Catch Me a Cowboy (19 page)

Once she had her sea legs, she cleared her throat.

“Gentlemen,” she looked first at Beau and then at Bubba. Ironically, they were about the same height and build. Both nicely muscled and sinfully good-lookin’. The sinfully good-lookin’ part caused her brain to take a detour, and she completely forgot what she had been about to say. All she knew was that she felt happy—very, very happy. She smiled brightly. But the smile slipped when a hand tipped in long acrylic nails painted with little palm trees slid over Bubba’s bare bicep.

“Come on, Bubba,” Marcy Henderson whined as she cuddled his arm between her silicone-inflated breasts. “I want to dance, not talk—or better yet, we can go back to my place and do a little waltzin’.” She batted her eyelashes. “If… you know what I mean.”

“Well, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do, Marcy.” He gave the woman an annoyingly lecherous smile. “But it appears that Ms. Dalton here is as toasted as a dropped marshmallow in a campfire. And what kind of man would I be if I let her drive home drunk?”

“Psshht!” Shirlene slapped the air, when what she really wanted to do was slap Marcy upside the head. “As if Shirlene Dalton has ever been drunk a day in her life.”

“Well, there was that one Fourth of July,” Harley butted in.

“And a couple Christmas parties,” Twyla piped up.

“Not to forget Lyle’s last birthday when you fell into the swimmin’ pool fully clothed,” Cindy Lynn said in her normal, gloating voice.

Shirlene had been so wrapped up in her own drama, she’d failed to notice that every patron in Bootlegger’s was circled around them like a bunch of farmers at a cock fight. Now that she did, she wasn’t about to give them a show. Especially when they seemed to have memories like a bunch of danged elephants and when their eyes were all aglow with the prospect of more juicy gossip.

“If you will excuse me,” she sent Beau a bright smile, and Bubba and Marcy the evil eye, “I’m going to call it a night.”

Except she should’ve known it wasn’t going to be that easy.

“I don’t think so, Apple Dumplin’.” Bubba reached out and grabbed her arm. “Not when you’re more pickled than a Kosher on rye.”

“Let her go,” Beau said. “Since she came here to meet me, I’ll drive her home.”

Bubba’s hand tightened, and Shirlene figured she was about to see some blood after all, when Harley jumped back in.

“We don’t take with strangers drivin’ our drunk womenfolk home.” He nodded at Bubba. “Bubba here will see she gets there.”

Shirlene jerked her arm away from Bubba and, thankfully, only wobbled a little before she caught her balance. “I appreciate everyone’s concern. But I’m perfectly able and willin’ to drive myself home. And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

She turned with every intention of stumbling her way off the dance floor when she was scooped up from behind and flipped over a shoulder as easily as a bag of down feathers.

“Just relax, Shirley Girl, and enjoy the ride.”

B
ILLY DIDN’T LIKE SCENES
. Scenes were for reality shows, Jerry Springer, and his Aunt Flo when the Dallas Cowboys lost. Billy preferred restraint coupled with a few well-chosen words. But restraint and well-chosen words flew right out of his head when he looked up from the conversation he’d been having with Rye Pickett and spotted Shirlene on the dance floor fondling Beau like she’d been fondling him only hours earlier.

Without a word to Rye, he latched on to Marcy Henderson and pushed his way toward the dance floor, only to discover when he got there that the fondling had moved on to kissing. And suddenly causing a scene hadn’t seemed like such a bad thing after all. Except now that he had an angry woman hung over his shoulder like a wiggling bag of potatoes and Beau breathing down his neck like a yearling bull in heat, he wondered if he shouldn’t have just stayed at home and watched the late news on his 13-inch black and white.

“Let her go.” Beau made a grab for Billy’s shoulder. But before he could get a firm grip, the townsfolk closed in around Billy, pushing Beau back in the crowd.

“I’m glad you’re watchin’ out for our little Shirlene,” Harley huffed and puffed as he tried to keep up with Billy. “We sure don’t want her becomin’ easy pickin’s for nefarious types of men.” He shot a glance back over his shoulder.

