Red's Hot Cowboy (21 page)

She laughed. “That’s stretching the imagination.”

“Maybe, but I figure I can see to where the land stops and the sky begins, so that must be where the two oceans are. My father says I need to plant trees in the front and backyards, but it would block my beautiful sunrises and sunsets. There’s plenty of shade from those big pecan trees on the north and south ends, and I don’t care to look at Canada or the Gulf.” Wil helped her out of her coat and hung it on a rack beside the foyer table.

The touch of his big hands on her shoulders came close to giving her a dose of good old southern vapors. She took a deep breath and willed them away. It wouldn’t do for her to pass out cold right there on his shiny hardwood floor.

The house reminded her of her Aunt Kate’s in Savannah. She’d learned to drink mint juleps sitting in a rocking chair like the one drawn up to the fireplace. She was fifteen and Aunt Kate said that she’d had her first julep at fifteen and it hadn’t killed her so Pearl could have one. That had happened in the heat of the summer, not in a Texas winter with a cold north wind whistling through the limbs of ancient pecan trees.

She took a deep breath and got a heat-producing whiff of Wil’s aftershave that jacked her hormones up to the unbearable level. He wore soft worn jeans and a three-button red knit shirt with all the buttons undone. She had the urge to slip her hands up under that shirt and snuggle up to his broad chest. But he hadn’t made a move toward anything other than her being a guest. No “hello” kiss after a dozen phone calls that bordered on downright pornographic. Had he changed his mind in the course of the last two hours?

She sniffed the air. “Is that homemade yeast bread cooking?”

He nodded. Dammit! He’d wanted to kiss her so bad that he ached from want, but something kept him back. It was that damned kitchen idea from earlier. If he greeted her with a passionate kiss like he wanted, then she’d think she could waltz right in and take over.

What is the matter with me?
he thought.
This woman makes me hotter’n than…
he thought for a minute and the lyrics to a country song came to mind…
hotter’n hell in the middle of a Texas summer. Yep, just lookin’ at her shoots desire all the way through my body, and I’m acting like her brother instead of a lover.

“I love hot bread. Where’s the bathroom so I can wash up? I was pettin’ Delilah before I left.”

“I’ll show you. I’ve been meanin’ to put one in downstairs but haven’t gotten around to it. Especially since there are two upstairs. After you.” He motioned toward the staircase.

She started up with him right behind her.

He couldn’t keep his eyes from her rounded rear end, which did nothing to help his semi-arousal state. She wore snug-fitting designer jeans with glittery rhinestones on the hip pockets and a tight-fitting dark green sweater that stopped right above the shiny stones. Her high-heeled shoes were the same shade of green as the sweater, and her hair was pulled back with a band of green velvet. For a chance to undress her slowly and then make love to her all night he’d forget all about the steaks and the bread in the oven.

She stopped on the landing and looked at five doors. Two on each side of the hall and one at the end. She pointed at the one at the end.

He shook his head. “That is the linen closet. There are two bedrooms on each side with a bathroom between them. If you’ll go through this bedroom”—he slung open a door—“then the bathroom is straight ahead. I wanted this ranch because it’s good grazing land, but I also love this old house. The man who sold it to me was eighty years old and had lost his wife. His kids wanted him to retire to Arizona where they both lived so he did. I got the house intact with all the furniture.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

The dark maple four-poster bed was draped with sheer white fabric that matched the curtains on the window. They looked as if they’d billow in the springtime if the window was left open and the cool night breezes were allowed to flow through the room. A vanity against one wall and the tall chest of drawers matched the bed. A floral carpet covered most of the floor, but shiny hardwood peeked out around the edges.

She turned around to thank him and found his sultry eyes searching her face. He held out his arms; she walked into them and laid her head on his chest. He tipped her head up and bent to kiss her. It wasn’t hard and passionate or even hot and sexy but soft and sweet.

“You can do better than that. I’ve got proof,” she mumbled.

He chuckled and picked her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and the kiss lit up the whole bedroom. When he set her down, her legs felt like they had no bones in them. If he hadn’t reached down and taken both her hands in his, she would have melted right there on the floor.

“Wow!” she said.

“Yep, wow! I’ll see you in a few minutes for supper.” He squeezed her hands and shut the door behind him.

She washed her hands and applied a cold cloth to her neck in an attempt to put out some of the ramped fire inside her gut. She headed back across the room but the bed looked so inviting that she flopped down on it. It was every bit as soft as it looked. She wondered what it would be like to have Wil’s strong arms around her in a bed like that after a bout of sex like they’d had in the motel.

“Hey, Red, dinner is on the table. If you don’t shake a leg you’ll be eating your T-bone cold,” Wil yelled up the steps.

She didn’t need a second invitation. She followed her nose to the dining room where Wil waited. Wil seated her to his right and then he sat down. She wished she’d taken time to dress up all fancy when she looked around at the table. Plates and flatware were arranged just right; cloth napkins matched the tablecloth; candles were flickering; and a bottle of red wine chilled in a thick glass bucket.

The smell outdid the table setting—grilled T-bones that covered half of each plate, potatoes in a covered casserole dish that looked like they’d been cooked in cheese sauce, a tossed salad in a crystal bowl, hot rolls, and steamed broccoli.

Pearl picked up her knife and cut a bite of steak, popped it in her mouth, and came close to swooning. “God, this is good. Have you got an indoor grill or something?”

“No, but I do have a grill on the back porch which is screened in to keep out the flies and mosquitoes in the summertime. It don’t do much to keep out the cold in the winter, but I like a good grilled steak so I brave it,” he answered as he passed the rest of the food to her.

