Nothing Sweeter (Sweet on a Cowboy) (5 page)

This time, the cowboy managed to stay in the middle of the bull, jump for jump. Like some kind of violent ballet, the man and bull both strained with all they had for opposite outcomes. A buzzer sounded, and the cowboy reached down with his free hand to release the one locked in the rope. He jumped and landed catlike, on his feet. The bull bore down on him, but he ran to the side of the arena and hopped onto the fence, and the animal passed harmlessly beneath him.

He punched both hands in the air and the crowd went crazy. As pipes on the bucking chutes shot confetti into the air, the scoreboard over the arena flashed “91,” and the crowd cheered again. The camera zoomed in for a close shot of the grinning cowboy.

That kid can’t be over nineteen years old!

Pedro turned to Armando. “Potato Masher’s coming up. He’s gonna take it all at the finals in Vegas this year.”

“Nah. Wait till you see Bullwinkle in the short-go. That dude can bring it!”

“They’re talking about the bulls.” Max spoke low in her ear. She snapped to her feet and took a quick step away.

“It’s time I got to bed. I’ll see you all tomorrow at
breakfast.” She turned and hustled for the door. She really needed to call her mother; she’d be worried.

Halfway across the yard, she felt a light touch at the back of her neck. She shot a look over her shoulder to see Max, arms crossed, leaning against the building, studying her.

Aubrey looked around the prison cell. It wasn’t the one in the twin towers, because it held only one bunk, but the gauged cement walls were the same, as was the toilet with no lid in the corner. Something had woken her. Silence. It was never quiet in prison. Her eyes strained to penetrate the inky blackness. It was also never this dark. Then she heard his breathing. She should have been afraid, but for some reason, she wasn’t.

His clothes rustled when he moved closer, and the mattress sagged as he sat on the edge. “I’ve come to take you from this place,” he whispered. Her pillow bounced as his forearms came down to rest on either side of her head. “But are you ready to leave it?” His lips hovered over hers, his warm breath bathing her face.

“I’m ready.” Want fired, hot and fast, roaring through her. She stirred, restless, craving touch. He took her lips, and she opened beneath him. The faceless man’s power surged into her until she was dizzy with it. Somehow she knew she’d be safe in his arms. Saved. His hands moved over her breasts, and she arched her back, wanting more.

“You’re so beautiful.” Her breath came heavy as his hand slid over her belly, and down.

She pushed her hips off the mattress to press against him. “Please—” Need surged, hot and thick, like honey in her veins.

Lights snapped on. She was alone. Lupia stood in the door of the cell, a knife in her hand. “You wanna leave, puta? I can fix that.”

She stepped closer.

Bree came awake with a start.

Jesus. Where did that come from?

She rolled over yet again and punched the pillow to move a few of the lumps. The sheets clung to her clammy skin. She shivered, but not from the cold air.

“Damn it.” She threw the covers back and sat up. Trying to sleep was useless. As her feet touched the cold cement floor, she reached for her sheepskin-lined slippers. Wrapping the Navajo blanket around her shoulders, she switched on the lamp. She scrubbed her face with her hands hard, to pull herself back to her present batch of problems.

Max didn’t trust her. She understood, having learned that lesson the hard way herself in LA, but she wondered at the brief bee sting of regret, just the same.

She hated living like a refugee, sifting her words to pull out hints of her past. It went against her nature.

How do you explain a felony conviction so it sounds like it’s no big deal?

She moved to the desk and switched on the lamp, shivering when her butt touched the cold steel of the folding chair. Powering up the laptop, she thanked God that Wyatt was a software engineer in his “real” life. He’d had a satellite wireless connection installed so he could work while on sabbatical. She tapped into it.

She surfed the news. Wall Street was down, the economy sucked, and another politician was discovered accepting lobbyists’ illegal campaign contributions. The usual. Sick of doom and gloom, she cast about for a lighter subject. She thought a moment then typed in P-B-R.

The link led to a professional website. Results of the night’s event were posted, along with injury updates, licensed PBR gear, even a fantasy league. On a discussion board, she read a spirited argument between two fans talking trash about each other’s favorite bulls.

Bree clicked on the “How It Works” link and learned that both the rider and bull are scored during a ride, and the scores combined for the overall total. The rider had to stay on eight seconds and not touch himself or the bull with his free hand. She watched a film clip of “Rides and Wrecks,” wincing at the horrific crashes.

