Cowboy Trouble (The McCord Brothers 1.5) (4 page)

Natalie nodded, looked as if she’d rather walk barefoot with her already-sore feet through Lego blocks but she took out her phone.

“Are you about to call Dermott?” Wilhelmina asked. “Because if so, there’s no need. That’s the second thing I’m supposed to tell you. Your daddy’s waiting for you in Bernie’s office.”

CHAPTER FOUR

N
ATALIE
THOUGHT
SHE
might be able to hear a whistle. The one from the freight train that was about to smash into her.

Good grief. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid.

She debated what to do. Running was out of the question. Not only because it would be cowardly but also because she wouldn’t get ten feet in the shoes she’d chosen for this occasion. Her toes were numb now and in possible need of amputation. Plus, running in the body-shaping panties would create so much friction that she might light her thighs on fire. There was only one thing to do.

Suck it up and seize the bull by the horns.

However, that didn’t mean Rico had to deal with the bull or his horns.

“I’ll take care of this,” she told him. “You can go ahead back to the ranch.”

Judging from the way Rico looked at her, she might as well have suggested that he wear a thong made of sandpaper. Natalie considered arguing, but she decided to save her breath for the real argument that was about to come with her father. Of course, she stood little chance of winning that one, either.

“Bernie’s office is that way,” Wilhelmina said, pointing up the hall.

Natalie dragged in a long breath, wishing she had time for a strong margarita, and she headed there. Rico was right behind her and even passed her up along the way. That meant another body bump from him as he slid around her, and despite the circumstances, it gave her a cheap thrill. It was also a reminder that in the future, she probably needed a more appropriate way to get her cheap thrills.

The door was already open, so when she walked into the room, she spotted her father right away. He was an imposing man, looking a little like Brando as Vito Corleone in
The Godfather
. Sometimes, he acted that way, too, making those offers that people just couldn’t seem to refuse. Her father had a way of, well, getting his way.

She wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she’d get from him, but Natalie was rendered speechless when he went to her and kissed her cheek. Then he took her by the shoulders and gave her a loving, supportive look.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “We’ll get this all sorted out.” Then he turned to Rico. “That
I’m sorry
extends to you, too. This must be upsetting.”

Natalie waited for the other shoe to drop. But apparently this wasn’t going to be a shoe-dropping kind of moment. The loving look stayed on her father’s face.

Unlike Rico’s.

No loving look for him. He was as suspicious as she was. That probably had something to do with the last time he’d seen her father. There’d been heated words hurled around. Like
no way in hell will you stay married to my daughter
. Other things had been said like
white trash
,
gold digger
,
cowboy loser
and
hot
. Of course, Natalie had been the only one who’d used the
hot
. Because it was true.

Hot
had been enough argument for her to stand up to her father. Not her mother, though.

“How’d you find out the divorce hadn’t gone through?” Rico asked her father.

“I overheard Natalie’s phone conversation with Bernie. It was by accident, I promise,” he quickly added to her.

Maybe. But even if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter. He knew, and that rid her of one less clown in this particular circus. She would have had to tell him eventually, and he was taking it far better than she’d ever expected.

“I checked to make sure you hadn’t remarried,” her father continued, speaking to Rico again. “Good thing you hadn’t or what a mess that would have been. It’s the same for Natalie. She was within a breath of saying ‘I do’ to Marcus. When she called it off, I thought she’d lost her mind, but I can see now that it was for the best.”

And now the other shoe would drop.

It didn’t take long.

“Marcus and Natalie are perfect together.” Her father volleyed his gaze to both of them when he said that. Then he shrugged. “Of course, you both know you were wrong for each other, so I’m preaching to the choir.”

If her father had seen that kiss earlier, he might believe the choir needed a longer sermon. But yes, she did know that she and Rico were wrong for each other. Just not the way her father meant.

The images of her mother came, giving Natalie a sucker punch of emotion that she didn’t need. She was already battling enough and tried to push those memories aside.

“Are you okay?” Rico asked.

