Red-Hot Texas Nights (18 page)

“Nice shot,” she said as the ball slammed into the pocket and Ryder let loose a string of curses.

“Thanks.” The man spared her a quick, unreadable glance before turning back to his opponent. “Pay up, Ryder.”

“No fair, Gator. You hustled me.”

As in
the
Gator Hallsey.

Ryder frowned as Gator held out his hand. “I swear I don't know why I let you hustle me,” Ryder grumbled as his hand dove into his jeans pocket and pulled out a few hundred-dollar bills.

Shock bolted through Brandy. He handed the money over as if they'd been playing with ones.

“There's no hustle involved,” Gator said, taking the cash. “I'm just better than you. At pool, and everything else,” he murmured as he turned back to Brandy. “
Everything
.”

His meaning rang loud and clear and she stiffened. “That's nice, but I'm not interested.”

“Hear tell you're always interested, Miss Tucker. Every night, in fact.”

“Don't believe everything you hear.”

“So.” He reached for a chalk cube and dusted the end of his stick. “If you're not here looking to get lucky, then what are you here for?”

“I know you're mixed up with Kenny Roy. Ryder, here, is his moonshine connection. And since you guys are affiliated, I'm guessing you're part of that connection.”

“I can't say I know what you're talking about. How about you, Ryder? You know anything about any moonshine going on around here?”

“Not me.”

“Cut the crap. I know it's you two and you know I know, so let's stop pretending. Kenny Roy gave you some mash a few weeks back and you either ran it yourselves or gave it to someone to run. I just want to know who.” She swallowed. “I need to talk to them.”

“First off, I don't run shine,” Gator said, putting his back to her. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You know exactly what I'm talking about. You're just lying because you're afraid I might be a snitch and you aren't too keen on spending the next ten years behind bars.”

He stiffened and turned to face her. “If that was true then that would make me one mean mother,” he murmured, leaning so close she could feel the rush of air against her lips.

Lips that were fuller than she'd first thought. Kissable, even, if she'd been the least bit interested.

She wasn't, she realized as she stared him down. She didn't catch her breath. Or fight down a rush of heat. Or feel her knees tremble. Nothing. Because as good looking as he was, he wasn't Tyler McCall.

The sudden truth shook her even more than the fact that she'd just called out the most dangerous man in the county.

“I'm not looking for trouble,” she added. “I just want what's mine. I made another batch of mash and now it's missing. Since Kenny Roy is one of the few people who knew about it, I'm banking that he took it and handed it over to you.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Fine, deny it. It doesn't matter.” She thought about arguing quality control, but at this point, she was too desperate. Beggars couldn't be choosers and she was this close to dropping to her knees because the last thing she had time to do was come up with another batch of mash. “I don't care who took it at this point. All that matters is that I get a jar of the finished product.”

He seemed as if he wanted to tell her where to go and how fast to get there, but then he shrugged. “I can get you a jar of shine, sweetheart, but I can't promise it's your product. I didn't touch your mash and I don't have a clue who did.”

“And I should believe you because of your stellar reputation?”

A slow grin split his face. “If reputations were in play, then you'd be doing a striptease on this pool table right now instead of arguing with me.” He shrugged. “Believe me or don't believe me. I really don't give a rat's ass.” He peeled off a few twenties from the wad Kenny Roy had given him and laid them on the table before signaling the waitress. “Let's cut out,” he told Ryder. “We've got work to do.”

“Wait a second. Where's Cooper McCall?” she called out, her voice bringing him up short.

His brow furrowed. “What do you want with Cooper?”

“His brother's looking for him. Kenny Roy said you two were delivering together, so if you're back, then where's Coop?”

Gator's gaze narrowed ever so slightly. “He headed for Austin on business. I was going myself, but I got held up here.”

With her mash.

That was the only reason he was standing here right now. He'd come back for her mash and stuck around because he was going to hand it over to someone to run as his own. It was just one of the dozen theories pushing and pulling at her brain.

“Cooper's a big boy,” Gator added. “If he wants to talk to his brother, I'm guessing he will. If not, then it's his business.”

“Who are you working with?” she called after him when he started to walk away. “Who ran my mash the first time?”

“Trust me, you'd rather not know.” With that, he left her staring after him.

She debated following, but Gator Hallsey was the best driver to ever haul shine. As good as his daddy and granddaddy before him had been back in the day.

She might try, but she would never manage to keep up.

Even more, she couldn't shake the crazy hunch that he was telling the truth.

Yeah, right. He was a criminal and she was no closer to getting a jar of the finished product before her meeting on Friday.

She was so screwed.

Professionally and personally.

The truth dogged her as she walked out of the run-down bar and climbed back into her car. Because there was no more denying that despite her best efforts, she'd done the unthinkable—she'd fallen head over heels for Tyler McCall.

 

CHAPTER 23

“He's in Austin,” Brandy told Tyler when he picked up his phone later that evening. She'd thought about stopping by to tell him in person, but after her recent realization, she'd decided that distance was better.

Safe.

“Who?”

“Cooper.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw Gator Hallsey. He's back, so I asked where your brother was.”

“And you think he told you the truth?”

“I don't see a reason for him to lie. Not about that anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

She wasn't going to tell him. That's what she told herself, but the hopelessness inside of her welled up and suddenly, the words tumbled out. “My mash is missing. Someone took it and I'm laying my money on Kenny Roy, or Ryder Jax or Gator Hallsey, or all three. At the very least, they know who has it and what's going on.”

“Where are you at?”

“The bakery?”

“I'll be there in a few minutes.”

“I don't think that's a good idea—” she started, but it was too late. The dial tone echoed in her ear and Brandy had all of fifteen minutes to gather her courage and prepare herself for a visit from the last man she wanted to see at the moment.

