B00DVWSNZ8 EBOK (11 page)

Ace's barn had no stalls, but under a shed roof on one side, several mangers
were attached to the outside wall. Brady dumped oats in two mangers and Jude did likewise in a third. "Ace doesn't have any horses?"

"Not right now. He used to have a rope horse, but he sold him."

They returned to the outside of the fence and propped their arms on the top rail, watching the horses eat. Sweet Sal didn't appear to be the least bit intimidated by the two males. "Sal's a beauty," she said. "I've always liked that grullo color. A grullo's really a black dun, you know. Pretty rare."

His head turned her way and he gave her another one of those how-do-you-know-so-much looks. "I know." He
returned his attention back to Sal. "She looks pretty, but she's a prima donna."

"She looks like she's got some good breeding. Classy. Where'd you get her?"

"A guy gave her to me."

Jude let out a chuff of disbelief. "Just like that? Some guy just up and gave you a classy horse?"

His brow tented. "'Course not. I did some riding for him. I found out too late he didn't have any money to pay me. A horse was better than nothing."

"Is she papered?"

"Yeah. She's out of a King Ranch horse. But I didn't know it when I got her. I almost sold her."

Jude made a mental note of a horse named Sweet Sal, sired by a King Ranch horse. At home, she could research the entire bloodline in minutes. "Why? You don't like her?"

"I didn't have a place to keep her. Ace was already boarding Tuffy and Poncho and I didn't feel like I could just put another horse on his pasture. But he said one more didn't matter. I haven't had much time to work with her. That's why she's such a son of a bitch."

"How old?"

"Five."

"Has she foaled?"

"Nope. Never could afford the fee for a good stud. Can't afford AI, either."

"You don't have to artificially inseminate. You could hand breed her or even pasture breed her."

"Like you say, she's a good horse. Since she's never been bred, ornery as she is, she might put up a fight. I don't want to chance getting her hurt by a stud that might get ornery, too."

"But all stallions aren't ornery."

He shook his head, dismissing the conversation.

"Once you get settled back in Lockett, you could at least think about it. It's a shame to have a good strong mare and not breed her. And five years old is an ideal age."

"I don't have time to fool with a baby."

Indeed, a baby took a lot of work to make it grow into a good horse. Jude had raised Patch from a baby and
had been involved with many of the Circle C's foals.

The horses finished their grain and sauntered over to the fence. Tuffy and Poncho proved easy to catch and soon were loaded into the trailer. But when Brady opened the corral gate to catch Sal, she
whinnied and dashed past him and out into the pasture before he could touch her with the halter.

"Sal, you butthole,
come back here!"

He let out a shrill whistle, but the mare continued playing her game of trotting toward him, then, just before she came close enough for either Jude or Brady to get a rope on her, galloping away, tail in the air, mane flying.

"Well, I guess she's showed off enough," Brady said, sighing. "Time to quit horsing around." He handed Jude the halter, walked out into the open pasture and stood there with his hand out, smooching at her and talking horse talk.

Sal trotted toward him, taunting him by making him think she would come to him. Just before she reached him, she picked up speed, turned on a dime and started in the opposite direction. Brady broke into a run alongside her, then in a flash, grabbed her mane, hopped twice beside her and threw himself astraddle her back.

It happened almost too quickly to register in Jude's mind. What did register was a warm sense of pleasure that caught in her midsection.
Good grief!
Only rodeo showmen and stunt men could mount a horse like that. She could fall head over heels in love with Brady Fallon. Even if he had been a stripper.

Then again, maybe what she felt was something else entirely. Something like lust. Hell. Brady was the sexiest man she had ever known up close and personal. And she was only human, despite what Suzanne said.

Sweet Sal pranced and danced and sidled and gathered herself to buck once, but Brady gripped her dark mane and stayed on her back until she calmed and lined out. "Bring us that halter," he shouted.

Jude quick-stepped out to the horse and the naughty girl stood perfectly still, even nibbled at Jude's ear and cheek while Jude slipped the halter onto her head. "You're nothing but a big show-off," Jude told her. "You need to spend a day with me and Patch. We'd teach you how to behave."