“If that’s the case,” Shirlene hit Billy twice in the butt with her fist—and the woman was no lightweight—“why in the heck aren’t you stopping this ornery scoundrel, Harley Sutter!”

Harley grabbed the door and held it open. “Why, Shirlene, Bubba isn’t an ornery scoundrel. He’s just a good ol’ boy from east Texas.” He waited for Billy to step outside before he leaned his head out the door. “I’ll hold him off for as long as I can. But I’ll warn you—he’s got a key.”

Billy might’ve laughed at that if Shirlene hadn’t bitten him in the butt.

“Oww, woman.” He dropped her to her feet. But before she could do more than teeter on those sexy blue stilettos, he had her back up in his arms.

“Would you put me down?” She swatted at his shoulder. “I’m fine to drive.”

He snorted. “About as fine as Elmer Tate when he plowed through the front of the post office.” He pulled open the door of the truck and tossed her in. By the time he climbed up, she had scrambled across the bench seat to the opposite door. But it only took a tug on her tight t-shirt to reel her back in.

“That’s enough, woman,” he ordered. “You’re not drivin’ in your condition, so just give it up.”

She fell back against the seat, folding her arms over her more than ample chest. “Then Beau can drive me home.”

It took a strong will not to grit his teeth. “Beau’s not
driving you anywhere, especially not home—which brings up a good point. Just exactly where is your home, Ms. Dalton?”

She turned and stared at him, her green eyes reflecting the neon beer signs that hung on the walls outside of Bootlegger’s. That stubborn chin lifted. “Everyone in town knows where I live.”

“Hmmm?” He cocked his head. “Do they now?”

There was a long silence before her eyes narrowed. “Jesse.”

“Don’t blame the kid.” He turned the key, and the truck rumbled to life. “I already figured something wasn’t right when the wealthiest woman in town started wearing comic book heroes.” He glanced down at her t-shirt. The Hulk had never looked so pumped—or so hot. He cleared his throat and looked away. “And hanging out on Grover Road pretending to be the Super Nanny.”

She snorted. “As if Mia would let me touch those kids.” She leaned up and looked on either side of her. “So does this bucket of bolts have seatbelts? I’d rather not be caught dead in this blatant redneck excuse for a vehicle.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t like the Bubba-mobile,” he made a stab at teasing, even though he wasn’t in a teasing mood.

“About as much as I like okra,” she responded.

Once they were on the road, he expected her to slide across the seat as far from him as she could get. Instead she settled right where she sat, her head resting just beneath his gun rack and the Hulk much too close to his right arm. They drove like that for a while. Long enough for his anger to recede to a low simmer. And long enough for her scent to fill the cab of the truck. It was a scent he had a hard time defining—a mixture of subtle perfume and earthy woman. A heady combination that made him
feel as drunk as Shirlene. Although she didn’t appear to be as inebriated as he’d first thought.

“So I guess you think it’s funny,” she said as he made the turn onto Grover Road. When he shot her a questioning look, she continued. “The fact that a woman who sashayed around town flaunting her wealth is now living in a rundown trailer.”

“Now why would you think a thing like that?”

Her head rolled toward him. “Because I know men. And underneath all that ‘aww, shucks’ country bullcrap is a man who doesn’t really like me.” Before he could confirm or deny it, she continued. “Don’t get me wrong; I don’t really like you either. But at least I don’t act otherwise.”

“So you’re saying you don’t like me, Shirley Girl?” He covered his heart with his hand. “I’m crushed.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “See what I mean? You’re no more crushed than an elephant in a dog pile—which doesn’t explain your desire to drive me home. Or was it all just a male-possession kind of thing: He has it—I want it.”

He shot a glance over at her. Want? As if he would ever want a gold digger who thought so much of herself. Which didn’t explain why he was having such a hard time keeping her out of his mind. And maybe he was just curious. Curious to see if the rest of her body was as sweet as those bee-stung lips.

