Cowgirl Crazy (#2, Cowboy Way) (8 page)

Twyla slammed drawers as she rifled through
them to find her riding clothes. She quickly shed her pajama pants,
and jerked on her jeans. Ryan Easter was determined to drive her
nuts. That’s the only explanation she could come up with for his
being here at all. For his saying what he’d said to her in the
kitchen. The tug of war between them was over, as far as she was
concerned. She was trying to put her feelings for him to
rest.

Why the hell wouldn’t he let her?

She was trying to give him what he wanted. If
he’d been struggling that bad for so many years to keep his hands
to himself like he said, then why wasn’t he happy about it? Was he
trying to torture her? Was his fricking ego so big, he couldn’t
just let sleeping dogs lie? Did he miss her tagging after him like
a sad-eyed puppy craving a scrap of his attention?

That had to be it.

The man had been chased by so many buckle
bunnies she couldn’t count them on both hands and her toes. He
seemed to like that chase, rubbed those women in her face often.
Twyla had called off the chase, and now he wanted her back in the
race.

Not happening.

Even if he taunted her, tortured her, by
walking around in those tight, white underwear with his dick the
size of a cucumber. Even if he dropped his drawers in front of her
like he had last night looking like an ice cream sundae with a
Twinkie on top. Twyla wasn’t interested. There was nothing the man
could do to tempt her do that now.

Absolutely. Fucking. Nothing.

Then why did her hands shake so badly when she
picked up her worn t-shirt to pull it over her head. They shook so
badly she could barely scrape her hair back into a ponytail. She
covered the tangled mess with her ratty straw Stetson, tucked in
her t-shirt and somehow managed to slide the supple leather belt
with her high school barrel racing award buckle through the loops
at her waist. That belt buckle and her saddle were the only awards
she’d ever received in the sport. That day had been a shining
moment for her, and both Zack and Ryan had been there to watch her
ride, and receive her prizes. That night had been the night Ryan
had almost kissed her.

Definitely a turning point for her.

The night he told her to get a life was
another. Her eyes burned and she rolled them and sucked in a sharp
breath, letting it out slowly. She needed to remember that night
over the other one so she could keep her resolve. And she would do
that.

Ryan Easter needed to leave her the hell
alone.

Twyla straightened her shoulders, grabbed her
keys off of the dresser, then opened the bedroom door. Ryan stood
there with his hand raised to knock. At least he had on his jeans
now.

“
What do you want?” she asked
gruffly as she brushed past him, and strode across the living room
to the door.

“
I wanted to see if you wanted to
do something tonight. Go somewhere so we can talk?”

Twyla stopped with her hand on the front
doorknob and looked back at him. “What part of done don’t you
understand, Ryan? I have nothing to say to you.” Twyla twisted the
door knob, and swung it open. “You’re the one who needs to get a
life. I suggest you get to it,” she growled as she walked out and
slammed it behind her.

Walking to the top of the stairs, Twyla paused
moment to get control of her breathing. Her heart was beating so
hard against her ribs, it felt like it would splinter in her chest.
Twyla double-timed her steps down the stairs and jogged to her
truck. She got inside and fumbled to get the keys into the
ignition.

The faster she could get out of here, the
better. The emotion building in her chest, and forcing its way up
to her throat was never a good sign. It meant she might become a
girl at any moment. Something Twyla hated, and refused to give
into. Crying was something weak women did. Not rough-and-ready
cowgirls. At least not in public. There had been an occasion or two
when she had given in, like the night of the almost kiss, but that
had been from frustration. She was frustrated right now too, but it
was not happening.

Twyla was going out to the barn and she knew
riding would soothe her. She threw the truck in reverse, and backed
out, then slammed the old truck into drive, before shoving her foot
down on the accelerator hard. Tango had always been there for her,
she knew he would be today too. Waiting for her, loving her, ready
to do whatever she asked him to do. That was the kind of man she
needed.

