Crossroads (2 page)

I'd wanted to eat her. At that point she
belonged to me. I'd made her feel real damn good... only for a few
seconds... but I hoped it stuck in her mind a whole lot longer than
that.

I needed all the help I could get, because I
was damn sure I faced a real challenge on Sunday, getting her to
come out with me was going to be a trial.

I wouldn't blame her if she never spoke to
me again.

My eyes accustomed themselves to the dark
and I got off the bike, kicking the stand down and heading for the
bunk house where I slept. It made life easier if I didn't sleep in
the house with my Dad. We didn't always see eye to eye. Actually we
didn't
ever
see eye to eye. It had been a lot worse since I
left home for that eighteen months of free living when I was twenty
one. I thought I was entitled to do that, but apparently, he
didn't. The family had a ranch to run, and this was where I
belonged, he'd argued with me more than a few times on the
phone.

It had taken a while for me to see that,
actually, he was right. Although I wouldn't have traded in my time
with the Breakers for any amount of gold, I didn't want to become a
bike obsessed, dope addicted, low grade human. A loser. And that's
where I'd been headed. I'd done the wild ride. I'd hung with
California's meanest badass fuckers and lived to tell the tale. And
fuck, could I tell a few tales.

Jeez... those guys were crazzzzeeeee
bastards.

I sniggered to myself, a very amusing
Breakers memory flooding my brain, as I walked across the yard.

The bunk house was in darkness as I slipped
in quietly and locked up behind me. I poured myself a glass of
water and gulped it down before making my way to my room. The bunk
house had ten small rooms, all the same, nicely done out, with
basic and functional furniture.

I turned the corner and noticed a door
slightly open and a light on at the end of the short corridor, the
room next to mine. Col's room. I headed that way in the hope of a
few civil words with him. I got on well with Col. He was the eldest
of the ranch hands, early forties, pleasant, easy going and a great
hand around the place. There wasn't much he couldn't do - from
horse breaking, livestock handling, woodworking, repairs to
machinery, you name it... he was a good team guy and my third,
after Kicker. Although Kicker was my good pal, and we had a solid
relationship, I couldn't really tell him stuff. We joked around and
had fun together and I had his back, as he did mine, but Col was
more of a close older brother to me. Actually, he was more of a
father figure than my dad was. I'd confided a few times, since Ma
died. I'd needed to. It had hit me hard and Dad had closed down.
Not that he'd ever been that open with me beforehand. And he was
most definitely a closed door now.

I peeped in the gap, sussing the scene
before I barged in on something private. He was lounging on his
bed, in his jocks, with his earphones on, fast asleep, and snoring
loudly enough to prove it to the whole fucking world. I entered his
room and removed them... he didn't stir, remaining semi upright
against the wall, so I pushed him with my palm and he toppled over,
sideways, onto his pillow. A perfect soft landing.

His eyes opened blearily. They had the look
of a heavy dose of Jack Daniels about them. Col drank too much. I
knew he carried a lot of pain. All down to his cheating ex wife
Diana and his kid, Kyle, who he wasn't so sure was his. Drinking
was his way of dealing with it – but I didn't think it did much
more than give him a fucking awful hang over, and a whole bunch of
depression, from what I'd seen.

“Yo man, what's up?...God...my head fuckin'
hurts,” he moaned and yawned simultaneously.

“Nothin' to worry about – your light was on,
that's all... go back to sleep, pal.”

I tossed a blanket over him and turned the
light out, leaving him to it.

I liked to take care of the guys.
Technically speaking I wasn't their boss, Dad was, but he left the
fieldwork to me. He spent most of his time traveling the county and
further afield, visiting existing and potential new customers, or
he sat in the plush office space, with Janice, my older sister, and
his preferred son, her husband Rob.

