Kickin' Up Dust: Operation Cowboy, Book 1 (6 page)

The first drink was a salute to his friends, all they’d lived through together, and to rebuilding new lives. The second drink was essential to suppress the vision of Danica with the teacher.

While they whirled to Dolly’s feminine crooning, Brodie watched, trying to glimpse Danica’s face. If he could see her smile and know she was happy, that would be enough for him.

“What the hell, Brodie?” Wydell asked, craning to see what Brodie was staring at.

“Nothin’. Let’s drink.”

“We already did. Welcome back to planet Earth,” Wydell quipped.

“Looks like I still have a drink. I’d better remedy that.” He cupped the glass and raised it to his lips. At that moment the teacher spun Danica. Across the bar her gaze locked on Brodie. Panic crossed her lovely features.

He tossed back the whiskey and while it burned a path straight to his stomach, he stood. Crossing the room to her was easy—people parted to let a big man through. What would take some work was controlling himself. The alcohol hit his bloodstream just as he tapped Wayne on the shoulder.

“Can I cut in?”

Oh God, Brodie. No.

Danica could see the fight in the tension in his shoulders and the set of his square jaw. The jagged scar she barely noticed anymore stood out white against his tanned face.

“It’s up to the lady.” Though Wayne’s words were smooth, his tone wasn’t.

She ripped her attention from the pissed-off Marine to Wayne’s face. She patted his shoulder to soften her decision. “I won’t be long.”

He released her. His hands had barely left her waist and hip when Brodie dragged her right up against his hard body. She sucked in a gasp.

“You reek of whiskey already. I thought you were going to be sensible.”

“Two drinks. Okay, three. But I’m not even buzzed.” His dark stare unnerved her as he pulled her hips against his—and into his bulging erection.

“Brodie—”

When he stared down into her eyes that way, she couldn’t formulate words. “I’m dancin’ with my business partner. No harm in that.” He shot a glare over her shoulder, and she didn’t need to whirl to know it was directed at Wayne.

“Is that all I am to you? A business partner?” Her nipples ached painfully where they pressed against his searing chest.

He lifted a hand to her hair and moved it off her shoulder. Was it her imagination or did she detect a shudder in him? He skimmed a fingertip over her bra strap before grabbing her waist again.

The way he spread his fingers so low over her back made her instantly wet. She dragged in a deep breath to steady herself, but his scents flooded her mind and made her run hotter.

Wetter.

“Of course you’re more than a business partner to me. You’re Matt’s little sister.”

The urge to knee him in the balls was hot and bright. Her muscles leaped.

She had to get some distance between them, but the song wasn’t over and he wasn’t letting go. His grip was too hard, too perfect. She wanted him pinning her to the wall and fucking her slow and deep. Or dragging her up to meet his thrusts, his fist in her hair.

Biting back a moan, she darted a look at Wayne. He was too nice a guy to act like a possessive jackass, but he wasn’t happy. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides and his face was shadowed with anger.

“Brodie, I’d like to end this dance now.”

“I didn’t get a whole song, though.” He walked his fingers lower, extending them over her ass. Heat ribboned through her.

“I’m on a date. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He stopped swaying, his gaze cutting her heart out. “You’re having a good time with that guy?”

She hadn’t spent enough time with him to know yet. “He’s taking me riding after this.”

“Riding?” He arched a dark brow, rendering her panties a completely soggy scrap. “I’ll take you ridin’, sweetheart. Even on a horse sometimes.”

Oh God.
His hot, dirty words spoken so low and close to her ear sent her reeling. She couldn’t draw breath or even think. He had to be buzzed, but she didn’t care. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and her thighs around his hips and let him carry her to the nearest truck bed. Lay her out and make her forget her own name.

“Brodie, I think those three drinks are affecting you more than you believe.”

He shook himself but she didn’t see a hint of the drunkenness she was suggesting. “No, I’m just acting in a brotherly fashion. I need to know you’re happy with that guy. Because last week you couldn’t get away from him fast enough.”

“Keep your voice down. Wayne’s okay. He’s really nice.”

“So you’re asking me to let you go so you can dance with him?”

She pushed out a sigh. She was happy right where she was. Sharing great conversation and being swirled through another ballad by the biggest, baddest cowboy in Shooters was the best way to spend an evening.