She realized that the bulls were athletes as much as the cowboys. They were varied in breed, size, and disposition. The only thing they had in common were sleek hides, strong muscles, and the burning desire to get a rider off their backs. She clicked to the “Bulls” section and was amused by the clever names: Big Bucks, Hammer, Major Payne, Cheeseburger with an Attitude.

“Chicken on a Chain? What’s that about?” She chuckled and read on. This looked to be big business.

A kernel of an idea formed. She grabbed a pad to jot notes, sleep forgotten.

6

T
he fickle spring weather had turned; morning sun reflected off every metal surface in the yard. Toothpick in the corner of his mouth, Max leaned against his pickup, tipped his hat brim to shade his eyes, and waited. Wyatt might be satisfied with the new groom’s explanations, but she didn’t fool Max for a minute
. If this chick is a groom, I’m a ballerina.
Not that he could fault her work. The horses looked better than they had in months, and the boarders seemed to like her. Well, everyone except Janet Pearlman. She didn’t like anybody.

He must have been nuts not to nix Wyatt’s lady groom idea, but he couldn’t put all the blame on Wyatt. Max hadn’t sent her on her way because something about her attempt to be secretive made him want to know more. Well, there was also that red hair and that body a man would go to war for. Max moved the toothpick to the other side of his mouth.

Today he would get some answers. Wyatt had the theory that Bree was running from a batterer, citing her
spookiness and the jagged scar as evidence. Max didn’t think so. There was no doubt she’d been in some kind of fracas. But the guilty shadow in those whiskey eyes had him spending more time thinking about her than he wanted to admit. God knows, the ranch’s problems were enough to think about.

The subject of his conjecture walked out of the barn, saw him, squared her shoulders, and strode over. The knit black turtleneck clung to a lightly bouncing pair of ta-tas. Wranglers were made for that kind of body, slim legs and narrow hips.
Damn nice. Pretty as a filly, all long legs and big eyes
.

She took a key from her pocket. “We can take my Jeep.”

He pulled the toothpick from his mouth. “If you insist, but I’ve got to pick up castings for Tia’s garden.” He surveyed the trendy red Jeep. “I’d hate to get worm poop in your pretty—”

“Fine. Have it your way.” The words hissed from thinned lips.

Ducking his head to hide his grin, he tugged the passenger door handle. It didn’t budge. Damn, he’d forgotten. Last week, a bull had mistook the truck for competition and charged it. The dent was just one more in the ranch truck’s collection, but now the passenger door wouldn’t open.

“You’ll have to slide in from the other side.” She gave him a dubious stare but followed as he walked to the driver’s door and jerked it open. She looked at the truck, then at him. “What?”

“Where do you propose I sit?”

He squinted into the shadowed interior and felt his ears heat. Reaching in, he pushed tools, receipts, soda cans, and bits of baling wire to the floorboard with a brush of
his arm. “Well, excuse me, princess. I wasn’t expecting royalty or I’d have brought ’round the Bentley.”

It was her turn to redden, and he enjoyed the view as she flounced into the cab and scooted to the far door. He climbed in, pulled off his hat, and hung it on the shotgun rack in the back window.

She moved as far away as possible, cranked down the window, and rested her arm on the sill. The engine fired with only a prolonged crank. They rolled down the dirt drive, and when the truck hit the asphalt, she dropped her chin on her arm and closed her eyes.

The scattered freckles on her cheeks stood out against her translucent skin. The dark circles beneath her eyes attested to the kind of tired that comes from long nights that don’t have much to do with sleep.

“I’m sorry about your dad.” She sounded sincere.

His knuckles on the steering wheel whitened. “Thanks.”

“You must miss him. Were you and he close?”

“Yep.”

“What was he like?”

He spit the toothpick out the window. “He was a Western cattleman. Out here, that means stubborn, hardworking, and an eternal optimist.”

“Wyatt says you’re a lot like him, but he doesn’t say it like it’s a good thing.”

Max kept his eyes on the road. “He was a hard man. The gene pool got watered down by the time it got to me.”

A snort from his right. “Was he a good dad?”

“To me he was.” Her hair swirled in the wind, bringing him the smell of lemons.

“Is your dad the reason Wyatt left?”

