Red-Hot Texas Nights (12 page)

Oddly enough, it was those stroking, soothing moments afterward that stood out in her mind long after she'd pulled on her clothes and walked away.

Because for the first time he hadn't let her go right away. He'd held on for just a little longer this time. Holding. Touching. Caressing.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she'd liked it.

The realization made a twenty-minute drive home last only fifteen. Anxious, she pressed on the gas and hauled butt in the opposite direction. Because the last thing Brandy Tucker wanted was to
like
Tyler McCall.

 

CHAPTER 14

Tyler checked his phone for the umpteenth time before collapsing back onto the bed to stare at the ceiling, his heart still pounding, his body still throbbing.

He listened for the sound of her car, but the only noise that carried was the hum of the nearby window unit and the murmur of the livestock below. Everything was quiet. Asleep.

Except for him.

He rolled over and hauled his ass out of bed, straight into a cold shower.

Cold, of all the crazy things. He should be more than sated. Enough to roll over and fall right to sleep.

But he kept smelling the sheets, which still held the sweet aroma of blueberry muffins, and he found himself thinking about her. Wanting her. Needing her—

Hold up.

The only thing Tyler
needed
was to get his hands on Cooper. Since that wasn't going to happen anytime in the next few hours, he might as well make the most of his downtime and actually do something productive.

Climbing out the shower, he pulled on a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and some old sneakers. It wasn't his usual boots and jeans, but it was perfect for an early-morning run. The arena was dark and quiet as he left the small apartment and headed down toward the back corral.

It was still just an hour shy of dawn and so the working cowboys had yet to show up to feed the animals, but the place would be bustling with life all too soon.

Not soon enough.

Tyler eyed the mechanical bull situated in the small enclosure. It wasn't a top-notch machine, but it had been good enough to get him to the point he was at today. And it would get him to Cheyenne in less than three weeks. Likewise, the choice bulls penned nearby would be prep enough to ensure that he was as quick and tough as he needed to be.

If he was stuck here, he might as well make the most of it. He wasn't falling short in Cheyenne. He might never get this opportunity again what with his cousin Brett Sawyer, the reigning PBR champ, retiring. The spot was wide open and Tyler wanted it.

He knew he was the long shot. The dark horse.

But then that was the story of his life.

He'd always been the odd man out. The black sheep. The outsider among the prestigious Sawyer clan thanks to a mother who'd married a worthless sonofabitch. Mr. Least Likely to Succeed, but he'd defied the odds and done just that. Now would be no different.

He left the arena behind and headed for the large fenced-in area out back and the small path that ran its perimeter.

And then he started to run.

*   *   *

Ellie Clark had done the walk of shame before.

Many times before.

And so the strange feeling that she wanted to climb back into bed and say to hell with everything caught her completely off guard.

Particularly when she stared at the cowboy responsible for it.

A
cowboy
, of all people. She'd never been into cowboys even though her hometown had been crawling with them. She'd wanted someone wearing something besides a pair of shit-covered Wranglers and charming smile to sweep her off her feet.

And get her the hell out.

Away from the map dot where she'd been born and bred and the ever small-minded mentality of a hick town.

Which didn't explain in the least why she'd moved to Rebel. Same small-minded mentality. Different hick town.

But at least the faces had been fresh and she'd been able to escape the mundane without moving more than fifty miles away from her sick grandmother. For a little while.

Still, even though she liked Rebel and she loved her job at Sweet Somethings, she was starting to feel a little restless again. Particularly since her nana had passed on last year and eliminated the main reason she'd been sticking somewhat close to home. Nana was gone, the weekly visits to nearby Lawless, Texas, no more. She was free now.

Antsy.

Which explained tonight's bad decision.

Well, that and four Buttery Nipples.

She'd never done well with shots, but since Lila had been icing all day and she'd needed a big dose of pain relief, Ellie had forfeited her usual Bud Lite in favor of something much stronger so that her coworker didn't have to get shit-faced all by her lonesome.

Bad move.

