His Cowgirl Bride (2 page)

Looking down at her dog—Birdy she'd called it—Brent gave the blue-heeler another pat on the head. The dog had to be due within the next few weeks, but that didn't keep her from dancing around, looking for attention. As he walked over to inspect the horses, she raced out ahead of him. At the corral she skidded to a halt, then placed her chin on the bottom rung of the pen and watched the horses with expectant eyes. He had a feeling she was good at her job when she wasn't carrying babies.

The colts were skittish—as expected after a long ride in a trailer. He could tell right off, though, that one of them, a pretty chestnut, had a wild look in its eyes that
meant trouble. “It's always the redheads,” he said, glancing at the dog. Birdy lifted her blue eyes toward him and he could have sworn she grinned. Normally he'd have laughed—not this time. He planned to have a conversation with Pace about this surprising turn of events.

Pace knew Brent's story. He certainly knew that Brent wouldn't feel comfortable with a woman hanging around the corral while he was breaking these colts. So what was going on? If Pace had brought Tacy in to watch over the place, why hadn't he warned him? He had to know seeing her would remind Brent of his sister's accident. And Brent didn't like reminders of what his stupidity and carelessness had cost Tina.

His gut hurt, remembering that moment two years before…. It had only been by the grace of God that Tina had lived—it was yet to be seen if she'd ever fully recover.

Pace knew this. Temper flaring, Brent stalked toward the cabin at the side of the property. He'd been warned that Mule Hollow's cell-phone service was practically nonexistent and he'd have to rely on the landline in the cabin to get hold of Pace. Something just didn't feel right about this entire setup. There was trouble brewing. Maybe Pace hadn't seen that look in the cowgirl's eyes…the one that said she wasn't going to let some cowboy tell her what to do.

He rubbed the spot where she'd jabbed her finger in his chest. The woman obviously thought she was
going to get to train those colts, not just “look after the place.” Only thing was, while he was around, there was no way
that
was happening. Absolutely no way.

“W
hat can I get you boys?” Tacy asked the booth full of cowboys who were looking up at her like expectant puppies. They acted like they'd never seen a woman taking their lunch order before. It had been this way for the two weeks since she'd taken this job at Sam's diner.

“How about a date?” Jess Tomlin drawled, giving her a wink. The same wink he'd been giving her ever since he'd first seen her behind the counter.

She pulled her order pad from her pocket. “You got somethin' in your eye?” she asked, giving him a pointed stare and holding her pencil at the ready—not that she was going to need it. It was Tuesday and Sam cooked enchiladas on Tuesday.

“C'mon, Tacy, forget him and come out with me,” his buddy Chad said, sitting up straight and giving her a cocky grin.

“Fellas
—Order?” she tapped her pad with her pencil.

“Aw, c'mon, Tacy, give a guy some hope.”

“Jess, you don't need hope from me and you know it. Now either you dudes order or I'll do it for you.”

The foursome grinned just as she'd expected they would and also ordered exactly what she knew they would order.

“Four specials,” she called a few seconds later, hustling into the kitchen. Sam was in the midst of flipping a row of burgers. As soon as he heard the order, he reached for plates on the side shelf with his free hand and continued flipping patties with his right hand. He never skipped a beat. Tacy watched him in amazement as he used the spatula to send the meat patty into the air in a quick, tight arc. Immediately, he moved to the next patty and had it in the air before the other patty had finished its flip. Once they were all turned and dusted with salt and pepper, he reached for the ladle in the large pot on the stove. In his sixties and built like a jockey, Sam was king of his domain—a short-order cook in more ways than one.

During the lunch rush, he worked with the energy of three men. Though he had a cook who came in some evenings and a college student who also helped out evenings and Saturdays, he took very little time off.

“How in the world did you run this place before hiring help?”

Sam gave her a quick grin, dipping beans into the
plates. “Didn't used ta be this busy. Used ta be a dead little town and I had it all under control. Weren't much more work than if I had folks comin' by the house fer a meal and a visit. I ain't complainin', though,” he said, starting to dish up the enchiladas. “Needin' help is a good thang. I'm glad you came along when ya did.”

“I'm glad you had an opening,” she said, and meant it. They worked well together. She picked up the four plates, inhaling the spicy scent. “Back for the burgers in a jiffy.” She gave him an affectionate smile as she headed for the dining room. She hadn't been here long, but she felt right at home. For a gal who'd been a little homesick at times, this was a very nice feeling.

