Texas Thunder (21 page)

But there was more. Much more. She turned, her gaze going past him to the spot on the floor where she'd set her purse. “I—I really need to get home.”

He didn't say a word. He just nodded and turned to take the record off the phonograph. Silence stretched across the distance between them as she snatched up her bag. “I can take the jar and call Mark,” she told him.

He nodded as she picked up the container of liquid gold.

She moved past him and true to his word, he didn't reach out and try to stop her. Thankfully. Her control was tentative and she knew one touch would halt her in her tracks.

She walked down the attic steps to the second floor and then headed for the staircase. Down on the first floor, she heard the ancient voice of Pappy Sawyer as he sang along to an old Willie Nelson tune.

He sounded like the man she remembered so well, walking into the general store, whistling “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain,” his shiny alligator boots slapping the floor with each step. Her heart ached for Brett because she knew these good moments were so few and far between. Even so, he wasn't giving up on the old man. He still believed that things would get better. That Pappy would get better. And stay better.

Just the way she still believed she could walk away from Rebel once the taxes were paid and her responsibilities fulfilled.

Could?

Of course she could. She
would
. It's all she'd thought about back in high school, and in all the years since. The one thing that had kept her going through all the crap.

She was leaving, all right.

And so was Brett.

He'd made a life for himself elsewhere. As soon as he settled things here, he would take off again and leave her behind the way he'd done so long ago.

The truth followed her as she descended the front steps and headed for the old blue truck. Climbing behind the wheel, she sat the jar of moonshine on the seat next to her and keyed the engine. Her hand went to the gearshift and she paused.

What in heaven's name was she doing?

Reality hit Callie as she sat in front of the house, the engine idling, her heart pounding. Her headlights sliced through the darkness and she caught sight of Brett standing on the front porch.

He stared at her for a long moment before glancing back at the house. As if debating whether to go back inside.

He didn't.

Instead, he snatched up a rolled sleeping bag that sat on a nearby swing and headed for the side of the house. He disappeared around the corner and she knew he was headed for the solace of the creek.
Leaving,
the way he always did.

He didn't want to go back inside the house, to face his problems, to climb into bed with the memories, the want.

He wanted her and she wanted him.

Want.

He was right. That's all this was about. A physical attraction. The match had been struck way back when, and despite ten years, it was still burning, still feeding a fire that had yet to fizzle out.

It never would.

Instead, it would flame inside of her, feeding off the memories forever unless she turned those memories into reality while she had the chance.

She needed to touch him, taste him, satisfy the lust eating her up from the inside out. Maybe then she could get on with her life, with walking away from Rebel the way she was always meant to.

She could never move forward while her brain was stuck idling in the past.

She killed the lights and the engine, and silence closed in. She sat there for a few moments, listening to the beat of her own heart before she let go of the steering wheel and reached for the door.

Climbing from the seat, she slammed the truck door behind her, headed around the house, and went in search of Brett Sawyer.

It was time to lay the past to rest once and for all.

 

CHAPTER 23

Callie followed the path through the back pasture to the cluster of trees at the far edge. Ducking beneath a branch, she kept on the worn trail until the trees thinned and she reached a clearing.

Moonlight spilled over the ground, bathing the scene in a celestial light that lent a surreal quality to the moment. The creek trickled nearby, winding its way past the man who stood on the bank, his attention directed at the sparkling water. Moonlight outlined his form, edging his broad shoulders, his strong thighs.

She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and slid the first button of her blouse free. The material parted and slid down her arms, over her hands. Trembling fingers worked at the catch of her bra, freeing her straining breasts. The scrap of lace landed at her feet. The gauzy material of her skirt joined the growing heap until Callie stood in nothing but her panties and a slick layer of perspiration. Her first instinct was to cover herself. She'd been self-conscious about her weight her entire life, but she was determined to show Brett that she wasn't afraid. That she wanted this.

That she wanted him.

She cleared her throat and he turned to face her. She focused on the dark shadow that he made surrounded by moonlight and imagined the look in his eyes, the hunger.

The warm night air whispered over her bare shoulders and breasts. Her nipples tightened, throbbed in anticipation of his touch.

But he wasn't reaching out.

He was waiting for her to take the lead, to make the first move, and so she did.

Her breath caught at the first swirl of her fingertips at the aching tips. Her hands moved lower, down the slick, quivering skin of her stomach, to the damp curls at the base of her thighs. The air seemed to stand still around her. Even the crickets faded into the frantic beat of her own heart. Her breath caught, and she touched herself. One fingertip slid along the seam between her legs where the lush lips met. Heat pulsed through her hot body and a shameless moan curled up her throat.

A deep, raw groan rumbled in her ears and then he wasn't standing near the creek. He was moving toward her. Water splashed. Boots crunched rock.

She barely managed to blink before he reached her. He stopped then, his breathing coming harsh and fast as if it took every ounce of strength for him to put on the brakes. But he did. He gave her one last chance to think about what she was doing, to change her mind.

But she wasn't living with another ten years of regret. Been there. Done that.

No more.

The regret stopped tonight.

“Touch me,” she murmured. “Please.”

And he did.

Strong, muscled arms wrapped around her, drew her close as his mouth captured hers in a deep, thorough kiss that sucked the air from her lungs and made her entire body tremble with need.

She clutched at his shoulders. Denim rasped her sensitive breasts and thighs in a delicious friction that made her quiver and pant and claw at the hard muscles of his arms.

Strong hands slid down her back, cupped her bottom, and urged her legs up on either side of him. Then he lifted her, cradled and kneaded her buttocks as she wrapped her legs around his waist and settled over the straining bulge in his jeans.