And so was the handsome mounted shooting
instructor she’d hired to help her. Randy had been very nice and
patient with their lessons so far, and she was making progress.
Tango was getting used to the sound of the gunfire, and she was
getting used to shifting her focus from Tango to the targets. Once
she got pistols of her own, her aim would probably get better.
Twyla was a good shot, had always been with a shotgun, but shooting
targets while moving at barrel-racer speed was tough. Her first
run, she’d missed every target.

Randy hadn’t laughed at her, or given up. He’d
patiently given her corrections, and told her he had a similar run
his first time too. Anticipation at working with him again built
inside of her washing away her anger and frustration. She was
secretly glad she would get to spend a little time with the man
too, even if it was only an hour. Every lesson she had, she was
finding more to like about the man. At her last lesson, she had
found out he wasn’t attached, so that was a plus.

So far there hadn’t been any indication that
he’d be interested in a gangly, tomboy cowgirl, though. Randy had
been totally professional with her, but who knew.

Stranger things had happened.

CHAPTER
SIX

Without thinking, Ryan scrubbed his hand over
his face. Pain shot up his nasal passages to his brain, and he
groaned. “Fuck!” he shouted to the empty apartment.

Jerking his shirt off of the sofa, he picked
up his boots and hat then ran out of the apartment to find Twyla’s
old truck was stopped at the exit of the apartment complex, waiting
for traffic to clear so she could pull out. Ryan sprinted down the
stairs and hopped into his truck. He tossed his boots and shirt on
the floor board then cranked the truck.

He needed to know what other kind of trouble
Twyla had gotten herself into. He would have to follow her to find
that out, because it was clear she wasn’t going to talk to him or
listen to anything he had to say. Hopefully, the bar was the worst
of it.

If it wasn’t, Zack was going to have a
stroke.

He saw her turn left out of the driveway and
tried to follow, but couldn’t make it through the break in the
stream of traffic. He watched her turn right as the next
intersection, as he sat there waiting for another break.

“
Please don’t let me lose her,” he
mumbled as he drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering
wheel.

Finally the light at the intersection changed,
and he had his chance. Ryan gunned the truck and fishtailed on the
loose gravel, before he straightened up and merged to the right
lane just in time to hang a left where he’d seen Twyla turn. He
didn’t see her rattletrap of a truck, so he weaved in and out of
traffic, keeping his eyes ahead for any sign of her. About a mile
ahead he finally saw her, as she merged onto the interstate. He
changed lanes to do the same.

Rush hour traffic had cleared, so Ryan sped up
when he merged onto the freeway. He saw Twyla about a mile ahead of
him, and decided to hang back a little so she didn’t see him. That
crazy cowgirl would probably run him off the road, and kick his ass
if she saw him. He wouldn’t put it past her right now.

Twyla just wasn’t in her right
mind.

That’s all that could explain her attitude and
actions, since he’d been there. Maybe after he talked her into
coming back with him, or barring that he threw a burlap sack over
her head and kidnapped her to take her back home, he’d suggest to
her family that they get her some counseling. Lord knew she needed
some kind of help. Help that none of them, including her mother,
brother or daddy could give her.

Hopefully, they would never hear about what
she had been doing since she’d been gone. It would forever damage
her family’s opinion of her. Hell, he knew it had been an eye
opener for him. He had to get her away from Heather as soon as
possible. He blamed that woman for most of Twyla’s sudden wild
behavior.

Ryan followed her for what seemed like
forever, but was only about twenty miles outside of town, before
Twyla finally turned on her blinker signaling a right turn. Her
truck disappeared down the off-ramp, and Ryan hoped he got off in
time to see which direction she turned from there. If not, he’d
spend hours trying to locate her.

