Back in the Game: A Stardust, Texas Novel (21 page)

Yeah, about that. Hell, why had he kissed her? It only made things worse. He dropped his arm, stepped back, chuffed in a lungful of air, threaded his fingers through his hair, avoided looking directly into those green eyes damp with the desire he’d stirred up in them.

“I’m afraid I’ve got some unfortunate news,” he said.

She expelled her breath through pursed lips, a slow hissing sound like a tire going flat. “I knew it.”

“How?”

“I could feel it on you.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I just can.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“Don’t drag it out. Just tell me.”

He saw courage in her eyes, for sure more courage than he felt. She might look frail, and her family might consider her a breakable orchid, but the woman was much stronger than anyone realized. His decision would be a blow, but she’d survived ten open-heart surgeries, she would survive this too. But he hated being the cause of her pain.

“I’m afraid I’ve changed my mind.”

She frowned. “About what?”

Just say it.
“I’m quitting the book.”

“What?” She blinked the way he did when he was on the mound and the batter hit a homer off a pitch he thought was a strikeout.

Rowdy winced. “I’m not going to write the book. I’m canceling the contract, paying back the advance. I’m calling my agent first thing after the holiday, but I wanted to tell you first. It’s over, Breeanne.”

CHAPTER
15

Every strike brings me closer to the next home run.

—
B
ABE
R
UTH

His words hit her hard as a slap, coming out of nowhere, a sharp clip to the jaw. She thought he’d come here to enjoy the party, and instead, he’d just kicked her world in.

Ouch.

She raised a palm to her mouth. First he kissed her and now he smashed her dreams as easily as that.

“I know this comes as a blow.”

He looked so twisted up about it that her initial inclination was to tell him it was okay, that while she was disappointed, she understood. Make things easy on him. Be accommodating. Smooth the waters. But she’d come too far to go back and simply say what she thought he wanted and needed to hear. She was tired of sweeping aside her own feelings to make others feel better.

Anger blistered a hot path up her neck. “You can’t do that,” she said.

He shook his head as if he’d misheard her, and even patted a hand against his ear. “What?”

“This is my dream. The only thing I’ve wanted is to be a successful writer and you’ve taken it away from me.”

He rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck. “It’s nothing personal.”

“Not personal? I made plans. I rented a house and put the payment on my credit card. I made commitments to a roommate. I—”

“You jumped the gun.” He looked guilty for saying the words, but he said them nonetheless, as if it was her fault he was quitting the book. “You spent money you didn’t have.”

Oh no, he didn’t just say that! The man needed a good, swift kick in the ego.

“You, you . . .” She couldn’t think of the right word.

“Bounder,” he said. “I know.”

“This isn’t fair.”

“I know.”

“You led me on.”

“I know,” he said.

There was sorrow in his voice, she heard it, but now that she was wound up, she couldn’t seem to stop.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“It’s not got anything to do with you, Breeanne. It’s my own issue. I wish you the best of luck with your writing career,” he said, and then he turned and headed for the front door, like the discussion was over.

Breeanne stood there watching him saunter away as if he hadn’t just annihilated all her hopes and dreams.

The front door snapped shut.

No!

Her skin blotched. She clenched and unclenched her hands repeatedly. Her neck tightened, and she let out a roar so angry it scared her. “No!”

She bulleted after him, stumbled across the front porch veranda and down the steps, watched him climbing into his Escalade parked beneath a streetlamp.

Full of fury, she ground her teeth and sprinted across the lawn. She didn’t know what had happened to change his mind about writing the book, but she damn well deserved an explanation. He owed her that much.

“Stop right there, Rowdy Blanton,” she yelled.

Neighbors out in their yards turned to stare.

He paused, one leg inside the vehicle, the other still on the pavement.

“No,” she said, toeing off with him. The air was rich with his manly scent but she refused to let that distract her. “You do not get to quit.”

“Excuse me?” He put added emphasis on the “cuse” syllable, his tone dark and moody.

“You made promises. To me. To your agent. To Jackdaw Press. A responsible person does not behave this way.”

