The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (7 page)

He inhaled deeply, and she patted his thigh before she turned with a smile and whispered, “Just a taste of what is to come later when we take a tour of the ranch.”

The steak didn't taste nearly as good after that as he tried desperately to think of an excuse to go home early. “Pardon me,” he said. “My phone is buzzing. I'm so sorry. I have the sound turned off, but…”

He removed the phone from his pocket and took a look at it. “I'm sorry, Betsy, but I have to take this. I'll step outside. Y'all excuse me.”

Putting the phone to his ear, he laid the white linen napkin on the table and nodded a couple of times on his way through the door out onto the patio. “Yes, I'll be right there,” he said in case anyone was watching and could read lips.

“What is it?” Betsy said so close behind him that he jumped.

“It's Gladys. She's gone to the hospital to be with Polly, and there's a cow down having trouble. I need to go pull a calf. Sorry to cut this short,” he said.

“How'd she know that if she's at the hospital?” Betsy asked.

“A kid on a four-wheeler called her. Don't know who it was.”

“Well, darlin', good things come to those who wait, and you are worth waiting for. Next weekend, we'll give it another whirl.” Betsy plastered herself to his body, tangled her fist into his hair, and rolled up on her toes to kiss him. He'd never felt less passion, heat, or feeling in a kiss before in his entire life. It was more like his mouth had been attacked than kissed.

“I'm not making promises for anything,” he said when he could break away. “What with Gladys and Polly both busy, Jill and I are going to have our hands full. Give my apologies to your grandmother for leaving early, and I'll see you around,” he said as he made a hasty retreat to his truck.

A couple of men waved him through the cattle guard, and he could have sworn he saw a redhead in the back of a truck barreling down the highway at breakneck speed on his way back to the main road. But Betsy was in the house with her family, and there was no way Jill Cleary would be headed for Wild Horse.

* * *

Quaid drove right up in front of the bunkhouse, held the truck door open for her, and walked her up to the porch.

“Again, I'm sorry for all this,” he said.

“Not a problem. Stuff happens in all families,” she said.

She had two hours to change clothes and get ready for supper on the Gallagher side of Fiddle Creek. What she really wanted was a long, long nap and a big thick book to read until she fell asleep, but a promise was a promise. And once she'd done her duty at Wild Horse, then she'd never set foot on either ranch again.

He removed his hat and held it in one hand while he ran the back of his other one down her cheek from temple to chin. “I want to spend more time with you, Jill. Next time we'll take a drive around all of River Bend, and I'll show you where Kinsey and I call home. We'll steer clear of the feuding business.”

His green eyes went all soft and dreamy. She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue a moment before the kiss. It was a good kiss, a man's kiss who'd honed his craft to an art; one that left no doubt that Declan wasn't the only black sheep on River Bend. One hand had tangled itself into her hair for leverage. The other had slid down below belt level on her slim-cut denim skirt to cup her butt. Her hormones should have been humming, but there wasn't a peep out of them.

“Until next time. I'll be by the store tomorrow,” he whispered seductively.

“Then I'll see you tomorrow.” She took a step back and opened the door.

He brushed a sweet kiss across her lips and settled his hat back on his blond hair.

The second one didn't stir up anything more than the first one did. Not even one little hitch in her heartbeat. Maybe there was something drastically wrong with her.

“Cinderella made it home, did she?” Sawyer peeked over the back of the sofa. His dark eyes still had sleep in them, and his face showed slight amusement. “Did poor old Quaid get a good-bye kiss, or was the afternoon so good that it was a see-you-later kiss? I heard that you had to cut your dinner short, since there was a pig incident.”

She pushed his legs off the sofa and melted into the corner. “You should have been there, Sawyer, instead of up there in the big house, eating dinner with the Gallaghers. The Brennans figured out that the pigs had been stolen, and Mavis tried to kick the shit out of one of Naomi Gallagher's grandsons.”

Sawyer's skin turned scarlet. “You're shittin' me, and I missed it all for a damn steak that wasn't even good.”

“How'd you get home before me, anyway?”

“I made the excuse that I needed to do the evening chores early. Hey, did I see you in a truck headed toward the Gallagher place?”

She pushed him on the shoulder. “You probably did, because I was.”

He grabbed his shoulder and faked injury. “Don't be mean to me.”

“I wouldn't do that to a man I'm livin' with,” she said. “If you can get me out of this next date, I'll clean the whole bunkhouse next week.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. You gave your word. Tyrell will be here with roses in his hand in fifty-five minutes, but I do make this promise. I'll do my damnedest to run interference, so you won't have to go out with them again, if you'll do the same for me. Looks like we are going to have to watch each other's backs, or we'll both go down as collateral damage in this war. Now tell me more about this pig thing.”

