Too Hot To Trot (#3, Cowboy Way) (25 page)

“You love her,” Twyla accused, and Zack’s gaze flew to meet hers.

“Doesn’t matter if I do—she’s
gone
.  Just leave well enough alone, Twyla.  She’s doing great, and I will be soon too.  I promise!” Zack heaved frustrated breaths as the scabs over the wounds inside of him peeled away, and the hole in his gut burned like fire.  He needed to be left alone, because his insides felt like his arm had the night this all started.  Sliced, raw and bleeding.  He needed some space, because he couldn’t breathe.  “Will y’all please just give me some room?”

“I’m taking the whiskey with me, and daddy’s locking the liquor cabinet,” Twyla announced as she turned toward the door.  Ryan grabbed her arm to steady her, and they left.  His daddy took his mother’s arm and she turned toward the door but stopped.  “You have about twelve hours to get yourself together, son, because Twyla talked to her.  Heather is coming to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, and you better not make her feel unwelcome.”

Zack felt like she’d dumped a bucket of cold water over his head, and the closing of the door sounded like a death knell inside his skull.  He put his hands on the sides of his head and staggered to the bed where he laid down and curled up, hugging his burning gut. 

Oh God, someone needed to shoot him now.  He couldn’t take much more of this. It didn’t matter if they locked the liquor cabinet or not.  There was not enough whiskey in the world to make him ready to see or talk to Heather now.  But it looked like that is exactly what he was going to have to do.  And he was going to have to do it sober.  Which is how he needed to stay from now on.  Twyla was right about one thing—he’d been drinking entirely too much lately, and it wasn’t helping one damned bit. 

Exhausted mentally and physically, Zack fell into a fitful sleep.  He knew he would need every ounce of sleep he could get, every iota of strength he could muster, to deal with the fireworks that were likely to come tomorrow.  He was sure Heather was going to tell his whole family what an asshole he’d been to her, and then they’d be on his ass again. 

Then there was the problem of holding himself in check to make sure he didn’t fall apart, drop to his knees and beg her to stay when she went to leave.  That would be his biggest challenge tomorrow,
watching
Heather leave this time. He had a feeling it was going to be a lot worse than just knowing she was leaving, and taking the cowardly way out by staying in the barn all night.  This time he’d have a visual of it for the rest of his life.

How in the hell was he going to ever get over that?

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Zack get up!” Ryan shouted, shaking him until his teeth rattled.

“What’s wrong?” Zack forced out past his rusty vocal chords. He rolled over, and the look on his friend’s face told him whatever had happened was bad, really bad.  Ryan’s face was practically green, except for the white ring around his mouth. 

Adrenaline surged through Zack, as he scrambled out of the bed to grab his jeans and shove a leg inside.  “Something on fire? Somebody sick?” He tried to keep his balance to put the other leg in his jeans, but fell back into the wall. 

“Twyla’s water broke, and we’re leaving,” Ryan said, swallowing hard. “Oh my God, Zack, we’re having
two
babies.” He groaned, swiping his hand over his face.  “It’s a two hour drive back home, another thirty minutes to the hospital.  I hope we make it, cause I sure as hell don’t want to deliver them myself.  The doctor said we should stay close to home, but Twyla—”

“Is as hardheaded as they come and you knew that when you married her.  Is she having pains?” Zack asked, zipping his jeans.

“No, but she said that’s a sign she will soon.”

“Austin is a paramed—
shit
he left to go home for Thanksgiving last night.”  Zack ran a hand through his hair.  “Where are Mom and Dad?” he asked.

“Getting packed to go with us.  They’re going to stay with Mary while we’re at the hospital.  Oh God, why couldn’t this have happened at home?”

“Stop whining and deal with it. When you got her pregnant you knew this day would come, so deal with it,” Zack growled, jerking up his t-shirt to pull it over his head.  “She’s not having pains, so she isn’t having the babies yet.  Y’all need to get the hell on the road though, I sure don’t want her having them here!”

“I’m sorry about Thanksgiving, dude.  Momma put all the stuff on the counter though, so you should be set for the apocalypse with what she cooked.”

“Take it with you,” Zack said, sliding his feet into his boots.

“No way—we’re going to the hospital, and you’ll need it to feed your guest anyway.”

Zack stopped, looked up at him, and his heart froze.  “My guest?”

“Yeah, Heather is already on her way.  She’s by herself, so she doesn’t have a phone.”

“She
still
doesn’t have a damned cell phone?!?” Zack shouted, shoving his foot into his boot, then stood to put his hands on his hips.  Heather had plenty of money now—there was no excuse for it.  She needed a damned cell phone.  What if something happened to her on the road here.  She’d have no way to call anyone to help her. 
Dammit
!

