Page 18 of Revelry (Cowgirls Do It Better #2)

Gertie

Tate cursed and shoved the car door open with an aggression that shocked me.

I was pretty sure that he’d been about to kiss me and then I had to open my big mouth. I followed him, taking in the stiff set of his shoulders as he stood in front of the man and two children.

I looked them over, the younger child dressed adorably as a minion from Despicable Me. The older teenager was sullen-looking and wearing normal clothes, likely dragged along by his father who looked remarkably like Tate.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tate snarled, rage vibrating from him. His hand shook and he clicked his fingers but instead of doing it the three times like I’d seen before, he just did it over and over again.

“Hey Tate, I know I should have called first, but I’ve been trying to—” the man started but Tate cut him off.

“And you brought them ?” His expression was so stricken that my heart tore itself in two at the sight of him. He kept trying to take deep breaths and continued clicking his fingers. I stroked a hand down his back and shushed him gently, trying to soothe him before I cupped his hand in mine.

The movement caught his attention, and he turned his wary stare to me, to where our hands were clasped. I dipped my head, catching his eye and gave him a soft, reassuring smile.

He seemed to ground himself, eyes closing tightly before opening again, his expression less harried than a moment ago. He turned back to the man and children, looking at each of them in turn.

“I told you I never wanted to see you. Don’t ever come here again,” he hissed before brushing past them and unlocking his front door, dragging me inside with him.

Once the door closed, he dropped my hand. Knocking his Stetson off, he plowed both hands through his thick hair, tugging at the strands. Harsh, rasping breaths came from him, like he was struggling to get it under control.

“Tate?” I called tentatively. Tension vibrated off him and I hated it. I didn’t know what happened just now or what I missed, but I hated seeing him so torn up. “Tate, who was that?”

He turned towards me. “My father and his secret family.”

My eyebrows winged up. “What? What do you mean his secret family?”

Tate laughed, the sound hollow, not like his joyful laugh from earlier this evening.

“You don’t want to know. Trust me, I have a fucked-up family, Gertrude.” He placed his hands on his hips, his fingers twitching and I think he wanted to click them, so I covered his hand with mine again.

“Me too. You already know about mine though, don’t you. So you wanna tell me about yours?”

His mouth opened, his eyes softened and roved over my face and then something dark settled in them. He pulled away.

“No, I don’t.” His tone was cold, nothing like it had been all evening. He left the hallway and marched into the kitchen muttering to himself.

I followed him, not sure what else to do. I watched from the doorway as he moved around, inspecting the surfaces, muttering under his breath, pulling out a box of baking soda and clicking his fingers.

Vulnerability drifted off him in waves, drowning me with sadness.

I didn’t want to get close to a man again, but there was a fragility to Tate that I couldn’t help but want to poke at.

To sink my teeth into and I ached to soothe the quiet rage vibrating along his skin.

I wanted to make him spend time with me, talk to me and make him smile and that was dangerous.

But I’d always walked on the wild side before, and I wasn’t going to stop now.

I sidled up next to him. “Talk to me, Tate. I’m here, get it all out.”

His eyes swept to me, tortured, dark and angry. His stare dropped to my mouth, and I knew we weren’t going to get interrupted this time.

He closed the distance between us but paused, resting our foreheads together, his whiskey breath fanning over my lips. His hand buried itself in my curls, tilting my head back, slowly. My eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. Gary had never touched me like this, so intimately, so assuredly.

Like he owned me.

“Ask me again,” he gruffed out, brushing his nose against mine.

My breath hitched, mind flashing back. Do you want to kiss me, Tate?

I shook my head. “No Tate. I’m not asking you again.”

“Yes, Gertrude, you will.”

“Tate,” I sighed, desperate for him to close those final inches between our mouths. But my stubborn pride wouldn’t let me.

“Trust me,” he murmured, sliding his tongue across my lower lip. “Please.”

