Just a Cowboy and His Baby (Spikes & Spurs) (20 page)

She moaned at the picture that produced. “Which one of us?”

“Both,” he said.

“One naked haircut after I win in Dodge City.”

“You will never get to me say yes to that,” he said.

She laughed. “I’ll give you a haircut no matter who wins and we can both be naked. You sure you’ll trust me with scissors when I win? I’ll be pretty giddy.”

“Well, I sure wouldn’t trust you with them when you lose and I win,” he said. “You’ll cut my ear off just for spite.”

“Long as I don’t harm your hands, I reckon you could give up one ear,” she teased.

“What are you wearing right now?”

“Nothing, darlin’. I’m riding bareback as naked as the day I was born. My hair is flowing down my back, and the wind is in my face.”

“You are a witch, Gemma O’Donnell. Now I’ll have that picture in my mind all day.”

“I told you paybacks are a bitch, didn’t I? Now we are even.”

He slid the phone back in his pocket, picked up the hooks, and slung another bale of hay off the back of the truck into the barn. Kevlin grabbed it, stacked it, and turned for the next one.

“Was that the hottie you been moonin’ around about all week?” he asked Trace.

“It was Gemma, but I haven’t been moonin’ around,” Trace answered.

“Yeah, man, you have. You better be careful or that hussy will use all that moonin’ to make you feel sorry for her and let her win. Then she’ll run off with some other rich cowboy and you’ll be left with nothin’ but a pair of spurs and a gold hat pin.”

“You sure are wise for a sixteen-year-old kid,” Trace said sarcastically.

Kevlin smiled and wiped sweat from his forehead with a red bandana. “Out of the mouths of babes. I been around the rodeo arena a few times. Them women can sure mess you up, no matter how old you are or how pretty they are.”

***

It was noon when Gemma opened the door to her beauty shop and got a whiff of hair spray, dye, and fingernail polish all mixed together. It was almost as intoxicating as the dust in the arena while she rode a bronc.

“I was wondering if you’d come around or if you’d call and tell me you had something else going today, what with Liz and Raylen gone.” Noreen’s Native American blood showed in her high cheekbones, her long dark hair, and brown eyes. She was tall and rail thin, wore jeans, a knit shirt, and sneakers.

“Oh, no! I had to see how things were going. Looks like you are keeping the place up in fine style,” Gemma said.

“Here comes Nellie Luckadeau and her sister. Which one do you want?”

“I’ll take Ellen. I need to get my hands in the dye and do some ratting. The higher I can get that red hair for Ellen, the better she likes it,” Gemma answered.

Ellen’s eyes lit up when she saw Gemma. “Well, lookee here—who has come home just to fix my hair today? I swear Noreen is good, but darlin’, she don’t know how to rat like you do. No offence, Noreen. And you are keeping your hair red. That’s what’s bringing you good luck with that cowboy that has Maddie in a mood. I told you that red hair was the best good luck token you could take with you on this trip.”

“This girl has been ratting hair so long it’s second nature to her. Get in a chair and let her take them pins out before she goes to washin’ and settin’,” Noreen said.

Gemma fell into the work just as easily as she rode the broncs. Both were second nature like Noreen said. She removed the pins from Ellen’s hair and brushed it out, then fastened a cape around her shoulders and led her back to the sinks.

“So what’s been going on since I left?” she asked.

“Slade and Jane are expecting their third baby. This one is a boy, and them two girls they’ve already got is going to make him toe the line. Two older sisters need a little brother. Me and Nellie needed a brother, but all we got was each other. If we’d have had a brother he would make her not be so grumpy in her old age. I tell you, she’s got so cranky that I can’t hardly even live with her. Do you know she still won’t let me drive?” Ellen tattled.

Nellie piped up from the sink right next to her sister. “She hasn’t driven in years because she’s got lead feet and thinks she’s a teenager. Hell, Gemma, I don’t even drive anymore except for the old work trucks and tractors out on the property. Jane just dropped us off for our hair fixin’s while she runs into Bowie for her doctor’s appointment.”

Ellen shut her eyes while Gemma scrubbed her scalp. “She’s not lyin’. I do like speed and hot men and hard liquor.”

“She’s been wild her whole life.” Nellie sighed.

“And I’ve lived every minute of it.”

