Kickin' Up Dust: Operation Cowboy, Book 1 (5 page)

She placed a hand on his arm, and he swallowed hard. “Look, I know you struggle. I can see it in your face.”

“What?” Did she know he was thinking about lifting her and impaling her on his cock?

“The war does things to people. It must weigh on you a lot.”

He almost breathed a sigh of relief. She thought he was battling the aftermath of war when really he was fighting desire for her. Traumatic stresses were a very real thing—but right now, Danica was a bigger force.

He wanted her.

He couldn’t touch her.

But she’s touching me.

He shook his head and pulled his arm free of her grasp. “I told you I can’t discuss that stuff with you.”

“I know, but Matt would have wanted me to listen.”

Anger built inside him for no good reason besides the fact that his best friend was dead and standing between him and the woman Brodie lusted after. “Leave him out of this.”

“You can’t even say his name, can you?” Her eyes swam with tears, but Brodie had a feeling they were more for him than her brother.

“Just…don’t. I don’t need a counselor.” His harsh tone stopped her like a bulletproof vest.

She dropped her arms to her sides and her shoulders slumped. “Fine.”

“Aw, Danica, I’m sorry.”

“Go out with me. We need to get out of here. Let’s do something.”

He eyed her. Dammit, after working long days he shouldn’t want to spend more time with her, yet that’s all he could think of.

“Maybe another time,” he said.

Her disappointment was quickly masked. “Fine, you stubborn ass. Head on home then.”

Now that she’d told him to, he couldn’t. He stood stock-still. They stared at each other. When she tore her gaze away, his heart rolled over painfully.

It’s best.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Squirt.”

She lifted a brow but didn’t otherwise respond to his nickname.

Feeling so off his game wasn’t normal. For five years he’d given his all. He’d tackled life with every ounce of determination he possessed. Now he couldn’t allow himself to.

When he left the barn, a fragile cord somewhere deep inside snapped. His throat burned and his legs ached to go back, to grab her and make her understand.

Understand what, though? He didn’t quite know himself.

The sky hung low and dark. More rain threatened. During storms as kids they’d go in the house and watch cartoons, sprawled on the furniture and rugs. Danica always claimed the beanbag chair and a patchwork afghan. What Brodie wouldn’t do to have those times back, a time when she was just Matt’s kid sister.

Not the woman of his friggin’ dreams.

* * * * *

As Danica pulled the baking sheet of snickerdoodles from the oven, she leaned over to inhale the scents of cinnamon and sugar. Memories flooded her mind, and she suddenly stopped with the tray in midair.

Her eyes swam as she stared at Matt’s favorite cookies. When she’d mixed the batter, she’d only been thinking of comfort food and maybe sharing a few with Brodie. Now that she was faced with the thick memories, she couldn’t deal.

If she couldn’t deal, her parents really couldn’t. She darted a glance around, but they were nowhere to be seen. Thank goodness.

Crossing the kitchen, she hit the back door with her shoulder and shoved outside. The pig shed wasn’t far, but she was desperate to get rid of these cookies.

Since the day Brodie had brought the flag and teddy bear, she hadn’t really broken. She was too distracted by hard work and manly muscles. Now she was faced with the greatest loss of her life all over again.

She tipped the cookie sheet, flinging the still warm snickerdoodles to the far reaches of the pigpen. It didn’t take long for the fat animals to sniff the treat and come waddling after them.

Which only made her giggle. She rubbed her tears away with the oven mitt she was still wearing. God, what a mess she was.

Turning for the house again, she looked out over the land. What she saw were even fence posts running as far as the eye could see. Pride filled her. They’d done this—she and Brodie. While the town struggled and her parents were trapped in pain, she and Brodie had actually achieved something.

In the kitchen, her mother was staring at the bowl of batter Danica hadn’t yet baked.

Crap.

“I’ll just give this to the pigs, Momma.”

Her mother blinked but didn’t respond.

Five happy pigs later, Danica was washing out the bowl in the empty kitchen. She didn’t know where her mother had gone, and she wasn’t going looking. If she witnessed more tears, how could she remain strong?