“For a steak like this I’ll do the cleanup,” she said.

“Oh, no! Women are not allowed in my kitchen.”

Pearl cut another chunk off and started toward her mouth with it then stopped. “Why can’t I go in your kitchen?”

“The last time a woman was allowed in my kitchen she thought she could move in here, rearrange it, and move me out of it.”

Pearl narrowed her green eyes into slits. “Well, darlin’, you don’t have a thing to worry about if that’s the problem. I don’t give a damn how your kitchen is arranged. I’m not one of those clingy little wifey critters.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Wil asked.

“It means I do not have a problem with you cooking. I can cook but I’m not one of those ‘this is my kitchen and I won’t ever let a man in it’ type of woman,” she said.

“You ever think about getting married?” he asked.

“Every woman thinks about it, Wil. Some do more than think. Some don’t,” she said, evasively stepping around the question. She couldn’t tell him that she was a party girl who loved dating—all of it. The anticipation of the chase, the dressing up, sitting across from a good-looking man in a restaurant, holding his hand in the movies, kissing him at the door; every single bit of it. But lately she’d been yearning for more than what the dating scene had to offer. She’d been thinking about waking up in the morning to a man who’d love her when she wasn’t all dolled up and on her best behavior. One who’d think she was the greatest thing since ice cream on a stick when her red hair looked like a string mop that had dried all wrong or when she wore gray flannel pajamas to bed.

Whoa! Pull back on those reins,
her conscience scolded.

Wil refused to let her in the kitchen after supper so she made an excuse to go up to the bathroom again. She was still pondering over whether she was really getting ready to settle down when her foot hit the top step but the back part missed. One minute she was poised with her head held high and one arm on the banister. The next she was tumbling backward, sparkling diamonds on her hip pockets blinking like twinkle lights on a Christmas tree. She grabbed at the banister, at the wall, and even tried to clutch a handful of air to slow her down, but she only went faster and faster until she hit bottom and stopped with a thud and everything went black.

Wil heard her scream and made it to the staircase a split second after she hit bottom. He’d reached for his cell phone attached to his belt and fumbled with the snap, cussing the whole time until his shaking hands could get it out. Only seconds had passed from the time she hit bottom until he dialed 911, but it seemed like hours and hours. The dispatcher told him to stay on the line with the paramedics and keep them updated as they drove from the Henrietta hospital to the ranch.

He sat down beside her, afraid to touch her, dying to pick up her head and lay it in his lap, hold her close to his chest, check the back of her head for blood… something… anything but wait and do nothing.

“Shit!” Pearl opened her eyes.

“Don’t move. Whatever you do, don’t move,” Wil said.

“Why?”

“Paramedics are on the way and you aren’t to do anything until they get here.”

“But my leg is twisted up under me and going to sleep,” she said.

“They’re turning down the lane,” he said.

“Nothing is hurt but my pride,” she argued.

“Red, please be still,” Wil begged.

She looked up at the worried expression on his face and forced herself to be as still as possible.

“Wil, honest, nothing hurts. I’m fine,” she reassured him.

Wil kept the paramedics informed of everything she said but they told him not to move her at all. By that time they were on the porch and coming through the door with a stretcher, bags of equipment, and an apparatus to stabilize her neck.

“I’m not hurt. I don’t want to go to the hospital,” she argued.

“Oh, yes, you are going to the hospital. You could have a fracture somewhere or a busted spleen or any of a dozen things. You’re going for an MRI and I’m going with you.” Wil reached down and laced his fingers in hers.

“But how will we get home?” she asked.

“Sir, it’s only a few miles. Drive your vehicle in case she’s released later tonight,” the paramedic said.

He nodded. “I’ll be right behind you.”

By the time she was loaded into the ambulance, her head began to hurt and things were slightly blurry, not totally unlike the night they’d had the shot contest. Not really unfocused, yet the edges were soft like one of those pictures where nothing is truly sharp and clear. She drew her eyes together to bring it all into focus, but that didn’t work.

“What is your name?” the paramedic asked.

“Pearl Richland.”

“Do you know where you are right now?”

“In an ambulance on the way to the hospital.”

“Do you hurt anywhere?”

She frowned. “My head is hurting.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your head hurting?”

She giggled but that made it hurt worse and brought on an instant frown. “Nine shots.”

“What are you saying, Miss Richland?”

“I’m sayin’ it feels like I had nine shots. Kind of big and woozy and blurpy.”

“Shots of what, Miss Richland?”

She looked at the man as if he were crazy. “Jack Daniel’s.”

“I see, so it feels like you have a hangover?”

“No, it feels like I just drank nine shots of Jack. The hangover won’t be until tomorrow.”

On his way to the hospital Wil called the motel and told Lucy what had happened and asked if she’d please take care of the office that night.

“Oh, my! Was there blood or broken bones?” Lucy asked.

“No, but she fell hard and… we are here. I’ll call as soon as they tell me what is going on.”

“I’ll be right here beside the phone,” Lucy said.

Wil was out of his truck and beside the ambulance door by the time the paramedics opened it. He walked beside her into the emergency room where they gave their report to the nurse and doctor who were waiting.

“It’s down to five or maybe six,” Pearl told the doctor.

“She’s measuring her headache by how she feels after whiskey shots. On the way here she said it felt like she’d had nine,” the paramedic explained on his way out the door.

Wil grinned.

“Shut up,” Pearl said.

“Didn’t say a word.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well, she appears to be lucid enough to argue with her husband,” the nurse said.

“We’ll do a scan to be sure, but I think she’s got a mild concussion,” the doctor said.