between the seat backs and flipped up the lid on the cooler. Grabbing a bottle of water, I slapped it into his hand. “Drink up. If you don’t mind my asking—although since you’re my boy toy, I feel I have the right to know—what’s your turnaround time?”
Twisting off the bottle cap, he shrugged. “I dunno…twenty minutes, maybe?”
At sixty miles an hour, that was twenty miles.
Damn. Maybe there really was at least one man alive who could actually fuck all the way to Jackson Hole—and out of all the people who must have passed by him as he trudged along the highway, lucky me, I had been the one to pick him up. For the first time in my life, I had an idea of how that girl in the flatbed Ford might have felt—and it was a very nice feeling—just as I’d always known it would be.
“Sounds good.” I patted his bare thigh. “Put your pants on and we’ll head for home.”
“How much farther did you say it was to the ranch?” He took a long swig from the bottle before pulling up his jeans. I’ll admit to being slightly disappointed when he zipped his fly and buckled his belt. I could hardly wait for his rampant penis to escape again.
“About twenty minutes.”
With two fucks when we get there.