“I'm tired. I don't want to go. I don't want roses. I'd rather stay here and tell you what happened when they fired the first shot of the pig war,” she whined.

“You've got enough time to do both.” He grinned. “So start talking. Gladys laughed when she called me and said the same thing, that it would be known as the pig war.”

Jill told the story from start to finish, omitting the kiss at the end. “Now tell me how it looked from the other end.”

“I wouldn't know. I must've left just before the fireworks. Betsy felt me up under the tablecloth, so I faked a phone call. I'm supposed to be pulling a calf right now, but I don't think God will lay the sin of lying to my charge when it comes to Betsy. Lord, that woman is brazen.”

Jill gasped. “You are kiddin' me. She actually did that?”

“Yes, she did. Right up my knee to…”

She slapped her hands over her ears. “Hush! That goes beyond brazen. Did she kiss you too?”

“If you call that grinding of two lips against mine, then I guess she did. You didn't answer me about Quaid. Kiss or no kiss?”

“Kiss. Not bad. Not good. Generic, I guess. Rub my feet, and tell me that you'll call the Gallaghers and tell them I have an intestinal flu and can't go to their place.”

“Nope. I have to go listen to the Brennans bitch because their hogs have been stolen, so you have to go to the Gallaghers. Take off your high heels and throw those feet up here. Poor little things. The way you women punish them with those kinds of shoes should be a sin.”

Sawyer rubbed her feet until her eyes grew heavy, and she was almost asleep before he set them on the cold floor. “Get your cute little ass up off this sofa and go do whatever it is you women do to be gorgeous for a date. Next Sunday, I'm figuring that we need to go to Gainesville right after church to pick up supplies. We could get them at the store, and we will, but we will forget milk or eggs or even sugar, and Lord knows we can't live without whatever the hell we forgot until Monday morning.”

“That won't take all afternoon,” she groaned.

“They've got motels. We'll split the price of a room with two beds. You can read, and I'll take my earphones and watch television all afternoon.”

“Isn't that running from our problems?” she asked.

“Hell, no! It's well-spent money on hours of peace and quiet. You bring the cookies, and I'll bring a case of beer. We'd spend that much on dinner and a movie if we were dating, which we sure as hell aren't,” he said.

She sat up slowly. “Aunt Gladys says that you can endure anything as long as there's an end in sight. I'm tough. I can do this. But why the hell aren't we dating?”

“You're not my type. I don't date women who point shotguns at me. I don't date women who can't cook, even though you make a hell of an apple pie. There's only one little bitty piece left in there.”

She flipped around to face him. “You ate half a pie after a dinner at the Gallaghers?”

“Nope, I ate half a pie after I didn't finish my dinner at the Gallaghers.” He grinned. “Shoo!” He flipped his hands out to motion her away. “Go change clothes six times and stand in front of the mirror. I'll tell you if your jeans make your butt look fat.” He flopped back down on the sofa, shut his eyes, and stretched out his long legs until his feet rested in her lap.

She shoved them off and stood up. “You are horrible.”

“I'm your roommate, darlin', not your relationship. Roommates are honest with each other.”

“In that case, darlin',” she said, “your soup needs a little more picante sauce to make it good.”

“Ouch!” He opened one eye. “You don't have to talk mean about my soup because your butt looks fat in them low-ridin' jeans.”

She flounced off to her room. He made her mad, but at the same time he kept her from thinking about another long evening, trying to remember people's names that she had no intention of ever seeing again outside of the store and the bar.

She changed four times, not six, and she looked at her rear end every time. He was right—the low-riding jeans did make her butt look bigger than the ones that sat a little higher.

At five o'clock on the button, a loud, demanding knock sent her out of her room and across the floor. “Why didn't you let him in? It's cold out there,” she fussed at Sawyer.

“Ain't my boyfriend or my roses. I don't give a shit if he freezes and the roses have ice on them,” Sawyer mumbled as he flipped over so his back was to the room.

She slapped him on the shoulder when she passed by. “You are horrible.”

“Maybe so, but my soup is fine the way it is, and your butt looks almighty fantastic in them jeans. If you shoot a game of pool, at least the top of your thong underbritches won't show. Have a good time. I'll wait up for you.”

“Don't bother. I know how to get inside. And right back at you on the good-time shit. We'll compare notes when I get home.”

“Alone? Remember our pact.”

