Crockett's Seduction (4 page)

Hidden in the attic that he had accepted as his artistic loft, Crockett stared at the clay lump in front of him. This was definitely a new playground. Clay didn’t have the color of paints, or the lightness of spirit that said, “Create freely!”

But the lump represented wonderful opportunities. It gave him a chance to think about the new him. Sculptor. Artist of a molding medium. He worked the clay between his fingers. He had eschewed white, opting to start with red clay. Would he enjoy making something without a brush? He hoped he didn’t become frustrated or miss the sensation of a brush sliding across canvas.

“I have a barn to clean out, so you and I better come to terms,” he told the lump. “Be beautiful.”

“Crockett?” a voice called up the stairs.

Valentine! Blast! “Yes?”

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

So much for having a secret lair. Had someone put out a sign when he wasn’t looking?
This way to Crockett’s cave
? But if someone had to bother him he was glad it was Valentine. She was worth a break.

“Sure. Come on up.”

She appeared at the top of the ladder, and he reached to help her into the room. “This space is nice.”

He glanced around. “Not really.”

“Oh, sure. This is the perfect place to read a book! Especially on a rainy day.” She smiled, giving a fake shiver. “A cold, rainy day.”

“It’s July. Hard to think about cold, rainy days.”

“Yeah. You know, you just need a window seat up here, a fresh coat of paint, and this place would be a wonderful studio.”

Of course, she was right, but he didn’t want her redecorating his hideout. Ugly and in some disarray, it suited his mood. “Hey, what’s up, anyway? What brings you to the dustiest part of the ranch?”

She turned to look out the window, which he appreciated, because he could now evaluate her curves. Yes, she was just as he remembered: full
and feminine and made for a man who appreciated round, apple-shaped—

“You’re making me self-conscious, Crockett,” Valentine said, laughing. “You always seem to be staring at my fanny.”

“Your jeans fit good,” he said. “I’ve never known Wrangler jeans to fit anyone quite like yours fit you.”

“And you would be a connoisseur of fannies,” she teased.

“Purely a statement of truth.” Valentine was hotter than a pistol, in his book—but it was a book he wasn’t going to read, window seat and fresh paint or not. “So once again, what do you want?”

She took a deep breath. “I was going to see what you thought about me having a special little ‘do’ here for Father’s Day.”

He stopped fiddling with the lump of clay. “Father’s Day? That was last month.”

“Yes. Well there are rather a lot of fathers around here. And we didn’t have a real celebration for them. Last, the sheriff, Barley, Calhoun—”

He scowled at his brother’s names. “You’re doing this for Last.”

“I would like to do something for him,” Valentine admitted. “I think he would enjoy being celebrated as a father. He has really been good to Annette.”

He guessed late was better than never. “Have you mentioned this party idea to Mason?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d speak to you first.”

“Why me? I’m not a father.” A fact he hated to admit, for some reason. Why wasn’t he a father? Because he hadn’t gone on a hootenanny and gotten someone pregnant as Last had, he supposed. But that route to fatherhood seemed unappealing when there were other ways.

Like with Valentine.

The thought swept over him before he could stop it. Valentine made beautiful babies; she made beautiful everything.

“I like to talk to you about whatever’s on my mind,” she said simply. “You’re reasonable.”

Reasonable was the last thing he was feeling. “I’m not a father,” he repeated, “but it sounds like something my brothers, at least, would enjoy. Can I come if I’m not a father?”

She looked at him. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“I don’t know. It could be bothering me.”

They stared at each other for a long time, and the silence felt awkward.

“Do you want to be a father?” Valentine asked softly.

Crockett eased back on his stool. “You seem happy being a parent.”

She smiled. “Yes, I love being a mother. But I am a parent of one. I’m not having any more children, so the burden doesn’t seem overly large.”

His brows rose, and an uncomfortable feeling lodged in his stomach. “You’re never having any more kids?”

She shrugged. “I’m a single mother. It’s rewarding, but enough of a struggle that I know I don’t plan on having more children.”

“I think Annette would like a little brother to drag around.”

“I think she has plenty of people wrapped in the crook of her finger.” She sat down across from him. “So about the party.”

