Texas Thunder (22 page)

Oddly enough, he didn't feel the least bit satisfied. Not like he usually did after a few hours of raw, breath-stealing sex. He felt … empty.

Needy.

Hungry.

“… heard anything like that before?” Sheriff DeMassi's voice pushed into his thoughts. “I talked to the ranch hands and they said they've heard the occasional shot but they just figured it for nearby hunters. Your place backs up to the Walker property on the other side of the creek.”

Brett nodded. “But the Walkers don't hunt. Mr. Walker has bad cataracts.” At least that's what Karen had said when she'd met them on the porch after the first shot. “And Mrs. Walker is a PETA supporter. She won't even wear a leather belt.” Theirs had been the classic country-boy-meets-city-girl romance back when Brett's pappy had been young. The old man had told the story every time they'd seen the couple in town or at church. They were opposites, but then that was the point, Pappy had said. It wasn't about what you had in common when it came to the opposite sex. It's about what you felt.

The way he'd felt about Brett's grandma.

Like he couldn't catch his breath if he didn't see her. Like he was going to die if he didn't catch a whiff of her perfume. Like he was going to climb the walls if he didn't get just one more kiss.

Like Brett himself at the moment.

He ditched the thought and focused on the sheriff and the all-important fact that they had poachers on their land.

“I'll get in touch with the local game warden. Between him and my deputies, we'll get someone out here to keep an eye out the next few nights. See if maybe we can't figure out who's trespassing.”

And stealing his cattle.

While Brett had no proof that the gunshot had anything to do with his missing steer, he had a tingling in his gut that told him the two were connected.

Whoever had fired off that gun had something to do with the thousands of dollars Brett had lost out on.

And the missing contents of the safe?

He didn't know, but there was only one way to find out. “I can post a few of the hands down near the east end where the shot came from.”

“I'd rather you let us take care of it. If someone is poaching your land, I'll get to the bottom of it.”

Brett wasn't the least bit comfortable sitting around doing nothing, but he respected the sheriff enough to concede. Brett had gone to school with Hunter and his two brothers. They were good men. Upright. If the sheriff said he'd get to the bottom of it, Brett knew he meant it. He nodded. “I'll have Pepper brief the men and let them know you'll be patrolling the area. They'll move what cattle we have left over to the west pasture and steer clear so the east end is all yours.”

Hunter nodded and clapped Brett on the shoulder. “It's good to see you home.”

“Yeah, well, it's only temporary. Just until Pappy is back to his old self.”

Hunter didn't give him the Alzheimer's speech like everyone else did. Instead, he nodded before glancing over his shoulder at the spot where James Harlin's truck had sat only minutes before. A grin tugged at his lips when he turned back around. “So you and Callie pick up where you left off?”

“We're just friends.”

Hunter shrugged. “That's what I meant.”

“Sure it was.”

“Hey, you can't blame a guy for trying to get the gossip straight.”

“And what's the gossip saying?”

“That you're just friends. The close encounters kind of friends.”

“Well, the gossip is wrong,” he heard himself say even though the old Brett would have simply smiled and left his reputation intact. But damned if it didn't bother him that people were talking about Callie. Possessiveness blazed through him and he had the urge to haul ass into town and set the record straight once and for all—Callie Tucker was a good girl. She always had been and she always would be, no matter how many times she did a striptease for him down by the creek.

That had been for his eyes only.

She
was for his eyes only.

The notion struck as he watched the sheriff climb into his black SUV and pull down the drive.

Callie
was
his.

Then and now.

And he was the sonofabitch who was going to break her heart again by walking away.

But she knew that this time. She'd come to him with her eyes wide open, with full knowledge that nothing between them would last. Their relationship was temporary, physical, and she was okay with that.

And damned if
that
didn't bother him even more than the fact that there really was someone stealing cattle from Bootleg Bayou.

*   *   *

Callie left a voice mail for Mark Edwards asking to meet as soon as possible and then set her cell phone on her nightstand. She eyed the jar of moonshine she and Brett had uncovered in the attic. A nearby lamp cast a glow through the pale amber liquid and she thought of all the jars just like it she'd seen over the years. A few in the corner of James Harlin's room. Out in the barn. The shed. Under the seat of the pickup. None had ever looked this clear or pure, as if this jar held something a cut above any she'd seen in the past.

The real deal.

Texas Thunder.

Her heart skipped a beat and she tried to remember that it might not be the original shine. There was no way to know without a complete analysis. Until then, she wasn't getting her hopes up.

She sat the jar next to her cell phone and shifted. Her thighs ached with the small movement and awareness rolled through her. The sensitive tips of her nipples rubbed against the soft cotton of her T-shirt and she caught her lip against the sensation. A memory of Brett leaning over her, into her, whispered through her head and she stiffened.

Over and done with.

That's what she tried to tell herself.

Picking up her alarm clock, she set the buzzer for eight a.m.—two hours later than her usual six. But it was already after two in the morning and while she did have to work on Saturdays, it wasn't the usual office hours tomorrow. They had only one open house, which meant she would have a lighter day than usual. Plenty of time to meet with Mark and stop off at the post office.

Her gaze went to the samples of her work stacked near her laptop. Before she could think better of it, she sank down at her desk and reached for the brown manila envelopes she'd picked up ages ago for just this thing. She opened her drawer and reached for the stack of inquiry letters she'd done months ago, on those late nights when James was on a bender and the urge to get the hell out of Rebel had eaten her up from the inside out.

Pressing the button on her phone, she cued an upbeat Luke Bryan song to kill the oppressive silence of her room. She grabbed a letter and a collection of tear sheets.

Over the next half hour, she fed the envelopes one by one until she had thirty. The mailing labels came next. Over and over, she peeled and stuck until everything was ready to go and there wasn't a single thing left to do but stop at the post office.