As curious as a cat in front of a mouse hole.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Maybe I just didn’t want you drivin’ home drunk, is all.”

She snorted. “What a gentleman. Although it wasn’t so gentlemanly of you to leave Marcy Henderson alone on the dance floor. The poor girl is probably heartbroken.”

“Doubtful. Marcy isn’t particular about her men.” He
glanced over at her. “’Course from what I’ve seen neither are you.”

She lifted her head. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “That one man’s chest is as temptin’ as another’s.”

She sat up, her breast brushing against his bicep. Heat rocketed through him and he jumped, banging his shoulder on the edge of the gun rack.

“Are you callin’ me a slut, Bubba Wilkes?” she asked.

Between the pain in his shoulder and the ache in his pants, it took a full minute to find his voice. “What would you call a woman who fondles one man in the afternoon and another in the evening?”

Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes turned mean. “I wasn’t fondling you. I was just….” When she couldn’t seem to find the words, he filled them in for her.

“Filling the lonely hours with a little slap and tickle since your rich lifestyle got jerked out from under you?”

They had reached her junk-filled lot. But instead of turning in, he proceeded on to his. His anger was back in full force. After he pulled up next to his trailer and popped the truck into park, he turned on her. “Come on, Ms. Dalton, be honest. You’ve got an itch that needs to be scratched.”

“I never realized how crazy east Texans were until you showed up,” she said as she slid across the seat. But before she could close her fingers around the door handle, he pulled her back into his arms.

He slipped his hand up under all that soft hair and cradled her jaw. “Crazy? Or just accurate? And I’ll be more than obliged to help you out with that itch, Shirley Girl. Much better than any wet-behind-the-ears kid.”

He dipped his head and kissed her. She didn’t fight him, nor did she participate. When he pulled back, she was watching him.

“If that’s what you call a kiss, Bubba Wilkes, then you’ve got a lot to learn about catchin’ a woman.”

The words were spoken in the same thick country drawl he used when he teased her. But instead of making him laugh, they lit a fire inside his gut that quickly spread throughout his body. Or maybe it wasn’t the words as much as her green gaze that seemed to look straight through him and ferret out all the lies and secrets.

And without his lies and secrets, Billy had no defense against the woman. None at all.

“Well, maybe we should work on that,” he breathed in a low whisper right before he kissed her again.

Her mouth was as lush as every other part of her body, her plump lips made for a man to sink into. Billy didn’t waste any time doing just that. After only one sip, he deepened the kiss and dove headfirst into all that moist heat. He’d kissed his fair share of women, but all other kisses were obliterated when Shirlene took control.

She slid her hands up his shoulders, her fingernails gently scratching his neck, before they burrowed into his hair and knocked his cap to the floor. Then she proceeded to feast on him as if she was starving and he was the most decadent of desserts.

Billy answered her need, feeding her one hot kiss after the other, while his hand pushed up her t-shirt and skated across the warmth of her stomach to the lace of her bra. He had touched well-endowed women before, but nothing prepared him for the generous wealth of supple softness that filled his palm to overflowing. It was like cradling a
piece of heaven, and Billy wondered if he’d ever be able to let go. He stroked a thumb over the very center, and her breath puffed into his mouth before she pulled back.

With his lips free to wander, he kissed a moist trail along her cheek and over to her ear, where he nibbled and suckled until her fingers tightened against his scalp. She tasted as good as she smelled, and he took his time moving down her neck to the sweet cleavage that swelled above her bra. His breath fell in heavy gusts as his tongue took a dip into the deep crevice. He could’ve feasted on the bounty for a lifetime if her hand hadn’t slid over the fly of his jeans, turning the hard knot beneath the worn denim to rigid steel. But before he took things to a new level, he released her breast and lifted his head.

“You’re sober, right?” His voice was raspy with desire. He watched her eyelids flutter open and pools of liquid green stared back at him.

“Sober enough,” she said before she pulled him down for another deep, mind-altering kiss.

From there, things got completely out of hand.