“She called Twy the other day from a number—and Twy called her back on it a few minutes ago.  I guess it was Leigh Anderson’s phone, and she said Heather was already on the road here.  Looks like you’re entertaining, bud.  So stop
whining
and deal with
that
,” Ryan said smugly, with a pat on his shoulder.  “Look at the bright side, at least you’ll have nice scenery.  Heather Morrison is definitely not hard to look at.”

Zack wanted to punch him, really wanted to punch that smile off of his face.  “Get the fuck out of my house, and take your
wife
with you,” Zack growled.  “Call me when she has the babies.”

Zack wished he could go with them.  Anything to avoid seeing Heather today, being alone with her.  But she was invited to dinner, and she didn’t have a cell phone so they could call and cancel.  There was no way his mother or sister would let him leave with them, and there would be hell to pay if they heard he’d stood her up.  So Zack was staying here, and he felt like the angel of death was on the way to pay him a visit.  She probably hated him though, wouldn’t be any more comfortable around him than he was around her now.  Maybe when she found out he was here alone, she’d just turn right back around and leave. 

He could only hope.

“Will do—and you call
me
when she leaves.  I want all the juicy details,” Ryan said with another pat on his shoulder, before he sauntered out of the room.

“You’re worse than an old woman, Ryan,” Zack said with disgust, as he followed Ryan out to help them get the suitcases and Twyla in the truck.  He kissed her, told her good luck, and shut the door, then watched them drive down the driveway to the road, before he went back inside.

The quiet was deafening inside the house, he even heard the clock above the mantle ticking now, and it reminded him this is what this house was going to sound like forever.  Quiet, lonely—unless he did something to change that.  Maybe one day, he’d be in the mood to find someone to share his life with, so he wouldn’t be so lonely.  That day was not today, he thought, as he went into the kitchen to make sure all the food was ready.

Two hours later, Zack had shaved and showered, and dressed in the blue dress shirt he usually wore for Thanksgiving dinner with his family.  He figured Heather would dress up for the occasion so he had too, even going so far as wearing his dress boots, which he’d shined up, and his black felt hat.  He wasn’t having dinner with his family, so he didn’t know why he bothered other than out of habit.  If he ever showed up in less to the table on Thanksgiving, his mother would send him back to change. 

And that was bullshit. 

Zack wanted Heather to like what she saw, even though he had zero intention of having sex with her.  He wanted her to see the effort he went to, and remember him as less than the asshole he’d been to her the last time she left.  God, facing her, seeing the hatred in her eyes was going to kill him with every minute she stayed here.  He’d just have to feed her, then shuffle her out the door fast, before he embarrassed himself by asking for dessert.  Or asking her to stay. 

With a groan, Zack pulled the tin foil off of the baked macaroni and cheese.  He stuck it back in the oven to heat up, because Heather should be there any minute.  He knew his mother always served dinner at two o’clock sharp, so the odds were she’d be there then.  Why the fuck did his stomach feel like he’d swallowed razor blades, he wondered, as he tried to sample a corner of the mac and cheese, his favorite thing his mother cooked and gagged when the smell hit him. 

He needed a damned drink, but he wasn’t having one. 

They would have table wine with dinner, and maybe a glass,
one
glass, of that would take the edge off of his nerves.  He pulled the foil off of the green bean casserole, and held his breath as he put it beside the mac and cheese, then slammed the oven door.  Zack carried the potato salad and green salad to the table and plopped them down, then went back for the turkey. 

Carefully, he carried it to the table, and laid it down, then removed the foil, then went back for the carving knife and fork.  He set the table with some of the china his mother had left behind when they moved, antique stuff with a gold ring around the edge, added silverware and glasses, then huffed a breath. 

He’d just opened the oven, when the doorbell chimed, and his heart about jumped out of his chest it was so loud. It rang again, and his heart raced in his chest, bounced off of his ribs, and a bubbly feeling churned in his stomach. 

You know this woman, this isn’t a first date, or a date at all.  Just be cool, feed her and get her on her way back to wherever she needs to go
, Zack mentally coached himself, as he walked to the door.  He didn’t open it right away, just stared at her shadow through the frosted glass on the door while he breathed slowly and evenly, trying to get a grip on himself.  How should he greet her?  A kiss on the cheek?  Would she slap him in the face? She’d probably get pissed if he shook her hand.

Goddamn, what was wrong with him
?

The buzzer sounded again, and Zack swallowed hard and opened the door.  He bit back a whimper when he saw she was wearing the black dress he’d bought her, his cock went stiff behind his zipper when his eyes slid down her incredible legs to those come-fuck-me-heels.  And that is exactly what he wanted to do right then.

