Texas Rose Forever (Texas Rose Ranch #1) (22 page)

Son of a bitch. The interior was jam-packed with small blue rubber balls. If she opened the door, they would all topple out. “Where in the hell did he get these damn balls?”

“They go in the ball pit for the Fourth of July county-wide picnic we have here every year.” He sat on the top step and sipped his beer. “Consider this payback for Betsy.”

She took a step closer to the car, meaning to look into the passenger-side window, when her foot slipped out from under her and she landed with a splat on her ass. There was a sheet of clear plastic on the ground in a ring around the car. On top of the plastic was some clear goop that felt a lot like petroleum jelly.

“Are you okay?” Cinco was at her side and pulling her up, but she slipped again, grasped the edge of his belt buckle, and pulled him down on his ass. “He greased the grass around the car. It’s hard to see under this shade tree.”

“That little shit.” She struggled to get to her knees, slipped again and face-planted right in Cinco’s lap. She rolled off him and into the grass, which stuck in clumps to the gel all over her body. “I hate him so much. I was going easy on him with the brown M&M’s, but this”—she held up a goop-covered hand—“this shit just got real.”

“No murder or maiming. Anything else is fair game.” Cinco rolled off of the clear plastic sheet too.

“Can I download your playlists? Lefty’s about to get a heavy dose of Katy Perry.” If Lefty thought she would back down just because of some blue balls and gel, he wasn’t the man she thought he was. If he wanted to go old school with the pranks, she was down with that.

CHAPTER 22

“You’ve got to do something.” Lefty paced back and forth in front of his office two days after the blue-ball incident. “She’s gone too far.” He pointed to his black eye patch that now sported a multicolored rhinestone butterfly.

“It’s really pretty. When the light catches it just right, it kind of looks like it’s flying.” Cinco grinned. CanDee not only knew which one of Lefty’s buttons to push, she was holding that button down for maximum stress.

“Don’t get me started on the eye patches. She went and sparkled up all three of mine. I ain’t figured out how she did it, but I’m gonna. Now I have to wear them until I get my new ones I ordered from the Amazon.” He ground out a sigh.

Cinco had tried many times to explain that Amazon was a company and the Amazon was a rainforest. He was pretty sure that Lefty thought the things he ordered came directly from the rainforest.

“If you’re not mad about the eye patches, then why did you call me down here?” Surely the brown M&M’s wouldn’t warrant an early-morning screaming call to get down to Lefty’s office pronto.

“You’re not going to believe it.” He pushed open his office door and Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” blasted out.

So this was why she’d wanted to copy his playlist. It was pretty funny.

“It just plays over and over. I can barely hear myself think.” Lefty yelled over Lady Gaga. “I can’t make heads nor tails out of them lyrics. I’m pretty sure they ain’t talking about poker.”

He shut the door and the music stopped.

“Why don’t you disconnect the wire?” He scanned the doorframe for whatever she’d used to rig up the music. “Or keep the door closed.”

“Somehow, she’s made it work while I’m in the office even with the door closed. And look at this.” He pulled open the door and Lady Gaga went to work. Lefty pointed to his desk and yelled, “She glued all them drawers shut. I can’t get to my paper clips. How am I supposed to work without no paper clips?”

He put his hands over his ears and stormed out of the room. Cinco looked around the room and found the small motion detector. CanDee was good. He nodded to the beat and headed out. He closed the door after himself and Lady Gaga disappeared.

“She brought me a bag of Peanut M&M’s with only the brown ones. That ain’t right. You know I hate the brown ones.” Lefty resumed pacing.

“You shouldn’t have greased the area around her car. She could have gotten hurt.” In his opinion Lefty had started things and he deserved everything CanDee could think up.

“I’m going to have to go big in retaliation.” Lefty shook his head like he just didn’t have any other choice.

“Just be ready for whatever she comes up with next. Just so you know, she’s very resourceful.” He liked that CanDee could hold her own. An independent woman was a thing of beauty, but he wouldn’t let these pranks go too far. If he had his way, CanDee would spend the rest of her life here with him, so she and Lefty needed to find a way to get along. But he was willing to let them have their fun.

