Nothing Sweeter (Sweet on a Cowboy) (15 page)

19

M
ax nudged Bree’s elbow and rattled a sack of popcorn. She took a handful and turned to the arena. They sat shoulder to shoulder in the packed metal bleachers, waiting for Miguel and Jesus’s turn in the team roping competition. The midday sun blazed, and the still air was full of smells of cotton candy, cologne, manure, and human sweat. Bree lifted her ponytail and turned her face to a puff of breeze. Max blew lightly on the back of her neck.

“Hmm, that feels good.” He’d been solicitous all day. A touch at her waist here, a warm look there, each subtle reminders of the tectonic shift in their relationship.
How could a woman’s heart not melt at soft displays of affection from a hard man?
Distracted, she forced herself to check the program in her lap. “I think they’re up next.” She watched the end of the arena, where a steer waited in a squeeze chute, restrained only by a rope strung across the front. Miguel and Jesus sat mounted in open stalls on either side, horses dancing in anticipation.

Suddenly, the rope was gone and the steer shot into the
arena as if released from a bow. The horses galloped in hot pursuit, ears laid back, the cowboys’ lassos spinning. Miguel let his fly first, and it settled over the steer’s horns. He took a quick twist of the rope around the horn of the saddle and his horse sank on his haunches. As the steer hit the end of the rope, his head came around and his hindquarters swung out. Jesus released his lasso underhanded, and when the animal stepped neatly into the noose, he jerked it taut.

Bree jumped up cheering as the announcer called over the PA system, “Torres and Moreno, best at nine point five seconds.” The grinning pair tipped their hats to the crowd as they trotted by the grandstand.

Max stood and reached for her hand. “Let’s go check on your midget bull. I’m about cooked.” They squeezed their way to the end of the row, where Max jumped to the ground, then grabbed her waist and swung her down beside him.

Bree preened inside, knowing that by their clasped hands, Max was staking his claim.

The rodeo grounds were packed for the Rancher’s Rodeo, and they were stopped every few feet by the greetings of friends and neighbors. More than one puzzled glance fell on Bree when Max introduced her as his “partner.”

They finally reached the show barn. Fire Ant stood in a stall, chewing cud, oblivious to the bustle around him as hands arrived with stock for the Pro Rodeo this afternoon. His cockeyed horns lent him a dumb-as-dirt look that his relaxed attitude reinforced.

Max leaned on the top rail of the stall. “You couldn’t have picked a bull that looked a bit more intimidating?”

Bree smiled fondly as the bull turned away to give
them a view of his backside. “Oh, I think he’s adorable.” She turned to Max. “And you’ll agree when he brings home the purse tonight.”

“Your mouth to God’s ears, honey.” He reclaimed her hand and they walked into the blazing sun. “Let’s grab some lunch. Watching people work makes me hungry.”

“How can you think about eating? I’m still stuffed with pancakes.”

Max headed for the impromptu food court cordoned off on a grassy hill next to the parking lot. Blue plastic awnings shaded the vendors, mostly students and members of local civic organizations, selling everything from churros to watermelon. The Rotary Club’s half-barrel barbecues were going full blast, throwing off delicious smells and billowing smoke in equal amounts. The Chamber of Commerce beer truck did a booming business under a tree. Max made a beeline for it.

In line, Max went still beside her and his hand tightened on hers. She followed his gaze, but saw nothing untoward in the passing crowd.

“Grab me a beer, will you, Bree? I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for an answer, he stalked off.

Max kept his eye on the group as he dodged running children and picnic tables. Several large, ham-fisted men stood in a semicircle around his much smaller brother.

Déjà vu.
Max recognized Wyatt’s tormentors from high school. Their leader, Stan Pruitt, still ran his father’s hardware store in town. Max forced his fists to relax. Maybe he could talk Wyatt out of trouble this time. But knowing these men, he doubted it. He sidled up to the group, taking a stance behind his brother.

“What’s going on, Wyatt?” He surveyed the men’s intent expressions.

Wyatt turned and smiled. “Hey, Max. You know everyone, right?”

Stan Pruitt leaned in, and Max tensed. “Yeah, I go to the ‘Tools’ menu. Then what?”

What the hell?

“Scroll down to ‘Customize.’ It’ll allow you to make almost any changes you want.” Wyatt reached to his back pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a business card and handed it to Stan. “Call me if you have any questions.”

Stan studied the card, then glanced up at Max. “Did you know your brother wrote the POS program I use at the store?”

Bubba Wright asked Wyatt, “Do you have anything for inventory control? I’ve got about five thousand SKUs and my software sucks.”