Which is what she fully intended to do first thing in the morning because no way was she going to stick around Rebel and waste her life away, regretting the past. The present.

It was time.

That's what she told herself as she killed the music, crawled into bed, and tried to forget Brett Sawyer and the way he'd touched her so tenderly and held her so tightly, as if he never meant to let go.

As if.

He would let her go and then he would walk away, but she didn't care because she was walking away, too. No staying behind, regretting what could have been.

She was through with regrets. She was moving forward.

Even if the notion didn't excite her half as much as it used to.

 

CHAPTER 25

“I'm afraid she's not here,” Callie told Alex when she opened the door the next morning and found him standing on her doorstep, Arnie in tow. “She got stuck on an all-night horse vaccination, but I'll be sure to tell her that you stopped by.” When Arnie started to open his mouth, she added, “And I really don't have time for another acupuncture session. I've got an open house in a half hour and a few errands to run before then.” Namely a post office stop for the envelopes overflowing her arms. “Sorry.”

“Oh, we're not here for acupuncture,” Alex said. “Arnie, here,” he motioned beside him, “has been working on his hypnosis certificate online, too. Hypnosis is a great way to deter bad behavior.”

“That's right,” Arnie chimed in. “I usually like to start with the acupuncture first, especially since I actually finished those classes, paid my fifty dollars, and got my certificate, but hypnosis is an even better way to kick addiction. Once I'm through with Jenna, she'll be over her claustrophobia for sure.”

“That's right,” Alex said. “If you could just let her know that I'm looking for her and I won't stop until I've done everything I can to cure her, I'd really appreciate it.”

“Maybe you should just give her some space.”

“And give up on the love of my life in her hour of need?” Alex looked horrified. “I could never do any such thing.” He squared his shoulders. “I'm going to help her and hypnosis is the way to go.”

“We think,” Arnie added. “I'm only three classes into the course, but I'm pretty sure I can put her under. That's the real challenge. It can take anywhere from five to fifteen minutes, but once she's there I can get rid of any addiction. It's just a matter of making the right suggestions.”

Callie thought of the last few hours she'd spent tossing and turning and lusting after Brett. Even though said lust should have been completely satisfied after last night.

But she still wanted him.

Even more it seemed.

“Fifteen minutes, huh?” She shifted the armload of envelopes.

“At the most, but I'm thinking more like five or ten. I made a perfect score on the section test. Well, near perfect. That last question tripped me up, but I know what I did wrong, so I'm all good.”

The
good
stirred a memory of the previous night, of how Callie had felt when Brett had touched her, kissed her, loved her. She stiffened.

There was no love involved. Not then and not now.

Not ever.

“The post office can wait until Monday.” She turned and motioned toward the house. “Let's do this.”

*   *   *

It had worked.

That's what Callie told herself throughout the rest of the day as she smiled and greeted clients and handed out water bottles, and did her best not to think about Brett.

She succeeded. She was so busy that she didn't spare him a second thought.

Until he walked into her open house and cornered her in the kitchen.

He wore faded jeans, a fitted black PBR 2015 Championship T-shirt, and a hungry look that said he wasn't any more satisfied than she was.

She ignored a sudden rush of excitement and tried to look irritated. “What are you doing here?”

He picked up a water bottle, unscrewed the top, and took a long pull. “I thought we could pick up some lunch,” he said when he finally came up for air.

“Why?”

“Because you need to eat and I need to eat and there's nothing wrong with us eating together.”

But it wasn't the eating that was the problem. It was the
together.

She'd meant to find some closure last night, but the only thing she'd managed to do was open another Pandora's box. Where the girl in her had spent all those years pining away for the young boy he'd been, the woman in her was now haunted by the man himself.

She wanted him again. Despite the hour of hypnosis during which Arnie had tried to cure Callie of her addiction to Brett. She'd even had Arnie throw in several suggestions to steer her clear of the cupcakes, which had resulted in quite a mess in the living room that she'd yet to clean up.

Talk about a joke.

Her stomach hollowed out and she found herself longing for a cupcake.

And another kiss.

“I'm really busy.” She stared pointedly at a prospective couple from Austin who walked past the kitchen toward the living room. She grabbed a listing sheet from the counter. “I should really go over the features with them.” She started forward but he caught her hand and pulled her in the opposite direction.

“I'd like you to go over the features with me.”

“You're not a prospective buyer.”

“I might be.”

A split second later, he pulled her into the massive pantry off to the side of the kitchen and shut the door behind them. A small light fixture hung overhead, highlighting the floor-to-ceiling shelves and a large wine rack. He pulled her around to face him and stared down at her. “Tell me about this room.”

“It's a storage pantry.”

“And?”

She eyed him. “You don't really want to know about this room.” She busied her lips with the tightest frown she could manage, considering she wanted to kiss him more than she wanted her next breath.

“No, but if it keeps you in here with me, then I'll listen to anything you have to say.” He closed the few inches between them. “I've been thinking about you, Callie,” he murmured, his lips so close to hers. “Hell, you're all I've thought about since you drove away.”

“Shelves,” she blurted, turning away and staring at the massive white wall unit. “You could stock a full month of groceries in here.”

“I don't care about shelves.” He came up directly behind her.

“Maybe even two.”

“I don't want to think about you, but I can't stop.” His hands slid around her waist, his palms warm through the cotton of her shirt. His fingers caught the hem of her shirt and the rough pad of his thumb rasped against her soft flesh. Heat zapped her.

“I thought this was just sex.”

“What makes you think it isn't?” His voice rumbled over her bare neck and she damned herself for pulling her hair up into a ponytail. Goose bumps chased up and down her arms and she came this close to leaning back into him, closing her eyes, and soaking in the heat of his body. Just for a little while.