Reckless in Texas (12 page)

“Is your mom still in Portland?” she asked, not ready to move past conversation just yet.

“Boise. Portland was Number Two.”

“What number is Boise?”

Joe made a show of counting on the fingers of his free hand. “Five. Well, three and five, if you count marrying the same one twice.”

“I take it she doesn't have great taste in men.”

“The best. They keep getting richer and smarter, and they're all decent guys who spoil her rotten.” Joe's eyebrows lowered in disapproval. “Except Four. He was her one bad call. I think she was so irritated at herself, when Frank came back around she gave him a second shot.”

“What went wrong the first time?”

“She has a short attention span.” His voice went bone dry. “It's genetic.”

The implication was about as subtle as a two-handed shove. Violet echoed his tone. “Guess you're not lookin' to settle down with a little woman and a passel of kids.”

“Nope. Roxy has dibs on all the ‘I do's' for our family.”

Okay, then. They were clear. Crystal. Whatever this turned out to be with Joe, she knew the expiration date. She'd written it on his contract.

“Do you live at Browning's ranch?” she asked.

“Geezus, no.” His smile was a razor-edged glint in the half light. “I rent a place in town. Working with Dick and Lyle is enough. I don't need to look at them across the breakfast table every morning.”

“If you don't like them, why do you stay?”

The hand that had been dangling on his knee clenched into a fist, then slowly loosened as if Joe had forced it to relax. “There's no place like the High Lonesome. Ten thousand acres of desert that's never seen a plow. It's…well, you know how it is.”

His words were infused with a yearning so fierce, it stabbed at her heart. Her roots were buried deep in this red dirt. She might shrivel right up and die if she was transplanted, but she owned her piece of ground. Joe was at the mercy of a man who, by all accounts, wasn't the merciful kind. It seemed to her that investing his heart and soul in the High Lonesome was asking to be ruined.

“Why do you fight bulls? And don't tell me it's for the money. There's a lot easier ways to make a buck.”

“Be the hero. Get the girls. You know…” Then he trailed off, and an odd expression flickered on his face, as if he'd had a sudden realization. His gaze focused on her. “You do the same thing. Make a difference, save the day. Sounds corny as hell, but it's a rush, knowing you're the reason somebody walked out of the arena under their own power.”

Yeah. She knew. Felt it even now, quivering in her muscles, though she wasn't sure if she was feeling her own reaction, or his, or both—their bodies vibrating like twin tuning forks striking the same note. Heat zinged from her scalp to her toes, then settled halfway in between. He shifted, rocked onto his hip so his body tilted toward hers.

He rested his hand on her shoulder, his thumb skimming the nape of her neck as his voice dropped to the purr that made her mouth go dry. “I saw you after that save on Sunday. You were fired up.”

“It gets your blood pumping,” she admitted.

“Darlin', you have no idea.” Joe leaned closer, his warm breath fanning across her cheek. Her body tightened. Anticipating. Aching. “Watching you in action…I never knew how hot that could make me. Especially now—” His finger trailed lower, over her collarbone and down to the bottom of the vee of her shirt, and everything adjacent throbbed in response. “That I can see all this.”

His fingertip circled, drifting over the inner curves of her breasts as Joe's mouth hovered over hers. “Makes me want to drag you off that horse and shove you up against the nearest fence, see just how hot we could get.”

The air shuddered out of Violet's lungs. She barely had a chance to gulp in more before Joe took her mouth in a kiss that felt like it could melt the rock she leaned on. For a beat, all she could do was accept. Adjust. Then she opened up and gave herself to the heat and the sensation. His fingers splayed to cup the back of her head as his tongue toyed with hers. He kissed like he fought bulls. Bold. Aggressive. Advancing, retreating, forcing her to chase him. She curled her hand around the back of his neck, fingers tangled in the ragged ends of his hair, dragging him closer.

He hooked his hand around her bent knee, rolling her into him, taking the kiss deeper as she slid her hand down, palm flat, along the long sleek line of his back. Her body screamed for contact, the hunger immediate, relentless, no time for slow and gentle. He scooped an arm around her shoulders, lifted, turned, and lowered her in one smooth motion, following her down without his mouth missing a beat.

Damn, the man was
good
.