As she walked back into the dining area, Tacy's spirits were high—despite her run-in with that insufferable cowboy the day before. “Here we go, boys. Chow's up!” She got a real kick out of the way the cowboys jerked to attention as she set their meal in front of them. Guys—you had to love 'em.

She really was glad to be here—true, she'd have been happier if things had worked out the way she'd planned. Housesitting, waiting tables and fending off good-natured cowboys was fun enough. Still, she'd rather be learning how to tame a horse.

She didn't hold her situation against anyone, though. Especially the thick-skulled cowboys. If they wanted to spoon it out, she could sure dish it right back at them. It was all in good fun from most of the men who frequented the place. Fellas like Jess were
a different story. She knew he really did hope she'd go out with him sooner or later. That wasn't happening. Not yet. Dating wasn't in the long-range plans of her life right now. Love got in the way of plans…and this girl had plans that
nothing
was sidetracking—well, nothing except Brent Stockwell, at the moment.

All it had taken was a quick call to Sheri, and the truth came out. Pace had called Brent and, just like that, the man had headed to Mule Hollow to take over the job that was supposed to have been hers. Feeling her neck muscles seizing up, Tacy tried hard to concentrate on her job instead of the cocky cowboy who was now her biggest obstacle. She knew Sheri had known she wouldn't be happy, and that had to be her reason for keeping silent. Grabbing the plates of hamburgers Sam had ready, Tacy headed back toward the dining room. She would not let her temper flare out of control. Despite her newfound resolve, Tacy almost dropped her armload of burgers as Brent Stockwell walked in through the heavy swinging door.

“Heads up,” she drawled to the table of cowboys, proud that she was managing some semblance of calm. She slapped the plates in front of the cowboys as she kept one eye pinned on Brent. He sauntered toward the food counter and slid onto the cowhide stool. Catching her off guard he glanced around and caught her staring…okay, gawking! Now
that
was a cowboy!

Feet dragging, she went to do her job. “Hi,” she
said, grabbing a menu from behind the counter and setting it in front of him. “Welcome to Sam's—” she didn't call him by name; it was not her business to announce to the world who he was. She was just here to take his order “—where everyone and anyone is welcome,” she added just for kicks.

He took the menu, leaned slightly forward and smiled at her. “Thanks for the welcome.”

He kept his voice low and smooth so only she could hear him, as if they were sitting in a five-star restaurant with candles aglowing. “What's good?”

At sound of his voice, Tacy's mouth went dry. It was humiliating. “Everything, depending on what you feel like,” she said, holding her voice steady. Thankfully her quick-witted humor came roaring to her rescue. “Sam's got a mean burger, a tough chicken-fried steak and the enchiladas are to die for—and that's just for starters. The meat loaf is a real kick in the pants, too.”

He gave her a lopsided grin that added insult to injury. “Sounds like my kind of food,” he drawled.

“Best in Texas,” she drawled right back at him. “Quesadillas are killer, too, but you don't strike me as the quesadilla type.”

His clear turquoise eyes twinkled in challenge. “You'd be right about that.” He laid the menu down and cupped his hands on the counter, his gaze never wavering from hers.

“Yep. Not nearly macho enough.” She crinkled her nose in teasing distaste. “Quesadillas are for
girls.”

His lip curled into a slow smile. “Something like that,” he said as the smile reached his eyes.

No wonder he'd been such a ladies' man back when he was making headlines. “So what'll it be?” she asked, fighting to keep her wits about her. The day before, the man had treated her like she was an idiot who couldn't be trusted around horses. Today he was flirting with her—and she was enjoying it, no matter how much she didn't want to.

“Why don't you pick for me,” he said, interrupting her internal commotion. “You know what I don't like. See if you can guess what I do like.”

Huffing like he was getting on her last nerve—
because he really was, in more ways than one
—she tapped her pencil on the pad and met his teasing challenge. “Are we talking the whole menu or just the items I've told you about so far?”

He grinned. “The items you've told me about so far.”

“Too easy, but here goes. I'd say that on occasion you enjoy a good chicken-fried steak, smothered with gravy and saddled up with a heaping order of mashed potatoes—” He started to say something and she held up her hand. “Not so fast, buster. I'm not done. I said
on occasion
that's what you enjoy. But this afternoon I'm going with the meat loaf.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “And how exactly did you figure that out?”