It took her a moment to realize the question was for her. Those damn memories had leaked through again, and he could no doubt see them on her face. She quickly tried to right her expression.

“I’m fine,” she lied. Rico probably saw through the lie. Apparently intense physical attraction had an ESP side effect.

Her father continued looking at them, as if trying to figure out what wasn’t being said here. He also likely decided those were things he didn’t want to know. Instead, he took something from Bernie’s desk.

“I had Bernie go ahead and finish the papers,” her father explained. “I paid him, too, so there’d be no reason for you to have future dealings with him. You can file for the divorce in Austin.”

Well, there was a third shoe dropping, and it sounded more like a steel-toed combat boot in her head. Her father was taking charge, the way he always did. He handed her the papers.

A pen, too.

“You can both sign them now, and I’ll drop them off for you,” he added.

She looked at Rico. He looked at her. And after all the looking, Rico shook his head. “I want to read the papers first, just to know what I’m signing. My lawyer should also take a look at them.”

Her father didn’t seem so happy with that. “Your lawyer? Why would a ranch hand need a lawyer?”

“Because I own property. Because I have investments, a decent income. I need to make sure that’s all protected.”

Natalie could have kissed him again. Not because she didn’t plan on signing the papers. She did. But she wanted to sign them on her own terms, not her father’s.

“Anything that you own is a drop in the bucket compared to Natalie’s net worth,” her father growled. And yes, it was a growl.

Rico shrugged. “I still want to hear what my lawyer has to say.”

She could have sworn little lightning bolts zinged through her father’s eyes. He turned to her, probably expecting her to force Rico’s hand on this. Since she was feeling raw, squeezed and congested from the crying, Natalie had to dig deep to find her backbone. It was something she frequently had to do with her father.

“I can wait until Rico’s had a chance to do whatever he needs to do with the papers,” she said.

More lightning bolts in her father’s eyes, and even though she hadn’t noticed it before, a scowling jowl just wasn’t very attractive. “Fine.” He stretched the word out through semiclenched teeth. “Then you come with me while he does that. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Natalie’s car is at the McCord Ranch,” Rico spoke up. “She can’t leave it there because it’s blocking the driveway.”

The driveway was large enough for twelve cars, so Rico had just lied to her father. Good. She wasn’t sure she could find her backbone again right away and needed some breathing room.

The jowls reacted, tightening, but her father must have realized this wasn’t a battle worth fighting because he gave a crisp nod. “Fine, then.” The crispness stayed in place when he turned to her. “I’ve got meetings all afternoon, but I’ll be home at six. I’ll expect you to come for dinner. I also expect the papers to be signed by then. You can call your mother afterward and have a nice chat.”

Rico and she stood there, watching her father walk out after delivering that decree. If she didn’t show, there wouldn’t be a horse’s head in her bed in the vein of Vito Corleone, but he could play the guilt card.

And would.

Too bad the guilt card—aka her mother—worked. So, the bottom line was that she would indeed show for dinner. First, though, she needed some steeling up.

“I could use a margarita,” she said. “A strong one.”

Rico glanced at his watch, frowned. “It’s not even two o’clock yet.” That seemed to be a reminder that it was too early for alcohol. It was, but then he shrugged. “Come on. I could use one, too.”

* * *

T
AKING
N
ATALIE
TO
his house wouldn’t be too big of a mistake. But the moment Rico thought that, he had to frown. It was a sad day when a man started lying to himself.

Of course it was a mistake.

A whopper, really, but they both did need a drink, and Calhoun’s Pub wouldn’t be open for hours. That left him with either getting the bottled margarita cocktails from the convenience store/gas station or making them at his house. Since he figured they’d be spotted in the parking lot—which would only fuel the gossip—the house option was the lesser of all evils.

Natalie stepped into the house, taking off her shoes first and then looking around. She’d come here a couple of times when it’d still belonged to his grandparents, but it had been pretty much a wreck then. He’d remodeled it from top to bottom. It wasn’t grand like her daddy’s house, which seemed all marble and glass. Rico had kept the original hardwood floors and the pine ceiling beams.

