Texas Thunder (15 page)

Her career.

It was a dream that had gotten her through the tough times in her past, all those long endless nights when she'd worried over James, wondering if he would open his eyes the next morning or if he'd finally drank himself past the point of no return.

A dream that did nothing for her tonight.

Because it wasn't visions of a career in journalism that crawled into bed with her later that night. It was the vivid memory of the hottest kiss of her life and the man who'd given it to her.

And damn if she didn't want another.

 

CHAPTER 16

It was way too early in the morning.

That was Callie's first thought as she stood on the east side of Bootleg Bayou and stared through a break in the trees at the man who stood near the creek just a few yards away from her, his back to her.

He wore nothing but a pair of snug, faded jeans that molded to the shape of his buttocks, his lean hips, and strong thighs. A rip in the denim bisected his upper left thigh, giving her a peek at silky dark hair and tanned skin.

The first light of day spilled through the trees and sculpted his bare torso. The surrounding foliage cast just the right amount of shadow to accent the corded muscles of his shoulders and arms, the hard planes of his back.

A blanket lay nearby, a pair of worn boots sitting on top next to a pillow.

She sighted through the lens, moved a fraction of an inch this way, a scant distance that way. Zooming in, she searched for just the right angle … There. She had him framed perfectly, his shoulders filling up her view. A drop of perspiration slid down his neck, winding a path between his shoulder blades, and her throat went dry.

Her finger stalled just shy of the shutter, her hand tightened on the camera.

Landscape shots, she reminded herself. She was here to knock off a few shots of the rippling creek, the lush trees, the local wildlife.

Sliding her attention past the perfect specimen of man, she fixed her gaze on a whitetail deer that dipped his head and drank from the creek. She zoomed in on the shot, framing the animal perfectly before she snapped off first one picture, then another.

The animal went on about his business, and she did the same. She'd dragged herself out of bed before sunrise on purpose, to capture the first morning light and portray the quiet serenity of a Texas sunrise at Bootleg Bayou. The less she had to use flashes or strobes, the more real the pictures.

She didn't have the fanciest equipment, but a good photographer didn't need the latest bells and whistles. She'd learned that from her yearbook advisor back in high school. Mrs. Brenner had been the best photographer in Rebel at the time. She'd shot every local wedding, captured every major event, and been featured regularly in the local newspaper. She'd graduated from the University of Texas School of Journalism—the school Callie had planned to attend—and she'd been a valuable mentor. Mrs. Brenner had given her her first camera—an old castoff the woman had stopped using in favor of a newer, flashier model—and taught Callie the value of taking care of a camera and treating it as if it were the most expensive piece of equipment available.

“It's not about the camera itself. It's about what you do with it.”

She'd taught Callie to do plenty. To play with light and focus. To look deeper into a scene and capture that one element that represented the whole.

That told a story.

One that said she was desperately, undeniably horny.

The truth hit her as she focused on Brett framed in the morning light and tapped the shutter before she could stop herself.

Hello? This is about showing the natural charm of a winding creek lined with cypress and cedar trees, the breathtaking quality of the hills, the strength of the land. You're not here to document the beefcake owner with his broad shoulders and his ripped jeans …

The thought stalled as Brett turned, giving her his profile. Muscles rippled. Shadows chased sunlight across his bare torso and the air lodged in her throat.

If a picture told a story, Brett was an award-winning porn star. From the way he lifted his arms in what should have been a casual stretch, to the ever-so-slight thrust of his hips, to the peekaboo rip in his jeans.

She stared at his image in her viewfinder and tried with all of her might not to look.

Come on, Callie. Get it together. Just turn. Walk away. Go back to the truck and get your tripod.

She could march up the nearest hill and take a few panoramic shots. The creek could wait until later, until after Brett was gone and she wasn't so fresh from a night spent tossing and turning and thinking about that kiss.

About him.

Because he was still that pie-in-the-sky fantasy. The unanswered question. The
what if?

No way would it be as good as she imagined. She knew that firsthand. She'd had a few sexual encounters over the years and they'd all fallen terribly short of her fantasies.

Brett would be the same disappointment.

Or would he?

The question stuck in her brain as he turned toward her. His gaze powered through the viewfinder and just like that, he was staring straight at her.

The camera slipped from her hands and stalled at her waist thanks to the strap that fastened around her neck. And suddenly there was nothing to hide behind. No barrier between her and the real world.

Sure enough, Brett stared in her direction. A heartbeat later, he wasn't just staring. He stepped toward her and she knew that it was too late to turn tail and run.

“You're up early,” he murmured as his legs ate up the distance between them and he came up to her.

“It's the best time for nature shots. The lighting is amazing. Listen, I'm sorry if I bothered you…”

“No bother.” He touched a hand to his neck and moved his head from side to side. “I was already awake.”

“You're sleeping out here?”

“Trying to, and failing miserably.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. “There's someone making moonshine farther down the creek.”

“I thought I recognized the smell.” One she'd caught a whiff of too many times back at home thanks to James and his cooking. “Do you know who it is?”

“No, but when I find out I intend to put a stop to it. I've got enough problems.” He shoved a hand through his hair and her gaze hooked on his strong, tanned fingers.

She had the sudden image of those fingers pressed against her skin, trailing down her neck, between her breasts …

“We should talk,” she blurted before her courage could falter. “About what happened yesterday.” She shook her head. “I shouldn't have kissed you back. It's just that you caught me off guard and I've been working so much and, well, it was a weak moment.”

He arched an eyebrow. “So you didn't want to kiss me?”

“I'm not saying that.”

“So you didn't like kissing me?”

“I'm not saying that, either. It was nice.”

