Wild Cowboy Ways (4 page)

“I don't need a chaperone, Mama. But I called Deke this morning and he's free the rest of this week.” Allie nodded. “One of you will have to take Granny to work with you today so I can make a trip to Wichita Falls for supplies. If the weather holds we can get started today and have the job done by Friday.”

Lizzy pushed a strand of wayward hair behind her ears. “Mitch is supposed to come by today. You know how Granny hates him so you'd best take her today, Mama, and I'll babysit tomorrow.”

“I still don't like it,” Katy said. “That new man didn't even come to church on Sunday. If he wanted to fit in with the community, he'd come to church.”

“He was settling in on Sunday, Mama, and his name is Blake,” Allie said.

“I hear Granny rustlin' up the hallway. Best stop talkin' about the Lucky Penny. Seems like that sets her off into a tizz.” Lizzy put a finger to her lips. “And, Allie, there ain't no need to remember his name anyway. He won't be here past spring. Besides, Brian could have come to church for one hour just to show the community that he is a God-fearin' man.”

“Blake as in Blake Shelton, your favorite country singer,” Allie said.

“Okay, okay! I'll remember. Why is it so damn important to you anyway? You said you weren't going to marry him. Is he handsome?” Lizzy slapped a hand over her mouth. “He is, isn't he? Mama, he's sexy and she's going to make a fool out of herself again.”

“You cussed! Not very fitting for the future wife of a preacher. Mama, did you hear that?”

Katy gave her daughter a hard stare and sighed. “Really? What are you girls, five years old again?”

Lizzy shrugged. “Quit trying to change the subject and just answer my question. Is he sexy?”

Allie took a step closer to her sister. “You answer mine first. Why should he come to church?”

“Because that's the first thing a respectable person should do when he moves to a new town. For all we know he's going to run a brothel over there,” Lizzy answered.

Laughter exploded out of Allie. It bounced off the walls and echoed all the way through the two-story house. “That's the pot calling the kettle black for sure. And darlin', he is so damn sexy that my underpants crawled all the way to my ankles.”

Lizzy pulled out a chair and loaded her plate with pancakes. “Mama, she's takin' up for him and talkin' dirty, too.”

“Don't you worry none about Allie,” Katy said. “She's learned her lesson.”

Lizzy smiled smugly. “At least I've got more sense than that. My Mitch is a man of God.”

“Well, bless your little heart,” Allie smarted off. “I'm happy for you, but even men of God have faults.”

“Not my Mitch,” Lizzy declared.

Irene poked her head around the corner and giggled. “I've been eavesdropping for a long time. In my opinion, it's a bad idea for Allie to go to the Lucky Penny. That man is plumb deadly to women, and she can't afford another broken heart. And, Lizzy, crawl down off that high horse. The Good Book is full of men who couldn't keep it in their pants. Even David, the man after God's own heart, had a problem along those lines.” She crossed the room and pulled out the fourth chair. “Pancakes. I do love pancakes.”

B
lake's and Shooter's breathing fogged up the cab window of the bulldozer that morning before the heater finally kicked in. The machinery was far from new and the heater worked sporadically, running a while and then shutting down until it was damn good and ready to start up again.

Shooter sat straight and tall in the passenger's seat and listened to the music coming from the radio. At least the speakers worked better than the heater.

Blake hummed along to a Josh Turner song.

Shooter kept his eyes straight ahead, watching every mesquite tree that the dozer blade ripped out of the cold ground by the roots.

“You lookin' for rabbits or squirrels to come out from those thickets?”

Shooter's ears shot straight up.

Blake's phone vibrated against his chest and he unzipped his coveralls enough to reach inside and fetch it. He glanced down and took a deep breath. This was it. Either Allie was calling to tell him that Logan Construction was taking the job or else he would have to learn how to shingle a roof.

He touched the screen and put the phone to his ear. “Hello.”

“Mr. Dawson, this is Allie Logan. We have decided that we can fix your roof. We're going for supplies this morning after we run by and measure it. And we will probably start removing the old shingles this afternoon. Do you have a preference of shingle color? White is what you've got on there, but before we agree on a price, you have to understand that if I'm needed at home to take care of my grandmother, then I'll have to work around that.”

“Whew! Slow down, Miz Logan! That pretty little mouth of yours was made for something other than talking too fast.”

“Flattery won't get you anywhere with me. Do you still want me to fix that roof?”

“Yes, I do,” he said. “And I was stating a fact, not flattering you. Your lips are perfect and made for kissing.”

“I want to get supplies today and get to work so it can be done by the time the bad weather rolls in that the weatherman is calling for.”

He chuckled. “Thank you for that.”

“Now, shingles or metal roof?”

“Which is cheaper? I'm on a budget.” She was a tough nut to crack for sure. Usually those lines had a woman in his pocket for at least a night and maybe a whole weekend.

“Shingles.” One word. Her tone said business.

“Then that's the route to take and I'm not particular about color. What would you suggest?” Blake asked.

