Games of the Heart (50 page)

Mike grinned.

Dusty grinned back and snuggled closer.

He liked that but it didn’t stop him from ordering, “Boots, jacket, ass in gear.”

She rolled her eyes. Then she smiled big. Then she swayed up on her toes to touch her mouth to his.

Then she broke free, got her boots, her jacket and her ass in gear.

Uneasy

M
ike stood in Dusty’s kitchen in Texas, hip to the counter, bottle of beer in his hand.

Dusty was in her bedroom getting ready to take him to Schub’s. It was Friday night. Hunter and Jerra were meeting them there. Texas barbeque, beer and Mike meeting her best friends in the environs of a dive bar that Dusty warned him had sawdust on the floor, a mechanical bull and line dancing was required.

He was not about to line dance.

He was also feeling uneasy.

This was because, as far as the eye could see, was beauty.

And she was giving this up for her nephews, her family farm…

And him.

Her one story house was attractive and sprawling, all the bedrooms and two baths off a long hall. The enormous living room jutted out the front and included a large, well-appointed kitchen. There were picture windows everywhere with vistas of the dust and scrub of deep south Texas plains, a small barn and large shed. All of it attractive, well kept with a vast amount of pots, half barrels, window boxes and hanging planters that were, in this climate in March, a riot of color.

The house, Dusty told him, was planted smack in the middle of the twenty acres she owned.

Twenty.

Plenty of room for her to roam and exercise her horses. Solitude for her to create her work. Not a single housing development in sight. Beauty as far as the eye could see.

The Holliday farm was more than fifty times the space but from April to November, the vast majority of that land was taken up with corn.

You could not ride a horse through corn.

Mike took a sip of beer then dropped his hand and left it curled around the bottle on the counter, his mind continuing to sift through the things he’d learned that day.

Dusty’s gallery was less than an hour’s drive away and they’d arrived late morning. They’d driven to it early afternoon because Dusty needed to meet with the gallery manager.

She’d told him and he saw upon arrival that she didn’t sell only her own work but the gallery showcased only local artisans’ wares. More pottery plus paintings, jewelry, glasswork, sculptures, carvings, Native American and Mexican art in all forms. It wasn’t large but it was attractive and she’d done it smart. There was something to fit a wide variety of tastes and incomes from postcards to handmade notecards to attractive but inexpensive one-of-a-kind stud earrings to one of the large pieces of art costing over two thousand dollars. When they arrived at the gallery which was located right on San Antonio’s popular River Walk, regardless that it was Friday afternoon, there were several patrons. It wasn’t packed but it wasn’t deserted.

And it was the first time Mike had seen her work. Considering what she told him it cost, although Mike was not into pottery, he was expecting it to be impressive.

He was right. It was. But it was more. Unusual, fluid, almost whimsical shapes but surprisingly glazed in subtle, muted hues – creams, beiges, grays and deep lilacs. It was eye-catching, extraordinary. They were not pieces you would take home and use to put flowers in or serve up mashed potatoes. It was meant to be exhibited, each piece being one that would bring elegance to a room.

As he watched her interact he saw Dusty clearly had a close, trusting relationship with the clerks and the manager. She chose the art and supplied her own; they displayed it and sold it. She told Mike that she had twice monthly meetings with the manager then let the woman do her own thing. Dusty made pottery and deposited checks. The gallery manager even managed Dusty’s pieces being supplied to other shops and galleries throughout the west.

Dusty had an accountant, a man who tended her land, a housekeeper and a manager. Dusty went to classes with her friend Jerra. She made her pottery. She toured Texas, meeting other artists and attending events that displayed and sold her work. She had dinner parties, went to them, ate out or went for drinks frequently with friends.

She had a good life in Texas.

Perfect.

No hassle, no headache (except LeBrec), she didn’t even clean her own damned clothes.

All good.

Mike did not have a housekeeper and looking into private schools on his own for Reesee, he never would. In fact, if his daughter didn’t qualify for a scholarship, there was no way in hell he’d be able to swing the tuition and still he couldn’t hire a housekeeper.

Even without grief, Debbie’s tricks and McGrath, Mike couldn’t provide Dusty a life without hassle and headache seeing as his was filled with teenagers and an ex who liked to play games.

He heard the deep thud of the heels of cowboy boots hit tile and his body jolted, pulling him out of his thoughts. His eyes moved to Dusty to see her rounding the bar that delineated the kitchen from the living room, her gaze on him.

He pulled in breath.

Her hair was a sleek, thick fall down her shoulders and chest. She had a little tee on that stretched tight at her tits but had some room, minimal though it was, at her midriff. It was bright purple and in grays and lighter shades of purple there was a cowgirl on it, chaps over a fringed skirt, cowboy hat, in mid-throw of a lasso. Charcoal gray suede belt with a big, silver belt buckle looped through her faded jeans. Black cowboy boots. More gray suede, this a thin strip wrapped again and again as a choker around her throat and at the front, small, round silver medallions hung. There was more silver at her ears and wrists. And even though they were going to a place that titled itself a “Saloon and Hoedown” her makeup was deeper and said, plainly, “fuck me”.

Taking in her appearance and affected by it in a multitude of ways, he didn’t move as she made it to him. He noted instantly her usual musky, floral, outdoorsy scent was deeper than normal and he noted this as she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed close.

Her back was arched, her head tipped way back to keep her eyes on him and softly, she said, “They’ll be cool. If they aren’t, we’ll go home early.”

She was talking about the kids spending an extra night with Audrey. He liked it that she cared and was thinking about his kids.

But she was wrong about the train of his thoughts.

“I know they’ll be cool. They’re good kids. Though, not sure if Reesee will make it an entire weekend without breathing Fin’s air.”