But Wayne deserved better. Besides, she’d been having a good time up until the moment she’d spied Brodie across the room.

“Yes, Brodie. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

His lips tightened briefly but he let her go with a smile. It didn’t reach his eyes, but she’d made her choice and this was better. She wanted to have a good time tonight and forget about her ruined town and the family who’d been sliced apart. Wayne came without any baggage. He was genuine and…simple.

She wanted that tonight.

She gave Brodie a nod of goodbye and crossed the dance floor to take Wayne’s hand. “Let’s grab a drink.”

Unfortunately Brodie had beaten them to the bar and was talking to a little blonde bartender who had enough flirt in her for five girls. Brodie avoided Danica’s gaze as he laid down some bills and went away with a whole bottle of whiskey.

“Wait, Brodie.”

He gripped the neck and strolled past her, headed for his buddies. Matt’s buddies. Guys she considered family. They’d take care of the man who seemed bent on self-destruction tonight.

Wouldn’t they?

Wayne passed her the light beer she’d ordered and led her to a table off the dance floor—out of Brodie’s line of sight. They discussed his job and an upcoming prom he’d signed up to chaperone. She was so absorbed in thoughts of Brodie getting too drunk and losing control that she totally missed when Wayne asked her to be his date.

“Where?” she asked.

“At the prom.”

Prom? Were they seventeen again? Christ, she couldn’t think of a worse way to spend an evening.

“Oh. I’ll think about it. I don’t have much in the way of dresses.”

He dropped his eyes to her chest and back up. “You’d look beautiful in a paper bag, Danica.”

“Uh, thank you.” What was wrong with her? Here was a man hitting all the high notes of dating etiquette—he opened doors, bought her drinks, and complimented her. But she couldn’t get Brodie’s dirty suggestion that she could ride something besides a horse out of her head.

“Do you still want to go riding?” Wayne was asking.

She snapped back to the present and the man before her. A good, stable man, she reminded herself again. “Yes. Let’s go.” She slurped another bit of beer and put her hand in Wayne’s. As they left Shooters, she tried not to look around for Brodie. It had to be her imagination that she could feel his hot stare on her. Either that or she was losing it.

* * * * *

Brodie’s head was as fragile as an eggshell. He raised it slowly; it felt too much to bear and he lowered it to his pillow again.

What an idiot he was. He knew lots of soldiers who’d turned to drink after realizing they didn’t have a place in society. He’d vowed to never be one of them. But last night, that’s exactly what he’d done. He’d convinced himself he wasn’t good enough for the one woman in the bar who was worth spending time with.

After Danica had left Shooters, he’d gotten caught in an emotional tornado and drank until his world stopped spinning. But it didn’t change things.

He fucking wanted Danica.

There was no denying the primal need she raised in him. And being around her made him forget he’d lost his best friend and his town. She’d given him something to look forward to every day.

Going for a second try, he lifted his head and made it to an upright position.

“Brodie?” His mother’s high-pitched voice abraded his nerves, and even turning his head toward the door hurt like hell.

“Yeah, Ma.” He could barely force the words past his cracked throat. His head threatened to tip off his shoulders, so he held it in place.

When she opened the door and saw his state, her lips compressed in that line of disapproval. A hundred lectures surfaced in his mind, but he couldn’t locate the one she was about to give.

“Don’t…say it,” he choked out. “I feel bad enough.”

She bustled into the room and picked up a few dirty clothes he’d scattered on the floor. He started to tell her he’d handle it—he was a grown-ass man. But he didn’t have the energy.

“Your friends are on the porch waiting for you.”

His heart leapt at the thought of Danica out there. “What friends?” When he stood, the world did two complete spins. His stomach lurched. For a grown-ass man, he was a dumb one.
Never again.
He and whiskey could remain friends—just not such close ones.

“The boys. Wydell, Garrett, and Boyd. Something’s gone wrong and they want your advice.”

Damn.
“Wrong?”

He had no choice but to bend over and grab his pants. Last night, even reeling from too much alcohol, he’d had a hard-on that wouldn’t go away. He vaguely remembered taking off his pants to ease the tightness around his cock. A distant memory of groaning Danica’s name flooded his mind.