When he got to the bottom of the ramp, she’d
already turned, and he was two cars back from the light at the
intersection, blocked by the concrete pylons on either side. He
slammed his fist on the steering wheel as he waited for the light
to change. The two cars in front finally moved, but took their
sweet time turning. He’d bet on the left turning lane, and when he
eased into the intersection, he saw he lost. He spotted her truck
in backed up traffic to the right.

An annoying three minutes later, he made a
U-turn and zoomed down the rough road. The traffic from earlier had
cleared, so he thought maybe he had a chance of catching up to her.
He rounded a curve five minutes later, and saw her truck in the
distance, making a left. When he got there, he realized it was a
gravel driveway that led up to a horse facility of some kind. That
must be where she had Tango boarded, he thought, as he turned. The
large parking lot in front of the huge barn in the distance was
almost full. Ryan wondered what the heck they did here.

There hadn’t been a sign at the gate that told
him, and he didn’t see any signs by the barn other than the huge
one on the side that labeled the ranch as the Rough Cut Ranch. He
didn’t recognize the two smaller signs that looked like an
organization of some kind on either side of the name. He was way
too far out. Horses grazed in the pastures flanking the gravel
drive, but it wasn’t a rough stock herd. These were prissy,
expensive horses that English riders rode. Thoroughbreds and
Arabians mixed with a few high dollar quarter horses.

In a far off pasture jumps were set up, and
several riders practiced out there. Definitely an English Pleasure
facility. And he didn’t see a barrel in sight. Twyla was definitely
not suited to riding English Pleasure. She had about as much grace
and finesse as a wrecking ball. He wondered then why she was out
here.

Ryan didn’t see any sign of Twyla when he hit
the parking lot. He slowly passed each row of vehicles, and looked
for her truck. When he reached the last row, Ryan was about to
believe he’d followed the wrong truck here, but then he saw her.
She walked out from between two jacked up trucks with a tall
cowboy. The man had his hand on her back while they walked. She was
smiling up at him as she talked animatedly with her hands. She
turned and the bright sun glinted off of something at her
hip.

Ryan leaned across the truck and squinted to
make out that Twyla wore a gunbelt that held two shiny silver
revolvers. One at each hip. The guy wore a similar rig on his hips
too.

What the hell was she up to
?
A
shootout at high noon?

That’s sure what it looked like to him. Twyla
had rabbit, squirrel and deer hunted with him and Zack plenty of
times, but that was with a shotgun. He’d never seen her use a
handgun before. The fact that she had not one, but two in her
possession now scared the shit out of him.

Finding an open spot, Ryan pulled in and
killed the truck. For a moment, he sat there surveying the area,
wondering how he was going to follow her now without being seen.
He’d just have to duck and hide, he thought reaching for the door
handle. That was total bullshit, but he had to do it if he wanted
to find out what she was up to, and who she was with.

That was what Ryan wanted to know, almost more
than what she was doing out here at this ranch. They looked awfully
familiar with each other, and Ryan needed to know who he was and
what he wanted with Twyla. Because of Zack’s overprotectiveness,
Ryan knew she wasn’t all that savvy about men. Zack wasn’t here, so
it was up to Ryan to make sure that guy wasn’t playing her. Or
worse, that he wasn’t a slimy, abusing bastard like
Clarence.

Ryan opened his truck door and slid to the
ground, almost crumpling when a sharp piece of gravel dug into his
foot. It was only then he realized he wasn’t wearing his boots, or
shirt. He’d left the apartment half-naked. But he’d been in such a
damned hurry to run after Twyla, he was lucky to have on his
jeans.

“
Damn that woman is gonna be the
death of me,” he grumbled leaning against the truck to massage his
foot.

He reached back into the truck to get his
boots and stomped his feet into them, then pulled the shirt over
his head, before slapping his dusty hat on his head with purpose.
Screw hiding. He had every right to be here. Zack sent him to find
her and drag her ass back with him. That is exactly what he was
going to do, he thought, as he strode out into the open aisle
between the rows of cars.