A slow, devious smile crept across Lefty’s face and he snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. I ain’t got no more time for chatter. I gotta head to town. Need anything?”

“No, I’m good.” Cinco bit his top lip to keep from smiling. He hadn’t seen Lefty this fired up in a very long time. In a way, CanDee had breathed new life into the old man.

Cinco followed Lefty out of the barn door and then closed it behind him. He had a few errands of his own to run in Fredericksburg. The first one being with his attorney to find out what, if anything, could be done to help CanDee out with claiming the rights to her first book. Phillip Harcourt was an asshole who deserved so much more than what he was probably going to get. CanDee might be okay with sitting back and letting karma deal with Harcourt, but Cinco was not. She might not be financially able to go after the bastard, but Cinco had plenty of money.

He opened the driver-side door of his pickup and climbed in. He
did
have plenty of money—eight figures to the left of the decimal, nearly
nine—so he really wasn’t happy with CanDee buying his groceries, but he
knew better than to offer her money. Surely she had to know he had money.
The Texas Rose might be the second largest cattle ranch in Texas, but it was
by far the most profitable. That’s why Naomi had targeted him. Clearly,
money wasn’t that important to CanDee. It wasn’t really that important to
him. He had everything he needed. It had been very important to Naomi.

As long as he lived, he’d never forget how his ex felt it necessary to assign dollar amounts to everything. Like the evening after their engagement party and she’d sorted the gifts by dollar amount. Only people who’d spent at least a hundred dollars rated a thank-you note. She’d done the same to him. Only when he’d brought her an expensive present did it rate a kiss from her. Now he realized how small that had made him feel. She’d been out to see what she could get for herself because money and things made her feel important and loved. It occurred to him that nothing he could have done would have changed that.

He didn’t like anyone seeing only dollar signs instead of him. He was his own person and wanted to be judged based on his actions and not his credit rating.

He was going after Harcourt because it was the right thing to do and money had little to do with it. He would like to see CanDee get what was owed to her because it was hers. He wanted her to have all the fame too. Not that she wanted it or even craved it, but she had created a very successful novel and she deserved the bragging rights.

He threw the gearshift into reverse, backed up, and rammed it into drive. Every time he thought of Phillip taking from her and leaving her destitute, he wanted to wring that guy’s neck. CanDee was smart, funny, and pretty as hell. How could anyone take advantage of her?

Then again, he’d learned the hard way that there were people who only cared about themselves. The thought had probably never occurred to Phillip that he was hurting someone else. There were so many terrible things Cinco wanted to do to Phillip Harcourt, the least of those desires was ruining the bastard.

Cinco decided not to tell CanDee about what he was doing to help her. He wanted it to be a surprise. He loved her and wanted the best for her, and he was willing to do whatever it took to give it to her.

“What are you doing?” Cinco walked into the kitchen a little after six
that evening to find CanDee typing away on her laptop.

“Just putting the finishing touches on a Craigslist ad for a Chewbacca-
roaring contest.” She made it sound like that was a completely normal thing.

“I give up. What’s a Chewbacca-roaring contest?” He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. “Want one?”

She looked up from her computer. “No, I’m good.” She grinned. “For the contest, people are supposed to call Lefty’s cell number and roar loudly and then hang up. Brilliant, right?”

“Why would anyone do that?” He unscrewed the cap and tossed it in the trash can.

“For the fifty-dollar prize money.” Her voice held a whole lot of
duh
.

“How is Lefty going to judge a contest he doesn’t know he’s having?” Cinco loved the mischievous smile on her face.

“That’s the beauty of it. The contest ends in a couple of weeks, so hundreds of people will call, roar, and then hang up. Then those same people will call back to find out what they’ve won and get mad when they find out there’s no contest. It’s a twofer.” She nodded. “Awesome, right?”

“Your creative genius never ceases to amaze me.” He bent down and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “How about going out for dinner?”

