Somethin' Dirty: Country Fever, Book 4 (19 page)

He swirled his tongue through her mouth in a new dance. She sighed and locked her arms around his neck. They swayed together for long, drenching moments.

Finally he raised his head and stared right into her eyes.

But he didn’t ask again.

Chapter Twelve

At the sound of tires on gravel, Griffin leaned the shovel against the fence and walked around the barn to see the drive. After two days of drenching rain, the ranch was a sopping mess of mud. The animals had torn up the pastures right quick, and the downspout on the house wasn’t draining properly. A small pool stood at the corner.

If Lyric were a year or two older, she’d be sitting in it. A swimming pool for a country girl.

He smiled at his thoughts and at the sight of Taylor getting out of his truck. He wore a black slicker, which flapped in the wind. Griffin hollered his name, and Taylor raised a hand in greeting.

By the time Taylor reached him, his friend’s hat was soaked. Griffin led the way to the barn. The comfort of clean hay and animal enveloped him. Nothing like a warm, dry place to rest and bullshit with a friend.

Taylor clapped him on the back. “Nasty day to help on the ranch.”

“Yeah, well, I was about to stop anyway. Can’t do much in this mud.”

Taylor leaned against a stall and looked in at Bart, the old horse Griffin had been nursing year after year of life. “This the horse you got right after high school?”

“Yeah, he’s about to go to the permanent pasture in the sky, but I can’t bring myself to put him down. Not when he’s still happy to see me.” Griffin leaned against the door too and patted Bart’s nose. The chestnut horse flicked his tail.

Silence stretched between them, only broken by the constant beat of rain. Days of rain seemed to affect some people’s moods, but not Griffin’s.

Nola had taken one look at the window and put her head back under the covers. But then Lyric’s coos had transmitted through the monitor, and Nola tossed back the blankets to Griffin’s laughter. In the end, Griffin had tended his daughter. Changing, dressing and feeding her was bonding time he’d never give up.

After a spell, Taylor said, “You sure you wanna do this, man?”

Griffin gave a short nod. “Yeah. Got no choice.”

“You know what you’re giving up, right?”

Sighing, Griffin thought about selling the old 1948 Indian Chief motorcycle. His grandfather had purchased it after WWII, kept it in pristine condition and passed it to his grandson. There was a time when Griffin could have gotten any girl he wanted with that bike.

Now he was giving it up because he wanted a woman.

Taylor glanced at him. “If you want to back out, just say the word.”

“No, I need to sell. I’d rather the bike be with someone I know and trust will take care of it.”

“You know if you need money, I can spot you some.”

Griffin’s chest tightened at the offer. No one knew better what kind of strain he was under than Taylor. No new calves to take to market, massive tuition bill still unpaid, and keeping Nola just got more expensive. He planned to buy her a ring.

He gripped Taylor’s shoulder and squeezed. “Appreciate that. But no, I’ll sell the bike. It’s best all around.”

Taylor shifted, his boots scuffing the worn floorboards. “If you ever want it back…”

“All I’ll have to do is come up with the cash, I know. C’mon, let’s load it up.” Griffin strode from the barn and through the rain to the shed where he kept the bike. Taylor ducked into the space as Griffin switched on the light.

The prized motorcycle sat in the middle of the room under a tarp. Griffin hurried through removing the tarp. Every polished inch spoke of the care he’d continued to heap upon the bike.

Taylor blew out a whistle. “This is gonna finally get me a little hottie.”

Griffin eyed him. “Oh, it will get you a lot of little hotties. But they won’t be the right kind of women. You know that.”

“I do, but damn, I’m gonna have a good time being reminded.”

Griffin snorted with laughter.

“Your country singer sure would look pretty on the back of this bike.” The seat didn’t really accommodate a second rider, but Griffin had made it work more times than he could count in his youth.

Stomach warming at talk of Nola, Griffin gave a noncommittal nod.