Well, he obviously wasn’t needed here. Max backed away, shaking his head as his brother launched into a detailed explanation. Wyatt was right. Max was still trying to solve his brother’s problems the way he had when they were kids. Given what just happened, things had changed. That bore thinking about.

Maybe times had changed. Maybe the town was ready to accept Wyatt for who he was. After all, if he’d have made a list of those least likely to change, the guys in that circle around Wyatt would have been on it.

And if those guys could change, maybe there was hope for him. He should tell Wyatt to schedule a trip out for Juan.

He wandered back to the beer truck, where Bree still stood in line.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Things are good. Weird, but good.”

Full dark descended as Max and Wyatt skirted the huge crowd that sprawled on the grass for the fireworks show. Max neatly sidestepped two boys who chased each other with sparklers. Wyatt followed, carrying a bag of hot dogs.

Max kept his eye on the too-full plastic cups of beer as he walked the uneven ground. “Okay, so consider me a member of the Fire Ant Fan Club.”

“Jeez, what a zoo,” Wyatt grumbled as he stumbled in a gopher hole. “Do you believe our little Fire Ant bucked off a Pro Bull Rider? As far as I’m concerned, Bree is our stock buyer from now on.”

The hillside was a crazy quilt of blankets, lawn chairs, and beach towels used by families to mark their territory. Loudspeakers blared “The Stars and Stripes Forever” as a baton troupe from the YMCA did a synchronized routine on the lighted stage. At least Max supposed it was intended to be synchronized. The crowd competed with the PA system as kids yelled, babies cried, and people talked as they waited for the show to begin.

“Well, howdy neighbor.”

Max shifted his focus from the beer in his hands to Trey Colburn’s sardonic smile, noticing a slight sway to his stance. He was “duded up” as usual, his dress pants and golf shirt a step above the Wranglers and T-shirt uniform of the crowd.

“Y’all look downright domestic.” He took a few steps into the deeper shadows of the trees. “Max, I need to talk to you.” Max took two steps, far enough to drop out of the stream of people who walked the edge of the crowd, then stopped.

Wyatt followed. “What do you want, Colburn?”

Trey glanced left and right, to be sure passersby weren’t eavesdropping. “I want to ask you one last time to reconsider selling.”

Max tried to judge Colburn’s expression through the gloom. Gone was the rich man swagger. He seemed almost afraid and about half drunk. “What’s the matter, Colburn? Having a bit of trouble, are you?”

Colburn paced two steps, but then turned. “You don’t understand.” He rubbed his palms on his pants leg. “I’ve got to have that land. Goddammit, with the consortium’s money you could buy another ranch somewhere else.”

“I could, but I like it here. You tend to get fond of the land your parents are buried on. You could say it’s gotten in our blood.” He glanced to Wyatt. “Isn’t that right, brother?”

“Max.” Wyatt’s quiet voice held a warning.

Max wanted more information, and Colburn appeared desperate enough to give it to him. “How much trouble are you in, Colburn?” Max handed the beers to Wyatt. You didn’t face a rattler with your hands full. “If you need money, why don’t you tap one of your rich friends?”

“It’s never been about money.” His shoulders slumped as he deflated like a balloon in the hot sun. “I’m as good as any of my brothers. I’m Andrew the Third, no less,
and
the oldest. Yet here I am, surviving on the crusts that Brian lets fall through his fingers.” His eyes glittered as a flash of headlights from the parking lot struck him. His face was a mask of fury. “It’s not fair.”

This guy is pathetic.
Max fought the urge to shake his head. “Let me see if I’ve got the picture.” Max pushed the brim of his hat back with one finger. “You expect us
to sell our family’s legacy to the vermin you call friends who intend to ruin the land by covering it with condos and estates for ski bunnies. All so you can play big man for your family? And you think that’s going to make you a success?”

With a squeal of rage, Colburn lashed out. His fist caught Max square on the chin. Wyatt dropped the beer and raised his fists, but Max shook his head to clear it and put out a restraining arm.

“Now, Wyatt, you know that fighting never solves anything.” Max swung, his uppercut coming from knee level. There was a loud crunch as it connected with Colburn’s jaw. The man stood a moment, a confused look on his face. Then his bones seemed to dissolve as he crumpled into the grass. “But it feels good, don’t it?”

Wyatt said, “It sure does, brother.” Several men jogged over.

Max rubbed his knuckles. “Don’t worry about this, gentlemen. The city will be by later to clean up the trash.”

A hollow bang of percussion thumped as a fountain of magenta shot into the sky. Max put his arm around his Wyatt’s shoulders. “Let’s go find Bree and watch the show.”

