The Cowgirl Rides Away (Bluebonnet Texas Book 1) (14 page)

I paused and then said, "Yup."

Zack's eyebrows shot up in obvious surprise as Tim continued, "For what?"

Susie, who'd been watching the whole exchange from my other side, burst out laughing. "That's enough, Timothy! I have to get back to work and I don't want you torturing this poor girl."

I shrugged and said, "People think because I'm little, I'm fair game. They learn otherwise pretty quickly. And besides," I continued, "I don't like seeing friends get ganged up on."

The drummer tapped his nose, indicating my own crooked features, then pointed at me, his tone teasing, "And what did it get ya?"

Tim nudged me. "I didn't realize accounting was such a rough business."

That's when I glanced at Zack and then back at his brother, rapidly debating what to say.

Tim's eyebrows slowly rose as the silence at the table lengthened.

Decision made, I finally shook my head. "I was never an accountant."

"So you did lie?"

All I could do was nod. "I used to rodeo."

Tim said, "I know," and gave me the biggest, shit-eatingest grin ever. "Waitress, two scotches."

"So you follow the rodeo?" It was hard not to hem and haw.

"I try to keep up," he said, then thanked the waitress as she delivered the drinks he'd ordered.

We sat and talked a few minutes about the circuit, though talking about rodeo meant talking about Jace and Colby and Kane. All the while, Zack silently took it in.

Chapter Fourteen
Zack

Zack watched Jessa and Tim chat like old friends, unsure whether to be jealous or just irritated. By the time Tim finally got up to leave, his Aunt Susie was back at Jessa's side. He resigned himself to no alone time with Jessa until after the bar closed, but all he'd wanted, all he'd been able to think about, was getting her alone in the beer garden for five minutes.

That was obviously
not
going to happen.

"You alright?" Jessa asked.

"Fine," he assured with a nod.

"So what do you think of open mike night?" Susie asked.

"You weren't kidding when you said they were bad." Jessa smiled at his aunt, then over at him, looking perfectly at ease. For a second he was jealous. Of her.

"They get worse," Susie shouted over the music. "The more drunk they get! Do you sing, Jessa?"

Her eyes twinkling, Jessa just shrugged.

He leaned down so his lips were against her ear. "How
well
do you sing?"

"I can assure you Jennifer Nettles' job is safe, but I won't break glass."

"Prove it." Zack swung his leg over the bench and turned so he was facing her, a part of him curious to see what she could do, a part of him still irritated.

Jessa took a sip of her scotch, then did likewise. "What do you want me to sing?"

"Surprise me," he said.

"Do you know any Pam Tillis?" Aunt Susie stood, rested a hand on his shoulder and her hip against his side.

Jessa's broad grin was easy enough to interpret, but that didn't mean she could carry a note without a bucket.

She sat up straight, eyed the bench, him, Susie, then focused on some spot above his head and proceeded to leave him a little speechless. By the time she finished "Melancholy Child" his Aunt Susie had joined in and everyone in the vicinity of the duo had gone quiet.

She didn't just sing it, she manipulated the song so that Zack felt as if she were telling him a story about herself. As if she was trying to tell him
she
was a melancholy child. It wasn't too difficult to figure out why she'd picked that particular song and his earlier irritation with her disappeared.

Rowdy now stood behind her, arms crossed. "But can you do that in front of a bar full?"

Her eyes on Zack, she just shrugged, as if to say it was his call.

He nodded at Rowdy who led the way to the stage. Jessa's hand was damp in his as they crossed the dance floor.

"You don't have to do this," he said as she stepped in front of him.

"I'm good."

Ty had barely gotten settled behind his drum before Zack had her doing "Melancholy Child"again. He wanted to hear her over the sound system, wanted to find out if he still got that same feeling.

He did.

Not surprisingly, Jessa had nerves of steel. She skipped from that to "Maybe it was Memphis" without batting an eye. Nobody danced and the bar was strangely silent—for a bar.

Once the last note had been played, he heard people yelling, "She's hired!" over the enthusiastic mayhem of the crowd's very obvious approval.

In his excitement over her ability to sing, to interpret a song, he'd forgotten the whole point to open mike night—to find a new singer for the band.