“Nice, huh?”

“Okay, it was better than nice. But that's beside the point. I don't have time for kissing.” Or anything else.

Especially the
anything else,
she added silently.

“I've got a lot on my plate right now and I think it's better if we just stay focused on business.”

He didn't say anything. He just stared at her for a long, silent moment before he reached out and touched the strap hanging around her neck. “This is a sight for sore eyes. I don't think I have one memory of you without a camera hanging around your neck.”

It was a sight that Brett remembered all too well. Callie standing on the sidelines at every football game, snapping pictures of the players, the mascot, the cheerleaders. Callie at the Friday night bonfires, the pep rallies, the school dances.

As photographer for the yearbook, she'd been a mainstay at every major event. But while everyone else had been focused on having fun, she'd hung back, drinking in the big picture. Watching, but not participating. She'd never really fit in, a fact that had nothing to do with being a Tucker and everything to do with having big-time dreams in a small, small town.

There was nothing big-time about her now. She wore another sundress like the one she'd had on yesterday. A pale pink number that was sheer enough to make him swallow. The material molded to her full breasts and nipped at her waist. A soft breeze ruffled her long blond hair and teased the hem of her dress, revealing an endless pair of legs. She wasn't decked out like some high-powered journalist, and yet he could still see the hunger in her eyes. The gleam that said she wasn't giving up.

And damn if didn't admire her for it.

Way too much for a man with a strict Hands-Off policy.

Then again, he'd violated said policy last night. And then he'd spent the entire night thinking that maybe it was the policy itself that made him want her that much more.

He'd always been a sucker for what he couldn't have, and while he'd learned that the world didn't owe him shit, he had no problem doing his damnedest to earn what he wanted.

And he wanted her.

Sure, he'd lost his control way back when, but he was a decade older, and a helluva lot wiser. Maybe instead of avoiding trouble, he should head straight for it and prove once and for all that he could handle himself where she was concerned. Then he could stop thinking about Callie, stop wanting her, and get his mind on the business at hand—getting the ranch back on track.

The
maybe
played in his head all of a few seconds before his decision was made.

He wanted Callie, and it was time to stop wanting and start doing.

“I know the safe was a bust yesterday, but I'm not giving up on the recipe.” He needed that money every bit as much as she did. And he needed her. And searching through the attic would give him a chance at both. “I talked to Karen and there's a good possibility our half of the recipe might be buried up in the attic somewhere.”

A gleam lit her eyes. “Seriously?”

“I can't say for sure, but it's worth a look. We could start going through everything this evening. I've got a long day, but I should be done by about six.”

She smiled at him, a full-blown tilt to her lush lips that made his entire body ache. “I'll be there.”

 

CHAPTER 17

“Thank God you're home.” Jenna met Callie as soon as she opened the front door that afternoon. “We've got a big problem.” The youngest Tucker sister pushed Callie back out onto the front porch and hauled the door shut behind her. “Alex is here.”

“How is that
our
problem?

“He brought Arnie McIntyre with him.” Jenna glanced behind her as if afraid the two men had followed her out onto the front porch. “Arnie just got his acupuncture certificate online and Alex brought him out here to give me treatments.”

“For what?”

“The claustrophobia.”

“You don't have claustrophobia.”

“I know that and you know that, but when I said I was feeling smothered, he took it a bit literally. He spent all day yesterday Googling treatments. Turns out this one Web site suggested acupuncture, so he called up Arnie and now they're in the living room preparing to stick a crapload of needles in me.”

“Again, how is that our problem?”

Jenna glared before the look faltered and desperation slid into its place. “You have to help me, Cal. I'm afraid of needles.”

“You are not.”

“Okay, so I'm afraid of Arnie. He's got a lazy eye. Do you know what a lazy eye can do to your aim? I could wind up blind or maimed.”

“Just tell Alex you don't have claustrophobia. You have commitment phobia.”

“I can't do that.” She glanced over her shoulder, her voice lowering a notch. “You didn't see him. He looks so hopeful. You have to do it.”

“I'm not breaking up for you. Stand up. Be a woman.”

“But I'm no good at destroying people. You're the mean one.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are. Brandy's the focused one. You're the mean one. And I'm the hot one.”

“If you're trying to butter me up, you're doing it wrong.”

“Don't take it personally. You're just a straight shooter. No beating around the bush. Remember when Jackson Karnes asked you out last year? You told him to take a flying leap.”

“I did not. I just said I wouldn't go out with him because it was a conflict of interest. Les was working for him to sell his house, and I work for Les. I couldn't go out with someone that I was technically working for.”

Dating, no. Kissing, yes.

Callie's stomach hollowed out and she remembered the purposeful slant of Brett's lips on hers. She cleared her suddenly dry throat. “I had to adhere to a code of conduct.”

Then and now.

Even though Brett hadn't actually signed the paperwork to give Les the listing for the hundred acres, he'd given his word, which was just as binding. Just one more reason to keep her distance.

As if she needed another one.

Yesterday's fall from grace when he'd kissed her and she'd kissed him back had proved beyond a doubt that she was still desperately attracted to him. Attracted and distracted, neither of which she could afford at the moment.

He made her forget what was really important in her life. Paying off the taxes, mailing off her tear sheets, getting out of Rebel. Instead, she found herself thinking about him and how sexy he looked and how great he tasted and how she'd really, really like to taste him again.

This afternoon.

She gave herself a mental kick in the keister. It wasn't as if they had a date. They were joining forces for the money. The recipe. They were going to dig through an old, stuffy attic, not feel each other up.

Not yet.

She shook away the crazy thought. She was not feeling Brett up. Not now. Not ever. Their connection now was strictly business.