She needed something to do, and Brodie had made it clear he didn’t want to do anything with her. Her few friends from Los Vista were living in the neighboring town. She could call them and meet at the local honky-tonk.

When she picked up her cell, she saw two missed calls from Wayne. The guy was persistent, she’d give him that. And if Brodie wasn’t interested, what was she waiting around for?

As she listened to his voicemails, her mind looped from Brodie’s scorching kiss to the pigs devouring the sweet morsels to her one-night stand with Wayne.

Yes, she definitely needed to get out of there. She was going stir-crazy, and she knew herself well enough to know that it wasn’t a good idea to sit around. When the deep restlessness took hold, she needed to move.

She stabbed a fingernail into her cell and shot off a text to her girlfriend.
Want 2 go out?

Can’t. I’m out of town with Michael.

Disappointment spread through her, but she responded to her friend with a good luck clover. Her other friend was also a dead-end. As Danica flipped through her contacts list, Wayne messaged.

How’s my favorite cowgirl?

She bit her lip. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. Actually, he was nice. She didn’t know what was holding her back. He was good-looking and stable.

Fine how are u?

His response flashed in seconds.
Hoping to see you. Want to go riding?

Horseback riding was tempting as hell. She loved to ride for pleasure, and Wayne had told her about the trails around his house.

Meet me. You won’t regret it.

She wasn’t going to sit here bored and dwelling on the past—or a future with a stubborn ex-soldier turned cowboy who’d kissed her once.

Okay. I’ll meet you at Shooters in an hour.

Several smiley faces appeared on her screen. “Guess that’s a yes,” she said to herself.

She went to her bedroom and starting rummaging through her closet. She needed an outfit appropriate enough for drinks and comfy enough for riding. She tossed out several items and took less than a minute to decide on her slimmest dark jeans and a black top that hung off one shoulder.

Wearing it meant she had to change out of her everyday white bra and into something with a slinky strap. “But I need to hold the girls up,” she muttered, rooting through a drawer.

She held up a bra and examined it. Dammit, cowgirls really had it bad when it came to undergarments. She wanted to be cute but not bounce. Her options were limited. With a sigh, she wiggled out of her clothes and into the bra and matching panties. When she looked down at her bare toes, she groaned.

The polish was chipped. Sure, she’d be wearing boots but what if…?

She threw on the rest of her clothes, grabbed her bottle of Bombshell Beauty nail polish and went back out into the kitchen where the lighting was better. She had just propped her foot on the stool and had the tiny brush aimed at her big toe when the kitchen door opened.

Glancing up, she nearly swallowed her tongue.

Brodie Bell in a Marine Corps T-shirt and clean jeans. He was wearing a black cowboy hat instead of his regular battered brown.
Of course he is. His other hat’s soaked.

His gaze raked over her from head to chipped toenail.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. To keep from gawking at him, she applied the first brushstroke of vampy red over the old layer.

“I just dropped off some feed. We had a few bags sitting around in our barn and I remembered your chickens were out.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She polished her second toe then third. When he didn’t leave, she stole a glance at him. “Why are you so dressed up?”

“Why’re you?”

She finished her right foot and propped up her left. “No reason. Just thought it would be nice to get out of my grubby barn clothes for a change.”

“The guys and I are going to rip up the next town. Since this one’s already flattened.”

Her stomach lurched at the realization that he wasn’t against going out—just going out with her.

“Well have fun,” she said coolly.

His crooked smile was far too bad-boy for her rioting hormones. “We’ll see what fun we can find, but don’t worry. We won’t be stupid.” She snorted and settled her foot on the floor. He dropped his gaze to her toenails. “Nice color.”

“Thanks.”

“I might get a late start tomorrow morning.”

“Me too,” she blurted. Maybe she should just tell him she was going out with Wayne. Nah—he’d had his chance. She lifted her jaw. “I might sleep in, but I’ll let Pa know so he can feed and water the cattle.”

“Sounds good.” Brodie sniffed the air. “Do I smell snickerdoodles?”

Compressing her lips, she nodded. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“About?” He really was clueless. Maybe it was a man thing or she was just overly sensitive. Probably both.