“Hush,” she hissed and then put on her best fake smile as she opened the door. “Hello, Tyrell. You are right on time.”

“One perfect red rose for one perfect red-haired beauty.” He held out a long-stemmed rose wrapped in cellophane. “Each time we go out, I will add a rose to the ones I bring you, but none will ever be as important as this one.”

“Why is that?”

“Because today is the first day of a perfect relationship that will last forever,” he said as he put the rose in her hands.

“Sawyer, I'm putting my rose on the table right inside the door. Will you please put it in water?”

One thumb shot up over the back of the sofa.

“Thank you, Sawyer. And thank you, Tyrell. It's truly beautiful.”

“I see you already have your coat on and, darlin', that rose can't compare to your beauty. I'm going to be the envy of all the Gallaghers at the party tonight.” He crooked his arm, and she slipped hers through it.

Wild Horse Ranch's setup was a lot like the one for River Bend. Different families had their own acreage, but the whole thing combined to make Wild Horse. It all bordered on Fiddle Creek. He drove down his lane and showed her where his long, low ranch house, with a sweeping porch around three sides, sat in a pecan copse before he took her to the main house.

There wasn't a valet at the Gallagher place, and they were one of the last ones to arrive, so they had to walk from the truck to the house. He laced his fingers in hers and didn't let go until they were inside the warm house. He helped her remove her coat and whistled under his breath, “Whew! Darlin', you really are a knockout in that getup. You look like you should be modeling for a Western-wear company.”

She wore a black shirt with long, billowy sleeves caught up at the wrists with white pearl snaps on the cuffs. A gold scarf pendant with crossed six-guns over angel wings hung from the center of a black lace scarf, and a matching belt buckle cinched in a pair of black jeans.

“Well, thank you. I hope I'm not overdressed.”

“Honey, you could have worn a burlap bag with a rope around your waist, and I would have thought I'd brought the princess to the ball, but, wow,” he said.

“Well, look at you!” Betsy met them at the door into the oversized great room. “Tyrell, you lucky dog. I believe she's gotten all dolled up for you. You did leave the pitcher of beer at home, I hope. I'm here to steal you away and introduce you to my grandmother, Naomi. Sorry, Tyrell.”

“I'll be around to collect her in a few minutes, so don't let Granny get started on her long stories,” Tyrell said.

Naomi Gallagher spun around on a bar stool and motioned toward Betsy. She was a short woman with delicate features, few wrinkles, and dark green eyes.

“I see where you get your red hair,” Jill said.

“Oh, yes, and my temper and my controlling nature. And my hang-on-like-a-bulldog-until-I-get-what-I-want attitude. It all comes from her. I bet you've got one like her in your woodpile.”

Jill nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Well, would you look at this? You grew up to be a beautiful woman, Jillian. I'm glad you've had the good sense not to dye your red hair. That speaks volumes to me,” Naomi said.

“Have we met?” Jill asked.

“When you were a little girl, Gladys brought you over here to Tyrell's birthday party. Don't you remember it? I believe you were about seven, and folks thought you and Betsy were sisters.”

“I'm sorry. I don't. I remember visiting Aunt Gladys a few times before my dad died, but I don't remember being here.”

“Oh, it wasn't here. We had the party in the barn, and we had pony rides.”

“I remember that,” Betsy said. “You and Tyrell had an argument about the spotted pony.”

Jill gasped. “That was Tyrell?”

“Yes, it was. We'll have to tell him that story later, but now you must sit down here. Bartender, darlin', bring us two whiskeys. Jameson. Double shots and neat. Good Irish lasses don't water down their whiskey,” Naomi said.

Jill hopped up on a bar stool. It had been a long time since she'd had a shot of Jameson, and she intended to savor every single drop of it.

“How's Gladys? I don't get over to the store much anymore. I only see her in church, and she's lookin' good. She's not sick, is she?” Naomi asked. “That's not why you came back to learn the business, I hope.”

“Aunt Gladys is fine, but I suppose you heard about Aunt Polly breaking her ankle.”

“I did. I'll send over some flowers when she comes home,” Naomi said. “You girls excuse me. One of my grandsons is over there, motioning for me. I'll have to see what he needs.”

“How's the new calf?” Betsy asked.

It was on the tip of Jill's tongue to ask what calf she was talking about, but then she remembered how Sawyer had gotten free from her clutches.

“I haven't seen it yet, but I bet it's a beauty. Don't you just love them when they're little guys and they like to romp and play?” Jill said.

The bartender set a whiskey in front of her, and a frosted mug of beer before Betsy. Jill raised one eyebrow, and Betsy shrugged. “I like Jack Daniel's, but today is a beer day.”