He reached in front of her. She started and scrabbled
back in the seat. When he tore the duct tape that held the glove box, it flopped open, spilling receipts to swirl onto the floorboard. He jerked out a hank of twine and handed it to her. “How about reining in that mop? Your hair is going to be all over my truck.”

Bree perused the trash on the floor and raised an eyebrow. “Well. If it’s gonna wreck your truck, by all means…”

He resisted the urge to watch. “As long as we’re getting cozy in each other’s business, where did you come from?”

“California.” The tight in her voice drew his eyes from the road.

Small but perky breasts strained the fabric as she raised her arms to tie hair the color of fresh-cut cedar. He shifted to ease the sudden tightness in his jeans. He’d always been a sucker for red hair. Bree’s was thick and curly, not like Jo’s straight tresses. “Now, that fact does not come as a shock. What did you do for work?”

“Nothing special.”

Out the corner of his eye, he saw her fingers trace the angry weal at her neck. “Where’d you get the scar?”

She cut him a cold glance. “I heard from John Wayne movies there was a rule in the West that people don’t ask where you came from.”

If the edge on her words were real, he’d be bleeding

“Fair enough.” He held his hands up in surrender, then put one back on the wheel. “Then how about we play a little quid pro quo? You tell me what you’re comfortable with, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“I suppose we could try that,” she said in a careful hostage-negotiator tone.

“Wyatt and my dad didn’t click almost from the time
Wyatt started talking. Wyatt was a good kid and couldn’t understand why Dad shied from him. Not sure my dad did either, at least at first.”

“Did your dad know that Wyatt was gay?”

He thought a moment. “Satchmo said, ‘I don’t let my mouth say nothin’ my head can’t stand.’ It was like that. Your turn.”

She hesitated, seeming to weigh her words. “After I was born, my mom brought me home from the hospital. My dad was gone, with his stuff and anything of hers he could hock. All she had was an empty apartment, an envelope full of bills, and me. Growing up, she told me a watered-down ‘You and me against the world’ story. But now I understand the terror she must have felt.”

And from the looks of you, you’ve been bunking with that terror for a while now.

“A retired neighbor lady kept me during the day, and Mom went out and got a job waitressing at The Eighteen Wh—at a local truck stop.”

“Your momma sounds like a stand-up gal.”

“She is.”

They reached the outskirts of town. He’d save the next round of interrogation for later.

After a quick spree at the Western store, Bree carried her shopping bags to the only other establishment she knew. Max had told her he’d meet her at the trendy bar after lunch.

“Excuse me, miss. Mind if I share your table?”

Bree shifted her attention from the newspaper and her half-finished lunch to the man standing across the table from her. She glanced around. Every table in the bar was
full. His hand rested on the back of the only vacant chair in the room. The needle on her worry gauge ticked from calm to concern.

Raising her voice to be heard over the babble of the lunch crowd, she said, “I guess.”

“I’m much obliged.”

Around her age, he was good-looking in a baby-faced kind of way. He flashed a movie-star smile. She checked out the Western-cut business suit, string tie, and expensive boots.
Probably harmless.

“I knew today was going to be lucky.” He laid an immaculate ivory felt cowboy hat on the table and sat. “Here I am, and the only open chair in the place is across from a gorgeous lady.” He tossed her an “aw shucks” grin. “I’m gonna go straight out and buy a lottery ticket, ’cause it doesn’t get any better than this.”

Ignoring the menu proffered by the waiter who’d appeared at his elbow, the man ordered a well-done steak, then turned his soft brown eyes back to Bree. “Pardon me, miss. My mother would tan my hide. I swear she taught me better manners. My name is Trey Colburn.” He extended a smooth hand across the table.

“I’m Aubrey Ma—” She sucked a breath before shaking his hand. “Bree Tanner.”

“You sure now?” The corner of his mouth lifted, and he held her hand a beat too long.

“Well now, Bree, I know you’re new in town because I wouldn’t have missed a diamond in a drugstore for very long.”

She managed not to roll her eyes. His combination of cherub and charm must slay the local female population. A little slick for her taste, though. She preferred strong
features and a little less oil in her men. “I’m the new groom at High Heather Ranch.”

His face sobered. “We were all so sorry to hear about Angus. He was a pillar in the ranching community, and he’s going to be missed.”

Something in his tone made her think that though the town might miss Angus Jameson, Trey would not. She toyed with her salad.

“Here I am babbling on, disturbing your lunch. You just go on and eat.”