“Yeah,” Crockett said reluctantly, realizing he wouldn’t enjoy watching his brother get kudos for being a dad. “Sounds like a real wingding.”

He scratched his head. His brain disliked the notion of Valentine not having more children. It didn’t sit right with him. Why? He drummed his fingers, then cracked his knuckles—and then it hit him.

He
really
wanted a child.

He rolled the very foreign thought around in his mind again. Prickles ran across his scalp. Valentine eyed him with a concerned gaze.

“Are you all right? You’ve gone quite pale.” She moved closer to examine him. She smelled fresh. “No, you’re definitely pale. Crockett, is something wrong?”

Well, hell, yeah. He wanted a baby. He wanted a baby, more specifically, with her, the last person on earth he should be thinking about.

Yeah, something was very definitely out of whack. He was all screwed up. “I need to be alone.”

“Oh.” Valentine pulled away from him. “All right.” She walked across to the ladder before turning to say, “So you think it would be all right to approach Mason about the belated Father’s Day picnic?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He returned his gaze to the lump in front of him. With a sigh, he designated himself an oaf and told himself not to abuse Valentine’s kindness. “Hey, he’ll probably be all over it.”

Valentine smiled. “Thanks, Crockett.”

“Bye.”

She waved and headed downstairs. He told his baby thoughts and the rise in his Levi’s that always seemed to accompany Valentine to be gone. Snatching the clay from its mooring, he reviewed it. He would start out small and see where it would go.

A
COUPLE OF HOURS LATER
he had a rounded booty that was completely Valentine. Okay, so he still needed to work on the rest of the body, but the reclining piece had legs that flowed sweetly into a curving backside. The knees lay against each other in a position that was feminine and yet somehow sexual.

He liked the feeling of clay between his fingers, he decided, and the satisfaction of creating something from mere dirt. “Sweet,” he said. “Not too shabby for a beginner.”

Beyond the curving posterior, he needed a torso and head. But he’d think about that later. For now, the piece that had been teasing his brain was complete.

He covered his artwork and headed down the stairs. His passion had finally been lit again. His creativity was stoked after many months of lying quiet, like a banked fire. This could not be taken from him. None of his brothers sculpted. If he moved his lair somewhere else, everything would be perfect. He could work in total peace and quiet, without his brothers’ do-drop-in interruptions.

Speaking of interruptions… He was almost out the door when he saw Last waving at him. “Great,” he said, “here comes Mr. Father’s Day himself.”

Last jogged over and gave Crockett a pop on the arm. “Where have you been?”

“In none-of-your-business-land,” Crockett said pointedly. “Are you writing a book?”

“No. Do you have a second?”

“Is it a second in real time, or Last time?”

“Real time.” Last looked at him. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I don’t know what got into me.”

Crockett sighed. “You’re forgiven.”

“I know you mean the best for Annette and Valentine. I shouldn’t have gotten weird.”

“Whatever. Thanks.”

“Okay.” Last perked up. “Brothers?”

“Brothers.” They pounded each other on the back once, then Crockett headed off. He could understand what Last meant about being weird about Valentine. Even after sculpting her curves, Crockett was having a hard time forgetting about her.

“Uncle Crockett! Uncle Crockett!”

Kenny and Minnie ran over to him. “How’s my best kids?”

They hugged him, and the tension he’d been feeling melted away.

“We’re good. We want to go to town. Can you give us a ride?”

“Where’s your father?” Crockett asked. He was being wooed for something for sure.

“Painting something,” Minnie said. “We need to run an errand for Mom.”

In the distance, he could see Olivia working Gypsy. Barley stood nearby, leaning against the post, every once in a while gesturing some instruction. Next to Barley was Mimi’s father. Now that the sheriff was on the mend, Barley dragged him out to the ranch from time to time.

“Your mother doesn’t have any idea you’re trying to weasel a ride into town,” Crockett said. “So what’s up?”

“We want a cookie,” Kenny said. “And we want to go to the hair salon. We heard that Ms. Lily adopted a stray.”

Crockett sighed. Strays and cookies on a warm summer day. “I can play hooky for a bit,” he said. “Load up.”