“If you want to drive so damn bad then you can drive the work truck, but you can’t drive the tractor because they are too damned expensive to fix and you’d break something for sure.”

Ellen giggled like a schoolgirl. “Can I drive the truck to the dance tomorrow night?”

Nellie almost came up out of the chair but checked herself. “Hell, no! You can’t drive it off the property. It’s not even tagged.”

“Well, I could drive it so fast that the policeman couldn’t even tell that it didn’t have a tag,” Ellen said.

“No! And that is final,” Nellie said.

“Shit! What’s the use of gettin’ my hair all done and not even be able to cruise over to Wichita Falls for a dance?”

Gemma giggled.

“Don’t laugh at her,” Nellie said. “It makes her worse.”

“Oh, hush. Just because you got old don’t mean I intend to,” Ellen said.

Gemma rinsed and conditioned Ellen’s over-dyed, over-ratted, and over-sprayed hair. Then she wrapped a towel around her head and pushed the lever to raise the chair up.

“Let’s go get your dye mixed and on. Nellie, has she always been a redhead?” Gemma asked, knowing that question would set them off again.

“Ever since she was born, and she’s had the temper to go with it. I swear I didn’t think that attitude came in a box of hair dye, but it does.” Nellie laughed.

She loved listening to them bicker and argue and hoped when she and Colleen were old that they were just like them. If she lived in the Panhandle they’d be close enough as old women that they might even end up living on the same property in their old age, like Nellie and Ellen.

“Okay, enough bitchin’ from us two old women,” Nellie said bluntly. “We want to hear about this cowboy who is makin’ Maddie close to havin’ a heart attack.”

It was on the end of Gemma’s tongue to say, “I miss him like crazy.”

But Ellen took off before she could say a word. “I know menfolk real well. How is he in bed?”

“Ellen!” Noreen said.

“Well, I got to know if he’s any good in bed before I pass judgment. Does he make you go all oozy when he kisses you?” Ellen asked.

“Ellen, for God’s sake!” Nellie slapped her arm.

“I’ll call the cops and sue you for elderly abuse if you do that again.” Ellen glared at her. “Does he?” She looked in the mirror at Gemma’s reflection.

“Yes, he does,” Gemma said.

Ellen stuck her tongue out at Nellie. “Then I expect he’s worth whatever it takes to get him roped down.”

“Maddie is going to be a handful,” Nellie said.

“Yes, she is,” Noreen agreed.

Gemma listened with one ear to them go from one gossip topic to another. The other ear stayed focused on the cell phone in the back pocket of her jeans. Maybe Trace would call when he took a break. She missed him so damn much that it hurt, and her mother could get over it. If he appeared at the door of her beauty shop right then and asked her to run away with him, she’d drop the hair dye and be gone before Nellie could roll her eyes at Ellen one more time.

***

Gemma awoke on Friday morning at the crack of dawn. She couldn’t sleep so she went to the stables and saddled up a mare. When the sun peeked over the horizon she was exercising her third horse of the morning and heading out over the rolling hills toward her Granny’s house. The door opened before she could rap on it, and Granny motioned her inside.

“We seen you ridin’ out over the rise and hoped you’d come for breakfast. Your grandpa made pancakes and sausage this morning. Never cooked a meal in his life until he retired, and now I gotta fight him to get in the kitchen.”

Grandpa poured pancake batter on a cast-iron griddle and talked as he cooked. “Sit right down there, sweet baby girl. How’s it been goin’ this week? Maddie over that snit?”

Gemma picked up a sausage patty from the plate in the middle of the table and nibbled at the corners. “She’s gettin’ over it. I called Willard and told him not to hang on to the ranch in hopes that I’d buy it. Dalton Riley has made him a pretty good offer on it and I think he’ll sell to him.”

“She wanted you to have Creed Riley, but he up and married that painter from out in the Panhandle last winter. Until then his eyes were still wanderin’. He just couldn’t get settled on one woman,” Grandpa said. “When a man’s eyes stop wanderin’ and he can’t see nothin’ except the pretty little gal right in front of him, then he’s ready to settle down.”

“So, Great and Noble Wise Man, what if I did get tangled up with Trace Coleman?” Gemma asked.

Granny popped her hands on her hips. “Don’t call him no wise man. Lord, child, that was the men who came to bring presents to baby Jesus. Your grandpa ain’t that smart. Coffee or juice?”