Then she lost the ability to think at all when his thigh slid between hers. His fingers skimmed along the waistband of her jeans, found bare skin beneath her shirt. She arched into his touch, wanting more.
More.
Skin to skin, flesh to flesh. She tugged at his polo shirt, but it was tucked securely into his jeans. Her greedy hands went lower, fingers curling, digging into the hard curve of his butt through taut denim, feeling it flex as he responded to the pressure by rocking his hips into her. The only thing firmer was pressed hard against the front of her jeans. He rocked again and she made a sound that would have been embarrassing if she hadn't been pretty much out of her mind with need.

His nimble fingers found the place where her shirt was tied and, oh thank the Lord, those laces weren't just for decoration. He tugged and they came loose, the shirt falling away at the push of his hands, leaving nothing but a lacy bra in the same shade of red.

He pulled back, looked down at her and sucked in a shaky breath of his own. “Halle-fucking-lujah.”

His mouth came down again, planting another hard, hot kiss on her mouth before heading south, sending shockwaves of sensation over her skin as he went. Violet slid her hands around to his hips and at the command of her last functioning brain cell ran her thumbs over the front pockets of his jeans, feeling the gratifying crinkle of plastic.

Joe pulled back, looked down at her.

“Just checking,” she said.

“Got it handled.”

Hot damn, did he ever. That mouth of his deserved a championship buckle all its own. She tugged at his shirt, hissing her annoyance when it didn't budge. His mouth kept moving, tasting, teasing as he lifted his hips and reached between them to pop first his buckle free, then the button on his jeans before settling over her again. The zipper gave as she shoved her hands down to pull the shirt free and, finally,
finally,
found hot silky skin. Joe stopped just short of the promised land, her breasts aching in protest as he sat up to yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside. His torso gleamed in the near darkness, lean, taut, with smooth flat muscles, like a swimmer's. Violet almost wished he'd stop and let her admire the view. Then he lowered his body onto hers, pressed all that lovely muscle against her and her eyes crossed.

Hallelujah indeed.

She arched and moaned as Joe's mouth and then teeth found her nipple through the lace. Light exploded, glowing red through her eyelids, as if the two of them had generated their own bonfire—

“Violet?”

She froze. Oh dear God,
no.
Her eyes popped open and for a second she couldn't see anything but a bright glare. Then the light bobbed and she heard, “Give me the damn flashlight, Hank!” and it veered skyward and blinked off, leaving pinpricks of brilliant color dancing in front of Violet's eyes. She shoved so hard against Joe's chest she heard the air go out of his lungs in a small
Oof!
He rolled away, blinking like he'd been yanked out of the movie theater into broad daylight.

“What the fuck—”

He followed Violet's stricken gaze up to the two people silhouetted against the darkening sky. She couldn't see their faces, but she knew those voices like her own. Violet fumbled to cover herself as she watched realization dawn on Joe's face.

“Fuck,” he said again, with feeling.

Her sentiments exactly.

As Joe's eyes once again adjusted to the twilight, the girl on top of the bluff rammed Hank with her elbow. He just snickered.

“Sorry, Violet,” she called down. “I didn't recognize your new car. The sheriff's been getting on us about the underage kids coming out here, so Hank figured we should scare the crap out of a couple of them. I never dreamed…” She trailed off. Cursed. “I'll shut up now. C'mon, Hank, let's go.”

“Hope you brought your handcuffs, Joe,” he yelled as she grabbed him by the collar and dragged him away.

“Shut
up,
Hank.”

Hank laughed. Joe heard a thump and a grunt, as if the girl had gut-punched him. Doors slammed. An engine hummed, something smooth and quiet like Violet's car, the whisper of its tires barely audible on the packed dirt. Joe flopped back on the blanket while Violet fumbled with the laces on her shirt. Wow. Beni wasn't the only one who could swear like a truck driver. She scrambled to her feet, grabbed the edge of the blanket, and cursed again when she realized it was pinned under Joe's weight.

“Bring that with you when you come,” she ordered, then strode off into the gloom.

When you come.
Yeah, right. That wasn't happening tonight. He propped his hands behind his head, watching the stars brighten, waiting for the hard ache to ease so he could zip his jeans. Above him on the bluff, the car door slammed. He waited, but the engine didn't start so at least Violet must not be planning to drive off and leave him. Not that she had any reason to be mad. Coming out here was her idea. If she'd asked his opinion, they'd be bouncing around on a king-size bed in a motel and Hank wouldn't be fixing to blab to everyone in Texas.

A story that would inevitably reach Violet's parents. Joe pictured Steve's reaction and cringed. What did you say to a man who demanded to know what the hell you were doing with his daughter?
Anything she'd let me
might be the truth, but Joe didn't have much desire to test-drive a body cast.