“Eyes are up here, cowboy,” she said, as she breezed by him, curling her finger at him.

Zack had to focus to keep his tongue in his mouth as his eyes fell to her perfect ass, swaying as she walked into the living room.  That dress, those shoes—this shit was
his
fault.  He closed the door harder than necessary and the glass rattled.

As he walked toward the living room, her cool green eyes took a tour up from his boots, stopped for a second at his crotch to linger, before gliding up to his eyes. “You’re looking good,” she said, then inspected her polished fingernails.  “Where’s your family?”

“They tried to call you, but you don’t have a
phone
,” Zack growled, the last word, and he smiled when her perfectly-made-up cat-eyes flew to his, and they weren’t so cool anymore.  “Twyla’s water broke, so they had to leave.  They said to tell you they’re sorry.” 

“She’s not due for another week is she?” Heather asked, sitting on the edge of the couch, obviously uncomfortable now.

Good, so was he.  Maybe this was his chance to get rid of her.  “Would you like a glass of wine since you’re here?” he asked shortly, then lifted an eyebrow. “Unless you have to leave?”

Her eyes narrowed and her back stiffened.  “I’d love a glass,” she said airily, pasting on a smile that said you’re not getting rid of me that easily.

Just his damned luck, Zack thought, as he walked into the kitchen, went to the refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of chilled white wine.  He opened a drawer, found a corkscrew, jabbed it into the cork and twisted violently.  He found two wine glasses and filled them, then carried them to the table. “Let’s eat, I’m starving,” he said, as he set one down near her plate. 

Zack wanted to get this over with, and get her on the road.  So he didn’t have to worry about his jeans cutting off his circulation so badly he’d have to have his dick amputated.  Zack took his chair at the table, and his wine sloshed over the rim of the glass as he sat it down by his plate.  Heather stood by her chair looking at him, and it took Zack a moment to realize she was evidently waiting for him to pull out her chair. 

It looked like Little Miss Eleventh-Avenue-Bridge had picked up some fancy manners in the last six months.  He wondered if her boyfriend pulled her chair out for her.  A fancy man, not a cowboy with dirt under his fingernails probably.  His heart squeezed painfully as he pushed his chair back and went to pull hers out. 

“Thank you,” she said as she glided into it gracefully, then picked up her napkin and flicked it before laying it across her lap. 

He tried to glance at her hands, her left ring finger more particularly, but she put her hands in her lap too fast.  Zack sat back down and picked up the carving knife to slice off a couple of thick hunks of the moist turkey, then used the serving fork to put them on her plate.  He added a couple of slices to his plate, and picked up the gravy boat to smother them. 

The air got too thick to breathe in the room, and his stomach rolled looking at the gravy.  He scraped his chair back.  “Go ahead and serve yourself.  I have to get the macaroni and cheese and green beans,” he said standing.

Heather stood at the same time, and daintily laid her napkin in her chair.  “I’ll wait for you—I need to use the restroom.  It was a long drive from Dallas,” she announced, turning to walk toward the living room. 

Zack walked into the kitchen and watched her pass by with her purse under her arm to go down the hallway.  This whole situation seemed surreal to him.  Just half a year ago, she was here in the kitchen, cooking for him.  And he looked forward to coming in for
lunch
.  Things were too stiff and formal with them now, and it felt awful.  He had no idea who the woman he was having dinner with was now.  One thing was for sure, she wasn’t the same woman who’d left here six months ago.  Now, everything about her said she was confident in herself, on top of the world, and she didn’t need him or his approval. 

It was good he’d turned her loose, because if she’d have done the singing thing and they were together, he’d have always had to worry about her figuring out she was too good for a low-life rancher.  This woman definitely was.  She would probably marry another country singer one day—someone in her league.  Maybe even that guy she was touring with.

The funny thing was—this new Heather was the kind of woman he always imagined himself marrying, but after being with her for just five minutes, he was bored to death. 

Goddamn, he wanted the old Heather back. 

Zack wanted to hear her challenge him, see that spark in her eyes when she got pissed.  Feel the excitement and sensuality that always surrounded her.  He wanted to see her back in her old boots in those damned cutoff shorts that showed the bottom of her beautiful ass, see her dance for him in them.  And dammit, he wanted to see that love shine in her gorgeous eyes again—that softness that said she thought he was a hero—
her
hero. 

He hadn’t been able to read a damned thing in those eyes since she got here.

Zack opened the oven, grabbed for the pan of macaroni, and it branded four of his fingers.  He dropped it back on the shelf and cursed loudly as he held his wrist and walked to the sink to turn on the water.