He's the One (26 page)

Chapter Five

T
ucker stumbled past the flap of his tent and sniffed the air. “Is that coffee I smell?”

Mark felt a bit too self-satisfied that this morning he was up and about a good hour
before the two ROTC early birds. Even after he’d been in Carla’s tent half the night
doing things he didn’t dare think about now or risk the embarrassment of a hard-on.

The memory of last night gave him even more satisfaction, while making him want—need—more
with her. He forced his focus back to Tuck. “It is. Fresh brewed. Can I pour you a
cup?”

“God, yes.”

Finally, something he could do that would impress the manly sportsmen at camp. Mark
stood from his comfortable seat in the folding chair, grabbed an empty cup, and poured
the steaming dark liquid. “Here you go. There’s cream and sugar and a spoon set out
on top of the cooler.”

“Thanks.” Tuck took his first gulp black and groaned. “Damn, Ross. We’re going to
have to invite you camping with us from now on if this is the way I get to wake up.”

“Or I could just loan you my French press and show you how to use it.” Making coffee,
Mark was skilled at. Camping? Not so much. “So how was fishing last night?”

“Good. I didn’t catch shit, but there was lots of beer, so how could it be bad?”

Mark laughed. “Very true.”

“What did you and Carla do here for entertainment last night?” Tuck’s question might
well have been perfectly innocent, but Mark hadn’t been prepared for it.

Mark realized it was his own mistake. He’d brought up the topic of last night by asking
Tuck about the fishing. He and Carla should have talked about a cover story when they
were alone, but they’d been far too busy doing other things. Many other things. A
couple of times. For hours.

And now Mark was starting to get an erection as Tuck waited for his answer to a casual
question that should have been easy to answer. “Uh, we—”

“Morning.” Logan emerged from his tent.

“Logan, good morning. Coffee?” Mark could have kissed Logan for saving the day, or
at least for saving him from answering when he had no good answer.

“Yes, sir. I’d love some.” Logan nodded.

Mark had never been so happy to see someone in his life, until the flap of Carla’s
tent flipped open and she ducked out. Then he knew true happiness. Seeing her, all
sleepy with her hair loose down her back in the early morning light, took his breath
away.

“Mark?” Logan’s voice dragged Mark away from his blissful occupation of staring at
Carla.

As his heart battered the inside of his rib cage, Mark realized Logan was standing
next to him, holding out an empty cup, waiting for Mark to pour the aforementioned
coffee he’d forgotten he held in his hand.

“Of course. Sorry.” Mark took the cup from Logan to fill it when he realized his hand
was shaking. He didn’t trust himself to pour the hot liquid.

Cup filled, though it had been more difficult a task than it should have been, Mark
handed it back.

Logan took it. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Glancing up, Mark realized he was the sole object of Logan’s scrutiny.
Self-conscious, he tilted his head in the direction of the cooler. “Um, cream and
sugar’s over there.”

Logan glanced from Mark to Carla, and then back again. A small smile crooked up one
corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I see it.”

Mark was sure it wasn’t just the cream and sugar Logan saw. He always had been an
open book when it came to his emotions, and Logan was more observant than the average
man. The combination meant his friend, at the very least, suspected Mark was attracted
to Carla.

Attracted to her
. That was the understatement of the year.

One night with her had Mark, after he finally did sneak back to his tent, lying awake
for long hours. His mind flew to crazy places as he considered their possible future
together. Insane things such as property values and school districts and which cut
of diamond Carla might prefer if things progressed that far.

Not to mention the far bigger
if
—that he’d be able to get up the nerve to ask her out on a real date. That was a hurdle
to get over before he could even consider being the steady man in her life.

The prospect was unreal, but at the same time felt more real than anything had in
a long time. He’d only known her for twenty-four hours, yet he wanted to know so much
more. Mark was certain that learning everything about her would only reinforce what
he was already sure of, that she was the most amazing woman he’d ever met . . . and
ready or not, she was headed in his direction at that very moment.

“Morning.” Carla looked at the carafe in his hand. “Mmm. Coffee.”

Her soft groan cut right through him. “Ah, yeah. Hold on and I’ll pour you a cup.
Oh, and, uh, good morning to you, too.”