“Coffee, and I believe Grandpa might be that smart, Granny.”

“Y’all two stop your bickerin’ and I’ll tell you my opinion. Soon as I serve up some breakfast.”

The pancakes were browned perfectly, so Gemma held her plate out and Grandpa stacked three huge ones up on it.

“Grandpa, I love Ringgold and my roots are deep here, but…” she said.

“But you might like that cowboy enough to dig them roots up and plant them somewhere else?” Grandpa asked.

“I wanted to come home and find answers, but all I got was more questions,” she said.

“Darlin’, you got one ass. You can’t ride two broncs with it at one time. Make a choice and don’t never look back, just forward. It’s your choice to make. Not mine or Granny’s or your momma’s or daddy’s. It’s your ass and you decide which one of them broncs is going to give you the best ride for the rest of your life. And that’s my opinion,” Grandpa told her.

“See, he is wise,” Gemma said.

Granny kissed him on the cheek. “I know it, but it’s not good to tell him. Now, let’s talk about the new baby that Austin is having. I hope it’s another girl. Rachel needs a playmate and they can have boys the next couple of times around.”

Grandpa shrugged. “I hope she has triplet boys and they’re all just as ornery as Maddie’s first three was. Remember when they was little and we couldn’t keep up with them?”

Granny smiled. “Lord, they was a handful.”

“Why would you wish that on Rye and Austin?” Gemma asked.

“Ask your grandmother about the time that Rye and Dewar come to stay with us and we caught them about to jump off the house. Rye was about four and Dewar wasn’t but two. Lord, I thought your granny would die before I could get up that ladder and get them boys off the roof.”

Gemma mulled over and over that remark about Trace having eyes only for her as she listened to her grandmother tell the age-old story one more time.

Women came and went in the airport bathroom while Gemma checked her reflection in the mirror and reapplied lipstick. The constant buzz of hundreds of conversations filtered into the restroom like smoke in a dusty old honky-tonk. She looked at her watch, picked up her purse, and walked out—and there was Trace leaning against the wall. She blinked, but he didn’t disappear. She blinked again, holding her eyes shut longer, but he was still there when she opened them. She squealed, did a little hop, and wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

“I missed you,” she said.

He cupped her butt with his hands and kissed her so hard and passionately that she felt the hunger. When the kiss finally ended, she put her feet on the floor but kept her arms around his neck.

“I missed you too. Was that kiss the prelude to an invitation?” he asked hoarsely.

“Not right here, but it is for later. How did you get here?”

“My flight connects through here. I just made sure I was on the same one you are for the rest of the trip.” He brushed another kiss across her lips.

Gemma looked around. “Where is Sugar?”

“Teamer talked me into leaving her with him for the month. Little traitor ran into his house and hid under his bed when it was time to leave.”

“His house? You don’t live in the same house?”

Trace laced his fingers in hers and led her to the boarding gate. “It’s a big operation. Started out as one cotton farm, and then the farm next to it came up for sale, so Teamer bought it. It was a cattle ranch. Angus and Longhorns. When I came into the picture, right out of college, he settled me into the little house on the cattle part of the operation. It’s not anything fancy. Just a two-bedroom frame house that needs painting right now, but I haven’t had time to do it. It’s a mile back down a dirt road from Teamer’s place. The bunkhouse is on the original cotton farm and Louis lives there.”

“Louis?”

“He was the foreman until he retired. Now he cooks, and he and Uncle Teamer act like an old married couple. They fight and bicker all the time and even argue over who’ll get the prettiest lady at the Saturday night dance down at their favorite bar.”

Gemma thought of Nellie and Ellen. What kind of sparks would fly if Teamer and Louis ever went to a dance where those two sassy old gals were? She was still thinking about that when they boarded.

“How’d you get a seat next to me?” She put her purse in the overhead compartment and sat down beside him.

“That, darlin’, was pure luck.”

He rested his hand on her thigh. “I really missed you. Did you see your old boyfriends?”

“Did you see Ava?”

Trace’s jaw clamped shut.

“Aha!” Gemma said.

“What?” he barked.

“You show me yours or I don’t show you mine. We can leave the past in the past or we can discuss it, cowboy. Your choice,” she said.

“Ava was the one-weekend stand experience, like I told you. I haven’t heard from her since. Your turn,” he said.