She shook her head. “Sorry, a girl doesn't reveal her secrets.” She walked to the kitchen. “One meat loaf,
Sam. Light on the gravy,” she called through the swinging café doors.

“Comin' right up,” Sam fired back, glancing her way and lifting a questioning brow. “You shor—”

“That's what the cowboy ordered,” she shot back.

“Well, alrighty then. One meat loaf comin' right up. You seen what time it is?”

“Yes, I hate to leave you, though.”

“Rush hour's done. I got it from here and my Adela is expecting you.”

“Okay. I'll get the meat loafer's drink and then catch you tomorrow.”

“Got it, kiddo.”

She spun back to Brent, more than ready to leave. “What'll you have to drink? Tea, soda, coffee?”

“You're so good at this, what do you think the, ah,
meat loafer
wants?”

“Nope again. I'm not choosing your drink for you. I'm one for one and my shift's over so I don't want to chance ruining my perfect score.”

“In that case, I'll take a tall glass of iced tea.”

She grabbed a glass and filled it with ice, then reached for the pitcher. “You get the horses settled?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her even as she glanced at the clock.

“Pretty much. You talk to Sheri?”

She placed his tea in front of him. “Yup. Seems they just forgot to tell me you were filling in. Looks like I'm not going to get to call the law on you after all.”
Doggoneit!

“You mean I'm going to get to stick around and do my job?”

She snorted. “Not by my choice.” She ignored the fact that her traitor pulse did a little yee-haw at the idea of him sticking around Mule Hollow.

“I'm just doing what Pace asked me to do. And whether you want to believe it or not, it's for the best.”

“Well, isn't that just peachy,” she gritted through a fake smile. “This has been real fun but I've gotta run.” Boy, did she. “Sam will take
real
good care of you, though.” At the end of the counter she paused. “And remember, I warned you about the meat loaf.”

“Warned me?” His straight brows dipped questioningly.

“Yup.” She arched a brow, grabbed her purse from under the counter and headed toward the door.

She grinned all the way out to her truck. Poor dude should have had the quesadillas.

 

Brent watched Tacy sashay out of the building to the catcalls from several tables of cowboys. Her vibrant, copper-colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail and danced a jig as she plowed through the diner, waving goodbye to the room on her way out the door. He had to admit she was cute. No doubt about it—and obviously popular. Not that he was interested.

He had no intention of pursuing any kind of relationship while he was here. He didn't want to do anything that had the potential to keep him in this town. He was here to do a job for his buddy, Pace, and then
he was out of here—back to getting his life back on track…maybe back to the circuit and a dream he'd wasted.

“So yor the brave one?” a short, weathered man said as he busted through the swinging café doors from the kitchen. He was holding a steaming plate of meat loaf and beans that he plopped onto the bar in front of Brent.

“The brave one?” Brent repeated, and had the feeling Tacy had neglected to tell him something important.

“Yup. It's not ever'body that can stomach my meat loaf. It's a real kick in the pants. It ain't fer girls and that's fer shor—if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, yeah,” Brent drawled, suddenly pretty sure he got the whole picture. He grinned. “How about handing me that hot sauce I see back behind you there.”

That got him a big grin and an extended palm. “I'm Sam, and you sound like a cowboy I can admire.”

Brent shook Sam's hand—and as the tiny man took hold of his hand, Brent felt like he'd just stuck his fingers in a vise grip.

“Brent Stockwell. Glad to make your acquaintance, sir,” he gritted out as normal-sounding as he could manage, seeing as how his hand was in a world of hurt.

Sam released him at last and reached for the hot sauce. “You ain't bit into that meat loaf yet. You might be ready fer a fight come thirty minutes.”

Brent laughed. “I'm sure it's not that bad.” He took a bite, chewed and got the kick of peppers. He'd tasted
hotter. This was all good. “Tacy wasn't lying when she said this was good.”

Sam's eyes widened. “She said that, did she?”

Brent nodded. Pretty certain she'd said it—then again, maybe not in so many words. He took another bite. Sam watched, wiry arms crossed over his chest.

“Brent Stockwell. That thar name sounds mighty familiar.”

Brent didn't say anything, just kept on eating. He really didn't think his past would make any difference to the older man. In this part of Texas, there were plenty of cowboys with just as many buckles as he had.