Why did everything have to be so complicated all of a sudden?

*   *   *

“There's no sign of breaking and entering here,” Tyler said as he examined the small back door that led into an alley behind the building and then walked back to the small closet behind the oven. “This pantry door wasn't locked?”

“Why would I lock it? It's not like someone's going to break in to steal flour or sugar, and that's all that I keep back there.”

“Ellie knew it was here?”

“Ellie's so preoccupied right now, I seriously doubt she knows her last name anymore. She's really into your buddy, Duff.”

“I think the feeling is mutual.”

“Uh, oh.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“That Ellie doesn't like being hooked on anyone. She likes playing the field.”

“Duff's pretty much the same.”

“Which is why Ellie's determined to break things off and stay away from him.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

It was, which was exactly why Brandy was following Ellie's lead. Except Ellie didn't have Duff barging over to check her back door and fog her common sense.

“The back door had to be unlocked at some point,” Tyler said. “Unless you think someone came in through the front door. Was it unlocked last night?”

“Of course not. I never leave it unlocked.”

She thought about how she'd rushed in at the last minute that morning because she'd let Tyler McCall distract her last night. And every night before then.

“Maybe I left it unlocked. I mean, I had to have, right? Otherwise there would be some evidence of an actual break-in.”

“Unless it's a really experienced thief.”

“In Rebel? We haven't had any sort of break-in around here since the Rebel Softball Team went on a scavenger hunt and dared each other to steal two rolls of toilet paper from the Mercantile. Even then, they didn't actually break in. One just distracted the clerk while another girl snuck the toilet paper past him under her shirt. It's not like there's a big crime wave around here.”

“And you sure as hell can't call the sheriff.”

“No.”

He nailed her with a gaze. “You can't go chasing after Gator Hallsey and his crew. I don't care if they did have something to do with taking the mash.”

“They did,” she said, more to convince herself than him. Because ever since she'd left the bar, she hadn't been able to shake the voice telling her that while Gator wasn't the most upstanding guy, he'd been telling the truth.

Which meant something else was going on.

“Leave it alone and make another batch,” Tyler told her.

She shook her head. “I don't have time. Speaking of which, I need to get home. Thanks for stopping by, but I promised Jenna we would hang out tonight.”

“What about later?”

She ignored the rush of excitement. “I'm committed for the long haul. Maybe we can get together tomorrow.” Even as she said the words, she knew she wasn't going to call him. Or drive over.

Distance.

“Listen—”

“I really have to go.”

He looked as if he wanted to say something, but then his phone blinked and he shook his head. “Fine, but you're sure you're going home? No more poking around?”

“Scout's honor.” She crossed her heart and watched as he turned and walked away.

*   *   *

“He called,” his mother told him when he walked into the trailer a few minutes later. “Told me he was fine and he'd try to stop by sometime soon. I told him I needed him here now, but that boy doesn't listen. Why, you just wait until your father gets home…” Tyler's mother went off on a rant about how things were going to change and shape up before she ended the tirade with a long swig of her coffee.

“Where's he at?”

“He didn't say.”

“Did you ask him?”

“'Course, I did,” the woman said, her words slightly slurred. Then again, it was after sundown. Well past happy hour. And to say Ellen McCall was happy by now was an understatement. “Say, when are you going to pick up that mess out front?”

“I should be done by tomorrow,” he told her, particularly since he wasn't doing much else tonight.

He thought of Brandy and her reluctance earlier, and his gut tightened. She was scared.

He didn't blame her. Last night hadn't gone exactly as he'd planned. Things had started off good enough. Fast. As planned. But then she'd sighed and he'd found himself slowing down, and then they'd both been so tired that falling asleep had seemed like the right thing.

Until the neighbor had called to tell him his mother was singing at the top of her lungs and she was going to call the police if Tyler didn't put a stop to it. He'd gone by the house, poured his mother into bed, and then headed back to the rodeo arena only to find that Brandy had left.

So? Good riddance. That's what Tyler told himself, but damned if he hadn't actually liked falling asleep with her. Enough that he'd had one hell of a practice session that morning. He'd been focused. On point.

“You keep riding like that,” Jack had told him, “and you'll give those cowboys a run for their money in Cheyenne.”

Yep, he'd done good, and all because he'd gotten some much-needed sleep. Some peace. The most he'd felt in a long time.

Unfortunately, Brandy hadn't had a similar day. Her mash was missing, she was rattled, and now she was scared.

Of him.

Of them.

The urge to hop into his truck and haul ass over to her place hit him hard and fast, but Tyler wasn't about to go there. Sure, he'd had a good day. But maybe it hadn't been because of Brandy. Because he'd had some decent sleep.

Maybe he was just pushing himself.

His mind made up, he spent the next few hours clearing away the leftover wood and nailing up a few of the last pieces, until the porch stood strong and tall. He jumped to test the weight and satisfaction rolled through him.

Short-lived when he headed back to the empty apartment and the soft sheets that still smelled like Brandy Tucker.

 

CHAPTER 24

“Maybe I'm not interested in talking to you.” Brandy tried to sound nonchalant as she fed a lemon tart into a pink bakery box early Wednesday morning, but it was next to impossible when she caught a whiff of his scent.

The enticing aroma of leather and male and that unnameable something that made her think of soft cotton sheets and the moonlight peeking past the blinds of the small apartment … Forget it. Forget him.

Forget.

She tried for a steadying breath. “Look, I thought we got this straight last night—I don't think it's a good idea for us to continue to get together.” She added the last word on a whisper, eyeing the four women sitting at a nearby table, nursing coffee and slices of her cranberry walnut bread, their gazes hooked on Tyler. “I think we should call it quits.”