Texas Thunder (25 page)

But her body knew better.

The drive out to Bootleg Bayou seemed to take even longer and by the time she rang the doorbell, she all but trembled with anticipation.

A feeling that soon subsided when Brett's sister answered the door.

“He's already up in the attic.” Karen pointed toward the staircase and Callie headed up to find Brett smack dab in the middle of unpacking a giant box.

“You're late,” he called out. “I've already gone through three boxes.”

“I had to drop some things off at the office. I talked to Mark Edwards.” She spent the next few minutes filling him in on the plan for getting the shine analyzed. “Bottom line, we still need to find the recipe.”

He pointed to a nearby stack. “Have at it.”

No kissing. No hugging. No touching of any kind.

Not that they needed to kiss or hug or touch right now. They needed to work first and play later.

If they even played at all.

A doubt that grew with each passing hour as they dug through boxes and searched with renewed vigor.

“Your pappy seems really good today,” she finally said, eager to get a conversation going so that she didn't have to think about how good he looked, or how intoxicating he smelled. “I could hear him humming from the den when Karen let me in.”

“He's actually having a great week. I think he may have gotten over the worst,” Brett said, pulling out a stack of old encyclopedias packed away in a large cardboard box.

“Is he taking some new sort of medication?”

He shook his head and pulled out a thesaurus. “Everything's the same.”

“Then it's most likely just temporary.” What the hell was she doing? If Brett Sawyer wanted to hide from the truth and pretend that everything was fine, she should just let him be.
Play along and keep her mouth shut.
But at that moment, she sensed the unease that lurked just below the surface. The fear. And she had to say something.

“I know you want to think that everything is going to be fine.” She set the doilies she'd found back inside the drawer and pushed it closed. “But it's not. Pappy has Alzheimer's. It's a serious condition that only gets worse. Pretending that it isn't that bad doesn't help anyone, least of all Pappy.” And least of all Brett, himself.

It just set him up for a bigger disappointment when the man finally took a turn for the worse, and never came back.

And he would. That was inevitable.

“I'm no doctor, but I know there's no cure. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's true. The sooner you admit that to yourself, the better.”

“I'm not giving up hope.”

“It's not about hope. It's about fear. You're scared.” His only reply was a sharp glance that said more than words ever could. “You don't want to accept the truth because you think you're letting your pappy down. That you're giving up on him. You're not.”

“Leave it alone, Callie.” Warning edged his words and if she'd had an ounce of sense, she would have heeded it.

But she was past the point of backing down. As much as she didn't want to care for Brett, to feel something more than just the lust whispering through her body and licking at her veins, she did.

He was her first love.

Her only love.

The truth hit her as she sat on her knees and reached for the next drawer. She unearthed several photo books filled with pictures of him as a child. Brett riding his first pony. Brett roping his first calf. Brett eating a giant cupcake at his sixth birthday. Brett nailing his first deer.

Happiness radiated from his young face and something squeezed at her heart and stirred a protective urge unlike anything she'd ever felt before.

For the boy he'd been.

The man he'd become.

She didn't want to see him hurt or disappointed or devastated because he refused to see the gravity of Pappy's condition. While he might hate her for pointing out the obvious, she knew she had to try, to pave the way and soften the blow that would eventually come.

She turned on him. “Aren't you tired of running away?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“That you've been running your entire life. Away from here. From your past. From your pappy.”

“I didn't run from Pappy.”

She caught his stare and refused to look away. “You're running right now.”

“That's crazy.” He motioned at his surroundings. “I'm here.”

“Instead of accepting the truth,” she went on despite the tight draw of his mouth and the sudden narrowing of his gaze, “you're hauling ass away from it. From him.” She could feel the tension that swelled in the room, filling up every nook and cranny. She gathered her determination. “You need to stop. To face it. For your own good.”

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

The voice whispered through her, reminding her of the stack of
Reader's Digest
s and the tubes of Bengay and the truth sitting in that small den. One that she refused to accept, let alone admit.

That despite James Harlin's bad behavior and his bad decisions and his countless flaws, she'd loved him.

“I miss him.” The words were out before she could stop them.

Brett's anger seemed to falter. Surprise lit up his gaze. “Who?”

“My grandfather.” She caught her bottom lip for a long moment as the past welled. “He was a sorry SOB, that's for sure, but I actually
miss
him. I never thought I would, but there it is.” Her gaze met his. “I've been trying to convince myself otherwise. I didn't want to miss him because he never did one single thing to deserve it. But I know now that denial is even worse than regret. It's not about him. It's about me.” She touched a hand to her heart. “My peace of mind.
Me.
I need to miss him, just like you need to accept what's happening to your pappy. Because if you don't, the fear will chew you up now, and the regret will swallow you whole later.”

He didn't say anything for a long moment. Instead, he just stared at her, as if trying to decide something. “There's only one thing I need,” he finally said, pushing the box aside. He closed the distance between them until he stood right in front of her, filling up her line of vision and drinking in all of her oxygen. “And it's not peace of mind.”

“I think we should keep looking.” That's what she said, but she couldn't ignore the gleam in his gaze or the heat that crackled between them. She reached for the next drawer but he stopped her.

“I need this.” He took her hand, his strong fingers closing around hers, and pulled her to her feet. His arm slid around her waist and he pulled her flush against his body. “I need you.”

 

CHAPTER 28

“I don't know if this is such a good idea,” Callie murmured when Brett led her out to the barn. “What if Karen comes looking for you? Or Dolly?”