My body tightened with arousal, on edge and the only thing that would tip me over was if he didn’t kiss me right now.

It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

“Kiss me,” I begged.

He swooped down, sealing his lips over mine. They were hard and unyielding but I coaxed and softened them with my own, showing him how it could be, not how it had to be.

I felt the moment he gave in. His body slumped against mine like he sank into me, and he huffed into my mouth in surrender. I swirled our tongues together and he cupped my jaw, tilting for a better, deeper angle.

It wasn’t so much a battle as a defeat.

He fed me kiss after breathtaking kiss. My lips chasing his each time he pulled back because I hadn’t had enough, not even close. I’d never kissed like this before. Like this was the main event, not the build-up, not the foreplay before the finale.

And Tate kissed like he did everything else, with a dedication and thoroughness that had me melting into a puddle of mush at his feet.

He pulled away, nipping his way down my neck, his hands running up my thighs, hitching my dress higher.

“This fucking dress,” he growled. “Giving me a heart attack all night. I know you did it on purpose to mess with me.”

I made a noise in the back of my throat as he gripped my ass and hefted me onto the countertop. I didn’t disagree. I couldn’t say I hadn’t wanted this. Maybe I had wanted to get him all riled up. See what broke his facade.

And now I knew. It was me.

He tugged me to him forcefully, my core hitting him and sending pleasure through me.

“Wider,” he grunted, tapping my knees. I spread my legs and he fell into the cradle. My hands tangled in his hair as he sucked on my pulse. He was going to leave a mark but I didn’t care. I wanted everyone to see what he’d done to me.

He kissed his way across my jaw and covered my mouth again, pushing his tongue between my lips and I sucked hard. The low rumble coming from the back of his throat had me whimpering.

“Goddamn, the noises you’re making are going to finish me off, sugar.” His rough words teased against my skin, made me needy. I rubbed myself against him, desperate for relief.

I whimpered again. I couldn’t help it.

“Undo my belt,” he commanded. My pulse pounded, my clit throbbed. My hands fumbled with excitement. He was going to fuck me on the kitchen counter, and I couldn’t wait.

This is what I’d needed. I already knew this was going to be the best sex of my life and my eagerness had me shaking with need.

I unclipped his belt and looked up to see him watching my hands, his lips swollen, his eyes dark with lust. His cock was hard beneath his jeans and I ached to feel the sheer length of him inside me.

I tugged his belt free but it caught on the last loop so I pulled harder.

The end of the belt whipped out and hit the box of baking soda on the counter, knocking it on the floor.

“Oops,” I giggled and lifted my head, desperate for another kiss but Tate was looking at the floor. I tilted forward, following his stare and saw the baking soda spilled out everywhere. He removed his hands from my waist, his expression stricken again.

“Tate?” I shivered, now cold from his warmth not consuming me.

“Such a mess,” he murmured. “Not perfect.”

“What?” I reached for him, and he pulled away from my touch, his rejection stinging me.

“I need to clean this up.” He grabbed a broom and some floor cleaner from under the sink.

“Tate, we were in the middle of something?” I said, but it was like I wasn’t there. “Tate, look at me—” I reached out for him.

“Go home, Gertrude. I don’t want your help, I need to clean up this mess!” he snapped and then shook his head, getting on his knees and sweeping up the baking soda.

Tears stung my eyes and blurred my vision. He’d been so hot, so caring one moment and now he was a completely different person. I’d been through that before, and I wouldn’t do it again.

Dammit. This is why I was staying away from men.

I fled the kitchen and his house and didn’t stop running until I was in my own place.

Yet I didn’t feel comforted. I went into the backyard and began climbing the tree, to my haven.

Only I noticed that there were small footholds carved into the wide trunk, making my journey up easier.

My heart grew heavier, knowing that Tate had done this for me.

When I made it to the thick limb to sit on, the bark had been sanded down so it was no longer rough and there were two seats side by side. Tate knew I sat here when things got tough and he wanted to make it easier for me.