Brady threw a long leg over the horse's neck, pushing off her back and dropping to the ground flat-footed. "Let's get her into the trailer. I'm starving."

He gathered his gear from Ace's tack room and threw it in the pickup bed on top of the boxes they had packed earlier. His mood appeared to have worsened and Jude couldn't tell if it was because of Ginger or the pictures or Sal's behavior. She chose to blame his bad mood on the horse.

She settled herself into the pickup's passenger seat. "Horses really want to please us, you know. They just don't always know what we want them to do. We have to show them. I hope you aren't really mad at her."

"Mad at her?" He chuckled, the warmth of it slithering through Jude's system like warm, sweet syrup. "Hell, I'm not mad at her. I'm in love with her."

As they drove away from Ace's place, he said, "We can wash up back at the trailer. We'll go into Stephenville and I'll buy us a steak for supper."

"Listen, there's no need—"

"Darlin', I've got to eat. You think I'm gonna eat and not feed you?"

"No. I just mean I can buy my—"

"No," he said.

"But it's not like you've asked me out on a date or something."

"I'll buy supper," he said.

She expelled a breath of resignation. "Fine."

Chapter 10

While Jude showered
, Brady stood at the corral fence watching his horses chomp on the flakes of hay he had thrown them. His mind was on women—Ginger Thompson specifically. She had been drunk when she had shown up earlier, which too often put her in the mood to fight. He had known Ginger his whole life, and should have known he wouldn't get out of Stephenville without one more of her flare-ups.

At least today's tantrum hadn't been as wild and crazy as the one that had prompted him to end things with her several months back. Then, she had taken a pool cue to the front of his truck, denting the fenders and breaking the headlights, leaving him without transportation for several days while the truck underwent repair.

The pool-cue stunt was the eye-opener he needed. It helped him decide that romps in the sack and raunchy sex, the only things he and Ginger had in common, just weren't worth so much chaos in his life. Hadn't he already lived nine years with a woman who was brainless, irresponsible and nuts?

He thought about the photographs. Those friggin' twelve-year-old pictures. Would they ever stop chasing him? Jude had put up a good front when she saw them, but she probably had been shocked.

After she had seen him nearly naked in the pictures, riding together in the close quarters of his truck to Ace's place and back had been as uncomfortable as traipsing through a bed of prickly pear. Her learning of his less-than-conventional past troubled him. After all, he had that long-ago connection with her family and even with her in a distant way.

He wasn't ashamed of having held a job as an exotic dancer, not really. It wasn't like he had robbed a bank, although back in those days, money had been the only thing on his mind. His mother had been sick and out of work
. He was the oldest and male to boot. He had sucked it up and done what was necessary at the time.

He
had made a helluva lot more dancing half-naked at parties than he would have made cowboying for ranches around Stephenville, or working on a dairy farm, or driving a truck. And he had been able to live at home and help his mother with his three sisters.

In the long run, the pay had not only helped his family and paid for school, the nighttime hours had enabled him to spend his days in classes.

He had succeeded in avoiding the lake of alcohol that had been available to him, along with enough recreational drugs to baffle a pharmacist. He had managed to resist the rampant promiscuity and exotic sex. Well, to be honest, he hadn't always resisted the exotic sex. But as far as he was concerned, the whole experience had turned out okay.

What troubled him about Jude seeing the pictures, as well as her witnessing Ginger's fit, was that he sensed a certain innocence about his new boss's daughter. J. D. Strayhorn had a reputation for being a tough manager but having a soft side when it came to his only daughter. He had done or would do everything in his considerable power to protect her from worldly evils.

Jude might be outgoing and well educated, but she had grown up under unusual circumstances. And he suspected she led a sheltered life. He could think of no woman her age who lived at home with her parents. Nor could he think of one who felt a need to sneak around like a teenager.

But what was going on within him was more confusing than just plain embarrassment at her seeing the pictures. All day, he had felt that familiar tension low in his belly and he'd had to force himself to keep his eyes to himself. He understood what he felt well enough, but what had him baffled was that he had an almost desperate yearning for Jude to think well of him.

When she had first inserted herself into his life yesterday, he had tolerated her because of who she was, but after spending time with her, he liked her. She was more than a hot body with a pretty face. She was smart. She seemed to have enthusiasm for everything and an upbeat attitude that was a balm to his soul—though he sensed a layer of frustration seething within her.