“Something unavoidable has come up.”

She shook her finger under his nose. “Unacceptable. No excuses. It’s time for you to learn that your behavior has consequences. You make commitments, you live up to them.”

“Oh yeah?” An amused expression lit his eyes, and his amusement made her even madder.

“I was right the first time I met you. You
are
a bounder and a cad and a—”

“Butthead.”

“Yes, that too.”

“Next time I piss off a woman, remind me to pick one with a smaller vocabulary.”

“You made me hope.” She knotted her fist, shook it at him. “You made me dream, damn you.”

“I’m not responsible for your hopes and dreams, Breeanne.” His voice was mild, but his eyes turned fiery.

“No, but you are responsible for keeping
your
word.” Her chest moved like bellows, air wheezing because she was so angry. “What happened? You’re not a coward. Or at least I didn’t think you were. What has you running scared?”

“You.”

“Me.”

“Look at yourself.” He twisted the side mirror around so she could see her reflection.

Her jaw was set, her brow furrowed into a don’t-mess-with-me scowl, her chest thrust out, and her body language aggressive. She looked determined, forceful, and strong.

For once, she liked the way she looked. “I’m sorry, but I am not going to let you leave without an explanation. You owe me that much.”

His eyelids lowered halfway indolently, but she could feel the intensity rolling off him like summer heat. “There are circumstances you know nothing about.”

She sank her hands on her lips. “So tell me about these circumstances. Let me decide if it’s a bullshit excuse or not.”

His body stiffened. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Yes, you do. You reeled me in on this deal and now you’re cutting bait and throwing me back? Postpone the book if you have to, but you are
not
quitting.” Battling him took every drop of energy she had in her.

“God, I love it when people tell me what to do,” he said, his tone dripping sarcasm.

“I’m serious.” The adrenaline rush of anger was draining away, leaving her organs quivering.

“I can see that.” He was grinning now. Mocking her?

She widened her stance. “May I ask you a question?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Just tell me why you’re quitting.”

He shrugged.

“Is it because of Zach? Everything was fine until Zach showed up.”

He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, as if he didn’t care, but the fire in his eyes told her he cared. He cared a lot. He just didn’t want her to know it.

“You’re jealous of your little brother.”

He neither confirmed nor denied her accusation.

“I can’t believe you’re acting so petty. I thought you were a bigger person than that,” she said.

“Watch it, Breezy.” His tone was casual, but underneath, she heard the warning buzz as deadly as a rattlesnake’s rattle. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then tell me about it. Help me to understand why you’re acting like a jerk.”

“Look,” he said. “You’re right. It’s wrong of me to pull the rug out from under you. I did make you a promise by hiring you. I’ll cover the advance money that Jackdaw was going to pay to you. You won’t be left high and dry. It’s a win-win. You get the money, and I get to quit the book. No harm, no foul.”

“No.”

“No? What do you mean, no?”

She scowled. “I’m not the kind of person who would take money for work that I don’t do. If you want to quit the book, then quit it, but I won’t allow you to ease your conscience by paying me money I did not earn.”

He stood staring at her for so long that she thought she was going to explode from the tension.

Finally, he ran a hand over his mouth, narrowed his eyes in a glare as hard as her own. “Okay, have it your way, Breezy. We’ll write the damn book.”

“Remember the
corner of Rock and Hard Place isn’t a destination, but rather a long journey to the grave,” Warwick philosophized to Rowdy as they sat in lawn chairs on the back patio late that same night, drinking a beer and gazing up at the stars. Nolan Ryan lay in the grass between them, gnawing on a chew toy.

“Shut up.”

“Hey, don’t take it out on me because your girlfriend got to your soft spot. She’s tougher than she looks.”

“Obviously, I didn’t fully understand that until this afternoon.”

“There’s none so blind as those who will not see.”

“Babe Ruth?” Rowdy asked.

Warwick let out a hoot of laughter. “The Bible.”

“I
do
have to read more.”

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Breeanne would love it,” he mused. “She’s a book girl.”

