Texas Thunder (8 page)

She recognized the look because she'd told herself the same thing as she'd waited in the ER for news of her parents. Everything would be okay. Life would go on. Dreams would be achieved. “When he's on his feet again and the ranch is in a better position, then I'll hit the circuit again. I landed a new sponsor for this next tour. A big one.”

“That's great.”

“They just delivered the contracts a few days ago. Once I sign I'll be their spokesperson for the next five years.”

“So I'm guessing you're just home temporarily.” He nodded and she felt a strange whisper of regret. A crazy reaction because it made little difference if he stuck around. She'd be long gone from Rebel just as soon as she figured a way out of the tax debt. “It's good that you're going back. It would be a shame to give up after that last ride.”

“You saw the Vegas run?”

A smile tugged at her lips. “I may have been flipping channels and caught a glimpse of the finals on ESPN.” She didn't mean to tell him, but the glimmer that lit his eyes prompted her to keep talking. “You were really great.”

His mouth didn't just hint at a grin in that next instant. Instead, she got the real thing as his sensuous lips crooked at the corner. His blue eyes twinkled and her heart stalled. “Sounds like you caught more than just a glimpse.”

“Enough to know that you deserved that buckle.” And that he'd done not one victory lap around the arena after snagging the title, but three. Instead of basking in the media attention, he'd been fixated on talking to the fans. On thanking them and signing autographs and shaking hands. He'd been the usual smooth-talking charmer that she remembered so well, but there'd been something different about him, as well.

Something humble and achingly close to grateful.

She'd known then that he'd changed from the spoiled, entitled Sawyer who'd always had everything and everyone handed to him.

No one had given him that victory. He'd worked for it.

Fifteen minutes, she reminded herself. She'd watched him all of fifteen minutes, until the show had ended and the latest NASCAR race had taken its place. Not nearly enough time to gauge whether or not Brett Sawyer was still the same self-centered jerk he'd been back in the day.

No one could change that much.

That's what she told herself.

But there was no denying the facts. He'd come home to help his pappy and showed up at the church with a plant and stopped to help her with the boxes and …

Motherfudger, he
was
different.

The realization made her want to cross the space between them and see what else had changed about him. Did his lips still feel as soft when pressed against hers? Would he still do that little circle with his thumb at the base of her spine when he pulled her close? Would he make her feel the same dizzying heat she'd felt that night in the backseat of his pappy's fancy car? Would he make her feel all of that and more?

The questions bombarded her, one after the other, making her hands tremble and her body ache and—

Are you freakin' kidding? This is Brett Sawyer. The guy more interested in the chase than the actual prize. You're not throwing yourself at him. You're never throwing yourself at him.

Never, ever again.

She stiffened and glanced at her watch. “I, um, really need to get home.”

He arched one eyebrow. “I thought you wanted to give me a tour?”

“I can't. It's, um, against the rules. I'm not a Realtor, so I can't legally show you a house that's on the market.” Okay, so it sounded lame, but it was the best she could come up with. “I shouldn't have offered, but my day's been sort of screwy so I'm not really thinking straight. If you come back tomorrow, I'm sure Les would be happy to show you around.” She turned and headed for the foyer.

Her heart thundered in her chest for several long seconds before she heard the footsteps behind her.

“Thanks again for stopping to help,” she told him as she hauled open the door.

He stopped just a few inches shy and stared at her for a brief moment before he finally shrugged. “My pleasure.” His deep, rumbling voice echoed in her ears as he walked out the door and headed down the walkway.

Not a chance, buddy.

She concentrated on locking up the house rather than watching him climb into his truck. There wasn't going to be any pleasure of any kind.

Not his.

Not hers.

No.

His truck grumbled to life and she felt the vibration along her nerve endings. Her heart sped faster but she kept from looking as he shifted the monstrous pile of sleek metal into gear and pulled out of the drive. She'd been down the pleasure highway once before with him, one pitted with dozens of potholes and sharp turns, and she wasn't making the trip again.