“Very nice,” she said, not sounding surprised. Which pleased him.

He hadn’t wanted her to think he’d been lying to her father about having property. Especially since he’d lied to the man about having a lawyer. As a general rule, ranch hands didn’t need lawyers.

“The kitchen’s this way.” He led her in that direction, and she repeated her
very nice
as she ran her fingers over the butcher-block countertop. That was also where she placed the divorce papers, right next to the stove. “I’ll mix us up a drink and then I can take you back to the ranch for your car.”

Of course, when he returned to work he’d have to listen to the jokes about him and Natalie stepping out for an afternoon delight. The jokes would be raunchier when coupled with the news that they weren’t really divorced. No way would Wilhelmina let that stay quiet for long.

He took out the mixings, his gaze meeting Natalie’s, and he saw something in her eyes. Literally. They were watering.

“Are you, uh, crying?” he asked.

“No.” She dropped her shoes on the floor and pulled at the waist of her skirt. “It’s this body-shaping underwear I have on. They’re called Skinnies. Because you feel as if you’ve been skinned when you take it off. Anyway, I thought I’d only have it on for about two hours or so, which is my max level of tolerance for it.” She paused. “I want to take it off.”

Now, normally this would have been something a man would love to hear. But nothing about this was normal.

“I don’t have any spare underwear with me, but I was hoping you could lend me a pair of boxers,” Natalie added.

For some stupid reason the thought of her getting into his boxers gave him a hard-on. Or maybe that was just the idea of her stripping down while under the same roof with him.

“Sure,” Rico said. Not easily. But he finally managed to get out the words. He also kept the lower half of his body hidden behind the counter. “I can get you a pair.”

“No, just point me in the right direction. I’ll find them. I need you to get started on those drinks.”

Sadly, he understood that particular need and hoped in this case that tequila would soften him up a bit. In more ways than one.

Rico pointed toward his bedroom. “There are boxers in the top drawer of the dresser. And socks.” Because he doubted she wanted to put those painful-looking shoes back on until it was time to go.

Which should be soon.

Rico figured that three drinks would do it. Two for her, one for him, and then if he gave her some food, she’d still be good to drive in a couple of hours. He’d be good for work as well since he wanted to check on that livestock delivery.

He put the margaritas in the blender, took out some eggs to scramble. Not exactly the meal of champions, but eggs wouldn’t test the limits of his cooking skills. He put some bread in the toaster while he was at it.

“I’m thinking about burning these Skinnies,” he heard Natalie say.

He looked up. And he was sure his tongue landed on the floor. Crap. He was in trouble here.

Natalie had put on his cotton boxers and a pair of his gray socks. She’d also taken off her skirt. The boxers covered a lot since they hit her just below midthigh, but the fabric clung to her curves as if holding on for dear life.

Rico knew how the cotton felt.

He was clinging to the spatula he was using to scramble the eggs. Clinging to his eyeballs to keep them in his head. Also attempting to cling to his willpower.

“I know,” she said, looking down at the garb. “It’s not the dress-to-impress outfit I showed up in.”

She took off her earrings and watch as well and slipped them into her purse. Apparently, they weren’t comfortable, either.

“This will give me an hour or two before I have to regear and go home,” she added. “I tried putting the skirt on over the boxers, but it just bunched up everything.”

Then she noticed that he was staring at her.

“Is this too much? Did I overstep the limits of your offer to make me a drink? And eggs,” she added, glancing into the kitchen. “And toast.”

“You didn’t overstep anything,” he mumbled, and Rico forced himself to turn around and take the eggs from the skillet before they burned to a crisp.

Natalie came up behind him and searched the cabinets for glasses. She found mason jars and filled them with the margaritas. She started in on hers, and since she seemed determined to finish it as quickly as possible, Rico dished her up some of the eggs and toast.

She didn’t touch the food, but she carried her margarita to the floor-to-ceiling windows that flanked the stone fireplace. The windows had a good view of the creek and the surrounding woods. Just as Rico had designed it.

“I can see your handiwork in every part of this house,” Natalie said. “I can see
you
.”