Page 23 of Revelry (Cowgirls Do It Better #2)

Gertie

“Open up, Tate! I’m freezing my tush off out here!” I pounded on the door again.

Eventually a light came on in the hallway, the front door opened and there stood a confused, sleep-rumpled and very delicious, bare-chested Tate.

“What the hell, Gertrude?” He glanced behind me out into the darkness.

“My shower’s crapped out; I need yours.” I hid my grin as I barged past him, hobbling on my still sore ankle. He sputtered behind me and I heard the door close.

“But you shouldn’t—”

I turned to face him, eyebrow raised in challenge. “I shouldn’t what?”

He pursed his lips, the pink line of them thinning more than I thought possible. I loved riling him up. Especially before the sun rose. I mentally ticked it off my Tate Bucket List .

He ran a hand roughly through his dark tresses, one defiant lock escaping and curling over his forehead. His glasses were pushed further up his nose and my legs wobbled.

“You have a bad ankle, you can’t be running around in a—” he flailed again, gesturing at my towel. “A skimpy towel.”

“This isn’t skimpy,” I declared, glancing down at my very skimpy towel. The skimpiest I could find. “If you’re so worried, why don’t you follow me?”

I spun on my uninjured ankle and headed up the stairs. He stomped after me and I knew the second I heard the low rumble from him that my skimpy towel had done its job.

“Jesus, Gertrude, I can almost see your ass.”

“You should be old friends by now,” I threw over my shoulder.

I made my way into his bathroom, tugging on the light and glancing around at the immaculate white space.

I had a thing about men’s bathrooms, they needed to be clean and tidy, and don’t even get me started on the toilet.

It would put me off a man if his bathroom wasn’t clean.

But I shouldn’t have worried about Tate’s, not that I was on him to even be put off him.

His OCD meant this was pristine. Everything about Tate was pristine and it just made me want to dirty him up a little.

I pulled back the shower curtain and bent over, earning another curse for my efforts as I turned on the shower.

“Help me?” I held out one hand as I braced the other on the knot of my towel.

Immediately he was there, just like I knew he would be.

He may be grumpy, but he was also a gentleman and a carer at heart.

One firm hand gripped my palm, the other sliding under my bicep to steady me as I stepped over the lip of the bath.

“Thanks Tate. Now be a good boy and turn around unless you want an eyeful.”

I met his eyes, saw them simmer, saw them blaze and saw them blank. He turned his back, and I couldn’t fight the wave of disappointment that crashed through me. Had I been hoping to lure him into the shower for a little fun and to pick up where we left off weeks ago?

No.

But also, yes.

Yesterday had been a day of peeling back his layers, seeing his caring, nurturing side when he looked after me. Then his playful side when the board games came out. Followed by his alpha male side when he scooped me up and carried me home.

All sides were hotter than I wanted them to be and now I was questioning just how much I liked Tate.

When the curtain slid back into place, I removed the towel, slinging it over the rail and ducked under the spray. I groaned loudly as the warm water cascaded down my back.

“Damn, that’s a good shower.” I moaned. “Be prepared for more sunrise visits.”

I heard a grunt and then the unmistakable sound of the toilet lid dropping as he took a seat to wait for me. “I’m only staying to make sure you don’t slip and fall.”

I smirked to myself. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, sugar.”

As I let the water wash over me, I investigated his products.

Shampoo, conditioner, shower gel. I expected Tate to be a three-in-one kinda guy to keep it simple, so I was surprised.

Maybe it was a routine thing? The steps helping with his OCD?

I popped the top off the shampoo and inhaled deeply, another groan flinging itself from my lips.

“You better not be using my shampoo,” he grumbled.

“It’s so good Tate. I need the conditioner too,” I called over the water. Another grumble. “You need to relax, have I told you that before?”

“Yes.”

“Then why haven’t you listened to me? I hate to repeat myself.” I lathered my hair, the mouthwatering scent of Tate enveloping me and turning me on. There was silence and I decided not to poke him, to give him a moment to rally.

Once I rinsed my hair and popped the conditioner top, groaning again at the scent, I started. “So, are you done hiding yet?”

“I’m not hiding,” he replied, but his voice had an unmistakable pout to it that made me smile and want to kiss it off his face.

No! No kissing his face.

“Are we back to regularly scheduled fun then?”