Jeez, he sounded like an idiot. Next to him, Logan chuckled, and in his peripheral
vision, Mark saw Tucker grinning.

The morning after was awkward enough without the added challenge of Logan and Tucker
observing them as if he and Carla were two fish in a glass bowl. Mark had no hope
of playing it smooth in this situation. He stifled a sigh and poured her the coffee.

When she pressed the cup to her lips and her eyelids drifted closed, Mark couldn’t
worry about Tucker or Logan anymore, because instead he had to mentally talk down
his burgeoning erection.

“Good coffee. Thanks.” Her gaze collided with his as he glowed with pride.

“You’re very welcome.” Coffee. Poached fish. Mark had definitely kept this woman well
sated in the food and beverage department.

As he thought back to the number of times she’d trembled in his arms last night, he
knew he’d satisfied her in another area as well.

And damn, now he was as hard as a rock. Mark dropped into his chair, put the carafe
on the ground next to him, and covered his lap with his hands wrapped around his own
cup, hoping to look inconspicuous. No more thinking about last night. His hormones,
which were acting like those of a teenage boy, couldn’t take it.

He glanced up and caught Carla staring at him over the rim of her coffee cup. She
yanked her gaze away, but he thought he saw the hint of a blush creep into the part
of her face not hidden behind the cup.

No, he wasn’t alone in this. Not the only one having problems juggling these feelings—a
melding of doubt, embarrassment, and anticipation. Now, the only question remaining
was, what did he do next?

 

 

“So we’re just going to keep pretending nothing’s going on?” Tuck put the cooler he’d
carried to the parking lot down next to Carla’s truck.

Carla paused a second before she recovered and put the rolled sleeping bag she held
into the truck bed. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Thanks for carrying that.”

“No problem, and don’t change the subject. You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

“No, I don’t.” Denial seemed the only option at the moment. Carla had managed to get
through the faculty group breakfast that morning by keeping her head down, concentrating
on the food on her plate, and not looking at Mark. In the group, it had been easy.
Now, alone with Tuck, it was much harder to act like nothing had happened.

“Ross.”

“What about him?” She shrugged.

“Something’s up.” Tuck tried to catch her gaze, even as she worked to avoid his.

“What could be up? We all had a nice time and now it’s over. End of story.”

“Oh, really?” He cocked one brow up.

“Yes, really.”

“So you’re not into him?”

She let out a breath of frustration. “When is Becca getting back from New York? Because
you really do need her to keep you busy.” So he’d stop being a busybody.

“And you need a few lessons in hiding your feelings. And your hickeys.” The focus
of his gaze moved to her neck.

She moved her fingers to her throat. “What? I don’t have any—”

Tuck touched a spot just above her collarbone and a memory flashed through Carla’s
mind. Mark in her tent, latching on to her throat as he tried to stifle the groan
as they came together while he was buried inside her. Crap.

“At least mine was under my shirt. Yours is right out there for all to see. Good color,
though. A real nice deep purple.” He leaned his ass against the edge of the open tailgate
and folded his arms. She supposed he was settling in to wait for her explanation or
confession or whatever.

If her face looked as red as it felt, there was no denying anything to Tuck. Carla
sighed. “Please don’t tease me.”

“I’m not planning on it.” Tuck shook his head. “Hell, I’ve been there, darlin’. I
know what it’s like to do something you regret the next morning.”

“I don’t, though.” She forced herself to look him in the eye. “I don’t regret it at
all. I like him. A lot. That’s the problem.”

“Well, I don’t see why. The way he looks at you, the feeling is mutual.”

Yeah, the feeling was mutual. For now. But what about when Mark realized she was a
high school dropout who’d only finally gotten her GED a year ago? Between helping
around the family ranch and competing, there had never been time to finish her education.

Thank God the assistant coaching position on the rodeo team wasn’t an academic one.
She’d landed that with her rodeo experience. Otherwise, if they’d looked into her
education, she probably would have been screwed out of that job. But there was no
impressing Mark with her skills on horseback. Not when she was sure the man’s walls
were papered in diplomas.