No matter how much he'd changed.

She'd changed, as well. She'd learned from her mistakes and experience told her to forget all about Brett, take care of business, and get her life back on track.

That was the smart thing to do. The right thing.

And Callie Tucker always did the right thing.

She just wished the right thing didn't always feel so damned wrong where Brett Sawyer was concerned.

The rumble of his truck faded, thankfully, and she managed to drag in a much-needed breath. A few minutes later, she climbed into her granddad's old truck, fired up the engine, and headed home.

 

CHAPTER 9

“I tossed the egg salad,” Jenna declared when Callie walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later to find her youngest sister standing in front of an open refrigerator.

“Which one?”

“All of them. A whopping twelve.” She motioned to a nearby trash can. “In my defense, it wouldn't all fit in the fridge.” She indicated the overflowing Frigidaire. The avocado-green monster had seen better days like most everything else in the Tucker household, but with a few creaks and groans it kept churning along.

Thankfully.

Callie had enough to deal with without adding a broken appliance to the list.

“Even Jezebel turned her nose up at it.” She indicated the tiny dog yapping at her heels. Jezebel was a Yorkie/poodle/Grade A mutt blend that Jenna had picked up out near the interstate and nursed back to life at the veterinary clinic. She'd brought the tiny dog home until she could find her a permanent place.

That had been over six months ago, during which time they'd also picked up three more dogs, a cat, and a rabbit named Hoppy.

“You have to get that dog out of here.”

“I will.” Jenna retrieved a Milk-Bone from a nearby container and fed it to the excited animal. “Just as soon as she's back on her feet, she's history.”

“She's on her feet.” Callie glanced at the dog dancing around the kitchen. “She's on my feet. She's on your feet.” She caught Jenna's gaze. “I know you love them, but we can barely look after ourselves. We don't have enough room for so many foster babies.” That, and who was going to look after them when Callie was gone? Jenna worked hellacious hours, especially since she'd decided to specialize in equine health. With so many ranches nearby and an overwhelming horse population, Jenna barely made it home before dark on most nights. Ditto for Brandy. And so it was Callie who got stuck looking after all the strays. “You have to get them out of here.”

“I'll start looking first thing tomorrow.” Jenna crossed her heart before slipping the dog another treat. “I've got immunizations out at the Gerber Horse Farm in the morning, but after that, I'm on it. Swear.”

Callie turned her attention back to the counter and the stack of empty egg-salad containers. “You should have saved at least some of this stuff. I could have taken it to the open house tomorrow.”

“Trust me, no potential homeowner with even a sliver of taste is going to show up for egg salad. Maybe these pigs in a blanket.” She pulled a container from the fridge and popped the lid. “I've got to say, I can't stand to be in the same room with Genevieve Hanson. The woman is old and cranky and the nosiest person I've ever met, but she sure can cook.” Jenna pulled a tightly wrapped sausage from the green plastic and took a big bite. “These things are amazing,” she said around a mouthful.

The conversation with Les played in Callie's head and her gaze went to the container in her sister's hand. “Please tell me you didn't eat them all.”

“No way.” She shoved the last bite into her mouth and reached for a soda. “There's still one left. Say,” she motioned to Callie, “why don't you try making some? You could ask Genevieve for her recipe.”

But Callie didn't cook. Sure, she'd stepped up to the plate years ago, to make sure the girls had a hot meal every night and she'd even managed to master the basics—eggs, pancakes, meatloaf, a decent roast beef on those rare days when the planets lined up. But she didn't
like
to cook. Not like her sister Brandy, who would gladly spend all day slaving in front of a hot oven. A passion she'd inherited from their mother. The woman had made a mean brownie. She shrugged. “Les will just have to make do with pimento cheese pinwheels.”