There was another long silence. I rinsed the conditioner and covered myself in his shower gel before slowly lathering, imagining it was his hands instead.

“I guess so,” he grunted after a while. I fought the need to do a little triumph dance.

I lingered under the heat for a few beats longer before I turned off the water.

I reached for the towel to find it had slid off the rail.

Before I could ask, a large hand with a light dusting of hair appeared around the curtain holding it.

“You always know what I need Tate,” I mused, taking it from him, seeing it was meticulously folded before wrapping it around my body, hitching it under my armpits.

I whipped the curtain back and faced him, his glasses slightly steamy, his cheeks flushed as hell and his eyes wide as they ran over my wet, glistening skin.

I held out a hand and he took it, helping me over the edge of the tub.

Standing in front of him, his hand still latched around my arm, fingers sliding over my damp skin.

I could feel a droplet trail down my chest and disappear between my breasts.

I watched him track it, his lip caught between his teeth and a pained expression crossed his face.

“Tate,” I murmured, struggling to catch my breath at the look of desire on his face. I refused to lower my gaze to his perfect chest or tight gray sweatpants.

He snapped out of his daze. “What do you have in mind?” His voice was rough.

I tapped my lip. “Hmm, let me think about it. Are you at Redemption again today?”

He nodded once, sharply.

“Then I’ll tell you when I see you in a few hours. You should get some more sleep, what are you doing up at this time of day?”

He worked his jaw, his eyes rolling towards the heavens and I patted his cheek. “See you later.” I was past him and halfway down the stairs before he moved.

“You’re just going to walk out of the house like that?”

I tossed him a wink over my shoulder. “Sure, it’s not far to home. Save me another shower tomorrow, partner.” I did finger guns, because I’m cool, and saw his lips fight the twitch at the corner.

I limped home, my ankle actually not bad thanks to his care, and finished getting ready before heading over to the ranch. Jack was on paperwork duty due to his thumb so August and I rode out to finish checking the fences from yesterday.

On the way back, I glanced at her, auburn hair flailing behind her under her sage green Stetson.

Her hands light and relaxed on Marshmallow’s reins and I was pleased she was riding him again.

She was the softest Cartwright sister. The dreamer.

The romantic. The nature lover. And sometimes I found a peace in August that I couldn’t find with anyone else.

She made me ponder, made me think existential thoughts and get deep with myself.

I had been thinking about my ex recently. About not wanting to love again. I didn’t want to but I also didn’t think I could be loved again, if I was ever truly loved in the first place.

Tate popped into my mind and I shoved him away. I didn’t love Tate. I just wanted him for his body. But being around him and seeing the reaction my body had to him gave me pause. I never felt alive with Gary the way I did with Tate.

“Do you think people can love again after trauma?” I asked abruptly.

August blinked, coming out of her trance. She hit me with a gentle smile.

“Of course. The best loves come after trauma.”

The soft lilt of her voice hit me in the chest and I almost gasped for breath. There was something ethereal about her. Like she could see things you couldn’t and know things you didn’t. If she said it, I believed her, simple as that.

“But you’ve got to be ready for it. And don’t turn your back on it when it comes for you again, Gertie.

Because it will, sooner than you think.” She smiled softly before turning back to Marshmallow.

“Tate’s here. Let’s get them back to the stables for shoeing.

Race you!” she shouted before taking off.

“No fair!” I called after her but loving the rush of the race again.

I galloped along with Sunshine, the caramel-colored mare who knew exactly how fast I liked to go. I ended up overtaking August, but I had a feeling she slowed Marshmallow to let me win.

“Nice try, Dreamer,” I chastised, nudging August when I walked past with Sunshine in tow.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied demurely but the twinkle in her amber eyes didn’t lie.

Then I lost my breath for a second time. Tate stood in the stables, black chaps, black Stetson and blue denim shirt stretched tight across his sculpted chest. A chest I had been within licking distance of only a few hours ago.

He looked up, his eyes lingering briefly before he turned back to the forge. “Who wants to go first?”

My vagina screamed I do, I do! before I told her to shush it.

“Fitzwilliam has been looking forward to it,” August said, and Tate didn’t bat an eyelid at what she said or disagree, he just nodded. August took Sunshine’s reins off me, and I reached Fitzwilliam’s stall, the grumpy fool huffing at me as I stroked his nose.