The more she'd drunk, the more restless she'd gotten, and soon she'd been dancing around the small bar, ripe for someone, anyone to sweep her off her feet. She'd been hard-pressed to shake things up. And while a hunky cowboy was usually the norm in this neck of the woods, there was nothing normal about the man stretched out on the bed in front of her.

He had the hard lines of a professional rodeo man. A calf roper to be more specific, or so he'd said. Half of an award-winning duo. She found herself wishing she'd asked which half. That, and his name.

She still couldn't believe how fast things had progressed. One minute they'd been at the bar, the next she'd been following him into his motel room. No name. No details. He could have been a serial killer for all she knew.

Then again, the rodeo circuit hadn't had a known serial killer in its ranks in forever. That, and the rest of the bar seemed familiar with him, even if she hadn't known him from Adam.

Not that it mattered.

He
didn't matter and the less she knew about him, the better.

It made leaving easier and forgetting all about the past four hours a plausible plan of action.

She glanced at the deeply tanned body resting atop the crisp white sheets, his legs dusted with the same fine gold hair that swirled across his chest and surrounded a very impressive penis. Even asleep, he looked half-cocked and loaded. The sight stirred an ache low in her belly.

Definitely impressive. Not only visually, but physically, as well. He'd certainly managed to do some impressive things since they'd stumbled into the room. She still couldn't believe she'd come a whopping three times in as many hours. Not her record, mind you, but definitely a record with a living, breathing human being rather than Big Red, her favorite vibrator. Even her current “boyfriend” hadn't managed to stir more than one, and that had been a record in and of itself.

Until now.

She picked her way around the room, pulling on a shirt here, a pair of blue jean shorts there, until she stood fully clothed and ready to get the hell out of Dodge. Now. Before he cracked open an eye.

That would just make things weird.

She grabbed her purse and keys and reached for the door knob, but the deep voice stopped her cold.

“You're up awful early.”

“I, um, need to get to work.”

“It's Sunday.”

“Yeah, well not all of us keep banker's hours,” she blurted even though Brandy gave her the mornings off. “I work for a living.”

“This early?”

“Church then,” she quipped. “Gotta make the early service. Especially after last night.”

His warm chuckle vibrated the air around them and sent a whispering heat through her. “We did do a few things that would give new meaning to the word
hedonism
.” Bedsprings creaked and just like that, he was standing in front of her, his naked body filling up her line of vision and making her breath catch. “I guess it makes sense you might need to repent.” He took her hand and touched the palm to his lips. “You definitely racked up the sins last night.”

Heat bolted from her head clear to her toes, and a dozen erotic images bombarded her brain. Memories. Fantasies. Of what he'd done to her last night. Of what she still wanted him to do now. “Tell me about it.”

“But seein' as how you're already headed there, it seems you might want to make sure you get the most bang for your buck.”

“I'm not sure I'm following you.” But she was. She was seeing the next hour in her head. The two of them entwined on the bed, doing things that would frighten most people except that Ellie had always been adventurous and so what usually sent a burst of
uh, oh
through women stirred more of an
oh, boy
with her.

“If you're going to be asking forgiveness,” he went on, leaning down, his lips feathering over hers, “you might as well have a nice long list to knock out all at once.”

It made sense and she couldn't help herself. She smiled.

She was flat on her back in that next moment, the naked cowboy leaning over her.

“Wait,” she murmured a split second before his lips touched hers.

He stalled, his arms braced on either side of her. “Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now? It's a little late for that, Red. Especially after what we did.”

The words stirred a rush of memories and her body started to ache in all the places he'd touched her. Kissed her.

Oh, boy.

“Hardly,” she managed, her lips suddenly thick. “It's just when I'm laying it all out in the confessional, I think I might need a name. Just to give credit where credit is due.”

“Duff, darlin'. The name's Duff.” And then he kissed her.

 

CHAPTER 15

“Somebody looks tired today,” Brandy remarked when Ellie walked in fifteen minutes after noon on Sunday.