As if on cue, the waiter reappeared, brandishing a huge steak on a platter, still sizzling from the grill. When he left, Trey said, “You and I are neighbors, you know.” He cut a piece of meat, put it in his mouth, and closed his eyes. “It’s worth paying for my own beef just to taste this.” He opened his eyes. “You’ve got to try it.” Pulling a fork from an extra place setting of silverware, he cut a small piece of meat and offered it to her.

It sure did smell good. Bree took the fork from his fingers, popped the meat in her mouth, and chewed. It was tender and full of flavor. “It’s—”

“Aren’t
we
cozy?” Max strode to the table. “What won’t work one way, you slither around to try another, eh, Colburn?”

At Max’s sharp tone, Bree looked up. “Max, I thought—”

He cut her a cold look. “Are you done here? Or are you staying with your partner? I just need to know, either way.”

Partner?
She didn’t know what was going on, but she intended to find out. Fast.

Picking up her bags, she opened her purse for her wallet. Trey’s hand covered hers, and she snatched her hand back.

“Please. Allow me to buy you lunch.”

Max’s growl was low but more dangerous for it. “You’ll never buy anything on the Heather, Colburn. I told you that.” Max reached in his pocket and without looking, dropped a few bills on the table. “I’m not gonna tell you again.” He turned to her but kept his eyes on Trey, as if he were a rattler that bore watching. “Are you staying, or coming?”

Colburn.
The man Wyatt had said offered to buy the ranch.
Oh no.
At the closest tables, heads turned, taking in the show. Bree realized that any protest on her part would make it worse. Max’s stillness didn’t fool her. A storm was imminent, and she wanted to get outside before it hit. “It was nice meeting you Trey.” She stood.

Trey scooted his chair back and rose. Max turned on his heel and stalked out. After a glance around to be sure she’d gotten everything, Bree followed.

First the bankers, now Colburn. Two plagues of vermin in one day.
Max jammed the key in the ignition, then stopped and turned on her. “Did Colburn hire you to spy on us?”

“Are you nuts? I’ve never seen the man before he sat at my table today, and I don’t appreciate your accusations.” Bree crossed her arms and glared. “You’ve got to see someone about your delusions, Jameson.”

He studied her.

“Not that I’d expect manners from you, but I’d appreciate your not embarrassing me in front of a roomful of people I don’t know.”

He twisted the key, wishing it were someone’s neck. After only a few tries, the engine coughed to life. “I know
it’s hard for you to believe, princess, but your tender feelings aren’t high on my list of concerns at the moment.” He punched the clutch and shifted the truck in gear.

“What the hell is your problem, Jameson?”

He geared down for an old lady in a crosswalk who wagged a finger at him as she tottered in front of the hood. Glancing to the spitting cat next to him, he said, “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s that the bank turned us down for a loan. Maybe it’s because I may lose land that’s been in my family for three generations. Or maybe it’s wondering whether you’re a traitor or a naive little girl.”

“Where do you get off—”

“You do realize he’s married, right? I should know. I attended his lavish wedding last fall, back before he got in bed with the developers.” He shot her an assessing glance. “But maybe that doesn’t matter wherever you come from.”

“How dare you!”

He could almost feel the heat in the waves of fury that rolled off her as he punched the accelerator. “From the looks of things, his bed hasn’t been empty much since.”

“I wouldn’t know about that, having just met the man.” As she turned, the seat belt strained across her chest. “The world does
not
revolve around you, bucko. If you’re so paranoid you think that I somehow—” She stopped, clearly so pissed that she couldn’t get the words out. “What? My plan is to somehow dazzle you into signing away your ranch? With what, my sexy wardrobe and demure deportment?” She crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the windshield. “Butt wipe.”

They drove in silence for a good five minutes. The breeze from the open window cooled his temper a bit, allowing reason to seep in.
Well, I guess my conclusion might
have been a bit farfetched.
But when he’d walked into the bar and seen Colburn leaning across the table, feeding her, he didn’t like it. Didn’t like it a bit. And he definitely wasn’t going to think about why he felt that way—angry and possessive of Bree.
Shit.

He watched a small herd of antelope streaking through the open pasture parallel to the road, his chest aching. He missed the simple days, working alongside his father in silence. Back when the future seemed as solid as the mountains.
Double shit.

If wishes were horses, every man would ride.

“Why are you always spouting quotes?”