Son of a bitch. He could get fired for real this time. Now there was a thought to deflate a man. Joe zipped, buttoned, and buckled up, then rolled onto his hands and knees to search for his shirt. A flashlight would've been handy. He should've asked Violet if she had one in the trunk of her car when he saw she intended to lead him off a cliff. Scratch that. He should've gone with his first impulse when he got a load of that red shirt and hauled her into her bedroom, forget the damn date. Let her parents think what they wanted. Along with all those people at the Lone Steer Saloon. The barbecue shack. Every damn place they'd showed their faces.

And if he stuck his hand in a rattlesnake nest fumbling around for his shirt, he was gonna be seriously pissed. He sat back on his haunches, orienting himself. He'd been about here, and Violet had been there.
All
there. That bra had damn near stopped his heart. The image of her in it was permanently etched in his brain. The feel of her under his hands, that mind-bending combination of softness and strength…

That did it. He was gonna kill Hank just on principle. He located his shirt slung over a rock, yanked it over his head, grabbed the blanket, then eased up the trail, acutely aware of the black void to his left. Violet was slumped on the hood of the car, heels on the front bumper, head between her fisted hands. She wasn't
crying?
No. Mumbling.

Her voice rose and he made out a few words. “…be so stupid, Violet? You
never
learn…”

He cleared his throat and she jerked upright. Her cheeks were dry, thank God, her eyes glittering with anger and a heavy dose of embarrassment. She'd pulled on a jacket—a big, shapeless windbreaker that might as well have had
Don't even think about it
plastered in glow-in-the-dark letters across the front.

Joe shook the dirt off the blanket. “I'll put this in the trunk.”

She gave a jerky nod. The keys were in the car so he leaned in, hit the trunk button on the key fob, and went around the back of the car to stow the blanket. Then he opened the passenger door and held it for her. “I'll drive.”

She climbed in, her face set in the dim glow of the dome light. Neither of them spoke until he'd turned the car back onto the highway.

“Who was the girl?” he asked.

“Hank's sister.” Violet tipped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, the words hissing out like overheated steam. “Melanie is my best friend. Just my luck, Hank had to be with her.”

Violet's phone beeped. She read the text, huffed once, then tapped out a reply. The response came within seconds. She tapped some more, hit Send, then sighed and dropped the phone in her coat pocket.

“Melanie feels terrible. She swiped Hank's cell phone so he couldn't send out a mass text to all his buddies.” Violet turned her face, staring out into the night so Joe could only see her profile. “It'll just delay the inevitable.”

Joe opened his mouth, then clamped it shut. He'd almost said he was sorry. For what? Violet was a single adult woman, and he was a single adult man. There was no reason they shouldn't take advantage of each other. Shouldn't have kept taking advantage of each other once Melanie dragged Hank away. So why was there a knot in his gut that felt suspiciously like guilt?

“Take a left up there,” she said, pointing to a gravel road. “This road cuts across to our highway.”

He did as instructed, then forgot about talking while he navigated the washboards and potholes so big the low Cadillac nearly bottomed out.

“Take a left at the stop sign.”

He did. The gate to the abandoned half of the Jacobs Ranch was only fifty yards down the highway, the dirt road the same route he'd jogged that afternoon. He parked the car in front of Violet's house. As she reached for the door, he put a hand on her arm. She froze. The look in her eyes made him pull back while he still had fingers instead of bloody stumps.

“Violet…listen. I'll take care of Hank.”

“Really? How?”

“Strangulation preferably, but I don't know my way around here well enough to hide the body.”

“Great. Another comedian.” She kicked her door open.

Joe did the same, jumping out to look at her over the top of the car. “Look, I know this was embarrassing, but don't you think you're overreacting a little?”

“No.” She spun on her heel and stomped toward her house, but her stride hitched when her phone rang. Pausing on the steps, she pulled it from her pocket and checked the screen. Joe saw her take a deep breath and blow it out, making a visible effort to calm down. As she opened the door, she lifted the phone to her ear, her voice soft. “Hey, little man. How's it going?”

For a count of ten Joe stood, staring at the closed door. He'd alienated a lot of women in a lot of ways, but this was new. The women he usually dated didn't give a damn who knew they were having sex…which was why he should've stuck to that kind of women. Then his head filled with visions of soft, round curves and red lace.

Hell.

He dropped into the rusty metal patio chair in front of the bunkhouse, the screech of the springs a nail through his eardrum. He rocked back and made them screech again, the sound a perfect match to the bitter taste of not-quite-guilt at the back of his throat. Down at the corral a bull bellowed, trailing off into a series of low grunts, but there was no answering challenge.