Rob was everything I wasn't. College
educated, very well spoken, and recently a father to Bella, my
niece. I got on okay with Rob, in small doses. But I was head over
heels in love with Bella. Six months old and a bundle of pinkness,
big brown eyes and curly fair hair. She competed with my emotional
attachment to my V-Rod, and that was saying something. I'd have a
dose of Bella most days, carrying her over to the bunk house where
we all had a turn, passing her around, cuddling her like a bunch of
lovestruck idiots. When I wasn't out on the ranch, being the
unofficial head rancher, I was being an official hands-on
uncle.

After more than three years hard graft I
felt I'd earned the title of Head Rancher officially, but obviously
Dad didn't feel the same way. At least I didn't think he did. We
never spoke about it, or anything much at all. I didn't want to
push it in case I got an answer I didn't like.

In any case, no one questioned my authority
or had any reason to. I was Charlie Lyle's son and therefore, in
charge. If anyone felt a mind to take me on, we'd settle it the old
fashioned way, physically. Not that I had any concerns in that
direction, apart from Lucky. He was kinda in my face now and then.
Greg Lucky had a lot of different ideas on the way things should be
done, and wasn't shy of letting me know. I always listened, but I
could see the defiance in his eyes when I gave out the orders my
way. His 'what-the-hell-d'you know-about-anything-boy' look, said
it all. But on the whole we all worked well together. Not too many
instances of excess testosterone had occurred to blight my days. If
they had, there were drink and women involved, usually. Pete and
Jackson had had a major drunken dispute over Lola one night. I
earned myself a broken rib and a black eye, getting too involved
and coming between them before someone died. Not something I
planned on doing again.

I took a two minute, cool shower, in the
washroom and then turned in for what was left of the night.

I text Kicker with some friendly advice.
Just in case he'd forgotten what we were doing the next day.

- start at ten. get some decent sleep. long
day ahead.

And I finally laid down on my bed, trying to
go to sleep myself. But my mind was in overdrive.

I kept going there... again... and again...
and again...
fuck!

Back to her yard, replaying the whole hot
session over and over on loop.

I gave up trying to stop myself thinking
about it in the end.

A big smile lit up my face. Tonight had had
its good points. Fucking awesome points.

My God
, that was something to
remember... hot and fast and so goddamn sweet it stirred my soul...
the way she responded to me was just perfect. She was perfect. Like
a dream. Edible, lickable, kissable and so goddamn fuckable she'd
tempt a Buddhist monk...

Jesus and holy mother...
.

I was as hard as iron at the memory of being
inside her and dying for some more of the same.

Right fucking now
...

My hands covered my aching cock. Once was
nowhere near enough to satisfy my needs.

I wanted to get close to her, clothes off,
on a proper bed.

I'd show her the other side of me.

One she'd like a whole lot more than the
'
wham bam, thank you ma'am',
she'd got
tonight on the table.

I'll sort it out somehow, get her
interested.

I'd never met a girl so disinterested and
resistant before. She was emotionally distant, like I was on the
'no-way-Jose' list before she even knew what I was like.

She may well find the physical side of me
appealing but I knew she wasn't interested in me as a person.

I guessed it was the rep. I knew I had a bad
one. A lot of it was lies and exaggeration, but yeah, I'd got
through quite a few girls in town. But no bar girls, as a rule. I
steered clear of dating bar girls because I didn't drop shit where
I drank. A simple rule which worked well, with the exception of
Christie. One drunken night and one little slip of my no-bar-girl
resolution and she wouldn't leave me alone. I wasn't interested in
her at all. I wasn't interested in any of the girls in Riders...
until Tiffany threw me a curve ball. I was prepared to forsake all
my resolutions for her.

She'd hit me like a girl tornado, ripping
the ground from beneath my feet and expelling all the air from my
lungs. That kind of reaction was hard to deny.

I'd take it slow for a while, if I could.
And she was gonna resist... no doubt about it... but I wasn't one
to take no for an answer. I'd keep on trying, no matter.
The word quit wasn't an option where she was
concerned.

Oh fuck my mind to hell... stop thinking and
analyzing... too fucking tired to think straight... must
sleep...

My brain and body finally started to relax,
after a good deal of sexually frustrated tossing and turning,
trying to get comfortable.

