The White Cowboy - Complete BWWM Romance Box Set (5 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gemma tried to console herself that she had time to get to Los Angeles before her audition. A few hours wouldn't matter. Brandon must be ready for her to leave, too.

When they reached his house, she checked her phone. Bars. She called triple A, and was told a tow truck would take three hours to get there.

"Three hours?"

"Yes, ma'am. You're in a very remote location.”

She sighed. "Okay. Three hours. I'm down the road. I'll give you my cell number.”

She hung up after the woman took her information. She sighed. Brandon had parked the truck, and now stood on his front porch waiting for her.

Sliding out of the cab, she frowned. "I can't get a tow truck here for three hours."

She thought she saw him grimace, but she wasn't sure. She didn't like the situation any more than she did.

"Guess we'll get lunch then."

"I'm going to buy you groceries when this is all done," she said.

He waved his hand. "I'm not worried about that."

"No, really. You've opened your home and I appreciate it."

He wouldn't make eye contact. Wow, he really didn't want her here.

"Let me find a hotel," she said.

"There isn't one. Not for fifty miles. Besides, with no car, how would you get there?"

"Cab?"

"No cabs. No buses. No public transportation."

Her shoulders drooped. "Wow. We are remote."

"Yes, we are," he said. He opened the front door. "Let's get lunch."

***

Three hours? He had to endure this gorgeous woman by himself for three more hours? What sin had he committed in another life to deserve this?

Brandon knew exactly what he wanted to do for three hours, but doubted she would be amendable to it. He'd gained a new appreciation for her when Gemma pitched in to shovel out her car. She didn't complain.

Not once.

She had his blood humming so loud he couldn't think. He stood in his kitchen, his haven, and couldn't figure out what to make for lunch.

"Need help?"

He jumped when she spoke. She was right next to him. His gaze took in her smiling face. Did he ever get mad?

"No, I think I have stuff for sandwiches," he said.

He couldn't have moved away from her fast enough.

"Let me know what I can do."

Leave? Or beg me to fuck you. He'd take either one. "Just sit at the counter."

"I can't have you doing it all."

"All I am doing is putting out meat and bread. It isn't difficult."

"Oh, right."

She settled on the counter, but she didn't seem to really settle. She was a bundle of movements, and he wanted to watch every single one.

Nerves?

What did she have to be nervous about?

Searching his refrigerator, he found some leftover beef that he could slice up along with lettuce and some tomato. He put everything on the counter, then found some sliced bread to go with it all. He pulled condiments out to complete the sandwiches.

"That all looks great," she said from her seat.

He didn't want to look up, but he did. She had a smile on her face.

"Let me slice the beef, then you can make your sandwich first."

"Thanks."

***

Gemma watched him wield the knife like an expert. Until the last slice.

"Oh," he said and grabbed his finger.

She could see some blood running down his hand. Circling the island, she grabbed a paper towel as she went by. She wrapped his finger in it. "Hold this tight and up in the air."

"Thanks."

He did as she said, but moved over to the sink.

"Where's your first aid kit?"

He nodded in the right direction. "The drawer next to the fridge."

She opened the drawer he'd indicated and found what she needed.

He took off the blood-soaked paper towel.

"Don't look at it. Just leave it on there."

With a frown, he returned the towel to his bleeding finger. Gathering her supplies, she moved them to where he stood.

"Now you can remove it."

He did, and she replaced the towel with a bandage, then wrapped it tightly with some roller gauze, then taped it.

"That's tight," he said.

"It’ll help stop the bleeding," she said.

She stood close, enjoying how strong and masculine he was. Some people couldn't stand the sight of blood. Gemma had no problem with it. Neither did Brandon.

She looked up into his ice-blue eyes. He stared back down at her. She put a hand on his chest. His heart beat a staccato in his chest.

For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Then he cleared his throat, stepping out of her reach. "Thank you," he said.

She shook herself. "I'll finish making lunch, then."

***

Brandon's finger throbbed, but the pain didn't distract from the fact that he almost kissed her. Almost kissed a perfect stranger.

He sat at the island instead, and tried not to watch her make this sandwich. Her long, manicured fingers carefully put the ingredients on the bread. The task could not have been simpler, but he'd been fascinated watching her.

"Mayo or mustard?" she said, breaking him out of his reverie.

She didn't seem to have been affected by the almost-kiss. She'd taken up his task as if she did it every day. As if some strange man almost kissing her was a regular occurrence.

Damn.