"Zack," drawled a voice from behind the drums.

"Yo." His husky voice surprised him.

"Please marry her, so we don't have to go through this again."

More laughter. His face burned, but he didn't say a word. Just gave Bo Foster, their sometimes fiddle player, a nod as he joined them on stage.

"So," said Rowdy, "Do you know anything besides Pam Tillis?"

In reply, she sang the first stanza of "Run" by the Dixie Chicks.

"Oh, no you don't," Rowdy yelled. "If Zack don't marry you, I will."

The hell he would.

"Okay, okay," she said with a chuckle. Still unable—or too nervous—to look at Zack, she turned to Rowdy who nodded and played the opening bars of "Kerosene".

He held his breath, barely able to concentrate as she powered through the Miranda Lambert hit. Perfectly.

By the time she started "Hand in my Pocket" there was no doubt in his mind she knew exactly what she was doing and could do more than just carry a tune in a bucket. Zack played, unable to keep the smile off his face. Again he got the feeling she was letting him in on a secret, sharing some hidden part of herself with him—and to a certain extent—the crowd. He saw so many shades of the quiet woman he'd spent so much of the last twenty-four hours with in nearly every song she chose. But he didn't have time to stop and let it all sink in, turn it over or analyze it.

Matricia Berg's "Back in the Saddle" even had him laughing, if for no other reason than how well Jessa captured the tongue-in-cheek flavor of the song. And the wink she gave him.

Then she drawled in her best Texas accent, "Ya'll know why God made Mexico?"

Apparently she wasn't the only Tim McGraw fan in the house because that got her some cheers.

"You can't sing that," Ty hollered.

"And just why not?" She turned, hands on her hips, and quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Because that's a man's song!"

"Who says?"

Zack picked out the first few notes on the piano, making the decision for her. His way of saying he didn't care if it was a 'man's song.'

She sang—everything from Aretha Franklin to Loretta Lynn to more Miranda Lambert and Sugarland—laughed, joked and teased with all of them.

As he'd watched her tonight, it had finally, really, dawned on him that their emails had barely scratched the surface of Jessa Stratton. Which he should have known after yesterday's revelation. She was loyal and had a tender heart. Doubts, fears, hopes and dreams. She could be playful, she could be deep, she could be loud. She wouldn't let herself be limited by her size or her sex. And she was a fighter.

***

By the time the bar finally closed, he was exhausted and completely in love with his singing, semi-shy, very retired cowgirl.

"Why didn't you tell me you could do that?" he asked as he led her toward his truck.

"I wasn't a hundred percent sure I could," she confessed with a shy smile. "It's one thing to sing in a truck, this is different."

He draped an arm around her shoulder, brushed her long, silky hair out of the way and thoughtfully stroked her neck with his thumb. "Well, we've got us quite a little pickle. As far as that crowd in there's concerned, you're hired."

"But?"

"Did you have fun tonight?"

"Yeah," she said with a sleepy smile.

"Good. You tired?"

"Not really." She shook her head. "Relaxed, very relaxed, but not tired." She stopped then, her hand in his, and tilted her head back. "It's beautiful isn't it?"

Overhead, the night sky was velvety black, dotted with stars and unmarred by the light from nearby San Antonio.

"Yes, it is." He leaned past her and opened the truck door. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything." She climbed up on the truck seat, then pulled her hair over her shoulder.

"What are you gonna do?"

"Now? I'm going—"

"No. With the rest of your life? I'm curious. You've got a place in the band if you want it, but it won't pay the bills." He paused, determined to choose his words carefully. "I'm guessing with a rodeo pedigree like yours, you can pretty much write your own ticket. So, what do you want?"

In other words, why in the world would someone like her want to stay in a town like Bluebonnet and, of course, with him? And did she even want to stay at all?

She sighed and nodded in apparent understanding. "I want to breed horses. I already have a small string back home at my dad's place, but I need my own place, ya know? My own land. I have no desire to do anything related to rodeo. To be honest, it'll be a long time before I can even watch one. I know it's weird; it's been my whole life for thirteen years. To answer your question, I can breed horses anywhere: Montana, Utah—"

"Here?"

"Here," she echoed with a shrug. "But I want my own land."

