Matchmaker 07: July

Neither of us had a cowboy hat or boots, but it couldn't be helped. He wore his dress shoes, the hard soles making the 'shoe scootin,' as he called it, easier. I was stuck wearing sneakers because I wasn't going to wear my dress pumps to a country bar.

"This is just wrong," he said as we looked for a parking spot.

"What?"

"We're out honky-tonking and there isn't a single pickup around."

I snickered. "You don't drive a pickup at home."

He nodded. "I know, but that's the exception, not the rule." He shook his head as he grinned. "I guaran-damn-tee you you're not going to see a Peugeot parked at a bar in Texas."

We finally found a place to squeeze the Jag in, and as we walked to Buckaroo's, I liked how he slid his hand inside the loose belt on my hips. Inside he looked around and smiled. The room was full of cowboy and cowgirl wannabes. Many were dressed in almost cartoony western outfits, brightly colored shirts with fancy stitching, others with embroidery on the shoulders, and some with printed patterns, such as running horses or other western scenes... and that was the men. They were like peacocks, showing their plumage trying to impress a female.

Some of the women were equally showy, and while the embroidered decorations seems to fit them better, some had fringe that ran from the edges of their shoulders to meet in the center over their breasts, and a few had the fringe on the sleeves as well.

I smiled broadly. Despite the room full of cowboy hats and boots, I instantly had the sense they were all pretenders. A cowboy or cowgirl wasn't made by his or her hat, it was an attitude. Brent was more cowboy than anyone in the room, without even trying. As I glanced around, I wondered when an Irishman walked into an Irish bar in America, if he had the same reaction.

"Oh, wow," I muttered after a moment, having taken it all in.

He chuckled with that low sexy rumble he had. "I've seen worse back home. C'mon, darlin', let's go see if we can find us somethin' to wet our whistle," he drawled, falling easily into his cowpoke persona. "Holy shit, they have Yellow Rose," he said as we approached the bar.

"What are you having?" the bartender asked. I smiled, his thick Irish accent incongruous with his highly decorated shirt and cowboy hat.

"Give us a pair of Yellow Roses," Brent drawled.

"Coming right up."

We took our beers and found a table. The Yellow Rose was a light, citrusy beer, completely different from the Guinness we'd been drinking. When our bottles were half empty, he smiled at me. "Wanna dance?"

"You'll have to show me how," I said. I'd been watching, and the moves the dancers were making were much simpler than when he'd been showing off for Ciara.

He grinned. "I'll break you in easy."

He led me to the floor where we joined a line dance. I'd been dancing before, but never country dancing, so practically everyone on the floor was a better dancer than me. It helped having everyone doing the same moves, making it easy to pick up and follow, and after two or three songs, I began to get the hang of it. It was fun, shuffling around, doing the tush push, the rock, heel kick, hip bump, and all the other little moves that formed the dance.

"You're doing great!" he cheered as I swiveled my hips before clapping in unison with everyone else. I couldn't help but giggle. When the song ended, he led me back to our table to sit out the next song. "Ready for something else?"

"I don't know," I demurred, taking a pull from my bottle. "I'm still trying to get the line dance."

"Are you having fun?"

I grinned. "Yeah, I am."

"Then that's all that matters." He nodded as the next song started. "Come on."

The next couple of dances, Brent danced with me, holding me by my hips as we moved around the floor. His steps were simple, so it was easy for me to follow, and I had to admit, it was sexy as shit having his hands on my hips as we moved around the floor.

"I heard you talking," a pretty, fiery-haired woman said as the song ended. "Are you from America?"

"American by birth, Texan by the grace of God," Brent said, laying on the accent.

"Welcome to Ireland. Vacationing?"

I nodded. "Yes. You live in a beautiful country."

She nodded. "I've never met anyone from America."

"You have now," Brent said.

"I love your accent!" She extended her hand to me and then Brent. "Lolsy Cullen."

"Easton Quale," I said, taking her hand.

"Brent Austin."

"Like the town in Texas?"

He grinned. "Yeah. My great-great-grandfather founded the town."

Lolsy's eyes widened. "Really?"

He snickered. "No."

She burst into giggles. "You arse!"

"Would you like to join us?" I asked.