Taylor pushed on. “Just exactly what do you plan to do with the money?”

“Pay Miranda’s bills.”

“There will be plenty of cash left.”

“Gonna buy a few more horses at auction.”

“Thinking of phasing out Angus beef?”

Griffin ran a hand over the smooth leather bike seat. “No, just supplement. Raise some prime stock to sell. Always a market for horses.”

“That’s true.” Taylor gave him a sidelong look. “You’re gonna buy her a ring, aren’t you?”

A long, slow breath expelled from Griffin. The magnitude of what he was about to do hit him. It scared the living shit out of him, actually. Especially since he’d asked her twice and she’d responded by telling him she was leaving for Nashville, then by saying nothing at all. Odds were he’d be stuck with a diamond ring when all was said and done.

“I don’t have a choice, Taylor. I’m in love with her.”

Taylor shot him a crooked grin. “I can see that, man. Think she’ll say yes?”

“No.” Griffin’s word sounded final even to him. He spun away to grab the helmet from the hook on the wall. When he voiced his worst fears, his voice cracked. “I think she’ll refuse me and hightail it outta here, straight for Nashville. But it’s the risk I have to take.”

“You can go to Nashville with her.”

Griffin met his gaze head-on. “Give up the ranch, move away from Ma during the years she’ll most need me? Besides, I’m only qualified to shovel shit and care for hooves. I don’t know anything about city life.”

“Neither does Nola. She’s lived here all her life.”

“That’s true. Listen, are you takin’ this bike today or not?”

Taylor, as stoic as always, rolled with Griffin’s change of topic. “Sure am. I’ll get the truck and pull it around.”

Griffin helped him load the heirloom bike into the back of the truck. And as he accepted a personal check for half of his yearly income, he swallowed down the feeling he was about to make the biggest mistake of his life. But as he’d told Taylor, he didn’t have a choice. His heart was urging him on like a rider hell-bent for the finish line and the golden cup.

As Nola drifted down the sidewalk, she jostled her purse to her other arm. It was a change of pace to be out on her own and without a sixteen-pound baby in her arms. For once Nola had on nice clothes and her hair was freshly styled from a salon visit.

Griffin had insisted upon sending Nola away for a much-needed day off, saying it was about time he and Lyric had some daddy-daughter time. But Nola felt a little despondent at being sent away.

Since coming back, she hadn’t felt chained down to a job. No, she was looking at the situation in a whole new light, which was terrifying.

The lyrics to Griffin’s song revolved through her mind, on a constant loop. For weeks she’d eaten, drank, heard nothing but those words.
Only one lyric important enough to sing to you. Ain’t nothin’ gonna stand in my way of sayin’ them, so, baby, please let me in.

She hummed it. Then sang it under her breath.

The sidewalk was crowded. Church services had just let out, and the congregation moved through town, headed to picnics and sharing lunch with friends at one of the diners along the main street of Reedy. The boot shop was always busy on a Sunday afternoon, and today was no different.

Nola found her sister kneeling in a heap of boot boxes, smiling up at Jamie Poe, who seemed to be frequenting the shop more and more. The cowboy who never smiled but only glared his way into the wet dreams of most young girls in Reedy. And Molly obviously couldn’t be happier.

“Not sure these ones are right,” he was saying, blond hair hanging deliciously over smoldering green eyes.

“Well, you’ve tried on everything in your size in the past three days. I’m fresh out of stock. You’re sure those Ferrinis felt too tight? They looked divine.” Molly spotted Nola lurking nearby and shot her a dark look.

Nola flounced off to the opposite end of the store to give Molly space to flirt. Nola sifted through a few racks of clothes. Interest sparked in her. It had been too long since she’d spent time on the old things in her life. She couldn’t spend much if she wanted to keep that fat savings account for Nashville, but maybe a pretty new top would boost her mood.

She paused at that, her hand on a denim halter.
What’s wrong with me? I
am
in a bad mood.