Max glanced at the clock on the wall of the study. One in the morning, and he had to be up at dawn. Bree had nodded off against his shoulder on the drive home, and Wyatt had crashed in the jump seat of the truck, but Max couldn’t sleep. His brain ached from wrestling with Total Bull’s cash-flow problems.

His glance fell on the scratched metal footlocker next to the desk.
Probably full of old feed store receipts.
There
was no telling, given his dad’s weird accounting habits. He leaned over to study the ancient lock, more to distract his thoughts than out of curiosity. He pulled a letter opener from the lap drawer of the desk and knelt on the floor.

The lock was sturdier than he thought. It took ten minutes and a bloodied knuckle, but when it finally gave, Max lifted the lid. He chuckled as he lifted a bundle of feed store receipts off the top pile of papers.
Well, at least these should put me to sleep.

Next in the stack were pedigree papers of bulls long dead, the great-grandfathers of some of the cows slumbering in the Heather’s meadows right now. Thirty-year-old tax returns, a blue ribbon from a local stock show…
yada, yada.
As he lifted a handful of paper to throw in the trash, an ivory envelope fell to the floor. Fancy writing on the outside caught his eye—
Angus.

Max pulled out a piece of ivory card stock, monogrammed
CEJ
, and opened the card.

20

B
ree stuffed a beach towel into the packed saddlebag.
Lunch, sunscreen, paperback novel, blanket.
“Whatever is missing, we’ll live without it.” She patted Smooth’s rump, unsnapped the crossties, and led him out of the barn.

At breakfast Max had assigned the men to ride fence and move cattle to a new pasture, but she was taking the day off. She’d invited Wyatt to come along, but he chose to work. Just as well. She could use some alone time. She mounted Smooth in the empty yard and set off at a sedate walk, the Walker’s signature rolling gait melting the tension in her muscles.

Summer had finally settled into the high country. Grass stood knee high, and gravid honeybees courted the wildflowers in a lazy dance. The snow had retreated to the highest of peaks, seen through the shimmer of heat at the horizon. Bree took a deep lungful of clean air. LA seemed like a mirage from the distant past. Funny how quickly this land had become home.

Not only the land. She smiled. What if Tia was right,
and she and Max were falling… into a relationship? That hadn’t been the plan. Smooth’s ears twitched at her snort. The grand plan had been her downfall.

“Trust me, Smooth, planning is overrated.”

Her smile slipped. It was time to tell Max about her past. She knew she had to. If she didn’t, the omission would look like a lie. God knew she, of all people, understood the damage lies could do.

“I’m going to tell him. Soon.” She took heart at the firm tone of her voice. Smooth was the best kind of listener. He didn’t judge. “After all, the only thing I did wrong was to not bust Vic’s ass the minute I found out what a scumbag he was.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true either. Here, alone with her horse and the wide summer sky, she admitted to the shame that had dogged her for so long. She’d known Vic had been cheating Customs for a year, but hadn’t seen it as her problem until the agents arrested her.

Bree remembered Max’s cold stare when Wyatt mentioned Juan’s offer to buy stock. It was the same look he’d given her on this very path, when he’d talked about Trey Colburn’s manipulations, something that would have been judged good business where she’d come from.

She imagined telling Max about OCT and the Twin Towers jail, picturing the unforgiving lines of his face, his downturned mouth, the judgment in those dark eyes. Max had a rigid code and a moral compass chipped out of stone. If she could hardly live with the knowledge of her past, what could she expect from a Boy Scout like Max?

A photo album of memories flashed through her mind. Max, astride a nervous Trouble, sitting tall in the saddle, big hands relaxed on the reins. The sun glinting off his naked chest in the garden, the bead of sweat rolling down.
That same broad chest under her hands. Bree shifted in the saddle.

Things were going so well between them. Surely after all she’d been through, it wouldn’t be wrong to find solace in Max’s arms. She remembered his dark eyes, looking at her like she was a goddess—scar and all.

But it would be taking a huge risk. She wouldn’t only be staking their relationship and her job. He could make her leave High Heather.

She’d found the stability here to shore up her badly shaken underpinnings. More than that though, the good, honest, hardworking people had taken her in—accepted her for who she appeared to be and liked her for it.

Somehow that acceptance allowed her to see the old Aubrey Madison clearly. A slick, hip, social climber whose career trajectory was more important than her morals.

Bree Tanner was about as different from that woman as possible.

And she liked that. She was proud of this Bree Tanner.

Max knowing her past could end all that. She imagined packing her things in the Jeep and driving out to the road, leaving her heart on the stable floor of High Heather.