"Dad's got plenty of land."

"I'm sure your dad's ranch is nice, but it's his land, not mine."

He leaned in, tilted her chin up and planted a soft kiss on her lips. "And
tonight
? What are you gonna do tonight?"

"Take you home with me, of course."

***

Thirty minutes later they stood in front of the mirror in her hotel room, the heavy necking session they'd been having temporarily suspended for something more serious. He'd dragged Jessa off the bed and now stood behind her, his fingers quickly unbuttoning her shirt. His had been discarded a few minutes earlier.

"How can you stand there and say you're not beautiful," he murmured, watching her. His painful erection would just have to wait.

"I know I'm pretty, Zack, but not beautiful. That'd be my sister Caron."

He ignored the sister comment, intent on slipping the shirt off her shoulders, then on getting her jeans off until she stood in front of him in only her panties and bra.

The expression on her pink face could only be called embarrassed. He didn't doubt Jessa wanted him, but her sudden painful bashfulness had caught him off guard. The sight of her almost naked, the feel of her warm skin under his fingers, made him ache to be inside her.

"Close your eyes." His thumbs slid up her spine to the hooks on her bra while he watched to make sure she did as he'd asked. Goosebumps prickled her skin as he slid the plain cotton bra down her arms and let it fall to the floor. Jessa kept her eyes closed, her body now resting against his.

She had another scar on her shoulder. A small one at her hip. Another on her thigh. The rod in her leg.

From an artist's perspective she'd make a wonderful model. Her body had character with the scars, the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks. Heavy, full breasts with large areola and long full nipples. The little mole beside her bellybutton. Her body was compact and surprisingly muscular, something he hadn't thought he'd find appealing.

She stiffened as he pushed the panties off her hips, then kicked them aside. She had a tidy thatch of dark curls between her legs. A tiny waist and heavy bottom. She could have easily posed as a Greek goddess—or a retro-'50s pinup model.

But the heavy breasts and long nipples teased Zack the man, not Zack the artist. He cupped her bottom, stroked her thighs, then slid his hands between them, smiling as she pushed her hips toward him. He hadn't missed the dampness of her curls or the soft little gasp that escaped. She smiled, relaxing heavily against his chest, her long, silky hair tickling him, her eyes drawing him in. Teasing him.

Zack lightly caressed her belly, then higher, making little circles with his fingertips, exploring the supple texture of her skin, enjoying the sound of her increasingly heavy breathing. She sighed and licked her lips when he skimmed the sides of her breasts with his knuckles.

"Open your eyes."

She did, licking her lips again, her eyes flickering from his face to their images in the mirror.

"What do you see?"

"I'm naked," she softly replied, her eyes seeing but not really focused on either one of them.

"Look again."

"Why?"

He stopped her attempt to turn and face him. "Just look," he whispered against her hair. "Do you masturbate?"

Her eyes widened, but he understood completely. He'd surprised even himself.

Zack licked his lips and pushed forward. "Do you touch yourself? When you're in the shower? And all warm and slippery?" The image he'd painted was distracting even him. He wanted to pull her back against his erection and rub against the lush cheeks of her derriere, bury his fingers between her thighs and find out how wet she was. Taste her. Feed off her. But he didn't. He waited.

Their eyes locked as Jessa nodded. He wrapped his fingers around hers and they touched her together. Her belly tightened, tensing under his fingertips as their fingers slid lower. "Spread your legs."

She did, adjusting her stance.

They stroked her thighs, her damp curls.

"Oh my God," she moaned.

They stroked her hips, and her bottom, her waist and higher.

"What do you see?"

Together they cupped her breasts, gently rolling and tweaking her nipples. He pressed his hips against her bare buttocks, his cock strangling on denim.

The sight of them in the mirror was nearly his undoing. He nuzzled her ear, reminding himself she was a virgin—maybe not innocent but still a virgin. They had hours though, all night to get to where they wanted to go. "Do you see what I see?"

"Us. Oh, God." They touched her chest, her neck. Even her face, her hands cupped in his as he rubbed her soft cheeks. A hot tear burned his finger. "Touch me, touch me, touch me," she panted, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her fingers tangled with his.