“They didn’t tell me what’s wrong. You’ll have to find that out for yourself.”

His mother remained tactfully turned away while he pulled on his jeans, handling himself as he would C-4. Pulling up his zipper hurt everything including his back teeth, but he managed it and the button. The belt seemed beyond him, though, and he withdrew it from his belt loops and tossed the leather onto the bed.

For a dizzying second, his mind locked on it and all he could see was Danica’s bare ass hiked into the air, awaiting a spanking.

He shuddered and his head nearly fell off again. “All right. Please tell me there’s coffee.”

“Always.” She pivoted to give him a concerned look. “Are you feeling up to this?”

“I did it to myself, Ma. I’ll manage.” As he passed her, he touched her arm. She leaned in and pecked his cheek, and he was consumed by guilt. He should start living up to his parents’ expectations. And start enjoying being home too. While in the desert, he’d dreamed of his momma’s home cooking. Yet he was still eating as if it were military rations, and she was constantly asking him if her meals were to his liking.

How to explain that he wasn’t really able to enjoy anything right now? His stomach was still a ball of worry. The most solace he got was with Danica.

After grabbing a thermos of coffee, he pushed through the screen door, careful not to let it bang behind him. His buddies stood in a huddle. The minute he saw their faces, his heart squeezed hard. Painfully.

“Who?” he grated out. Suddenly he was back in combat, awaiting a name of the fallen. His heart thumped and he started counting fast.

Garrett came forward, tugging down his hat in a nervous gesture. “Nobody, Brodie.” He gripped Brodie’s shoulder, and it was a good thing—Brodie didn’t know if he could remain standing if he heard bad news.

God, I’m shell-shocked.
“Nobody’s dead?”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

“Wydell, stop. Let me tell him.” Garrett met Brodie’s stare, his jaw working.

“Is it Danica?” He couldn’t breathe. For the first time in his life, he was going to let his emotions best him.

Garrett’s face registered shock. “No, man. God, no. She’s fine, far as I know. But it’s the Popes’ dog.”

He needed to sit down after all. His knees buckled, and he folded, hunching into a squat, head bowed. “What the hell happened?”

Garrett bent, keeping a hand on his shoulder. This was all wrong—Brodie had held the guys together after Matt’s death. Now he seemed to be unable to process the smallest upset—like the loss of a dog.

Not any old dog. His dog. Her dog. Fuck.

“We’ve been clearing the barn debris at my place when we don’t have a job in town.” Garrett’s gray eyes burned into him, centering him. “We heard some whimpers.”

“I thought it was a cat,” Wydell offered. “But we looked closer.”

“It was the Popes’ dog,” Garrett finished.

“Please tell me it’s not Crow.” Brodie’s voice sounded like glass under a boot heel. He looked up at Boyd, who gave a single slow nod. Brodie grated out, “It is Crow. Fucking hell. Let’s go.”

Five minutes later they were bouncing up the rutted lane to Garrett’s property. Partway Brodie gave up holding his head in place and let the sickness steal over him.

The house was caved in, but the family had taken up residence in a shed they’d expanded into a lean-to. His parents and younger brother were nowhere to be seen, which was good. Brodie couldn’t face conversation.

He got out of the old Ford and three other doors slammed shut. Striding to the barn ruins, he prepared himself. The guys had told him the dog’s whimpers had stopped before they could find a way to get him out. Apparently Crow had been sniffing around the foundation and a beam had shifted, trapping him. Crushing him.

Brodie forgot all about his throbbing temples and sour stomach as he approached the barn. By the looks of it, the structure had taken a direct hit. Wood was splintered. Hay had been forced into the wood by high winds so it looked as if it had a run-in with a porcupine.

Swallowing hard, Brodie said, “I don’t see him.”

“There.” Boyd extended an arm.

The moment Brodie spotted the black coat, his stomach rebelled. He turned and heaved while his buddies moaned with disgust.

“You’re never drinking again if you can’t hold your damn stomach, Sergeant.”

He swiped the back of his hands over his mouth and straightened. “Have no intention of it.” How was he going to tell Danica her dog was dead while sporting a hangover? He wasn’t sure he and Danica were even on friendly terms after last night.