"Mayo, please," he said finally.

She'd had to stare at him for a moment. He didn't want to make eye contact, but he did. Those dark eyes took him in.

Why was this stranger getting him so aroused? Had it really been that long?

Next time he went to town, he'd take one of the women up on their offers. He'd have sex and get this itch out of his pants.

That was his plan. Now that it was all set, he could relax. Just three more hours of Gemma. Then she'd be gone from his life and hopefully gone from his mind.

"You feel it, too," she said, setting the plate in front of him.

"What?"

She cocked her head, leaning on the counter. "The attraction. There's some kind of energy between us."

Damn.

He cleared his throat, then realized his mouth had gone dry. She'd been thinking about him the same way he'd been thinking about her. "Uh."

She smiled. "It's okay."

"Uh."

"I guess you are feeling it. You've been rendered inarticulate."

She sat on the stool farthest from him and bit into her sandwich. He stared at her. Was she for real? Or was she teasing him.

"You're just going to eat your sandwich?"

"I'm hungry," she said. "Besides, I get the impression you don't want to talk."

He wasn't much of a talker, and if she'd never brought up their attraction, he would have been fine. She pointed out the elephant in the room, and now it wanted attention.

So did his dick, but he wasn't getting his hopes up for that.

***

Gemma chewed her sandwich bite, but didn't think she could swallow it with her mouth so dry. He had been thinking about her the way she'd been thinking about him.

She sighed. She was always the one to point out what others were afraid to point out. The trait had gotten her in trouble more than once in social situations. Not that she'd stopped. Being candid was part of her nature, and her parents had nurtured it. Even when sometimes she called them out on inconsistencies.

Brandon didn’t seem the type who liked things like this being pointed out. He lived alone here with his animals, not dealing with the rest of the world.

Taking a deep breath, she blew it out. "So what do we do about this?"

"I thought you thought that I didn't want to talk about it."

"But I do, and it isn't in my nature to sweep things under the rug. We have this attraction, and maybe we should talk about it."

He waved a hand, then took a bite of his sandwich. From his chewing, she figured his mouth was dry. He swallowed, and then went to the sink to pour himself some water. He put a glass in front of her, clearly trying not to touch her.

Some part of Gemma wanted to touch him on purpose. Not for the mischief factor, but because she wanted to see if touching him would make her hand tingle again.

She'd never experienced that.

Instead, she let him go back to his seat at the other end of the six-foot granite island. His slumped over his food as if facing the electric chair.

This man really didn't want to deal with this.

"You're leaving in a few hours. There's nothing to deal with," he said finally.

"So that's how you want to play this? We'll pretend there's nothing here and I'll go on my merry way."

"Why not? You're going off to Hollywood to be a star. I'm staying here in Iowa. End of story."

She took a bite of her sandwich, then mulled over what he had to say. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yep. We'll just stay far away from each other until I leave."

He shrugged. "I have some work in the barn, so you can stay in the house. I can drive you up to your car when it's time."

"Thank you."

CHAPTER NINE

Brandon's work in the barn didn't take him that long, but he was damned if he was going to spend time with Gemma. He just wanted her gone. Out of his house and life so he could go back to his solitary existence.

Spike lay in the hay, next to where Brandon was repairing a bridle. He couldn't seem to get it right, but he figured it was because he couldn't concentrate. He put away the project.

Gemma appeared in the doorway. "The tow truck is here."

He wiped his hands on his jeans, then fished his keys out from his pocket. "I'm ready."

Brandon didn't speak, and was glad that Gemma didn't need conversation on the short ride to the end of the driveway. He gripped the steering wheel, trying to breathe through the palpable tension in the air.

The snow crunched under the truck tires. He didn't really think she'd get far in her rear wheel drive sports car, but he couldn't force her to stay. Well, he didn't think her staying was a good idea. Not at all.

By dropping her with the tow truck drive, he completed his obligation.

Gemma gazed out the window the whole trip, though he knew there wasn't much to see. He reached the road and drove onto it.

She couldn't walk far in those boots, so he stopped next to the tow truck.

"Thank you," she said, then hopped out of this truck.

As if she'd sucked the air out of the truck, he thought, she'd left with something of his. He was just glad the tension was gone.

He had to head to town anyway for some supplies. The road was clear enough, and he had time. He'd wanted to work on a tomato sauce. A quick one. Not one you had to cook all day.

Not always having time to let a pot simmer, he wanted to make a sauce or two that could be done in thirty minutes. If it were summer, he'd use fresh tomatoes, but canned would have to do for now.