"I'd love to! You can tell me what it's like to live in America."

For the next thirty minutes, I felt like a show pony. Lolsy kept calling friends over to introduce to us. I could tell she was taken with Brent, as were all the woman, and he was playing the Texas cowboy shtick for all it was worth, his slow sexy drawl never wavering, even though I knew it was an affectation he was putting on for their benefit. I didn't hear him say anything that contradicted anything I knew, but he always phrased things in way that fed into their preconceived view of him.

Of course, he drove a pickup. Of course, he was in the oil 'bid'ness.' Of course, he wore a cowboy hat and boots, and so on. Women weren't the only ones that cycled through our table. The lads seemed to be as interested in me as the lasses were Brent, and we were clearly the hit of the evening.

"Would you like to dance?" one of the lads asked, holding his hand out.

I glanced at Brent and he smiled with a nod. "Sure. I'm afraid I'm new to this, so I'm not very good."

He smiled. "I saw you dancing before, and I'd say you were doing as well as any of the rest of us."

There was no live band, but the second song in, some rocking country song came on, and everyone switched to a dance I didn't know. Davey, my dance partner, tried to lead me, but he wasn't as good a teacher as Brent was, and I was quickly flummoxed.

"I think I need to sit this one out," I called over the music, pulling him off the floor.

We settled at the table, and I watched as Brent danced with two different women. He was clearly a far better dancer than either of the women, and they knew it. I felt the green-eyed monster trying to open the lid on her box. I slammed it shut and sat on the lid, but I could feel her bumping and clawing at the lid, trying to get out. When the song ended and the next song began, he excused himself before he approached me and extended his hand. I took it and he pulled me to the floor and into his arms.

It was a slow, intimate dance, and he pulled me close. "Nobody as beautiful as you should be sitting at a table, watching," he murmured.

"It looked like you were having a good time." I tried to keep the sharpness out of my voice, but I wasn't completely successful.

He smiled down at me. "It was just a dance."

"Is this just a dance?"

"No," he rumbled before he kissed me softly on the lips.

It was little more than a smooch, but there was something in his eyes, the way he was looking at me, that gave meaning to the otherwise innocent gesture. I smiled up at him, the monster in the box falling silent. We turned, allowing me to see our table. The two men and three women at the table were talking. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but the fact that all five were watching Brent and me, I assumed we were the topic of conversation. I smiled. It was also clear I wasn't the only woman envious of Brent dancing with another woman.

I returned my gaze to his. When he was facing the table, he never even glanced their way. Lolsy, Niamh, and Clisare were very pretty women, and while they may want him, I had him. Once again warmth spread through me and the feeling of being beautiful, sexy, and desired, of being special, filled me. I smiled at him. That's right, ladies, he's mine, and I'm taking him home with me tonight.

"What?" he asked as he held my gaze.

"Nothing."

He smiled. "You know when a woman says 'nothing' like that, it's definitely something."

My smile spread. "No, it's really nothing. I'm just having a good time."

He smooched me on the lips again. "Me too."

We had another couple of beers, ate a couple of 'Longhorn burgers,' danced some more dances, and talked with more Dubliners. I gave him my leave to dance with a couple of other women who were better dancers than me, so he could stretch a little. It wasn't an entirely altruistic gesture on my part. He'd removed his jacket, and the way the women were looking at him, and the fact that every slow dance was with me, left me feeling smug. I'd never been the envy of a group of women before, but tonight I was, and it was terrific ego boost.

We were dancing again, and he'd pulled me close, really close, our bodies pressed together as we moved around the floor.

"Do you trust me?" he asked softly.

"Yes."

"Okay. Relax and let me do the work."

A thrill passed through me as I wondered what he was going to do. He guided me into an opening, so other dancers weren't so close, and at a change in the beat of the song, he changed the position of his hands and pushed on me. I went with it, allowing him to bend me over backwards, his hands on my back supporting me. My right leg was between his as he lowered me, his strong hands allowing me to feel secure, our crotches grinding together before he quickly lifted me and raised my hand over my head. I knew what to do and twirled away before he pulled me back and we continued. It was an incredibly sexy move, and I heard several exclamations of approval.