I had a revelation... I could get her some
flowers
...

She likes flowers... gotta get some serious
flower power apologizing going. Somethin' pretty and pink.

I'd never bought a girl flowers before, but
I suppose it had to happen some time.

I sat up, remembering to set my alarm for
eight. That gave me a three hour lie in.

Heaven.

Finally,
hallelujah
, I drifted off to
sleep.

It was nine in the morning when I returned
from Olson with my apology. It was pretty sweet apology at that.
I'd taken a while thinking what to write on the card the florist
had given me.

I settled on 'I loved what we did. But I'm
sorry it happened that way. Give me another chance to do things
right.' Nothing more or less. It said it all without being slushy.
Slush and Joshua Lyle didn't mix very well. I was slush free
territory. The fact I was buying flowers and writing any note at
all was pushing my limits beyond comfort.

My stomach was in strange knots as I rode
over to her place to deliver my heartfelt bunch of floral
persuasion.

I headed up her driveway and parked behind
the white truck. It had a distinct sideways lilt, like the
suspension had gone. I didn't know a ton about cars or bikes,
mechanically, I left all that to Col. He knew everything. I was
sure driving that truck was a bumpy ride, if it was roadworthy at
all, legally.

I stood at the door and pressed the door
bell button and waited.

I was a strong guy. I could face any amount
of adversity. I'd been known to wrestle a heifer to the ground and
had faced a raging bull a few times without the kind of fear I
experiencing that moment.

Fear of rejection. A sickening,
knee-weakening, pulse-throbbing fear.

A buzzer sounded loudly. I cleared my throat
ready to deliver my few... very few... words. It was best I didn't
say much. I didn't trust the right words to come out of my pathetic
mouth.

I could see a shape through the glass, long
fair hair, and the door swung open.

A sweet young girl stood before me in her
One Direction sweater. Some guy smiled at me like an idiot from her
bright red top.

She had a certain look about her, facially,
particularly around the eyes. I wasn't sure what it was... possibly
Down's syndrome or something like that.

“Hello,” she said shyly,
blushing, wringing her hands.

“Hi, is Tiffany around?” I
asked her.

But before she could reply, someone else
called out. “Who is it, hon?”

I recognized the voice but it sounded
different...deeper.

An older version of Tiffany appeared behind
her.

“Oh...hi...” she
said.

I couldn't help but think
Tiff's mom was a whole load of hot mama. Her curly blonde bob and
overall good looks couldn't be ignored. I beat back the bad words
and bad thoughts flying around in my head. It was an ongoing
problem men had to deal with around attractive women, and normally
I let my thoughts lead where they wanted to lead. By this was a
highly inappropriate time for that.

“Hi there. I'm Josh. Can I
have a word with Tiffany please?” I said in my best meeting-mama
tone of voice. I hoped to God she hadn't told her mom anything
about last night, or I could be dead meat. She could have a shotgun
behind the door for all I knew.

Her eyes took in the flowers and my hopeful
expression and she softened visibly, a smile breaking out. A pretty
hot smile.

“Yeah, sure... come in. I
think she's finishing up in the bathroom.”

She beckoned me inside I followed her into
her living room.

I stood there awkwardly, with the young girl
staring at me.

“Philipa, go get your
sister will you, sweetheart?”

She giggled and skipped off.

“Nice home you have Mrs
Johnson.” I wasn't lying. Although it was very feminine, it
appealed... pastel colors... a white enamel wood-burning stove...
pretty pictures hung on the cream walls.

“Oh... well thank you. I
consider a nice home to be a necessity. It's the one place in the
world that you can make your own. Don't you agree?”

“Definitely.” Sadly the
last time I felt at home, in the ranch house, was years ago, before
my Ma died. It was a beauty of a house inside. But she'd made it
feel like home, not the decor.

Tiffany arrived through
the door
―
h
er long hair was wet and brushed
through
―n
ot a
scrap of make up on her face
―t
ight faded jeans hugging her curvy
hips and a white t-shirt hugging the other beautiful
assets.