Because Griffin had sent her away. Since the night they’d danced in the rain, he’d been totally different. Less burdened somehow, with plenty of smiles and his laughter ringing through the house. Alice had more energy, and even Lyric seemed to blossom under the happy canopy he’d thrown over the house.

He still ordered Nola around, but only in the best of ways—to get together a picnic for the four of them. To let him fold the basket of baby clothes because she looked bushed.

And to lay down on the wildflower petals he’d scattered over his bed so he could make her come again and again.

She shivered and brushed her hair off her face. Being sent away didn’t sit well with her.

Gathering a handful of tops, she headed for the dressing room, situated near the place where Molly was still waiting on Jamie Poe. Her sister’s voice had dipped to that honeyed drawl. Boy, she was really pouring it on today.

Nola rolled her eyes and zipped herself into the denim halter. She fluffed her hair and twisted left and right. Her breasts were propped up perfectly on the fabric, displaying golden cleavage Griffin would have a hard time resisting.

Wait. What the hell was she thinking? The old Nola wouldn’t give a damn what man liked her in this top but how it looked from all angles on stage. She gripped the zipper on her side and ripped it down. She wriggled out of the tight fabric and replaced it on the hanger.

She reached for another shirt, but stopped at a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her skin was bronzed and smooth. Griffin hadn’t given her another mark since she’d voiced her displeasure over it, but now she longed to see a beard burn or a bright red kiss mark.

Disgusted with herself, she abandoned all thoughts of trying on more tops. She redressed and exited the fitting room just as Jamie Poe was walking out the door.

Molly’s red brows were drawn in irritation. “I suppose you heard everything.”

“No. Once I shut the dressing room door, I couldn’t hear you anymore.”
Or I only was thinking of my own love story.

Molly’s expression lightened and she gestured to the clothes in Nola’s hand. “You like any of those?”

“Nah. I’m not in the mood to shop, I guess.”

Her sister took the garments and hung them on a rack to put away later. Then she started collecting the boxes Jamie Poe had left behind. Nola watched her for a moment then drifted to the wall of boots. Thousands of dollars’ worth of leather graced the wall, ranging from utilitarian rancher’s boots to the finest Tony Lamas.

Nola looked over the women’s selection. A bright blue pair caught her eye.

Somethin’ blue.

She stopped breathing. Before she knew it, she’d drifted forward to pull the boot from the small shelf. “Molly, you have these in—”

“A seven, yeah. You’re gonna love them, sis. When we got the shipment, first thing I did was try them on and strut around the store. Hold on. I’ll get ’em.”

Nola turned the boot from side to side, admiring the pearly white insets that would match a wedding gown oh so well. Her heart chimed a wedding march but her mind added Griffin’s lyrics.

By the time Molly returned, Nola was flustered.

“Why are you blushing?”

Nola ducked her head and sat abruptly on the cushioned bench to pull off her sandals. “I’m not. It’s hot in here.”

“Whatever you say.” Molly removed the boots from the box and handed her sister two peds for trying on the boots. “You been singing? You haven’t been home for me to hear.”

“Yeah, of course. I took my guitar to Griffin’s, and I sing when the baby’s asleep.”

“Bet your man loves your voice. You have so much talent. Any guy would jump at the chance to have you.” Molly looked wistfully toward the door Jamie Poe had vanished through.

Nola softened and put a hand on her sister’s arm. “You have so much to offer too, Molly.”

Her sister shook herself. “Doesn’t matter, I guess.”

“If you stop looking for love, it will drop into your lap. Everyone says that.”

“Yeah, well, Mom and Dad don’t know what they’re talking about.” She stuck out her tongue, and Nola laughed.

Then she slipped the boots on. They fit as though they’d been made for her. Little country elves in chaps had cut them out and sewn them to fit her feet. Or the fairy godmother had magicked them. Whatever had happened, these boots were made for Nola.

“Oh my God, Nola! Those boots were meant for you!”