“I
can’t
tell him. I love him too much.”

But if she loved him, how could she not?

Max took the left fork in the trail, waving the rest of the men toward the ranch. It had been a good day. The cattle were sleek and fat from gorging on new summer grass. He pushed his worries to a corner of his mind and focused instead on the clop of Trouble’s hooves, the creak of saddle leather, and the swallows keening as they flew overhead.

God, he loved this ranch. But even if the bucking-bull idea didn’t work and he lost everything, he knew he’d find a job on another ranch, somewhere far away. He was born to spend his days in the saddle, chasing cattle and mending fence. It was all he’d ever wanted.

Trouble splashed across the stream, and Max reined him left, toward a copse of trees. A quick dip to wash off the dust would be just the ticket before heading for home, for dinner.
And Bree.
He felt his mouth stretch in a goofy grin. He should be embarrassed of his calf-like behavior, but he couldn’t seem to—
Goddamn!

The subject of his thoughts splashed in the pool formed by a deep bend in the river, naked as a babe.
Babe is right.
He reined up and leaned his crossed arms on the saddle horn. Her back was to him, and the sunlight filtering through the swaying branches overhead sent shadows sliding over her skin. When she walked to the shallows on the opposite side, more of her delectable body was revealed with every step. Water sluiced off her shoulders, her sculpted waist, that cute rear. This day ratcheted up to the list of top ten of all-time great days. “I see you found our swimming hole.”

Water flew from her hair as she whipped around, crouching and covering herself. When she saw who it was, and that he was alone, she relaxed, stood, and dropped her arms. Her breasts were full, but not too large, their apricot nipples puckered in the cool air. He remembered the skittish girl who’d applied for the job all those weeks ago and understood what it meant for her to stand before him, naked and unashamed.

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in a minute.” He dismounted, grateful for the extra room in his Wranglers. He loosened
the cinch and retrieved the halter from his saddlebag. Replacing Trouble’s bridle, he led him to where Smooth grazed a few hundred feet away and tethered him. Stripping quickly, he stepped up to where the grass ended at the undercut bank. No way to do this slowly. He jumped in. The water was chilly and over his head. He pushed off the bottom to shoot out of the water, yelling.

“Cowboy up, big guy. It’s not
that
cold,” Bree taunted, hip deep in the shallows.

He swam to her, dove under the surface, grabbed her ankles and jerked. With a “Whoop!” she lost her balance and fell backward. He walked his hands up her body, until she lay cradled in his arms.

She laughed up at him, water sparkling on her skin. As she sobered, her whiskey eyes grew dark. He bent to taste the water and sunlight on her lips. No reason to rush. They had all afternoon. She opened to him and his tongue met hers in a greeting that sent shivers through him.

She asked, “Are you cold?”

He growled out, “Not with you in my arms, darlin’.” He lowered his head once more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and moaned into his mouth as his hands wandered over her submerged breasts. He pinched her nipples, and she squeaked, but then arched to his hands for more.

God, I don’t know what I did to deserve a woman like this, but I promise to do more of it in the future.

She struggled, fighting her body’s buoyancy.

“Just relax and float, honey.” He smoothed his hands over her arms to encourage her to relax. As she put her head back, the rest of her body rose to the surface. He scooted closer to the shallows, where he could prop her
buttocks on his knee. She sculled with her hands, hair moving in the current, watching his every move.

Her smooth alabaster skin was cool beneath his hands. His fingers stroked her nest of auburn curls, searching for the swollen bud at the center. Slow, lazy circles with his thumb made her body arch. When he heard her respiration speed up, he slowed and replaced his thumb with his mouth. Bree whimpered.

That a woman as private as this would open herself to him made him feel humble, even as he throbbed to take her. Her legs parted slightly as he slid his hand under, letting his fingers tease her opening. As she moved restlessly, he steadied her with his other hand.

He closed his mouth over her and suckled, plunging his fingers into her. She moaned, and the muscles rhythmically clenching his fingers were almost his undoing as well. He lost himself to the water nymph before him and her pleasure as her nails dug into the skin of his upper arm.

He blew gently across her curls. Her muscles spasmed again, the pulses becoming farther apart as she relaxed.

She reached for his shoulders to pull herself up. She straddled his lap, her legs bracketing his. Wrapping her arms once more around his neck, her kiss imparted a closeness that seemed somehow new. He deepened the kiss, hoping she would understand what he offered.

Bree sensed a difference in Max today. He seemed more open, more vulnerable. Using that term to describe a cowboy was an oxymoron, but that’s what it felt like. His face was relaxed and, for once, unguarded. She shifted in his lap. “What is it, Max? What’s wrong?” His gaze searched her face, looking for, what?