"Hell, who isn't frustrated?" he mumbled to the air.

Frustration was Brady Fallon's middle name.

Sal came over to him and nuzzled him as if he had summoned her, as if she were a well-behaved horse that never gave him a minute's trouble. Her personality truly reminded him of some women he had known. Scary.

Horses really want to please us, you know. They just don't always know what we want them to do. We have to show them.

You need to spend a day with me and Patch. We'd teach you how to behave.

Jude's words. Patch must be a horse. What did Jude know about horses and horse training? Something, no doubt. Only someone with some knowledge would know a grullo was a black dun. The Circle C was known for having good horses. Brady had attended cutting shows in Fort Worth, was acquainted with owners of highbred horses. Cutting-horse champions had come from various Circle C studs.

The mare nuzzled his pocket and brought him out of his musing. "No goodies tonight," he told her. She ambled back to the two geldings on the other side of the corral as if Brady had disappointed her by not having a present. He shook his head. Just like a woman.

He plucked his cell phone off his belt and checked the time. Then he punched in Ace's number. When his call went to voice mail, Brady left a message saying he had picked up the horses. It was late in the day on a Saturday, so Ace was probably already out looking for a party.

Brady turned from the horse pen, strolled back up to the trailer and sat down on the tiny front stoop, letting the quiet of the late afternoon and panoramic view of the valley seep into his soul. He had liked living here, perched like a raptor atop this rise. His closest neighbor was Ace, ten miles away.

There had been whole days when he hadn't seen or heard another human being. The solitude and silence were good. If he wanted company, he could drive somewhere and find it. If he wanted noise, he could turn on the radio or TV. He couldn't deny being a loner. Without a doubt, this twelve-by-sixty trailer, anchored in the middle of a twenty-section pasture, had saved his sanity during those first months after his life fell apart and he exited Fort Worth.

His thoughts drifted to Jude again, inside the trailer and naked in his shower. An image of soap and water sluicing over her well-honed body filled his mind and he imagined his hands gliding over her breasts, down to her belly, between her legs. H
is groin tightened. Women who looked like her had always appealed to him. Fairly tall, willowy and well developed. He had never gone for the emaciated look.

Just cool it, hoss, he told
the devil in his shorts. None of what he thought mattered. She was his new boss's daughter.

Jude stood in front of the vanity mirror brushing her hair. Since the plan was to go out for supper and relax, she saw no need to braid it. She let it fall free in its natural unruliness.

She pulled her change of clothes from her duffel—underwear, jeans and a green tank top. When she packed yesterday morning, if she had known they might have supper out in Stephenville, she would have brought better clothes. She put on the clean garments, dabbed her grandmother's perfume behind her ears and between her breasts, then walked outside feeling refreshed. "Your turn," she told Brady.

"I won't be long," he said, and went inside.

The high humidity, combined with the ninety-five-degree temperature, had felt suffocating all day, even with the air conditioner blasting. Evening brought little relief. Though she had just showered, she began to perspire.

She sat
down on the steps and tried to study the landscape, watched a hawk floating on a thermal, hunting his supper. But she couldn't concentrate. She couldn't get those images of Brady’s body out of her mind. The smaller photographs of his bare back and buttocks hadn't been nearly as evocative as the larger frontal shot and the blatant shapes molded in the black G-string's front triangle. In the quiet idleness, all she could think of was him in the shower and water and soap flooding over all of that hard, naked flesh. She even imagined him leaping onto Sal's back stark naked.

A man had never dominated her thoughts so completely.
She shook herself out of such uncharacteristic musing.

He soon came out of the mobile, pushing his hair back with his fingers and setting his hat on, tugging the brim low on his forehead. He was wearing clean starched and ironed Wranglers and a long-sleeve Cinch button-down the same color as his eyes. He looked cowboy delicious, almost too much to take in all at once. She sprang to her feet.

"Ready?" he asked curtly, turning the lock, then slamming the door.

He seemed less friendly than he had earlier. Maybe he was still embarrassed. "
Let’s do it," she said.

