Back Where You Belong (4 page)

“Star-D.”

His deep voice made her heart stutter. Her mouth went dry and ceased working.
God, I can’t do it. Either this man turns me into a blithering idiot or a tongue-tied ninny.

“Hello? Star-D.”

“Tyler.” Her voice squeaked his name. “Tyler, h…hello.”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“This is Lacy. I owe you an apology.”

Silence. Then, finally, one word. “For…?”

He’s not going to make this easy, is he?

“I’m sensitive about my weight.” There, the most humiliating admission was stated. She wasn’t sure she could admit it to Tyler, of all people. “I’ve tried everything to lose the excess twenty pounds. Okay, okay, twenty-five pounds. Except for Grandpa, every man in my life has put me down because of the extra padding, and I’m sensitive, you know? So when you said—”

“Hold on, young lady. This is one time you’re gonna let me get a damn word in. I never said a blasted thing about your weight.”

She sat up. “Oh, yes you did.” Her anger sizzled.

“Like hell. What did I say?”

“You…you talked about my being full-bodied and how ashamed you were you’d kissed me.” She swiped at an unexpected tear. This was so not going well. Why did his opinion matter anyhow?

“That’s not what I meant.” He sounded frustrated.

“Look, I don’t want to argue with you. I called to fess up to something.”

What sounded like an exasperated breath was exhaled. “Fine. I’m listening.”

“I lied about your kissing talents. I was lashing out because of the remarks you’d made—or I
thought
you’d made. Tyler, there’s nothing wrong with the way you kiss. I’ve never been kissed until my bones melted.” She exhaled a long sigh. “I lied. You’re a fabulous kisser.” Then she disconnected the call, reached for a tissue and wiped away the tears.

Her phone rang. Spots danced in front of her eyes, and her heartbeat roared in her ears when she checked the display. Tyler. No doubt he wanted to rage at her some more. She figured he deserved his say, too.

She punched the phone on and inhaled a breath to speak.

“Don’t you ever hang up on me again.” His annoyance all but reached out and shook her.

“I…I’m sorry. I just wanted to apologize.” She pressed the phone to her chest and allowed one ragged sob to escape. Confrontations were never her thing.

He repeatedly called her name, each effort louder than the last.

She wiped her nose with the tissue. “Yes?”

“Are you crying?”

“No. Yes. See, hurting someone’s feelings is not typical behavior for me. Truly. If you knew me better, if you knew all I’ve been through, then you’d understand. I was wrong to strike out like that. Humans are a lot like animals don’t you think? Someone steps on your paw, and you want to strike back.” She imagined she heard soft laughter. Maybe she was getting through to him with her chatter. Now, if only she could make some sense to this man who seemed to fluster her so easily. To listen to her, he’d never believe she graduated magna cum laude. “You really do kiss quite well, as I’m sure you know. I mean, you made my toes curl in my boots.”

“Lacy, Lacy, Lacy.” He sighed. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“You could say you forgive me for being bitchy with you today. Grandpa says you and your ranch foreman are coming on Friday for the cattle you bought. Why don’t you let me make the two of you breakfast? No one makes French toast like me.”

There was a lengthy pause. “French toast, huh?”

“Oh, yeah, cowboy.” She reached out to pet Honeybun. “I’ll even heat the maple syrup for you.”

“Well, who could resist that?”

She pumped her fist.
Thank you, Gus
.

Chapter Five

With all the insecurities heaped on her the last couple years, there were two things Lacy was fairly confident in—her computer skills and her cooking. Nevertheless, she was a bundle of nerves on Friday morning. Her first batch of bacon lay in a heap in the trash can. Even Honeybun wouldn’t eat it. The dog did, however, lap up portions of the two eggs she’d dropped. As a consequence, she muttered her mantra over and over.
Relax and don’t prattle when he gets here
.

The collie announced the arrival of the cattle trucks just as Lacy finished her second batch of bacon. Tires crunching the gravel on the long driveway set her nerves on butterfly mode. She forked fingers through her hair, tugged on the hem of her T-shirt and willed herself to calm down. This was just breakfast with her grandpa and two men. Certainly nothing to get so rattled about.