With his list in his pocket, he turned toward the next town without glancing in his rear view mirror. He refused to let himself. She was gone, and that was good. No need to belabor the point. He had cooking to do.

No need to look back, he told himself again.

***

Gemma watched Brandon's truck make a U-turn, then pull away. He didn't look back. He didn't wave. He hadn't even wished her luck or anything.

A little hurt spot formed in her chest, but she ignored it. She would be on her way to Hollywood soon.

The tow truck drive introduced himself as Zeb. She shook his work-roughened hands, then watched him hook her Mustang to his truck. His calloused hands reminded her of Brandon's hands.

She shivered for a moment, imagining what those hands could do to her. Brandon's, not the tow truck driver.

"You can wait in the cab if you're cold," Zeb said.

"Thanks."

She climbed in. Zeb had the heater on full, and country music twanged out of the speakers. After a few minutes, her car was on the flatbed. Zeb hauled his large frame into the truck.

"The closest mechanic is in the closest town."

"No Ford dealer?"

"Not for about a hundred miles. Still under warranty?"

"Yes, but not sure I want to pay for you to tow it there,"  she said.

"Well, not sure I can tow it there today. Can't really afford to have a truck out of service for that long," Zeb said.

He put the truck in gear, then pulled out onto the road.

"Then the closest mechanic it is," she said.

She'd hoped for silence, but Zeb wanted to talk.

"You passing through?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Where to?"

"California."

"Now that's a nutty state. Too much sunshine makes people nuts. Me, I love Iowa. I know people on the coast call us fly over country, but you can all flyover all you want. I'm staying here."

She nodded.

"I have a great wife who works part time in a beauty salon. I have kids who get to go to good schools. What more can a man want?"

She hmmed.

"I own my own business. I have a house. I go vacation once a year. It's a great life."

He kept going during their whole trip.

She nodded and made noises at all the appropriate places, but relief filled her when Zeb pulled in front of a mechanic's garage. It looked like something out of Mayberry. The seedy part of Mayberry you never saw on the television show. She frowned, wondering if it was too late to get the car to the dealer.

If she heard banjos, she'd run screaming from the place.

"Marco here will take good care of you," Zeb said after he'd unloaded her vehicle. "You have a good day now."

Gemma pushed open the door to the office, and a bell rang, announcing her presence. A man with greasy hands poked his head out of the bay. "Be right with you."

He smiled, showing the whitest teeth she'd ever seen. Maybe it was the contrast from the grease on his face.

She smiled. "No problem."

***

Brandon parked his truck in front of the general store. The place had been a general store for more than one hundred years. The last renovation had modernized it, so that it looked more like a superstore.

Bright lights dominated the ceiling, and each aisle had a clear sign above it. Mothers and children milled about, pushing shopping carts. Somewhere a baby screamed.

The proprietor didn't always stock everything Brandon needed, but he would always order it for him. Today, he wanted to pick up some ingredients for his sauce. Joe Watson, the owner, had ordered him San Marzano tomatoes in a can.

Brandon had read that those were the best. He would pay a little more if he thought they'd make a difference. He'd see for sure when he made the sauce this evening.

Joe greeted him when he entered the store. "Hey Brandon."

The man stood a few inches shorter than Brandon, and a few more inches around. His wife was supposed to be the best cook in the county. Her jams and jellies often took first place at the county fair.

Brandon shook the man's hand, and hoped he didn't want to talk long. Brandon had enough conversation with Gemma this morning.

"I have those tomatoes you asked for. Let me get them from the back. You have other shopping to do?"

"I do, Joe."

"Then I'll find you in the store."

Brandon let out a breath. He could shop in peace. First stop, the butcher, who had a flank steak for him. He'd seen a recipe for Brasciole, and thought he could improve on it. That would be the second meal he ate with the sauce.

The butcher had his meat ready for him. Brandon dropped it into his cart. Next stop, peppers and onion. He perused the produce department to see if he could come up with something more interesting to make a variation on his initial sauce.

His mouth watered at the possibilities.

This sauce was going to be the best one he ever made.

***

"Three days?" Gemma stared at the man in disbelief.

He stood wiping his hands on a rag. She stood, wringing her hands. Would she still get to California on time? Would the agent understand if she were late?

"Yes, ma'am. It'll take that long to get the part you need."

Maybe she should have gone to the dealer.

"What if I have it towed to the dealer?"