“Then I'm guessing it won't matter if I finish these off?” Without waiting for a reply, Jenna grabbed the sole survivor and took a bite. “And don't think I'm going to forget about you,” she told Jezebel as she pinched off a piece of the goody and fed it to the yapping dog. “I know, I know. It's time to watch our show.” She took another bite. “I TiVo'd the season finale of
The Bachelor
and Jez and I just know he's going to pick Lacey. I mean, Bella's nice, too, but she's sort of a slut. His parents definitely like Lacey better. She teaches Sunday school and she has a schnauzer.” Jenna winked at the tiny dog. “Jez has a thing for schnauzers.”

“You're not seeing Alex tonight?”

Jenna shrugged. “We broke up.”

“Does he know that?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“That you have a tendency to beat around the bush when you break up with someone.”

“It's called letting them down easy.”

“It's called being a chicken shit.” Callie eyed her sister. “Remember Kevin Rickers? You told him you couldn't breathe and he thought you meant you had asthma. He bought you a humidifier and a case of Primatene.”

“I can't help it if he misunderstood me.” A smile curved her full lips. “That was sort of sweet, though. Remind me why I cut him loose again?”

“Because he wanted to be your one and only and you're much more into plural arrangements. That's PC for you're a big fat 'fraidy cat when it comes to commitment.”

“I can commit. I just don't see the point.” She frowned. “Besides, I'm too busy for commitment. I barely have time for fun.”

“Again, did you make that clear to Alex? Because we don't need another humidifier.”

“Cross my heart I didn't say a thing about not being able to breathe.” She shrugged. “I just told him in a nice, it's-not-you-it's-me way, that I was just feeling crowded.” She seemed to think. “Or maybe I told him I was feeling overwhelmed.” She waved a hand. “Either way, we're done.”

“And he realizes this?”

“He got the message loud and clear.” She seemed to think. “I'm pretty sure he did. He was definitely standoffish at the funeral. He only tried to hold my hand one time.”

“Here we go again,” Callie mumbled as she turned back to the fridge.

“Where exactly are we going again?” Brandy walked into the kitchen wearing yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Her long hair had been pulled up into a ponytail and she wasn't wearing a stitch of makeup, yet she looked every bit as beautiful as if she'd been dressed to the nines. That was the thing about Brandy. She was a natural beauty, unlike Callie, who just looked tired when she wasn't wearing any makeup.

Then again, she
was
tired. Tired of looking out for everyone and carrying the weight of the entire family on her shoulders.

Now,
but that would end soon. She would figure a way out of the financial mess, secure the house, and then get those resumes off in the mail.

Callie held tight to the sliver of hope and retrieved a knife from a nearby drawer. “Stalkerville,” she told Brandy. “That's where we're going again.”

“You broke up with Alex, didn't you?” Brandy shot a glance at Jenna. “Or rather, you didn't break up with Alex. You just think you did.”

“Trust me, I did.”

“Sure.” Brandy shrugged. “I get dibs on the humidifier this time. I want one for the employee break room. Ellie, my new baking assistant, has allergies.”

“Very funny,” Jenna said. “There won't be another humidifier.”

“She was too crowded this time,” Callie chimed in, “so he's probably going to get her a few therapy sessions to deal with claustrophobia.”

“Wow, you guys are on a roll tonight.” Jenna grabbed her chips and soda and whistled at Jezebel. “Later haters. We've got a date with
The Bachelor.
”

“Another date? Isn't that what keeps getting you into this mess?” Brandy called after her. Jenna paused to make a crude hand gesture. Jezebel yapped. And they both disappeared into the living room.

“She has a problem,” Brandy remarked. “She's what you call a serial dater. I saw it on
Dr. Phil.
He did a show on addictions and serial dating was right up there with the lady who wipes herself down with antibacterial wipes at least twenty times a day and this guy who ate his own toenails.”

“At least she puts herself out there,” Callie said, eyeing her sister. “Which is more than I can say for present company.”

“Men are a distraction, and I can't afford that right now. I've got everything tied up in this bakery. It has to have my undivided attention.”