Of course, it would help squelch the swarm of bombastic bees in her stomach if Grandpa would stop referring to breakfast as her “cooking for her beau.” He’d been teasing her about it since she informed him they’d have guests this morning.

“Wonder if your beau thought to bring you flowers.”

Grandpa brushed past her to open the back door and holler a welcome to Tyler and Pete. He then stepped outside, claiming he wanted to talk to the ranch foreman from the Star-D ranch. Lacy narrowed her eyes at his retreating back. Oh, she knew what he was doing—giving her some private time alone with Tyler.

The object of her nerves stepped inside and hung his hat on a peg. He stilled in the entry from the mudroom to the kitchen, the breadth of his shoulders nearly filling the doorway. Lord have mercy, he was all male in his black Western shirt and jeans that hugged his muscular thighs like a second skin.

“Mornin’ Lacy.”

Two words. Two measly little words and wetness pooled between her legs.
Oh, this is so not good.

Honeybun must have picked up on the increase in her pheromones. The collie trotted over to Tyler, her backside wiggling and switching. She wagged her tail, whined and peed on his boots.

Tyler’s gaze slowly rose from the offending puddle to Lacy’s face. “Did you teach her to do that?” Something akin to humor danced in his expression.

“Oh, crap, of course not. I’m sorry.” She ripped a few paper towels off the roll and hurried over to wipe up Honeybun’s wet welcome. “I don’t know what possessed her to do that. She’s been housebroke for years. Do you have a dog? Maybe she smells a dog on you. Or a cat, if you have one. Collies have a great sense of smell, you know.” She kept dabbing at his boots and the puddle next to them. “I’m sorry. Truly. Don’t take offense. I’m sure she likes you.”

“Lacy.” He got down on his hunkers so he could look into her eyes. “Calm down. It’s fine. She can’t hurt these old shit-kickers. Please, don’t fret over it. Take a deep breath and relax.”

She nodded and pursed her lips. “You make me nervous.”

“I know I do. You have a way of getting under my skin, too.” He placed his hands on her upper arms and stood, pulling her up with him. His hands slid up and down in an almost proprietary gesture. A slow smile spread. “Something smells good.”

His touch was sending sparks all through her system. If she didn’t step away, she was going to climb his leg like a cat in heat. Too bad she couldn’t force her legs to move—or her gaze. She couldn’t look away from those eyes that seemed to darken to midnight right in front of her. His Comanche heritage was quite evident in his coloring and sharp cheekbones. She recalled asking him ten years ago if he was American Indian. He’d been helping her with Zeus, her champion horse, at the time. His hair had been long, falling over his shoulders, and he was the most masculine male she’d ever encountered; much better than those pimply-faced pubescent boys in middle school.

He’d turned those same dark eyes on her that day and said he was Native. Then he gave her a short history lesson on the Comanche, who were renowned for their horsemanship. His equestrian skills were evident in the way he instructed her in handling Zeus. He had a non-verbal communication with animals that often included tongue clicks, low moans and growls.

The heat of a blush spread across her cheeks as she also recalled how she’d wished she were a horse to feel his wide palms stroking her the way he did Zeus, or to hear his low moans and growls as he…
Dear God, make me stop fantasizing about him.

“Lacy?”

He’d whispered her name, and her gaze flew from his full lips to those dark chocolate eyes.

One dark eyebrow rose. “What are you thinking that has you blushing like this?”

True to her fantasy, his wide palm slowly and lightly swept up her back. She gave an involuntary shudder, and her eyes drifted shut. If she didn’t soon move away from him, she might as well openly declare her desires. Then she’d never be able to face him again.

Lacy turned to throw away the soiled paper towels and scrub her hands.

He followed her to the sink. “You didn’t answer my question. What were you thinking?”

Oh, cowboy, you don’t even want to know
. She measured beans into the coffee grinder for something to do with her hands when she would rather run them up his shirt to feel his muscles.

“I, uh, was recalling the things you taught me one day, years and years ago.” She depressed the button on the grinder; its whirling noise filled the kitchen for a minute.

When it finished, he tilted his head to the side. “Like what?”

“Things about the Comanche and their love for pinto horses. No doubt you’ve forgotten that conversation.” She dumped the fragrant, freshly ground coffee into the filter and then filled the reservoir with water before turning the coffee maker on. All normal, routine movements intent on disguising the irregular beating of her heart and trembling of her insides. Why did he have to stand so close?

