Page 25 of The Cowboy's Cabaret

“Dale around tonight?” I know the answer, but it still pisses me off when she confirms he’s been gone since yesterday. I’d do anything for Amber and her boys, but I’d be lying if I said her situation doesn’t trigger me. It triggers me for a lot of reasons—because she stays for her kids, because she’s tied to a horrible man, because I know she wants out. All of it hurts me to see, but it’s gotta hurt her worse. If she’d let us, Jasper and I would kick Dale to the curb and make sure he never got to see Amber ever again.

As the fire rages,I’m more lost in my thoughts than I realize because Dahlia softly nudges me and asks, “You okay? You look like you’re deep in thought.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, mind’s drifting. All good.” I’m changing gears now, distracting from my obvious shift in mood. “So tomorrow, we can see the horses and the farm. You can ride my horse if you’d like? Her name’s Lucy, and she’s gentle.”

“That would be perfect. Let’s hope I don’t completely eat shit and sustain a horse related injury. I’ve never even been close to a horse. Hopefully Lucy will like me enough to be patient.”

“You’re easy to like, Dahlia. I’ll be right there should you need any rescuing.”

As the night goes on, I feel myself easing into the comfort of being around her, it’s easy for my true feelings to slip out as we talk. Her grin is captivating as she looks at me, fire light making her glow. I need to rein this in, because this little crush is surely one-sided. The sad reminder has me looking away from her gaze, as if I’m not completely enamored.

My avoidance is short lived because Dahlia asks to see my art, pulling me right back into her orbit. My immediate thought isof coursefollowed by a quickfuck no. The conflict must be written on my face because she stands and offers, “It’s actually okay. I’m probably going to head to bed now anyway. Get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow.”

I find myself shaking my head partly in disbelief I’m going to allow myself this vulnerability and partly because I’m so unbelievably fucked and I can’t bring myself to care.

“Nah, come on up with me.” I reach for her hand and pull her behind me back to my cabin.

NINETEEN

naked cowboy cartwheels

Dahlia

The gentle wayWes holds my hand is at odds with his calloused palms. I look back to see a shit-eating grin on Daphne’s face before she turns to continue her mission of making Jasper miserable. We make our way up the steps of his cabin and I’m wondering if his silence will continue inside when he opens the door and faces me.

His expression is guarded and I immediately feel guilty for asking again. “Wes, really we don’t have to do this. I completely get that this is private. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. We can hang out.”

“It’s hard. Art has always been something secret and special just for me. I feel like it’d be easier to cartwheel naked in front of you than show you my sketchbook.” I don’t mean to laugh, but the visual of a naked cowboy cartwheel has me giggling.

“Okay, I promise I’m only laughing because that is a big, descriptive image you’ve planted in my head. I have no intentions of judging you. Your friendship means a lot to me. If this is important to you, it’s important to me. I want to see your art because it feels like this big part of you, and I want to know allthe parts of you.” Hopefully he doesn’t see the love pouring out of me at wanting to know him, since it’s decidedly not friendly.

“I’m refraining from making a joke about big, descriptive things, but know it’s there. I appreciate you more than you know. Now let’s go and I can show you my secrets.” He wiggles his fingers at me as he walks backwards towards the hall.

Wesley’s roomis cozy as hell. It fits him well because his comforting presence is something I find myself craving when I’m not near him. His room is warm and woodsy, giving the appearance of a darkened cottage somewhere in a forest. I’m eyeing his gigantic bed too, imagining falling into his fluffy sheets. I’m also imagining falling into his fluffy sheets face down, and I smother the thought immediately. He leans down and pulls out a box from under the bed. He pats the bed for me to sit opposite him and starts to sift through the box. A ringed notebook is pressed into my hands and his face is twisted in a grimace.

I open the book and the first few sketches are line work drafts, flowers and thorny vines. The pages get more detailed as I go and the sketches are of people now—beautiful, full-bodied women. I stop on a page of a kneeling girl; she’s curvy, wearing cowboy boots and a trucker hat. The hair falling out of the hat is suspiciously familiar.

The next page has me stalled and Wesley clearly notices because he starts, “So, I may use you for inspiration a lot. I’m sorry if…I don’t know…is that weird? It’s fucking weird. I promise I’m not a creep.” His rambling is cute, but I’m at a loss for words.

I’m not sure what to say, so I’m quiet as I continue. The next page is a more detailed version of the cowgirl with the trucker hat. There’s no mistaking who this drawing is even without a face. The body on the page is supple with indents where her strappy red lingerie sits. She’s wearing scuffed boots and the hat she’s wearing says “Big Al’s” on it.

“This is the night you came to my show? This is me. You drew me.” Wes is quiet for a beat and I can understand more of his hesitancy to share with me now. “I don’t think it’s weird. It’s crazy good. You have a pretty good memory, got all the details of my outfit, down to the buckles and lace.”

The dim lighting conceals his blush, but I can see his fists tightening at his sides and I think I like seeing him a little flustered. “Yeah, I mean I drew it the day I got back home. You’re kind of hard to forget. Your performance was hard to forget. I want to add more to the picture, maybe some traditional style horse shoes and hearts. Wanna draw your name all nice too.”

“You realize you could have shown me other drawings, right? I wouldn’t have known.”

Now he’s really blushing as he says, “These are the only things I’ve been drawing for quite some time. They’re also the ones I’m most proud of and it felt shitty to keep them from the muse herself.”

“You should be proud, these are fucking cool. I look like a badass. It’s so good.” My core tightens at the thought of him alone at night, sketching my body.

“Not hard to do if I’m drawing you.” The energy between us has shifted and I feel the heaviness of my attraction to him weighing on my chest. His gaze is molten, searing me from the inside out as his eyes move from mine to my lips, lingering around my collarbones and chest. Before I realize it, I’m licking my lips and he looks ready to snap—tight jaw, his hands fisted in the sheets beside him.

I would love to lean over and press my lips to his. Kiss him as he tells me how much he loves to draw me. I want to know why he drew me in this position, why this specific memory. I want him to wax poetic about me while he pounds me into the mattress. My nipples are unbearably hard and I think a stiff breeze could send me to orgasm at this point. And that line of thinking is exactly why I hand him back the sketchbook and stand to leave.

“It’s getting late, I should probably head to bed. This was really nice though, thank you for trusting me.” Maybe he mistakes my jerky movements as discomfort because he looks apologetic when he opens his door to lead me out. He walks me to my door and wishes me sweet dreams before retreating to his room.

With hard nipples and damp panties, I curse artsy cowboys worldwide. Shutting the door, I walk over and smash the pillow into my face with a groan. My restraint wins out until I’m laying in bed. Hesitant fingers dance down my body while I let my imagination play out my earlier fantasies.