“They'll call my cell,” Brett told her. He walked past the horse stalls, to the small office that sat at the far end. “The sofa pulls out into a bed,” he said once they'd walked inside and he'd shut the door.

Before she could open her mouth and voice another protest, he pulled her close and then he was kissing her again, deeply, desperately. His tongue tangled with hers, exploring every secret and her breath caught.

I need you.

Even if he hadn't already told her as much, she would have felt it. A sense of urgency drove him as he tossed the sofa cushions to the side and pulled out the mattress. Grabbing a blanket from a nearby shelf, he tossed it on the bed and turned toward her.

Another fierce kiss and he backed her up toward the edge of the bed. Her legs hit and she tumbled backward. A split second later, he tossed her boots to the floor and peeled the jeans down her body. He grabbed the edge of her T-shirt and pulled it up and over her head until she sat there wearing nothing but her bra and panties.

He stepped back then and kicked off his boots. Catching the hem of his shirt, he peeled the soft cotton free and tossed it to the side. His hand dove into his pocket and he pulled out a condom. He unbuttoned his jeans then and shoved them down, freeing a massive erection.

Her breath caught and she pushed up onto her feet. Driven by her own need, she reached out and took the latex. Tearing open the package, she eased the contents over the ripe head of his smooth, pulsing shaft, from tip to root.

A growl vibrated from his throat and she glanced up to see him staring down at her, watching, waiting. He pulsed in her hands and she trembled with a renewed hunger.

She wanted to kiss him again, but even more, she wanted to feel him inside, to be so consumed that she didn't have to think. To worry the way she had for the past few hours.

That this might be their last time.

The end would come eventually. They both knew it, and it fueled the heat charging the air.

She spread her legs and waited as he settled between her thighs. The head of his penis pushed a delicious fraction into her and pleasure pierced her brain. Sensation swept along her skin like a fiery tongue that sucked the oxygen from her lungs and left her light-headed.

She lifted her legs and hooked them around his waist, opening her body even more. He answered her silent invitation with a deep, probing thrust.

Her muscles convulsed around him, clutching him as he gripped her buttocks and tilted her a delicious inch so that he could fit more deeply inside.

She lifted her hips, moving her pelvis, riding him until he gasped and started to pump. Deeper. Harder. There.

Right …
there.

Her lips parted. A scream ripped from her lips as the blinding force of her climax crashed over her and yanked her back under. She gasped and clutched at his shoulders, holding tight.

He came right behind her, burying himself one last time. His jaw clenched and the tendons in his neck stretched tight. A moan tumbled from his lips and echoed in her ears.

Brett collapsed on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck for the next few moments until he rolled to the side and pulled her back against him, his heart pounding between her shoulder blades. One hand settled on her breast and the other held her tightly around the waist as if he feared she might disappear at any moment.

As if the notion bothered him a hell of a lot more than it should have considering he knew good and well she was leaving Rebel.

The possibility stirred a rush of pure joy, followed by a burst of panic that had her scrambling from the bed and snatching up clothes.

No way was he falling in love with her the way she'd fallen for him. He wouldn't. He couldn't.

She was
this
close to being free of Rebel. The last thing she needed was another reason to stay. Brett falling in love with her, admitting that love, would be like a noose around her neck.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing. It's just … I have to get out of here.” She yanked on her clothes and snatched up her boots.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” he called after her, but she didn't answer.

Because even more frightening than the notion that he might have fallen for her, too, was the opposite side of the coin—that he might not care at all.

She'd tried to tell herself that it didn't matter, that she could keep things strictly physical between the two of them, but she couldn't. She loved him and he didn't love her, and it hurt like hell.

And that meant it was time to call it quits.

*   *   *

She would be back.

That's what Brett told himself as he listened to the steady thud of Callie's footsteps. In a matter of seconds, they disappeared and he was left with only the frantic beat of his own heart to kill the oppressive silence.

The deep-seated panic that told him something was wrong and he'd better reach out and hold on tight or she was going to slip right through his fingers.

But then that was the point of it all. To work her out of his system so that he could let her go.

He
would
let her go.

Just not yet.

There was still too much heat between them, not to mention they had a recipe to find. Tomorrow night they would pick up where they'd left off. They would keep searching for the Texas Thunder ingredients, and then when they both grew tired and restless, he would lay her down and work her out of his system once and for all.

That was the plan.

A damned good one, too.

Brett pushed to his feet and pulled on his clothes. He debated heading back inside the main house, but it was still early and he was too worked up to go to bed and much too antsy to sit and have a conversation with his sister. Particularly one that would end with his insistence she go back to school and her stubborn refusal.

She was going back.

Pappy was on the mend and Brett was getting the finances in order and so there was no reason for Karen to forfeit her future.

She was going back to school, all right.

Even if she didn't realize it yet.

Brett led a feisty cutting horse named Sam from her stall and walked the animal down the main corridor to the tack area. Hoisting a nearby saddle, he tossed the rig onto the horse's back and fastened the straps. A few minutes later, he climbed onto the animal's back and walked her out of the barn. The warm night air hit him like a punch to the chest, sucking the air from his lungs and sending a kick of adrenaline through him. He kneed the horse to a gallop.

She bolted, but the sudden movement wasn't nearly as blinding as climbing onto the back of a bull. Instead of fighting him, Sam responded to the sound of his voice and the motion of his body. She played nice the way a good cutting horse should and so there was no battling for control, no worry over hitting the dust. No fear.

No running.

The notion struck as he picked up the pace, but he pushed it aside. He wasn't running.