“Matt’s favorite.”

Brodie’s face transformed. Tension bracketed his lips and his eyes darkened, if such a thing were possible. His eyes were already espresso. “I remember now. You okay, Squirt?”

She didn’t want to face this interrogation. She wanted to stuff her head in the sand and not think about all the uproar in her life right now. “As long as you’re not calling me Easter, I’m good.”

His face cracked into a grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “All right then. Catcha later, Danica.”

As Brodie left her kitchen, she no longer detected the cinnamon scent of cookies. No, she smelled clean aftershave and leather. She sighed. This was going to be a long night if she didn’t screw her head on straight. Wayne deserved a chance, didn’t he? And she needed some fun.

Trouble was, her idea of fun had just walked out the door.

* * * * *

“Welcome home, boys.” The old guy holding down the barstool turned to salute Brodie and his friends as they sauntered up to the bar.

“Thank you, sir.” Brodie probably shouldn’t have worn his Marine Corps T-shirt. It invited conversation he didn’t want right now. Thinking of Danica at home baking Matt’s favorite cookies and trying to keep the hurt look off her face twisted Brodie up inside.

“Let me buy you boys a drink in appreciation for your service.” The old guy waved at the bartender, a slim little blonde wearing shorts and a midriff top. His ears buzzed with talk and music. He barely registered his friends telling the bartender their orders or her wide smile for him.

“Same,” he muttered. When he had his beer in hand, he made his way through line dancers to a table toward the back. He wanted to hide in the shadows and watch people have fun while he thought of how to get the same for himself.

“What crawled up your ass, Pup?” Garrett swung his chair backward and straddled it. He brought his bottle to his lips.

“Nothin’s wrong.” He drank off half his bottle at once.

His friends settled around him, staring at him as if he’d grown a spare head.

“What?” He didn’t mean for his tone to come out in that barking military command, but it was second nature.

“That bartender was crushing on you hard, Pup. Why aren’t you hittin’ that?” Garrett pivoted to look back at her. Brodie followed his gaze and sure enough, the blonde was smiling at him.

He turned away. “I’m not up for that.”

“Why the hell not? Your pecker get shot off and I didn’t hear about it?”

The guys sniggered. The familiar sound gave Brodie a measure of peace, and he found himself smiling too. He leaned his elbows on the table and turned his bottle around and around in his hands.

As they talked about what they’d been doing to help Los Vista—clearing broken trees and cleaning up collapsed buildings—Brodie’s mind kept wandering back to the Pope Ranch. He could talk about all the fence they’d fixed and how they were ready for stage two of their plan. But everything he thought to say had Danica’s name attached.

And he thought of her far too much already.

Wydell waved at a passing waitress. “Time for something a little harder. Whiskey all around.”

Brodie opened his mouth to decline, but he caught sight of the couple moving toward the dance floor.

He jerked to his feet so fast the table wobbled. Everyone stared at him, including the waitress. Ignoring them, he gawked at the familiar face. No, the stunning, breath-stealing beauty—the one with a man’s hand planted on her lower back as he steered her through the crowd.

“Two whiskies,” he grated out. He dropped back into his seat and continued to stare at Danica and the teacher. Her body was angled away from Brodie so he couldn’t see her face, but it was definitely Danica. He’d know that body anywhere.

And he knew she was wearing a sexy dark red toenail polish. She’d painted her damn toenails for a date.

“Fuck.”

His three friends riveted their attention to him as the waitress moved away.

“What the fuck are you seeing that we aren’t, man?” Garrett’s question was one he’d heard before while peering down his scope at an enemy.

He gave a swift shake of his head and gritted his teeth against the need to shout for that guy to take his hands off Danica.

Matt’s little sister.

The woman who had Brodie’s cock as hard as steel twelve hours a day.

Son of a bitch. She lied about going out tonight.

Now she was going to line-dance with him.

No. Fucking slow dance with him.

The tune changed to an old Dolly Parton ballad, and Danica was wrapped up in another man’s goddamn arms.

At that moment the waitress set two whiskies before him. “Good timing,” he drawled, gripping a glass.