She shook her head when she noticed Tuck still watching her. “Nah. It was just a one-night
thing. Nothing serious. I’m gonna grab the rest of my stuff and git. Mama will need
my help at home today.”

As Tuck frowned, she turned and left him where he was. That was one way to end this
conversation, because she really wasn’t in the mood to continue it.

Chapter Six

“T
hank you very much, gentlemen.” Logan gathered the pile of poker chips from the center
of the table with one sweep of his forearm. “About damn time I won, huh?”

Mark leaned back in his chair, defeated. In that pile had been the last of his own
chips. “I guess it was inevitable. No one can lose every single hand. Not even you,
Logan.”

“Har, har. Joke all you want at my expense. I can afford it, since I seem to have
all of your chips, Mark.” Logan’s winning was so rare, Mark couldn’t blame him for
his glee, even if it did clean him out and put him out of the game for the night.

“That’s okay. I’m done for tonight anyway.” Harry, from the philosophy department,
rose from his chair, stretching his back with a groan as he did.

“Me, too.” Jamey, from the political science department, followed suit. He gathered
the small pile of chips in front of him and stood as well.

“Anyone want to hang around for a little while?” The game was over but Mark wasn’t
ready to be alone quite yet. “I could put on a pot of coffee. I’ve got a bottle of
Irish whiskey that would be real tasty in it.”

“No, thanks.” Jamey shook his head. “Time for me to get back home to the wife. She
was reading one of those steamy romance novels when I left. She should be nice and
warmed up by the time I get home, if you know what I mean.”

Harry laughed. “Lucky bastard. Mine will be awake and waiting for me, but only so
she can smell my breath to see if I’ve been drinking, and then bitch that I get one
night a week out with the guys away from the kids and she gets none. Thanks anyway,
Mark.”

That was it then, the party was over. Mark stood, too. “Sure. No problem.”

An array of colored poker chips and dollar bills exchanged hands, Jamey and Harry
left, and soon Mark was alone with Logan.

“You staying? We can skip the coffee and go right to the whiskey if you want.” Mark
reached for a short cut-crystal glass from the side table.

“What’s up with you?” Logan asked.

“Besides that you took all my money?” Mark joked while reaching for the bottle. “Nothing.”

“This is not about the money, and you know it.” Logan shook his head. “You spent far
more on that bottle in your hand than I took from you tonight.”

Very true. Mark poured amber liquid into one glass. He raised a brow and held up the
drink he’d poured, glancing toward Logan in silent question. Logan nodded and took
the glass before sitting on the leather sofa.

Mark poured himself a nice-sized shot and sat in the chair opposite Logan. This was
good. Two single guys kicking back with some fine, aged spirits. Hanging out as long
as they wanted. No need to talk, if they didn’t want to. No wife to nag if they got
home late with booze on their breath.

Really, who needed a woman? Certainly not Mark. As the comfortable silence between
him and Logan stretched out, Mark tried to convince himself of that.

“I can sit here all night.” Logan eyed him over the rim of the glass as he took a
sip.

“All right. You’re welcome to do that.” Mark shrugged. “I’ll get you a pillow and
a blanket.”

“I meant that I’m waiting for you to tell me what’s up with you this week.” Logan
raised a brow and indeed looked as if he’d wait all night for Mark’s answer if need
be.

Maybe Mark didn’t need a wife to get nagged. Logan seemed to be doing a fine job of
it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing is up with me.”

“You haven’t been yourself. Not since a day or two after the camping trip.” Logan’s
eyes narrowed a bit, as if he’d started to put the pieces of a puzzle together, and
the picture had begun to take shape. “Is that what this is about? Exactly what happened
on that trip, Mark?”

“Nothing.” Except that he’d had an amazing night with Carla and she’d blown him off
afterward. That’s all.

Mark had waited all the next day for her to call him, then had decided that was foolish.
He went ahead and called her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If she’d wanted him to call
her, she would have given him her number. She hadn’t, but that didn’t stop Mark in
his headlong plunge into embarrassment. The OSU staff directory made it all too easy
for him to look up her number, confident that she’d had as great a time last weekend
as he had.