Not that he would enjoy driving back into town, but he wasn’t in the mood to cook.

“I was thinking we could have meatloaf sandwiches and a tomato-basil-buffalo mozzarella salad.” She reread the ad, deleted something, and typed a new sentence. “I bought sourdough bread and fresh mozzarella the other day.”

“That sounds perfect.” He’d spent the better part of the morning and most of the early afternoon with Jack Simms, his attorney, trying to figure out what could be done for her. He needed to find out if there was a way to prove that she’d written
Murder, Mayhem, and Madness
, like notes, or whether she had a copy of it on her computer. “Anything new from Phillip?”

She looked up, confusion on her face, and then understanding dawned and she shook her head. “I don’t know. I blocked his number.”

How did he ease into this conversation? “So . . . um . . . do you still have a rough draft or something of your first book?”

“I think I have a paper one back at my apartment, but that’s all. Phillip stole my novel off my old MacBook.” She turned back to the computer and placed the ad.

He didn’t know if a paper copy was enough proof. Jack had checked; she hadn’t filed a copyright with the Library of Congress. Cinco would figure something out. She’d done the work and deserved the credit. Maybe her friends? Maybe she’d discussed the book with them prior to it being published. He’d find a way to talk to them . . . somehow. There had to be a way.

“I’ll get the dinner started.” He turned back to the kitchen. “You said something about buffalo mozzarella?”

“In the fridge.” She pushed back from the table. “I’ll get the sandwiches together.”

“Deal.” He liked working in the kitchen with her. Naomi had never wanted to do anything with him unless it involved shopping with his credit card. With CanDee, he felt like he was part of a team.

“Tomorrow, I need to go into town again.” She nodded to the pad on the fridge. “Do we need anything?”

She opened the refrigerator door and pulled out the plastic-wrap-covered meatloaf.

He liked her using
we
, and the best part was, she didn’t seem to notice that she’d done it.

“I don’t think so. What do we want to cook this week?” He slipped the
we
in there for good measure.

“I don’t know. Meatloaf and pancakes are really my go-to meals. Beyond that, I eat yogurt and the occasional fried egg.” She stared at him. “It’s weird. Since meeting you, I’ve hardly eaten any yogurt.”

“That’s because I feed you.” He smacked her lightly on the ass. She was wearing another one of those short cotton dresses that she favored and her hair was curled. God, he loved how feminine she was. He loved how she had three kinds of shampoo and four types of conditioner all lined up in his shower next to his one bottle that did both. “I make a mean chicken Marsala.”

She walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I love chicken Marsala. Write down what you’ll need and I’ll pick it up tomorrow.” She walked back the island, uncovered the meatloaf, and cut two thick slices.

“About the groceries . . . I think it’s my turn to pick up the tab.” He tried to be nonchalant.

“I’m good.” She set a medium-sized cast-iron skillet on top of the stove and lit the burner.

“But I want to.” He knew that pressing was probably a bad idea. “I can afford it.”

“I didn’t say that you couldn’t.” She forced a smile. “But I can afford the groceries too. You’re letting me stay in your house and use your shower—who I named Jezebel, by the way—so the least that I can do is buy the food.”

He had never thought of it that way. For now, he’d let her buy the groceries, but next time, they were on him.

“Why Jezebel?” He sliced a tomato and reached for another one.

“Because she’s a slut. She’s willing to rain pleasure down on whoever turns her on, she’s not picky.” CanDee laid the two meatloaf slices in the pan. While they sizzled, she headed to the toaster and popped in four slices of sourdough bread.

“I can’t argue with that.” He headed to the fridge for the mozzarella. With the same knife he’d used to slice the tomatoes, he sliced the ball of cheese. “What do you need from town so soon? Did you forget something?”

“I need several reams of bubble wrap and a dozen rolls of tinfoil.” She flipped the meatloaf slices.

“Do I want to know?” Either she had a tinfoil fetish or this had something to do with Lefty.

“Probably not.” She reached around him for a couple of plates.