Dusty grinned at him and pressed closer.

Fuck,
fuck,
she was beautiful.

Even more here, at home, in her element.

He wasn’t holding her and he didn’t but he did lift a hand to cup her jaw.

When he did, his eyes moving over her face, he murmured, “Think, right now and maybe forever, you’re the most beautiful woman I ever have and ever will see.”

He felt her body press deeper into him as her eyelids got soft and her lips parted.

Then she whispered, “Sometimes Jonathan Michael Haines, you kill me.”

Last night, when Dusty (and Fin) were over, No had shared Mike’s full name and since then Dusty had used it fifty times.

He slid his hand down to her neck and asked, “What’s with the full name business, Angel?”

She grinned again and her arms gave him a squeeze.

“I didn’t know that about you,” she answered. “I found it a shock,” she widened her eyes and got up on her toes, “an actual
shock
that I didn’t know something about you.” She rolled down on her feet, kept grinning and talking. “This is so easy. It feels like we’ve been together forever sometimes. So I say it because I like to remind myself we’re new and I have a wealth of things to uncover about Jonathan,” she shook his middle, “Michael,” she shook it again, “Haines.” She ended on a squeeze and a smile.

She was so fucking adorable, not able to stop himself but also not trying, Mike slid his hand into her hair, bent his neck and dropped his mouth to hers. Her lips opened, his tongue slid inside and he kissed her with both her arms around him, his one hand wrapped around a beer resting on her kitchen counter, his other hand buried in her hair. With her pressing herself tight against him, he took his time, he built it for the both of them and he only broke it when she pressed deep and he heard that sexy little noise slide up the back of her throat.

“Thank God I didn’t put on my lip gloss yet,” she whispered breathily a second after he lifted his head away half an inch.

He smiled into her eyes but even as he did, he told her, “Later, we got shit to talk about.”

Her eyes danced and she returned, “Hopefully, we’ll always have shit to talk about.”

He lifted his head another inch, feeling his smile fading. “Important shit, sweetheart.”

Her eyes moved to his mouth then back to his.

Then she noted, “I’m not real hot on the look on your face.”

Mike wasn’t real hot on what he was feeling.

“Mike?” Dusty called and he focused on her.

“Tomorrow. Now, let’s go meet your friends.”

“Unh-unh,” she shook her head and kept her arms locked around him. “No way. I’m not about to commence drinking with Jerra, which commences anything goes worried about what’s on your mind. Spill.”

“Dusty –”

Her eyes narrowed, she got up on her toes and squeezed tight. “Spill.”

Christ, she could be adorable.

Mike smiled and muttered, “Seems you can be bossy too.”

“Don’t be sexy, cute hot when I’m being bossy,” she ordered and Mike started chuckling.

“Mike,” it was a warning, “
spill.
”

Mike spilled.

“You’ve got a good life.”

This time Dusty smiled. “Noticed that did you?”

He tore his eyes from her smile and looked at the sun setting over the south Texas plains. When he looked back at her, strangely, she looked confused.

Still, he replied, “Yeah, I did. Then again, hard to miss.”

She edged an inch away but didn’t take her arms from him and asked, “You mean this?”

Mike blinked at her and he did it slow.

“This?” he asked.

She looked around then back at him. “Yeah. This. Is that what you mean?”

“Darlin’, you got a great house, a buttload of land, a fantastic business and a hassle-free life. So yeah. I mean
this.
All of it.”

She studied him and she did it closely.

Then she announced, “Beau’s down here. He’s a pain in my ass and if you’ll remember on our plane ride down here, I forewarned you he’s a staple at Schub’s especially Friday night. You’ll probably see him. He’ll probably do something to prove he’s a jackass and being a hot guy, alpha male, badass you’ll probably be forced to do something that will prove to everyone he’s what they already know. A jackass.”

“Dusty –”

“Then there’s Ryder who broke my heart. Broke it in half. He moved away but he’s back and I see him every once in a while. It’s not a lot but each time it hurts. Not remembering what we had but that I fell for his shit.”

“Dus –”

“And it doesn’t snow here. Not even at Christmas. Brown Christmases suck, babe.”

Mike felt his lips turn up but still he tried again, “Dusty –”

He also failed.

“There’s no Hilligoss. There’s no Reggie’s. There’s no Frank’s. I’ll repeat there’s no Hilligoss. And the only bar in town is Schub’s and if you’re not in the mood for rowdy, you’re fucked.”

He dipped his face closer and started, “Honey, I –”

She cut him off again. “If I don’t go back, I’ll miss the teenage romance of Finley Holliday and Clarisse Haines playing out and I
definitely
won’t be able to play kickass, cool, cowboy boot-wearing, pottery-making fairy godmother Aunt Dusty.”

Mike decided to shut up.

It was a good decision seeing as Dusty wasn’t done.

“No wants me to sing with his band the next time I’m home and they’re practicing. Rocky was cool and I liked her. Merry was hilarious and I
really
liked him. Both No and Rees are nowhere near ready to be on their own on a horse so there’s tuition I’m in the middle of that it’s a moral imperative I finish. And if Audrey starts fucking up your life, who’s going to get in a bitch smackdown with her?”

She stopped talking.

So Mike felt it safe to ask, “Are you done?”

“No,” she replied then finished, “Most importantly, down here there’s no you.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

“Angel,” he whispered but had no more. His chest was burning and he found he couldn’t talk around the intensity of the heat.

“Texas isn’t gonna fall into an ocean, Mike,” she said softly. “You know I’ve decided I’m not selling the ranch. I’m gonna rent it. No doors are closing. But one opened a while ago and I think you remember I walked right through.”