Joe pulled out his phone, frowning when he pushed a key and nothing happened. Oh. Right. He'd turned it off the night before and forgotten to turn it on again. He hit the power button. The second it was functional, it started beeping frantically. One, two, three incoming texts, two voice messages, all from Wyatt except one. Crap. Joe had forgotten to call his mother. He ignored all the messages and dialed Wyatt's number.

“Nice time to turn your phone off, jackass,” Wyatt snapped. “I've been trying to reach you all day.”

“I saw. What's got your titties twisted?”

“Violet. I kept thinking there was something I'd heard about her.”

Joe stopped rocking. “What?”

“Remember a couple years back, when that bronc rider from Louisiana talked the Roundup queen into sneaking up and having sex on the roof of the south grandstand?”

“Sure. It was the worst kept secret in Pendleton.” He also remembered that she'd shimmied out of her fringed buckskin skirt long before the last day of her reign, but that was between her and Joe.

“Yeah, well, Violet hooked up with that goofy bastard at a rodeo in Hickory Springs last spring, and his other not-quite-ex-girlfriend showed up at his motel a night earlier than he expected.”

Uh-oh. “How bad was it?”

“Shrieking, scratching, catfight ugly, but you know who won.”

Violet. Hands down. Then Joe remembered Hank's crack about the handcuffs. “Somebody called the cops?”

“Yep. Violet ended up cuffed and stuffed, and rather than just coughing up the bail, that dumbshit rookie you're working with called her dad.”

Joe ground his teeth. Hank definitely had to die. First chance, Joe was feeding him to Dirt Eater, one piece at a time.

“Then the next day, one of the committeemen made a nasty comment and Cole Jacobs offered to plow the arena with the guy's face. Needless to say, they won't be producing that rodeo next year.”

Joe slumped deeper, pressing a fist to his forehead. “So I'm probably not the best thing that could've happened to her right now.”

A beat of silence, then Wyatt sighed. “What did you do?”

Joe gave him the condensed version, minus the red lace bra. Some things a man wanted to keep all for himself.

Wyatt sighed again. “Well, she picked the spot, so technically it isn't your fault, but her dad could still boot your ass clear back to Oregon. Not the greatest thing for your reputation, given that you just weaseled out of working Pendleton.”

“Hey! That was your idea, not mine.”

“I know. Just sayin' it would be good to smooth this over if possible.”

He felt that jab again—not quite guilt, but a close cousin—and blew out an irritated breath. “This is stupid. We didn't do anything wrong. Just because I told her dad…”

“Told him what?”

“Nothing.” Joe swatted at a moth, bouncing it off the side of the bunkhouse. It landed on its back, fluttered around, then righted itself and flew right back at him. Stupid bastard. “I asked if it was okay to go out with her. Period.”

Across the yard, a shadow moved behind what he guessed were Violet's bedroom curtains. She would be stripping off that red shirt. Then the bra. He could be there in ten seconds…

He swatted the moth away again, feeling slightly more sympathetic.

“Ah. I see,” Wyatt said, in the wise man tone that made Joe want to reach through the airwaves and strangle him. “Basically, you have enough respect for this woman to approach Steve Jacobs, man to man.”

“Well, yeah, but I didn't say I wouldn't…”

“The promise was implied. Everyone who's ever seen an old western knows that.”

Even Joe. Hadn't he thought almost as much, standing in Steve's living room? And his conscience had been taking potshots at him since the first time he'd touched Violet. She had too many sensitive strings attached—the business, her family, Beni, and yeah, Delon—that could easily be ripped to shreds. Joe had sworn he'd never knowingly inflict that kind of damage. Not after being on the receiving end during the implosion of his parents' marriage, and witnessing the trail of destruction his mother had wrought since.

This wasn't just about some promise he may or may not have made to Violet's parents. Joe had violated his personal code of conduct. This woman was everything he had always avoided, for good reason. Wyatt had tried to tell him—his own gut had tried to tell him—but he'd been too wrapped up in self-pity and anger to listen.

He breathed out a curse. “What the hell do I do now?”

“The honorable thing, of course.”

Joe lifted the phone away from his ear to glare at it. “
What?
”

“There's only one way you can put a positive spin on this,” Wyatt declared. “You have to be a gentleman and make an honest woman of her.”

He laughed outright at Joe's very ungentlemanly response.