Jill took the first sip, and Tyrell propped a hip on the stool right beside her. He pointed at the Coors handle, and the bartender nodded. His arm went around Jill's shoulders, and he leaned in to whisper, “Thank you for drinking that. Granny's going to love you for it. The rest of us hate Irish whiskey.”

“It's the best,” she said softly.

“I heard that you were out at the gate when the fracas went down this afternoon,” Betsy whispered. “I don't expect, after a first date like that with Quaid, you'll be going back for more, will you?”

Jill raised one shoulder. “Never say never.”

Betsy smiled. “Mavis is really bad, isn't she? My cousin, Eli, said she tied into him like a banshee over those hogs, blaming us for their disappearance.”

Jill changed the subject. “How long has this feud been goin' on?”

“You'd have to ask someone older than me,” Betsy said.

“Well, if y'all are done with the girl talk, supper is about ready. I promise, darlin', that we'll act more civilized than your dinner date turned out,” Tyrell said.

People were everywhere. Names blending one with the other, but not matching the faces. When it was time to leave, she could remember Tyrell, Betsy, and Naomi.

She was supposed to be giving points to each family, but mostly she wished she was home on her sofa in the bunkhouse with Sawyer on the other end. A foot massage would be nice, but leaning her head on his shoulder would be better. Maybe with an ounce of luck, she could hurry into the house without a kiss when the evening ended.

There was no luck.

Tyrell walked her to the door and caged her against the house by putting a hand on either side of her shoulders. He'd left his hat in the truck, so it didn't even get in the way when he closed the space, fluttered his eyes shut, and kissed her hard right there in the moonlight with the north wind howling through the trees. He was every bit as good as Quaid, showing he'd had some very fine experience in the kissing business.

But again, there were no bells and whistles, no weak knees or even a desire to snake her arms up around his neck and press her body close to his. It was a good kiss, but it did nothing for Jill.

“I'll see you at the bar tomorrow night, darlin',” he said softly. “I'll be the one on the bar stool, drooling on my shirt at your beauty.”

“Good night, Tyrell. Thank you for the evening and the rose.” She ducked under his arm and opened the door.

“Invite me in for a cup of coffee,” he said.

“Not tonight. I have to get up early to run the store.” She waved and eased the door shut before he could say another word.

Sawyer looked up over the back of the sofa the same way he'd done earlier. “So was this one any better?” he asked.

She removed her coat and hung it on one of the huge nails on the wall inside the entryway. “The whiskey was better. I had a double shot of Jameson.”

“Don't go teasing me about good Irish whiskey. That happens to be my favorite.” He sat up and motioned her to the sofa.

“Where's my rose? Did you put it in water?”

He pointed to the kitchen table. “Yes, ma'am. I aim to please.”

She gasped. “Sawyer O'Donnell!”

“You said to put it in water. I did that, didn't I?”

There it sat, crammed down into a Mason jar, blossom on the bottom, the stem sticking up in the air with the paper still around it. “You got to admit, it looks fine for a rose. If it had been a daisy, it would be right-side up. Now it will be drowned by morning, and you can toss it over the pasture fence without feeling guilty.”

“Tell me about the Brennan date,” she said. “Did Kinsey come on to you?”

“She was worse than Betsy. She walked me to the truck and tried to climb my frame. Had my belt buckle undone and was working on my zipper before I could…”

“No more,” she cut him off. “Don't tell me any more. Why? I mean you are a damn fine-looking cowboy, but that's acting like a hussy.”

“I imagine that they expect me to have sex with them one time, then they'll shout that they are pregnant. The family of whichever one gets the sex first will make me marry her, and that will get me off Fiddle Creek. It's all a game, and I'm not playin' with either of them or getting myself shoved into a corner with them either. You are going to protect me.”

“Only if you make good on your word and do the same for me.” She plopped down on the sofa and stretched her legs out.

He picked up her feet and put them in his lap, removed her boots, and massaged her feet. “Poor little doggies have had too much party put on them today.”

“That is wonderful,” she moaned.

He removed her socks and dug his fingers into all the pressure points. His touch made every nerve tingle, from the top of her head all the way down to her little toes. If either one of those cowboys she'd seen that day had caused a reaction like that, she might have consented to go out with them again.

“Now, princess, it is eleven o'clock, and you need a long, hot bath to get all that feudin' stink off you. How was the last cowboy's kisses? Any better? As good?”

She shrugged.

“That bad, huh.” He shoved her feet down to the floor, slid down the sofa, and cupped her face in his hands.