“Oh god. Fuck. Fuck!” His release is hot on my tongue, and I swallow it greedily, neither of us stopping our orchestrated movements until every last drop is gone. His half-hard cock falls from my lips as he drops to his knees in front of me and takes my face in both hands. We both gasp for breath.
His expression is one I can’t figure out. It’s pleasure and satisfaction, but there’s a note of something else. Something too closely resembling adoration to make much sense in the context.
I open my mouth to say something snarky and probably smug, but reality comes crashing back in before I can. “Shit! I’m gonna be late!” I totally forgot about my appointment!
Dallas’s eyebrows spike, and he shakes himself out of his orgasm stupor before helping me up and leading me safely to the bank. “Totally worth it,” Dallas says, his smile as smug as I’m sure my comment would have been.
“Totally worth it,” I agree. My knee is screaming at me, but I don’t pay it any attention. I grin back as I attempt the impossible task of getting dressed with wet skin. I wiggle and stumble and yank and curse, both of us laughing our asses off until Dallas finally takes mercy on me and helps.
As I ride away, I can’t help but take one last glance at his naked ass as he dives back under the water. Tango and I need to double-time it back to the barn. If Skye can unsaddle Tango and brush her down for me, I can just make it to my next client. Phyllis hates tardiness as much as I do.
But even from fifty yards out from the barn, I can tell something is wrong. Ryder’s wail hits my ears, and I dig my heels into Tango’s flanks to gallop the rest of the way. Her hooves throw up dirt when we come to a stop by the barn. Ryder is on the ground, his fingers clawing into the dirt as he screams and bangs his head against the hard dirt. Pops stands above him, distraught and panicked, his hat in his hands and his head shaking side to side.
“I don’t know what to do!” he shouts my way. I dismount, and there’s no one to take Tango’s reins, so I have to simply throw them over a fence post. I race over and drop to my knees, one hand to Ryder’s head and the other to his back.He immediately bucks me off like the baddest-ass bronc on the rodeo circuit.
“What happened?” I ask Pops as I pull my work shirt over my head and shove it between Ryder’s forehead and the dirt. Luckily, he lets it be.
“I don’t know!” Pops worries his hat brim, shifting foot to foot and looking older than he did just an hour ago. “He got agitated when we were talking about school starting, and then I had to tell him tonight’s plans changed, and he wouldn’t be staying here after all. Then he just…lost it.”
“Ryder?” I try touching his back again and get the same bronco response. “Honey, can you hear me?” Still nothing.
“Do we need to call 9-1-1?” Pops asks in desperation.
“No,” I reassure him. “I don’t think so.” With all the racket from Ryder’s wailing, I can’t hear much else, so I ask Pops, “Is that noise still coming from the Kincaids’ place?”
Pops closes one eye like it might help him think. “Pretty sure it is, but I can’t hear it over Ryder just now.”
Crap. We should have anticipated this earlier when he mentioned how annoying the sound was. Something like that can overwhelm his nervous system in no time flat, especially combined with changing plans and probably even the thought of school starting.
“Stay here with him. Come on down here and talk to him so he knows you’re here. Use a soothing voice. I’ll be right back.”
Without waiting for an answer, I race to Dallas’s truck and throw open the bed. One of his tool bags sits near the tailgate, and I tear it open, throwing its contents left and right until I find what I’m looking for. I’m back by Pops’s side with a pair of noise-canceling earmuffs in seconds.
Ryder has thankfully stopped banging his head, but he’s still trembling and wailing. I mentally cross my fingers and lay my hand on his head. “Ryder, sweetie. Can you hear me?” This time,he pauses and hiccups once before loud racking sobs take over. My heart breaks in two, and I gently roll him to his side. He lets me.
“I’m going to put your dad’s big earmuffs on you, okay? They’ll block out all the noise and give you some quiet, alright?” When he doesn’t answer, I go ahead and slide them on. I count it as a victory when he doesn’t claw them off. Not wanting to go too quickly, I let him lie there for a few more minutes while rubbing his back until the sobs slow, and his little body stills.
“Pops, call Dallas and tell him I’m taking Ryder home.” Pops nods as I scoop Ryder in my arms and walk him to my truck. Without a word, Pops grabs the keys from my hand and opens the passenger door for me. I don’t argue, instead sliding in with my charge in my arms, cradled close. I murmur soothing words as we make our way down the dirt road to Dallas’s, even though Ryder can’t hear me through the earmuffs. When we get out of the truck, I’m beyond relieved to find that the oil well noises are inaudible from here.
“I’ll have your truck back in a bit. I’m going to find Dallas myself,” Pops says after opening the front door for us. I nod and carry Ryder in, not stopping until I reach his favorite bean bag chair in the living room. I deposit him there and run upstairs, two steps at a time, to get his weighted blanket. When I get back down, I wrap his limp body up and settle him in my arms again while I sink into the rocking chair in the corner.
He falls asleep within minutes, his breath coming in tiny puffs from his rosebud lips. His skin and clothes are covered in dust and dirt, and there are pink scratches across his forehead. The earmuffs have been knocked askew as well, but all of that can wait. I hold him, rocking back and forth while he sleeps, and I call on all the gods for some peace for my little man.
I don’t hear Dallas when he comes in twenty minutes later because my prayers were answered a little too well, and I’m dead to the world.
Chapter
Twenty
DON’T SQUAT WITH YOUR SPURS ON
Dallas
“Seems like it’s been going better, huh?” Hallie asks as I place our son’s duffel bag in the back seat of her SUV. Her husband, Bowen, shakes my hand and hustles their two kids across the church parking lot to give us time to chat.
I shut the door and face her. I called her straight away after Ryder’s episode earlier in the week.
“Yeah, I’ve been doing what you always say to do. Giving him a bit more structure and minimizing his sensory triggers.” I shrug, feeling guilty about Ryder’s meltdown, but grateful for the women around me who knew how to handle him. “I was trying to give him a summer where he could just be a kid, you know? Roam around the ranch and see where life takes him. I guess I got a little lax.”