He dropped his head to lean his forehead against her chest. “I’m just so tired. Life has gotten complicated, and I can’t even pretend I know what to do anymore.” She put her arms around him. “When I’m with you, I can put all that down for a while.” Max lifted his head, and his eyes bored into hers. “I need you, Bree.”

Nothing is going to hurt this man on my watch.
She cradled his face in her hands to lift his head. “Forget everything for a while, Max.” She bent to kiss him gently. “Just let me love you.” She settled onto him with a sigh. Still holding his head in her hands, she spread kisses across his face. Her muscles spasmed—an aftershock from before or a precursor to what was to come, she didn’t know.

He groaned, and his arms tightened around her.

The water made this effortless. She slid up his length slowly, teasing herself as well. “Shhh. Let me…” Emotions flickered across his face as his dark eyes slid shut in pleasure. When she lowered herself, he filled her once more. She held still, but her internal muscles fired again, and she raked her nails up his back. His fingers curled over her shoulders, holding her down as he ground into her. She wanted to take everything this man could give, and then take more. She wrapped her legs around him, bringing him closer yet.

He growled as she rose and pulled her down again. Like a seesaw, they rose and fell, passion ratcheting higher each time. Max gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed, his face taut as they strove to bring each other to the jumping-off place.

“Bree, honey.” His hoarse shout echoed off the water and the entreaty in his voice pushed her over the edge. She bit his shoulder as if it would somehow keep her anchored to earth as she came apart again.

They floated, loosely holding each other, catching their breath as the gently lapping water rocked them. When his breathing calmed and they lay languid in the shallows, Bree tugged his hand. “Let’s get out. I’m going all pruny.” She ignored his groan of protest. “Come on. I’ve got a blanket.” When he didn’t move, she said, “And a soda.”

He cracked one eye. “A beer?”

“You wish. Come on. You’re going to fall asleep and drown if you stay here.” She tugged his hand again and stood.

He grumbled, but crawled out of the water to collapse on the blanket she’d laid near the water’s edge. Bree retrieved a mesh bag from the river where she’d left it to keep the soda cool. She popped the top and handed one to him, then retrieved one for herself before lying beside him. He extended his arm, and she rested her head on his biceps, his thumb making lazy circles on her arm. Bree’s skin pricked as water evaporated from it. Sunlight reflected off the water as it burbled through the bend. Birds gossiped overhead, and in the distance, the mountains stood guard over all. She wished they could stay like this, forever.

She knew Max wasn’t asleep when he took a sip from the can. Rolling on her side, she propped her head on her hand. “Okay, are you ready to talk about it?” He shot her a look out of the corner of his eye. “Please, Max, tell me what’s happened. Even if I can’t help, it may make you feel better to get it out in the open.”

He sighed heavily. “I found something in the old trunk that came out of your room. A note.”

“And?”

“From Wyatt’s mother to my dad. A ‘Dear John’ note,
I guess you’d call it.” He snorted. “Why the hell he didn’t burn it, I’ll never know.”

“What did it say?”

He frowned at the canopy of branches above them. “Wyatt isn’t my dad’s son.”

She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but this certainly wasn’t it. “Huh?”

“The note was short, but very clear.” As he turned his head to her, the hurt in his eyes stabbed her. “Wyatt isn’t my brother.”

Implications bounced like pinballs though her brain.

“I’ve got to tell him. He deserves the truth.” He rolled onto his back. “But how do I begin
that
conversation?”

Her heart ached for him. And Wyatt. She laid a hand on his arm. “Oh, Max.”

“Yeah. It seems Ben Franklin was wrong.”

All she could do was look at him.

“Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”

They were quiet on the ride home, absorbed in their thoughts. Even Trouble was subdued, walking alongside Smooth. Bree reached over now and then to stroke Max’s arm, or touch his leg, just to remind him he wasn’t alone. He caught her hand, twining his fingers in hers.

“We’ve got to get you a proper bed.” He flashed a mischievous smile. “That board you’re sleeping on is going to cripple me before long.” He tugged at her fingers. “Better yet, why don’t you stay at the house, Bree? I’ve got a huge bed.”

“Oh no, you don’t. I’ve already gotten one lecture from Tia Nita. If you want me to come to you, you’ve got to clear it with her first.”

He looked like a landed fish, his mouth opening and
closing. “I’m not going to ask Tia’s permission to have you in my bed. Are you out of your mind?” He squared his shoulders. “I’m a grown man, for chrissake.”