“Are you going to repaint the outside in the spring when it's warm enough?” she asked.

“Of course. The way the paint is peeling, it's a wonder some of the boards aren't rotted out,” Blake answered. “Thank goodness the lower half of the place is fieldstone.”

“What color?” Allie asked.

“The color of your eyes when the sun makes them sparkle.”

“Get serious, Blake Dawson!”

“Okay then. Light gray with white porch railings and trim work.” He wasn't sure where the idea came from, maybe from that big two-story house painted gray with white trim he noticed as he drove through Throckmorton on his way to Dry Creek. “How do you see it?”

“That would be beautiful. How about a charcoal gray roof?” Allie asked.

Blake turned down the volume on the radio. “Sounds good to me.”

“Do you want to see samples? I could send pictures by phone.”

“Couldn't you bring them by? We could decide together over a cup of coffee or a bowl of ice cream.” His voice went into its most seductive mode.

“Maybe you need to consult with your girlfriend?”

She was all business. Nothing was working. Holy smokin' shit! Did the bad luck on this ranch turn his good luck with women upside down?

“That's not necessary. Don't have a girlfriend and don't imagine my two partners give a damn what color the house is. Just pick out what you think would look good with light gray and bring it back with you. Do you need a check before you send your men after the supplies?”

“No, but I will want half this afternoon when we get there and the other half when the job is done, maybe by Friday evening, definitely by Saturday,” she answered.

“That sounds great.” Blake gave Shooter the thumbs-up sign.

“I'll be over there by noon and we'll get started removing those old white shingles and seeing how much damage control we need to do to the decking. Good-bye, Mr. Dawson,” Allie said stiffly.

He caught his smile in the rearview mirror. “Call me Blake. We
are
neighbors.”

“Thank you. You can call me Allie and is it convenient for me to drop by in an hour to do some measuring? You don't have to be there. It's all outside work,” Allie said.

“Whatever you need to do is fine and the back door is unlocked if you need to go inside the house.” Blake tucked the phone inside his denim jacket pocket and whistled through his teeth.

By noon there were two enormous piles of mesquite in the pasture ready to be cut up into firewood and/or burned. Blake felt like his butt had calluses on it from bouncing around in the dozer seat all morning. When he stepped down onto steady ground he did several stretches to get the kinks out of his back.

Shooter raced past him, put his nose to the ground, and flushed three rabbits before Blake could take two steps away from the machinery. Then the old dog was off and running, barking happily until the rabbits took refuge in a pile of dead mesquite and Shooter couldn't figure out a way to get inside the tangled brush at them.

Blake caught up and scratched the old boy's ears. “Don't worry. They'll have to come out sometime. Would you look at all that beautiful firewood? We'll bring the chainsaw out here real soon and tear up their hiding places.”

The wind had gotten colder since he'd started work that morning. It was so cold that it burned his lungs when he took a breath so he pulled his coat collar up over his mouth and nose. Shooter backed his ears and took off for the house in a dead run. Blake did a fast trot right behind him, cleared the steps, and landed on the porch. He did not envy Allie and whoever she had working with her one bit. Working on a roof with that cold wind whipping around them would be a real task.

He hadn't even hung up his coat, when someone knocked on the door. He turned around, opened the door, and there on the other side was a curvy brunette with streaks of blue in her shoulder-length hair. It looked like someone had cut it with a chainsaw. Maybe that's what happened and it had terrified her so badly that it turned part of her hair blue.

“You must be Blake Dawson. I'm Mary Jo Clark and I brought over some chili and a chocolate pie to welcome you to Dry Creek,” she said in a gravelly voice that matched her skinny jeans and form-fitting sweater.

“Well, thank you, Mary Jo Clark. I was about to fix myself a sandwich but chili does sound so much better,” he drawled in his most seductive voice.

“If you'll bring those big strong arms and help me carry it in from the van, I would appreciate it.” She batted her eyes at him like a seasoned bar bunny.

He followed her to the van and she raised the back hatch. “You carry that slow cooker, darlin', and I'll get this box. My phone number is right here.” She pointed to the end of the cardboard box and there it was, written in three-inch numbers. “If you need anything at all, honey, you just give me a call and I'll be here in five minutes.”

“You want to stick around and eat some of this with me?” he asked.

“Oh, darlin', I would love to but I've got to be in Wichita Falls by one thirty. I work at the hair salon in Walmart and I've got the late shift today. But maybe on my next day off we can plan something.”

Yep, a seasoned bar bunny. He could spot one from a hundred yards and reel them in like a catfish out of the river. And by damn, Mary Jo was proof that he hadn't lost all his luck with women. It was Allie Logan who couldn't be swayed with his pickup lines, not the whole damn female population of Throckmorton County.

He wiped his brow and then remembered that he really wanted to leave the wild cowboy ways behind him.
Get thee behind me, Lucifer! You are not going to make this change in my life easy are you? Already you're throwing up temptations that are pretty damn hard to avoid.