What a mistake that had been. Oh, she’d been polite. Too polite. And extremely busy,
apparently, since every one of his suggestions for them to get together again had
been met with excuses.

“Mark, we’re friends. I’m here for you to talk to if you need. And I promise, no jokes.
No judgment. Just a sounding board.”

Mark let out a snort of a laugh. “I can picture you saying that to your cadets.”

“Yeah, but it works on them. They spill right away. Apparently, I don’t intimidate
you the way I do them.” A crooked grin lifted one corner of Logan’s mouth. “What I
said is still all true, though.”

God, it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Confide in. Get a damn opinion from,
because Mark could not believe he’d been so wrong in his interpretation of Carla’s
feelings for him.

Maybe she did have a boyfriend. He’d asked that night and she’d said no, and it’s
not that he thought she was the type to cheat or lie, but it’s possible an ex had
come back into her life since then. Maybe one night with Mark had convinced her to
run back to a former lover. Lovely. That thought depressed him further.

Logan was still waiting and watching. Mark let out a sigh. It wasn’t in Mark to tell
tales about his sexual conquests, as limited as they were. Maybe it was because he’d
been on the chess team with the nerds while in school, rather than the football team
with the jocks, but that kind of locker room talk, bragging about what he’d shared
with Carla, seemed wrong. Even with Logan.

“There’s nothing I want to talk about right now, but thanks.” Mark stood. “So, you
interested in that cup of coffee? I’ve even got decaf if you’re not man enough for
the real stuff this late at night.”

“Your fresh ground, gourmet-bean coffee?” Logan laughed. “Yeah, I can handle your
‘real stuff.’ You forget, I’m in the army. The crap they call coffee is questionable
on a good day. Don’t you worry about me. Bring it on.”

“You’ve got it.” Mark nodded with a smile.

Subject changed and crisis averted . . . at least until later when he was alone with
nothing to do except think. And remember.

Mark poured another two fingers of whiskey into the glass in his hand and then went
to grind the coffee beans.

 

 

Spurring the horse to maximum speed, Carla raced out of the arena, reining him in
to a sharp stop at the end of the alley. She turned them in a tight circle and trotted
back to confirm her suspicions; she’d knocked every single one of the three barrels
down.

“Perfect run, darlin’. You got every one.” With a grin he was lucky she didn’t kick
off, Tuck looked up at her and patted the horse’s flank. “Too bad the object of the
sport is to leave all the barrels standing upright.”

“Smart-ass.” Carla blew out a breath and surveyed once more the damage she’d inflicted
on the barrel-racing course.

In competition, every one of those three fifty-gallon drums lying on its side in the
arena dirt would have cost her a five-second penalty. In a sport where the fastest
time took home the prize money, the kind of run she’d just made was totally unacceptable.
Particularly for a champion who rode at the level she did. Even the students she was
there to coach managed to get through the course cleaner than Carla had today.

“What’s on your mind?” Tuck continued to stroke the horse’s heaving sides.

“Nothing. I gotta cool him off.” She moved to turn the horse toward the exit again
when Tuck grabbed the bridle.

“Nope. We’re gonna talk.” He turned toward the stands, where a few members of the
rodeo team were hanging out, waiting for their turn. “Val! Would you mind walking
Carla’s horse to cool him down?”

The girl stepped off the bleachers. “No problem.”

Tuck’s gaze focused on Carla. “Get on down here.”

Crap. She sighed and gave in. There was no arguing with Tuck when his mind was set.
Stubborn as a bulldog with a bone, this man was. Hell, most men were. That thought
should make her happy she was without one in her life at the moment.

It didn’t.

“What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Playing dumb was always the best course of action when
there were no other options.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“The barrels? I just had the blacksmith put new shoes on Liberty. I’m wondering if
he trimmed him too short.”

Tuck laughed. “Blaming the horse? Nuh-uh. Not gonna work. You trained that gelding
so well, he could run that cloverleaf without any rider at all. Probably better and
faster than you did today, too. You steered Liberty right into that last barrel.”

“I was trying to make up some time and cut too close. That’s all.” She shrugged.