“I'm sorry I'm late.” She snagged her apron from a nearby peg and started tying it on. “I overslept.”

“It's fine. We're still half an hour shy of church letting out so things are pretty slow. Are you okay?” She eyed her baking assistant, noting the flushed cheeks, the bright eyes. “You look a little … peaked.”

“Is that what they're calling it these days?” Ellie gave her a grin that ended in a confused expression. “I had a late night, which is good. Great, in fact.”

“The dysfunctional boyfriend?”

“No.”

“That explains why you look as confused as you do happy.”

“I'm not confused. It's just … this guy was different. Not different, like love of my life or anything crazy like that,” she rushed on. “Different as in not my type. He was a cowboy and you know I don't do cowboys. It was just … I don't know, one minute we were looking at each other and the next, there was just this heat … It was intense. Way more than anything I've ever felt before.” She shook her head. “Totally ridiculous, huh?”

“Totally,”
not
. Brandy knew that sort of heat. She felt it every time Tyler McCall glanced at her.

“I mean, I was drunk so that's probably why my memory is a little skewed. I'm sure I'm making it out to be way better than it really was.”

“Probably.”

“Seriously, no man can be
that
good, right?”

“Right.”
Wrong
, her conscience chided, memories of her own hot cowboy whirling in her head. “So, um, who is this guy who's rocked your world to the point your head is all but spinning? Do I know him?”

“I…” Ellie caught her lips as she seemed to think. “That is, no. You don't know him.” She smoothed the apron over her. “We should really get to work.”

Brandy thought of the past few hours spent piddling around the bakery. Hours spent trying not to think about Tyler McCall and those few parting moments with him last night and the all-important fact that she was actually starting to
like
him.

“We should definitely get to work,” she told Ellie, handing the woman a bar of chocolate. “We've got to get a batch of chocolate cupcakes out to fill the case. The girls' choir loves my chocolate ganache and they'll be letting out just after one so I want to have plenty ready and waiting. All that singing makes them hungry.”

Brandy spent the next hour mixing and baking and frosting. She slid the last cupcake into place just as the doors swung open and a whopping two customers walked in.

Betty Dupree and her neighbor, Eliza Jamison. Both women were in their eighties and lived over at the senior center. Every Sunday they rode the bus to church just down the street and walked over for muffins and coffee—along with the other two dozen residents—to eat and talk and wait for their ride back to the home.

“Decaf for me, sugar,” Betty said when Brandy went to fill her mug. “I'm watching my caffeine.”

“Me, too,” Eliza chimed in. “On account of it aggravates my heart condition.”

“You don't have a heart condition,” Betty pointed out.

“Maybe not, but too much caffeine makes me feel like I do. My heart starts racing and I get all hot around the collar.”

“That's not caffeine. That's lust. You got a hankering for that new Wayland Carmichael. He's the new beefcake over at the home,” Betty told Brandy. “Doesn't live there yet. His daughter just brings him over for dominoes every afternoon. He's fresh meat and Eliza here is sweet on him.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Ladies, have a muffin,” Brandy said, distracting the women from their bickering. “I just made a fresh batch.”

“I hope you didn't make too many,” Betty said, taking the plate that Brandy slid across the counter. “On account of the rest of the ladies decided to stop off at the doughnut shop instead of coming here.”

“But the bus picks you guys up here,” Brandy reminded the woman.

“Not today. Our driver is anxious to try this new French thing the doughnut shop is doing called a beignet. It's all the rage in New Orleans. Since Missy Stevens's grandma relocated here after Katrina, she's been teaching Susie Mae all her Cajun baking secrets. That's where the habanero jelly came from. Anyhow, they was handing out samples this morning during Sunday school, so a whole mess of us decided to go over after church. The driver, too, on account of his grandma is Bernice Vernon, who's the one leading the switch from muffins to doughnuts. I swear the woman ain't got no loyalty.” She glanced behind her at the windows and the pair of old men who hobbled past. “See there? Headed after one of them fancy beignets. It's shameful, I tell you. Downright shameful.”