"That dealer is the one I'm ordering it from. Doesn't have it in stock."

Marco had turned out to be the only mechanic working. He owned and operated the place, and he'd patiently explained what was wrong with her car.

Not that she understood a word he said. Still, she was pretty sure that he wasn't cheating her.

She rubbed her forehead where a headache was beginning. "So I can't take this car for three days."

"Yep, and that's only if I get to call this into the parts department before they close."

She slumped on the chair in the waiting room. "Okay, order it. Thanks. So there isn't a hotel in town?"

"No, ma'am."

"And there's no bus to take me to the closes hotel?"

This was what it was like having no options. Her father had always made sure she had more than one in life.

"No ma'am."

"Holy crap. What am I going to do?"

The mechanic shrugged, then dialed the phone on the desk. Gemma went outside to get some air. Chilly air, but she hoped she'd be able to think better out there.

A shiver went through her as she paced in front of the garage. A truck went by then stopped. Brandon's truck. He backed up, then pulled in front of one of the bays. "Car getting fixed?"

"Not for three days."

She stomped her foot to bring back some circulation. She'd shoved her hands in her pockets.

Brandon frowned. "Then I guess you better come back to the house."

"I don't feel I should impose on you," she said.

"I can't leave you here. You have no place to sleep," he said. "I wasn't raised that way."

She looked at the ground. Finding no answers there, she looked back at him. "Okay. I'll get my suitcase."

***

The last thing Brandon wanted was a house guest No surprise, but he was raised to protect women, and this one needed a roof over her head.

Maybe he'd get all his barn work done, and then he wouldn't have to spend so much time with her.

He sighed as she climbed into his truck. She'd brought a suitcase and a guitar case with her. "I really owe you one, Brandon."

He shrugged. "Just pay it forward. I don't need anything."

The sun was beginning to set. The day was ending, and it wasn't any better than it had started. Here was his house guest coming back to his house.

"Let me know what I can do to help. I'm not sitting on my butt for three days. I'll pull my own weight."

"I guess I can figure out something for you to do."

As soon as the words were out, he wanted to take them back. They sounded dirty. That wasn't what he'd meant. She smiled at him as if she knew what he was thinking.

He cleared his throat. "I, uh, have some projects that I've been meaning to get to, is what I meant."

"Sure, whatever."

He held his breath. Was she going to bring up their obvious attraction to each other?

"Hey, look at that."

She pointed to the sign in front of The Watering Hole, a bar that Brandon drank at once in awhile.

"What?"

"Open mike night," she said. "Tomorrow night. I could do that and be out of your hair for a time."

He wanted her out of his hair and in his hair all at the same time. How confusing. He swallowed. "You can borrow the truck to get there."

"Well, that'll take care of a few hours," she said.

"Good."

*

Gemma looked forward to singing and playing. She hadn't had a gig in a week or so, and her fingers itched to get on her guitar.

When they arrived back at Brandon's house, he went into the kitchen, and she settled on the couch with her guitar. She could hear him chopping and stirring.

She chose a song that was a little country, and played it quietly. Her voice stayed soft, but at one point she realized Brandon was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching her.

She smiled at him when she finished the song.

"You're really good."

"Thanks. Something smells good," she said.

"I'm working on a quick tomato sauce that you can make while the pasta is cooking."

"Is this for your cookbook?"

"Yes."

Putting her guitar back in its case, she closed the lid. "May I watch?"

He seemed to mull that over for a moment, then nodded. He returned to the kitchen. She slid onto a stool.

He had jeans on, and his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. Strong hands held a wooden spoon. He had a notepad next to the stove. She couldn't read his writing, but figured it was the recipe.

"I'll do dishes," she said.

"Uh, no, that's fine."

"I'm pulling my weight."

She slid past him to get to the sink, and almost froze when they touched. There was that tingle again.

She looked at him, but he didn't make eye contact. He held himself rigid, as if he couldn't touch her again.

Opting not to speak yet, she filled the sink with soapy water, then washed the knives and boards he used. She knew they'd have to face their attraction at some point.

Three days would be a long time to dance around each other.

***

Brandon's breath caught in his throat as she brushed past him. That tingle again as they came into contact with each other.

Then she was at the sink as if nothing had happened. She stood on stocking-feet, washing and putting things in the rack. Just like anyone would do.

She'd glanced at him, so he knew she felt it, too. He let out his breath, then went back to stirring his quick pasta sauce. He put the pasta in the boiling water, then put the lid back on.