When they'd unloaded the food on the kitchen cabinet he followed her back out to the porch. That was the polite thing to do. After all, she'd brought enough chili to last until spring thaw, a chocolate meringue pie, and that sure enough looked like jalapeño cornbread in the box with the pie.

When they reached the yard gate, he stuck out his hand and said, “Thank you again, Mary Jo. That was real sweet of you to welcome me to Dry Creek.”

She bypassed the hand, ran her hands up under his jacket, and pressed her body close to his. She rolled up slightly on her toes and kissed him on the chin. “Put that hand away, Blake. I believe in hugs to welcome a person, not a handshake. And the second time I see you, I'll expect a hug and a real kiss.”

He didn't even hear the truck coming up the driveway until it stopped beside her van, and there was Allie staring right at him from the passenger window. Mary Jo winked at Allie and hugged Blake one more time.

The window of the truck rolled down slowly. “Didn't take you long to find a girlfriend.”

Blake propped one forearm over the other against the truck, his face only a few inches from Allie's. “Just met her ten minutes ago. Don't think we've got far enough to call it a relationship.”

“Hello.” A big man reached across Allie with an open hand. “I'm Deke and I'll be helping Allie put a roof on your house.”

Blake's arm grazed Allie's shoulder when he stuck his hand through the window. He blamed the sparks on the cold weather and a little static electricity.

Deke had a firm handshake and a friendly smile, but it was too cold to stand outside and talk when a warm fire and a pot of chili waited in the house.

“Let's take this conversation inside,” he said.

Deke nodded.

Blake was careful not to touch Allie again as he pulled his hand back and then jogged to the house. The second the door was open, Shooter raced inside and curled up in front of the fireplace on a worn rug. Blake laid a couple of logs on the embers and the old dog sighed.

He went to the kitchen and lifted the lid from the slow cooker. The spicy aroma of chili filled the whole room. He'd be eating it for a week or else divvying it up into plastic containers and freezing it. The crunch of tires pulling the trailer around back filtered through the kitchen window, but it wasn't until someone knocked on the back door that Shooter's head popped up.

Blake slung the door open and Deke, taller than Blake's six feet by at least four inches, stood behind Allie. He had curly brown hair that covered his ears and poked out around a well-worn cowboy hat. His hazel eyes studied Blake like he was a bug under a microscope. Allie's husband, maybe? He couldn't help the twinge that ran through him at the thought.

“Come in.” Blake motioned them out of the cold weather. “I put a couple of logs on the fire so it's getting nice and warm in here.”

Allie handed him a bill. “This is for the total job. Gray shingles were on sale this week so I got a little better deal than we talked about on the phone. It's five hundred less than the estimate I gave you. You can pay half now and half when the job is done or pay all now.”

Deke sniffed the air. “Is that chili? Don't mind Allie's rudeness. She's worried about this bad weather and she wants to get this roof done before it hits. And she talks too much when she's nervous.”

“I was not being rude,” Allie countered with a shove to the tall man.

“Yes, you were,” Deke said. “You didn't even say hello before you threw that bill on the counter. That's rude. Loosen up, woman. We'll get the job done.”

“Sorry if I was rude,” she said. “I'll start all over. Hello, Blake. How are you today? Can we talk about this bill, now? How do you want to pay?”

Blake glanced at the bill and reached for the checkbook on the top of the refrigerator. “Might as well take care of it all right now. Glad that y'all could take care of it for me this quick. Y'all want to have dinner with me? Mary Jo brought enough chili to feed an army.”

“I love Mary Jo's chili. Got dessert?” Deke asked.

“Talk about rude,” Allie said.

“Well, I've got a sweet tooth that will not be denied,” Deke admitted.

Blake made out the check and handed it to Allie. “Man's got to speak his mind and if he's got a sweet tooth, then he doesn't just want dessert, he needs it.”

His gaze went from Allie's work boots, past those luscious curves, to her eyes. That line should have worked on anyone, but her eyes said that he bored her.

“That's right and I will eat with you. Besides I see a chocolate pie and jalapeño cornbread in that box over there on the counter.” Deke removed his coat and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair. “Where's the bowls? I'll get them down. I got a six-pack of beer in the truck I can contribute.”

“Deke!” Allie hissed.

“Hey, it's a hot meal with dessert in a good warm house. I ain't turnin' it down for a bologna and cheese sandwich in a cold truck.” He opened the cabinet door that Blake pointed toward. “You stayin' with us or goin' out to the truck?”

“I've got my dinner in the truck. I'm not eating here. This is a job, not a social visit,” she said.

“It can just be a meal, not a social visit. You can eat without talking and then leave without even cleaning up,” Blake said.

Her hesitation said that she considered it, but then she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Good! That leaves more for me. I can't believe you are turnin' down a good bowl of chili when I know for a fact it's your favorite. Are you sick or have you started getting that shit that your granny has?” Deke asked.