I was getting into it and began to really move my hips. He followed and several couples pulled back a little to give us some more room. As the song ended, he dipped me as he did before, holding me in the position until the last strains of the song faded, before he kissed me and pulled me upright.

"You want to get out of here?" he whispered as we left the floor, every eye in the place on us.

"Oh, God, I thought you'd never ask."

We stopped at our table. "That was grand!" Clisare said as he shrugged into his coat and I took a sip of my tepid beer. After that dance, my mouth was dry, unlike other parts of me.

I grinned. I'd seen her glance as we approached the table. He was sporting an erection, and the bugle in his pants clearly advertised he had the goods. "Yeah. I enjoyed it," I said, my voice full of meaning.

"I bet you did. Are you leaving?"

Brent nodded. "Yeah. I have something I need to do."

I grinned to myself as her eyes dropped lower for an instant. Poor girl. She knew what she was missing. "Oh, yes, well, I've enjoyed talking to you both."

"Same here," I replied, stepping in close to Brent.

"Ready?" I nodded. I assumed he was referring to leaving, but at that moment, I was agreeable to just about anything. "We had a great time tonight. Thanks for joining us," he said, switching his thick drawl off for the first time that night.

It was all I could do not to snicker at the surprised look on everyone's face. He slid his hand inside my belt again and led me out. We stepped out into the cool night air. I shivered with the sudden loss of warmth of the bar, and he pulled me in tighter.

We rounded the corner and he shoved me against the rock wall of the building and pinned me there. If it had been anyone else I'd have felt threatened, but when Brent did it, it simply raised my heat. He took me in a torrid kiss, the cold of the night air forgotten. He ground into me, his manhood pressing into my stomach as our tongues danced.

"I want you," he rumbled as our lips slowly parted.

I was so overheated, if he'd started stripping me, I'd probably fuck him right there on the street corner. "I want you," I breathed in reply.

His kissed me again, and impossibly, it was even more heated than the first kiss as he dry humped me, his lips leaving mine to explore my neck. "Fuck," I whispered, my hand wadded in his hair, holding his lips to my flesh as I squirmed under his onslaught.

He pulled back, his eyes hard with contained desire. He pulled me off the building and led me to our waiting car, his hand on my ass. We walked quickly, our need giving us impetus. He started to my side, to open my door as he always did, but I broke away with a gentle push. I didn't have time for his courtly, gentlemanly ways tonight. We needed to get back to the hotel as soon as possible.

We fell into the Jag, and he reached over, placing a hand behind my head to pull me to the center of the car where he kissed me again. Brent was a giving lover. Normally he was slow and gentle, though he'd fucked the shit out of me several times when I'd wanted it that way, but he'd never been so aggressive. Having him want me so badly was turning me on in a deep and profound way. Pussy-whipped wimp? That notion had gone out the window weeks ago, and he was proving that a lie now.

We broke from the kiss, but he held my gaze, his desire written clearly on his face, before he released me and started the car. He slammed it into gear, and we pulled away from the curb with a chirp of tires as we hurried back to the hotel. I was all but panting by the time we reached our lodging, and as we rode up in the elevator, thank God we had the car to ourselves. During the short ride up to our suite, he picked me up, banged me into the wall of the car as he ground himself into me and kissed the shit out of me until we felt the car slow for our floor.

He lowered me to the floor as the doors opened, another couple looking at us strangely as we exited the car, making room for them to enter. Not surprising, I supposed, considering I felt like I was about two seconds from having an orgasm. We hurried down the hall to our room, and the moment the door closed behind us, we began ripping clothes from each other's body.

We made it to the bedroom, barely, a trail of clothes on the floor marking our path, before he took me in a frenzy of lust and passion, cowboying up, long into the night.

Easton and I arrived in Sligo yesterday evening, making several stops on our drive from Dublin, before settling in at The Glasshouse, our accommodations for the evening. Today we were touring Carrowmore Tombs before returning to Sligo. Seeing the incredibly ancient tombs, marked by huge megalithic stones, and thinking how people were burying their dead here before the construction of the pyramids in Egypt, might be reason for my melancholy, but I didn't think so. Though the tombs were a somber, breathtaking place, our time together was drawing to a close and was the primary cause of the creeping sadness that tainted the fun and enjoyment of being with Easton.