“Please,” she whimpered, rubbing herself against him. She wanted to get on with it, to move fast and furious so that neither of them had a chance to think about what they were doing.

If he pulled away again …

He didn't.

He turned, easing her onto the edge of a large boulder, his pelvis urging her thighs farther apart.

She braced herself as he trailed his tongue over the silk covering her wet heat and pushed the material into her slit until her flesh plumped on either side. He licked, stroking and stirring the sensitive flesh until she squirmed and shoved her fingers into his silky hair.

He gripped the edge of her panties and she lifted her hips to accommodate him. The lacy material slithered down her legs. He caught her ankles and urged her knees over his shoulders. Large hands slid beneath her buttocks as he drew her to the very edge of the rock. At his first long lick, the air bolted from her lungs.

His tongue parted her and he lapped at her sensitive clit. He tasted and savored, stroking, plunging, driving her mindless until her body was wound so tight that she couldn't stand it anymore. A cry vibrated from her throat and shattered the stillness that surrounded them. Her orgasm gripped her and held tight for the next several seconds. Her body trembled and her insides convulsed.

“You're so fucking beautiful.” His deep, raw voice pierced the pounding in her ears and she opened her eyes to find him poised above her. He stared down at her, his expression dark and unreadable, and panic rushed through her.

This was it. The moment that he realized she just wasn't enough and pulled away.

Just as he'd done so long ago.

Tension carved his muscles tight, his arms braced on either side. He moved then, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he gathered her close and in an instant, she felt the soft sleeping bag at her back.

He shed his jeans and settled between her legs, his weight pressing her back into the down covering. His erection slid along her damp flesh, making her shudder and moan and arch toward him, but he held tight to his control.

He was going to do this slow. Easy.

*   *   *

He drank in the scent of her—vine-fresh strawberries basking in the summer sunshine—and tried to slow his pounding heart. Strawberries had always been his favorite. He remembered so many warm days picking fruit down by Rebel Creek. There'd been nothing like biting into the sweet flesh, feeling the juice trickle down his throat …

Nothing as decadent, as satisfying.

Except her—the woman who haunted his past, his dreams, his now—and her soft-as-moonlight hair that whispered across his bare flesh and made his muscles quiver.

He pressed into her just a fraction and he groaned. “You feel so good,” he rasped after a long, shuddering moment.

“Really?” Surprise glittered in her gaze as if she couldn't quite believe him.

She didn't. She didn't trust him any more than he trusted himself, and suddenly more than proving something to himself, he wanted to prove something to her.

That he still wanted her.

That he still needed her.

Now more than ever because he was no longer that spoiled, selfish boy. He was a grown man and she was a grown woman.

His
woman.

And it was time she knew it.

A surprised “Oh!” bubbled from her lips before he claimed them in a kiss that was desperate, savage even.

He held her head in his hands, his fingers tangled in her hair, anchoring her to him as he plunged fast and sure and deep, burying himself in one luscious thrust.

The air stalled in his lungs for several fast, furious heartbeats before he slid his hands down her sides to cup her buttocks and tilt her just a fraction so he could slide deeper. Pleasure splintered his brain and sent an echoing shudder through his body. He pulled away then, only to push inside again. And again.

When he finally came, it was like someone zapped his brain with a cattle prod. Heat sizzled across every nerve ending, consumed all rhyme and reason and thought, until he crashed and burned and his entire body went up in flames. He lost it then, but only for a few seconds.

Her moan echoed in his ears as the fire caught and consumed her. He kept moving then, pushing into her until he felt the last quake of her body. Rolling over, he pulled her up against his side.

In the back of his brain, he knew what happened next was a bad idea. Sex was fine, but the details that came after … That was the stuff he always steered clear of. He didn't huddle up and whisper sweet nothings, and he sure as hell didn't do the morning after.

No pancakes or bacon or bright ideas about a future together.

He had way too much on his plate to complicate things with an actual relationship.

His future was far away from Rebel, and it had nothing to do with a woman. He'd barely won his second buckle. A man didn't just abandon a pro rodeo career after winning his second buckle. He was at the top of his game. He'd be crazy to walk away.

He was many things, but crazy had never been one of them. His old man had claimed that title.

Brett did the right thing. The logical thing. Like getting the ranch back on track, making arrangements for his granddaddy, and then getting his ass back on the road.

That was the plan, even if he hadn't returned any of his promoter's phone calls.

He hadn't really had the time or the energy, but he would get to it. Just as soon as he found the missing cattle and voiced his suspicions to the sheriff and got a handle on what the hell was going on.

Then he would call his promoter and get back in the game.

He would.

But not just yet.

Right now, he was too tired, too spent, too pleased to think of anything except slipping an arm around this woman, nuzzling her neck, and getting some much-needed sleep.

But then a shotgun blast cracked open the silence and his first real moment of peace went to hell lickety-split, like the senior ladies' prayer group headed to the all-you-can-eat buffet after one of Pastor Harris's infamous fasts.

 

CHAPTER 24

Brett watched Callie climb into her truck as he stood on the front porch of the ranch house and answered the endless stream of questions from Sheriff Hunter DeMassi.

He'd wanted to talk to her, but the gunfire had woken up the entire bunkhouse, as well as Pappy and Karen. The house had been wide awake and blazing when they'd walked in, and so he hadn't been able to exchange even a few words with her before the sheriff had given her permission to leave with the others.

At the same time, he had no clue what to say. She'd caught him off guard tonight. And while he'd been damned happy at the surprise, he knew where that left them now.

They'd done it. They'd replayed that night, he'd made up for his biggest regret, and now it was over.

The thing was, he wasn't so sure he wanted it to be over.