“You can lie to yourself, Carla, but you can’t lie to me. What’s happening? Something
wrong at home? Your ma and pa all right? Is the farm not doing well? I know with this
economy—”

“No. Stop, Tuck. The family is fine. Everything is fine.”

Tuck leaned back against the rail and folded his burly forearms across his chest.
She’d seen this stance before. It was Tuck digging in his heels for a long wait, and
wait he would until Carla gave him what he wanted.

She let out a sigh and blurted, “Mark called me the other day.”

The only indication of his surprise was a lifting of his brow, which for a man like
Tuck, who tended to keep things close to the vest, was pretty big. “And?”

“He asked me out.”

“And?” The intensity in Tuck’s tone increased along with his obvious impatience at
her vague answers.

“I danced around the issue, but basically I let him know I didn’t want to see him
again.” It had been one of the hardest things she’d done in recent memory.

“So what’s the problem? Has he kept bothering you?”

Carla watched Tuck switch into overprotective mode. She had to nip it in the bud before
he strode over to Mark’s house and beat him up for bothering her, or something. She
already had two brothers who acted like cavemen. She didn’t need another one.

“No. Nothing like that. He hasn’t called back or made contact with me at all.” In
a clear case of be careful what you wish for, Mark had accepted her blowing him off.
That he didn’t even make an effort to come after her hurt.

Go figure. She’d obviously turned into one of those fickle girls who couldn’t make
up their mind. She’d always hated that kind of female. One night with Mark and now
she’d become one. Maybe she should be a nun. Avoid men altogether since she was obviously
no good at this stuff.

Tuck still watched her too close for her liking. “If you don’t want to see him again,
and he’s leaving you alone, what’s the problem?”

Maybe a full confession would help her psyche . . . and her barrel racing. It couldn’t
hurt. “I do want to see him, but I can’t.”

“All right. Why can’t you?” Tuck’s patience was pretty amazing. No wonder he was good
with the students.

“I googled him.”

Nostrils flaring, Tuck drew in a deep breath. “And?” Maybe Tuck’s patience was growing
short after all.

“And, he’s got so many degrees I don’t even know what half of them are for. And he
wrote a book.” Carla was lucky she could write a check without messing it up. Forget
about write an entire book.

A deep frown creased the brow beneath Tuck’s cowboy hat. “That’s what this is about?
You’re afraid you’re not good enough for Ross? Did he say something to make you feel
like that?”

The alpha male was back, ready to defend her honor. “No. Stop, Tuck. He didn’t say
anything. He didn’t have to. I know the deal. He’s got a PhD. I have a GED.”

“So what?”

“
So what?
How can you say that? I dropped out of high school. He has a doctorate.”

“And? What’s your point? Becca has a doctorate, too.” Tuck sighed and reached out
to lay his hand on Carla’s arm. “Listen. I’m not dismissing your concern. I’m trying
to remind you that you’re worth more than a diploma hanging on a wall in a dusty frame.
Are you forgetting you have a thriving business as well as how many championship buckles?”

“It’s not the same.”

“No, not the same, but equal. You can’t compare apples with oranges, Carla. You and
Ross are both successful in your own fields.”

“Are you telling me you never feel insecure against Becca’s accomplishments?”

He bobbed his head. “I did once. Way back before we started officially dating.”

“And?”

“And it turned out we both had misconceptions because we never bothered to talk it
out. But all that resolved itself once we took the time and talked to each other.”

“You really don’t mind she’s got the fancy diploma and you don’t?”

“Nope.” Tuck swiveled his head. “When Becca and I are together, I couldn’t care less
if the bedroom walls were plastered with her degrees. Don’t make one damn bit of difference.”

Carla snorted a laugh. “Sex—the great equalizer?”

“Well, yeah, but it’s more than that. There’s gotta be respect for each other. Good
sex don’t hurt, though. So . . . was it good?” He waggled his brows.

“Tucker Jenkins!” She delivered a well-aimed punch straight to his shoulder. Carla
knew she could pack a good wallop. There’d been plenty of opportunity to practice
on her brothers while growing up.

“Ow.” Wincing, Tuck rubbed the spot. “Sorry. Just wondering, is all.”