“You really like her.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice coming out husky as he thought about how cute she had looked chasing him down the street to bawl him out. “I couldn’t just burn her.”

“This issue between you and Potts has been building for years. Breeanne just happened to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Zach too,” he said glumly.

“Zach too,” Warwick echoed.

A shooting star streaked across the sky, and damn if he didn’t make a wish. Not a solidly formed, I-want-something kind of wish, but more of a one-word mantra repeated three times.
Breeanne. Breeanne. Breeanne.

Breeanne and her cheetah print, sweet but sassy. The appeal totally unexpected, but far more real than anything he’d ever experienced with any other woman. He’d never counted on running across someone like her. Not in a zillion years.

“It would be so much easier if I could just cold-cock Potts the way Zach did me.”

“I’d buy popcorn for that bout.” Warwick reached into the ice chest and took out two beers, held one out to Rowdy.

Rowdy put up a palm, shook his head. “The kid worries me. He reacts before he thinks.”

“Reminds me someone else I knew when he was twenty-five.”

“Me?”

Warwick shrugged, dropped the beer Rowdy refused back into the cooler. “You’re a passionate guy. Heart rules your head. No judgment. Just sayin’.”

True enough. Otherwise, he would have been phoning Heath Rankin, instead of trying to figure out how to make this book thing work with Breeanne.

“So what am I going to do now? If I expose Potts, he’s going to take it out on Zach. But it will kill my soul to let him get away with what he’s done to people.”

“Damn your pesky sense of fair play.”

“I’m serious.”

“Me too.”

“What do I do?”

“Don’t write anything about Potts.”

“C’mon, Breeanne isn’t going to let me get away with that. Jackdaw either, for that matter.”

“Then tell the world what a wonderful human being Potts is.”

“I’d rather take one of Babe Ruth’s line drives to the face. No shit.”

“That would hurt.”

Rowdy groaned and closed his eyes. “I’m so screwed.”

“Don’t have to be that way.”

He opened one eye, peeked at Warwick. “Meaning?”

“Since your sense of fair play won’t let you renege on the book, you could always get Breeanne to quit.”

The suggestion intrigued him. If he got Breeanne to quit, then he wouldn’t have to be the bad guy. “How would I do that?”

“I dunno.” Warwick lifted shoulders so big the movement shifted the muggy air. “Make her uncomfortable.”

“How do you mean?”

“You could always focus on your sexploits. Talk up a blue streak about the women you’ve bedded. Give her nitty-gritty details. She embarrasses easy. That would probably send her packing.”

“But also she has a ferocious stubborn streak. She gave me a big dose of it this evening.” Rowdy fingered his tender lip.

“Alternately, you could try talking sense into Zach. Get him to understand that Potts is gunning for him and he has to be careful.”

“Would you believe it if you were in his shoes?”

“No.” Warwick set his beer on the patio table, slapped hammy hands on his knees, and stood up. “Sorry. That’s all I got.”

“I’m more likely to get traction with Breeanne.”

“Guess there’s your answer.”

“What if it doesn’t work? What if she doesn’t quit?”

“Then prepare to pucker up and publicly kiss Potts’s ass.”

“Remind me again why I keep you around?”

“Because I keep it real, baby.”

Real. Yeah. The reality was that he was stuck writing the book with Breeanne, and he couldn’t see his way out of it. Warwick was right. In order to keep Zach safe, his only real choice was to focus on his sexual adventures, and keep the topic off the Gunslingers general manager.

Potts had him over a barrel. The sonofabitch had won again.

Breeanne spent
a restless night, her mind occupied with thoughts of her move and with what had happened between her and Rowdy. Should she back out of the deal with Stephanie in case Rowdy flaked out on her again? But no, that wouldn’t be fair to her roommate. Besides, she needed to move out. The time had come for her to stand on her own two feet.

While she was proud of herself for standing up to him, she worried that maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing she could have done. Did she really want to write a book with a reluctant man? It had been hard enough getting him to talk about his past when he was fully into the project. Now, was every day going to be a battle?