I was so torn, frustrated at his sudden switch in the kitchen just now compared with the thoughtful, caring man I had glimpses of. Something wasn’t right and I didn’t know what. I didn’t know how to fix it and I didn’t even know if I wanted to.

Sometime later, I heard a rustling below me. It grew closer and then sure enough, Tate appeared. He sat next to me, his glasses askew from the climb and although I had the urge to reach out and straighten them, I didn’t.

We were silent for a while. Then he pushed out a breath. “I’m sorry, Gertrude.”

“ Gertie ,” I corrected.

“I have some…issues, which you’ve probably noticed.” He didn’t say any more and neither did I. As much as I wanted him to open up, I wasn’t going to force him. He had to choose to.

He clicked his fingers three times before huffing out a breath and pushing his glasses up his nose. “When I was a teenager, we found out my dad had a second family across town that he’d been secretly visiting.”

“Oh Tate.” I covered my mouth with one hand, the other gripping my stomach tight. “I had no idea.”

He shrugged. “No one knows really. After he left us, my mom didn’t cope.

She went into depression and was on a lot of medication.

She was so quick to anger and upset. I tried to keep everything as nice as possible, as clean as possible and do everything perfectly just to avoid upsetting her more.

She would say that because I wasn’t perfect or things weren’t perfect, that’s why he left us.

She blamed me but she also was so dependent on me.

She relied on me for everything, and it was toxic.

She would go into a spiral for days and threaten to kill herself. ”

I reached over and grabbed his hand, squeezing it in reassurance. “I remember that day at Tony’s, when she called and you had to go home.”

He nodded. “She had threatened to kill herself if I didn’t.”

Dread and horror filled me at his words. “I know she died, but how did she die, Tate?”

He pushed out a shaky breath. “I stupidly thought I could leave and go to college, to get a degree and a good job. If I worked hard and earned enough money, I could look after both of us. But she didn’t see it that way. My first semester she threatened to kill herself if I didn’t come home.”

His voice wavered. I gripped him tighter, wondering if he’d ever told anyone this. I had no clue what he’d gone through and if I didn’t know, living next door to him, then no one else would either.

“I thought she was just threatening, like other times. I didn’t think she would do it. But she did.”

I gasped, shocked that she would do such a thing, knowing the impact it would have on those around her. How she manipulated Tate in a way no mother ever should.

“I’m so sorry Tate, I don’t even know what to say. Where was your father while this was happening?”

He laughed bitterly. “He was living his best life with his other family. I told him I wanted nothing to do with him, to stay away from me. But he keeps coming back, wanting to build a relationship and have me get to know my half-siblings. But why doesn’t he realize that after everything he did to us, I want nothing to do with him? ”

I could understand that. Everything spiraled from when his father left them and his betrayal was the catalyst for so many hurts. He might want to make amends now, but it seemed like there was no chance of that on Tate’s part.

He turned to me. I couldn’t see his expression in the dark but I gripped him tight still.

“I don’t get close to people, Gertrude. I don’t want to be trapped and relied on that way.

I’m not well myself. I developed OCD and it’s out of control.

It always flares when he shows up and I can’t do this.

I can’t have friendships or relationships.

It just gets in the way and ruins things, like tonight.

I’m so sorry that I behaved that way. I understand if you don’t want to hang out anymore. Maybe it’s for the best.”

Part of me wanted to protest and say of course it wasn’t what’s best, that we would still hang out. But I’d heard apologies from men before when they lashed out.

The other part of me, the stupid part, believed Tate though. He had a condition. He wasn’t going to hurt me, it was all about him and his frustrations.

I didn’t respond, I needed time to process. We sat in silence a while, I had let go of his hand long ago. Eventually he moved over to the trunk and started to climb down. Just before his head dipped out of view he said, “I really did have fun with you tonight, Gertrude.”

“I’m glad,” I replied.

Then he tapped the tree trunk and was gone.