“I do remember. I told you how special your horse was since it was the particular type of pinto developed by the Comanche. We called it Medicine Hat or War Bonnet because of the markings over its body.”

She leaned a hip against the counter, smiling at the memory. “You said a special mystique surrounded a horse marked in that way. How a Comanche warrior believed himself invincible if he rode such a horse into battle. I took what you said to heart and rode into each barrel-racing competition believing my pinto and I were unbeatable.”

He reached out and fingered one of her curls. His simple action sent desire galloping through her once more.

“And you were unbeatable, if I recall.”

“Lacy, ain’t you got breakfast on the table yet, girl?”

Tyler’s hand dropped as Grandpa and Pete stepped into the kitchen. Carlos, their ranch foreman followed them.

“We got hungry men here with a full day of work ahead of ’em.”

Another blush slapped her cheeks. She really had to stop mooning over Tyler Desmond and all the memories she had of him. “You men wash up and have a seat. I’ll pour your coffee as soon as it’s ready.”

Within minutes, she had platters of French toast, scrambled eggs and bacon on the table. She set a pitcher of maple syrup in front of Tyler. “Your warm syrup as promised.”

“Thank you.”

His hand covered hers for a second until she pulled away. While the men dug into breakfast, she stepped around the table, topping off coffee cups.

Grandpa held his mug out for her to refill. “Tyler, you doin’ any bull riding?”

The very macho object of her rattled nerves nodded as he poured syrup over a mound of French toast. “Competing in the rodeo at Lubbock next weekend. Probably be one of my last times on a bull.”

Pete laughed and slid his mug to the side for Lacy to top off. “He’s getting too old.”

“That I am.”

Carlos chuckled and jerked his chin toward Frank. “Pete, hope your boss mellows more with age than mine did.”

“Kiss my grey-haired ass.”

“Grandpa! Mind your manners. Carlos, more coffee?”

“
Si
, Miss Lacy.” He extended his mug for her to fill.

She stepped around the table to Tyler, who picked up his mug, too.

Grandpa pointed his fork at Tyler. “Seems to me, it’s time you stayed off the bulls and found a good woman to add some excitement to your life.”

Lacy closed her eyes.
Grandpa, no. How obvious can you be?
She wanted to disappear.

“Ow!”

Her eyes snapped open to find Tyler jerking his hand back from under the stream of coffee.

“Oh, damn!” She set the pot down, her gaze searching for a napkin.

Seeing one on Tyler’s lap, she grabbed for it. Her fingers curled around something in haste, and he groaned.

Lacy’s gaze locked on his startled, if not bemused expression. “Please tell me I didn’t just…”

A slow, badass smile spread. “Best damn thrill I’ve had in years.”

Grandpa leaned forward. “What’d you say, Tyler?”

He coughed and shook his burnt hand. “I said the pain’s about to bring me to tears.”

“Does it burn? I’ll get you some first aid cream.” She pursed her lips, her heart racing and her fingertips tingling from what they’d touched.
Tyler Desmond’s here in my kitchen with half a hard-on, and I just curled my fingers around it. Oh my God, brings new meaning to French toast.

As if he could read her thoughts, Tyler cleared his throat, snapping her back to the here and now.

“Grandma always used butter, but they say that’s not the right thing to use. Don’t go anywhere, I’ll go see if we’ve got some burn ointment.”

“For God’s sake, girl, it’s just a little coffee. He’s probably gotten harsher rope burns while bull ridin’. Stop yer prattlin’ and settle.”

She glanced at the scalded red spot across Tyler’s hand, and her stomach twisted with guilt. “No, he needs something on it.” She hurried out of the kitchen.

When Tyler found her a couple minutes later, she was standing at the vanity in the bathroom, holding a tube of Neosporin and crying.
Oh, crap, more embarrassment.

“Hey.” He turned her and enveloped her in his arms. “What’s all this about? Don’t cry.”

She pulled back and gazed at him. “I…I’m sorry I hurt you. I wanted this morning to be perfect.”

“Ain’t nothing perfect. Take us, for instance. Since you stepped back into my life, I’ve been stabbed with a dart, pole-axed by a kiss, peed on and burnt.”