He gestured her ahead of him and they went to his pickup. Inside the cab, his damp masculine smell, with a hint of shampoo and cologne mixed in, filled the close quarters. It zoomed to her very core, making her even more nervous. She was glad for the daylight. "Can I ask you something?" she asked as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the highway.

He made a low grunting sound that she took to mean not really, but I know you're going to anyway.

"How old were you in those pictures?"

His eyes stayed fixed on the road, his left wrist hooked over the steering wheel, his right hand splayed on his thigh. "Twenty-two. Or maybe three."

No inflection in his answer.

"Wow. How did you get in such good shape? Did you play sports in school?"

"Nope."

"People aren't born with bodies that look like those pictures. You had to have put some effort into it. Did you work out in a gym?"

"Nope."

Annoyance at his curt replies rankled her. For crying out loud, hadn't Daddy said he was a college graduate? And hadn't Jake said he had owned a business? She chuffed. "Look, I know you know words besides 'nope' and 'yep.'"

"What I did, darlin', was work. Period. I roughnecked for a few years on an offshore rig. That's a job that'll bulk you up in a hurry."

Stories abounded in Texas about the hard physical work, as well as danger, on offshore oil wells. "Oh, my gosh, really? I've never known anyone who worked on an offshore drilling rig. You did that when you were a kid?"

"I wasn't a kid. I was eighteen."

Jude envisioned the eighteen-year-olds in her classes. Few of them, even kids who worked on their parents' farms or ranches, had bodies that looked like Brady's. Her curiosity was getting the better of her again. "Eighteen's a kid. So why were you doing that kind of work when you were that young? Did you live at home? Had you finished school, quit school, what?"

His head finally turned in her direction. "Why are you so determined to hear my life story?"

"Because I'm interested. I'm interested in everyone who does something unique or something I've never done."

He didn't say anything right away, just turned his eyes back to the road. "Okay, here it is. Simple story. We always needed money. I was always big for my age, so I did physical jobs. When I turned eighteen, I answered an ad in the Fort Worth paper. I got hired onto a roustabout crew out of Houston. Eventually, I moved up to roughnecking."

Before she could ask who "we" was, he turned into the parking lot of a low-slung yellow stucco building. A red neon sign on the windowless wall said LUPE'S CANTINA. The building looked like something right out of the seamier parts of Fort Worth—not that Jude had been to those places, but she had seen pictures. Uncertainty swelled within her, but she tried to dismiss it. For some reason, she felt safe in Brady's company.

"Believe it or not," he said, as if he had read her mind, "this place cooks good steaks. A lot of the old-time locals come here to eat. But the surroundings probably aren't what you're used to." He pulled into a parking spot near the front door.

"I'm not used to anything in particular. I mostly eat at home."

The heavy door opened onto a long narrow room with dim lighting. It was packed with people. From somewhere country music played. It could barely be heard above the din, but she could make out George Strait singing "How 'Bout Them Cowgirls."

Jude had been in any number of noisy, jam-packed bars and bistros in Bryan and Austin, but the crowds had been made up of college students. This crowd, mostly men of varying ages, was different. Instead of taking her elbow, Brady slid his large, warm hand under her hair and cupped her nape in a firm but gentle clasp as he kept her close to his side and guided her through the throng. The possessiveness of it made her feel small and protected.

Many of the bar customers seemed to know him and spoke to him as they passed. Jude had the impression all were staring at her, no doubt wondering if she had replaced the woman named Ginger. To her annoyance, she felt a smug delight at being seen in that role.

At the back of the barroom was a small dance floor, and there she spotted the source of the music. A jukebox stood like a neon-lit kaleidoscope in one corner, splaying an array of soft, varicolored light onto a small wooden dance floor. A few more steps and they were inside a dining room. A hostess met them with a big grin and a hearty greeting. As she led them to a booth, over her shoulder she chattered to Brady about his sisters.

Jude and Brady took seats opposite each other. As they ordered drinks—a margarita for her and whiskey and water for him—the hostess continued to talk local gossip. Soon a waitress joined the hostess and they had a jovial conversation with Brady about his family. In the middle of it, Brady ordered two strip steaks cooked medium, baked potatoes, salads and iced tea.