“Yippee!” They ran off to tell Olivia where they were going, and Crockett headed to his truck.

Actually, a cookie sounded good—if it was from Baked Valentines.

V
ALENTINE WAS SURPRISED
when Crockett walked into the bakery with Kenny and Minnie. He was tall and handsome, and the kids loved him, and the whole scene—of a big cowboy corralling constantly moving kids—made her smile.

She loved living in Union Junction. She adored being part of the Jefferson family, even if it was an extended part.

“What’s up, Crockett?” Valentine asked with a smile.

“They dragged me into town for a cookie.” He leaned against a wall while the kids stared eagerly into the glass case. “You painted this place.”

“I did.” Valentine was pleased he’d noticed.

“I like the soft blue,” he said, glancing around approvingly.

She smiled. Of course Crockett would notice everything. He was supposedly a wonderful artist. “And I wallpapered the bathroom and back of the store with a pretty blueberry and lemon design. Very French kitchen.”

“When do you find time for everything you do?”

Valentine smiled. “When Annette naps.”

He looked at her, remembering how the brothers had doubted her at one time. It just went to show that anybody who wanted to make something of themselves could, if they were given a helping hand at the right time.

She certainly had made her mark on Union Junction.

Kenny and Minnie selected cookies, a frosted
rose for Minnie and a powdered chocolate crinkle for Kenny.

“Thank you, Aunt Valentine,” they said, scurrying across the street to the Union Junction beauty salon where Lily, her host of stylists and the new stray resided.

“That was sweet of you to bring them to town,” Valentine said.

“I was shanghaied.”

“Sure.” She laughed. “Cookie?”

“Nah. I don’t eat many sweets.”

“Crockett! All you Jeffersons eat a ton of sweets!”

He grunted, looking around at the empty shop. Every white-painted table in the room seemed to have napkins and cups on it. “Break in the action?”

“Yes.” She closed a cabinet and straightened. “If you’d been here five minutes ago, you would have seen half the town. I ran a sale for charity between eleven and twelve. All donations go to the pet adoption center Lily has decided to open.”

“Good cause.” He tossed some money into the jar he now saw on the counter. It was stuffed full of bills. “Nice haul.”

Valentine beamed. “Everybody wants good homes for pets. Thankfully, Lily decided it was a project she could handle.”

“Glad I missed the crowd.”

“Come back and see the wallpaper.”

He didn’t care about wallpaper, but he willingly followed Valentine. “You did this yourself?” he asked, staring up at the scalloped edges neatly encircling the room. Sunny lemons and blueberries decorated the French vanilla-colored walls. “Cheery.”

“Thank you. I’m very proud of it.” Touching his arm, she said, “I want you to tell your brothers that I’m taking good care of their investment.”

“Oh, hell, I don’t think they care—Valentine, everybody’s just happy that you’re happy. You bring something special to the ranch, and we were glad to give you a start. I’m proud of you.”

She smiled at him. “But I don’t think you know what it means to be given a chance.” How could she explain? Her destiny was in her own hands now; her talent was her future—because of their faith.

“I’d like a chance,” Crockett said.

She looked at him. “At what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you.”

“Oh.” Was he saying what she thought he was? “I don’t think so.”

“Because it’s a bad idea?”

“Yeah. A very bad idea. I’m sure of it.” Valen
tine shook her head. “I don’t want to ruin what I’ve got at Malfunction Junction.”

“Okay.”

Uneasy silence surrounded them. In her mind, Valentine knew she’d said the right thing, but what about her heart? “It’s probably not a good idea to say this, but there
are
times I have thought about you.”

He leaned closer to hear her soft voice as it trailed off. “I respect that you need your life to stay calm. You’ve been through a lot. My brother hasn’t treated you as well as he should have.”

Valentine held her breath. “He’s not you.”

Crockett seemed taken aback for a moment, then he only nodded and touched her cheek.

He wasn’t going to do more, Valentine realized, and the fact that she had to make the first move gave her the strength to do it. There was no hurry, it was just the two of them in a quiet bakery. He watched her through dark, curious eyes and Valentine rose on her toes, lightly brushing her lips against his.

Then she waited, watching his expression. What would she see in his gaze?