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“Uncle Daryl, what happened to your hand? Were you in a fight? Auntie’s going to have a fit.”
My aunt hated it when he fought. She was afraid someone would press charges, and he’d end up in jail… which almost happened several times… or that he’d kill someone with one punch. Either way would be a travesty for everyone involved, and my aunt wanted no part of it.
“Never you mind,” he said. “Let’s get this precious girl back to bed.”
Darci rubbed her eyes with her fists, and I knew sleep threatened to take her down, despite her resistance.
“You go on ahead. I got a feeling Colt’s got something to say, and he won’t be saying it in front of you.”
“Just do us all a favor and remember me and your Aunt Donna only got your best interest in mind,” he said, as Darci finally allowed sleep to take her. She let out a little sigh and went completely limp in his arms. “Love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too,” I told him as he opened the screen door and disappeared inside.
It was one of those warm nights, with a summer breeze that cooled everything it touched. Crickets sang their song, stars filled the black sky, and the trees rustled as Colt slipped out of his truck and headed towards the front stairs.
When the porch light hit him, his familiar swagger sent a rush of excitement through me. I’d had a crush on this tall, lean cowboy from the first time I saw him in town. It was the summer I’d turned fourteen and realized I really liked boys… especially this boy.
He sure wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a full-grown, incredibly handsome man with a sexy attitude, shoulders made of refined steel, arms that could block any of my uncle’s lethal punches, and a smile that should be declared illegal.
Colt Johnson might be only three years older than me, but with that self-confident strut, I knew he already had this adulting thing all wrapped up. Whereas Mickey and I… well, we were still trying to figure it out.
“Hey CindyLou,” he said as he approached the porch steps. “Is it all right if I come on up there for a talk?”
“It’s late, Colt. Maybe you should just go on home,” I told him, even though I wanted him to stay more than I’d like to admit.
He tossed that smile over at me like he was purposely trying to tempt me, and my skin prickled. “Is that you talking or your Uncle Daryl?”
I hesitated. Damn right it was my uncle talking. He’d tell Colt to turn that charm on somebody else, hightail it right on off the ranch, and don’t come back until he cleared all those dirty thoughts out of his head.
And me?
I wanted him to come right on up on the porch, wrap me in those strong arms of his, and kiss me, hard and filthy… which got me in this situation in the first place. Only that kiss had come from Mickey Finn, who was equally as handsome as Colt, in a softer, less rugged way.
And what he could make a girl feel… well… it was downright sinful.
“Come on up, but you can’t stay long,” I cautioned, more for me than for him. “That baby girl of mine gets me up at seven, like she’s got a clock ticking inside her.”
Using Darci for an excuse seemed reasonable under the circumstances.
He stepped up onto the porch, and I knew right away, this was a mistake. When he sat next to me on the whicker sofa that squeaked from his weight, and I fell into those deep blue eyes of his, I wanted to once again tell him to leave…
But I didn’t.
He wore black jeans, brown boots, a gray T-shirt that hugged his muscled chest, and a cream-colored cowboy hat he wore low on his head, covering thick, dark-brown hair. I’d always been attracted to a guy who wore his hat like it had a purpose… Mickey wore his hat the same way. Probably why I’d been so drawn to him as well.
“Been awhile. Can’t even remember the last time you were here for a visit. Maybe right before you went off to college,” he said, and that moment came rushing back to me. He’d been helping out on my uncle’s ranch. Wore a cowboy hat even back then, but the shirt was gone. I could barely say hello to him, let alone have any kind of normal conversation. It had been an exceptionally hot day, and I remembered a bead of sweat slowly rolling down the middle of his hairless chest like a misguided tear. I wanted to lick it off.
“You’re right. I’d forgotten all about that day,” I told him, straight-out lying.
“Must’ve been four or five years ago. Maybe more,” he offered while I tried to get his naked chest out of my mind.
“Seven,” I finally said, still unable to focus on this moment. “But who’s counting?”
And as soon as I said it, I felt like a complete idiot. I cleared my throat, hoping that would dismiss my stupid calculation.
“That your guitar?” he asked, nodding in its direction.
“Sure is. Been awhile, but my fingers aren’t hurting anymore, so I guess I’m finally back into it again.”