We strolled along the paths, huddled under a shared umbrella to protect us from the drizzly rain so typical of Ireland. We had two umbrellas, but by silent and mutual consent, we seemed to prefer the forced closeness of sharing.

"They call Ireland the Emerald isle, but they could have just as easily called it the Soggy Isle," Easton joked as the rain rattled with a soft but steady staccato beat on the fabric of our cover.

I nodded and pulled her in closer, shifting the umbrella slightly to give her a little more protection. "How many days have we had where it didn't rain, at least a little?"

She shrugged. "Nine? Ten?"

I snorted. "If that many. I didn't know it could rain so much."

"Doesn't it rain a lot in Houston?"

"Yeah, but not like this."

"Now I know why there are so many rocks in Ireland."

"Why?"

"Because the rain has washed all the dirt away." I sniffed out a brief laugh. "I used to like rain, then I graduated school. Having to be out in it, up to my knees in mud, changed my perspective. Why do cow always have to get sick when it's raining, and why can't they ever be sick in the barn?"

"Knees, huh?" I grunted.

She grinned. "Okay, that's an exaggeration, but it feels like it sometimes. Normally it's just deep enough to make a mess of my boots, but one day, someone's going to find that boot I lost in the mud on the Grendall farm."

I chuckled. "What happened."

"We were inoculating the cows and one got spooked, broke, and ran right into a pond where she got all mired up." She shook her head. "Cows can be so stupid."

I grinned. "I'd have like to have seen that."

"What, me standing up to my ass in mud and cow shit after she got stuck, panicked, shit herself, and then churned it all into a soup trying to get out? Yeah, that'd have been really appealing."

Despite myself, I was interested. "How'd you get her out? You did get her out, I assume?"

"Of course. We couldn't leave her in there. She'd have died if we did, and dairy cows aren't cheap. We tied a rope around her neck and hauled her ass out with a tractor. I was in there trying to keep her calm and to make sure we didn't actually hurt her as we pulled her free."

"I never realized being a vet was so glamorous."

She poked me in the ribs with an elbow, making me grunt and chuckle. We continued with the tour, marveling at the effort that went into the tombs, both in the number of rocks that had been collected and stacked to create the huge burial mounds and the size of some of the stones the ancient people had moved and erected. There were dozens of tombs in various states of decay, but it was beyond my imagining how they'd managed to accomplish what they had as much as two thousand years before the invention of the pulley. As the Irish said, 'it beggars belief.'

We slowly made our way back to the car, huddled close under the umbrella as the rain gathered strength. To stay out of the rain, we toured the Yeats house, but since neither of us was that interested in poetry, even of someone as famous as W.B. Yeats, we didn't spend much time there. We had a quick, light, late lunch at a nearby pub, and by the time we'd finished, the rain had stopped. The clouds still threatened, but we took the advantage of the break in the rain to walk through Sligo Abbey. Like so many things we'd seen during our time in Ireland, the Abby, even as a ruin, was amazing.

My time with Easton had definitely changed me. Before I humored her desire to see the ruins of old buildings. To me they were little more than piles rocks and crumbling walls. Now, after a month, I looked at them with the same wonder she did.

We were admiring the carved stone altar when I felt the first drops of rain. We'd become so accustom to the rain, we continued with the rest of the tour, the rain starting and stopping, never getting hard enough to drive us away. The rain was enough, however, to cause some to leave, and we found a moment of privacy. As had become our custom, I pulled her close and took her lips in a leisurely kiss under one of the elaborate arches that had once supported the roof. Our kiss was chaste in case we were discovered, but we were still alone as our lips slowly parted. I held her, her head resting on my shoulder as the rain pattered softly to either side of us, the arch providing us shelter.

"I'm going to miss this," she murmured.

"The rain?"

She snickered. "No, silly. Ireland, and you kissing me in the ruin of some old castle."

She stepped away from me as we heard voices approaching. I took her arm as we stepped from the sheltering arch. I popped the umbrella up to protect us from the shower, but typically, five minutes later, it had stopped raining again, only to start once more as we made our way to the car.

"I'm sick of being wet," she muttered as I opened the car door for her.

I said nothing until I flopped under the wheel "Personally, I love it when you're wet."

She coughed out a brief laugh. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."