“I did not see any old boyfriends in Ringgold. A couple of years ago, I lived with a very rich, very spoiled guy for a few months. We split almost two years ago. Haven’t heard from or seen him since. Just as soon not ever. ’Nuff said, or do you want to elaborate on that weekend with Ava?”

“’Nuff said as far as I’m concerned. On to the future,” Trace said.

“Agreed.”

“Good. By the way, you look pretty damn sexy in those cutoff jeans,” he teased.

“Well, thank you, sir. I didn’t get dressed up because I figured I’d just be on a plane all day. I didn’t know you were going to surprise me.”

“We do have that layover in Oklahoma City for three hours. We’ll have lunch at the seafood place in the airport. You’ll knock them all dead in those shorts, boots, and whatever you call that shirt.”

“That sounds delicious, and this is called a halter top.” She giggled.

“Well, I like it. Looks like it would come off right easy,” he said.

“Want to meet me in the bathroom and see if that mile-high stuff is as good as they say it is?”

He shook his head. “I told you I don’t do kinky stuff.”

“Darlin’, it can’t get kinky in a tiny bathroom.”

“I’d rather wait for a big bed and lots of foreplay,” he whispered.

“To tell the truth, the whole truth, and all that shit, I’d rather wait too.” She snuggled in close to his side, air-conditioning blowing cool air on her warm skin, and Trace planting an occasional kiss on the top of her head or forehead. It seemed like she’d just shut her eyes when the plane landed with a little bump. She awoke with a start. “Where are we?”

“In Oklahoma City. Hungry?” He tipped her chin up and kissed her eyelids. “You slept hard, darlin’. You mumbled in your sleep, but I couldn’t understand a word of what you were saying.”

His lips settled on hers in the sweetest kiss she’d ever had in her life. Then he started humming.

She recognized the tune immediately. It was an old Stonewall Jackson song titled “Don’t Be Angry.”

“What would I have to be mad at you about?”

“I hope not a single thing.” He retrieved her purse from the overhead and handed it to her. “I’m surprised that you recognize that song,” he said.

“It’s one of Grandpa’s requests when we play on Sunday afternoon. Sometimes Rye sings the words and Grandpa and Granny two-step to it. How did you know it?”

“Uncle Teamer has it on an old vinyl record and I’ve heard it a million times,” Trace said.

With his hand on the small of her back, he ushered her down the corridor, out into the airport, and down a couple of doors to the seafood restaurant.

The waitress appeared and asked, “Reservations?”

“Yes, Coleman, table for four.”

Four? Did Trace say four? He’d made a mistake. They only needed a table for two.

“Your party is already here. Follow me.”

Gemma set her heels. “What is going on, Trace?”

“Don’t be angry with me, darlin’,” he singsonged.

He grabbed her hand and she went with him, but her dark brows were knit together in wrinkled furrows.

A man in a three-piece suit, expensive as hell and tailor made from the looks of it, stood up and waved from a table. The lady seated beside him wore a gorgeous dress, a little lacy shrug, and high-heeled shoes, all white and all silk. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek bun at the nape of her neck, and her blue eyes looked troubled as she watched Trace near the table.

“Gemma, this is my mother, Judge Mary Coleman, and my father, Thomas Coleman, who is a lawyer. Gemma is the woman I’ve been telling y’all about, the one who is keeping me on my toes and who is my stiffest competition in the bronc riding competition,” Trace said smoothly.

Thomas shook hands with Gemma, and Judge Mary nodded. Trace slid a chair out and Gemma melted into it, careful to sit up straight and not keep sliding until she was under the table. Damn Trace’s soul to hell for all eternity. He was in so much trouble that he didn’t have enough days left in his life to get out of it.

“I’m very pleased to meet both of you,” Gemma said. “When we were in Colorado Springs, Lester, Hill, and Harper told me about you. I understand you live in Houston?”

“We do. Thomas has a law practice and I’m a judge there. Thomas was raised on a ranch out in the Panhandle, but he never liked it like his two brothers. So you ride broncs?”

Gemma put on her best smile, but it felt fake. “Yes, ma’am, and I also ride bulls. I was raised on a horse ranch and have three older brothers and an older sister.”

“And you are giving my son a run for his money?” Thomas asked.

“I hope so.” Gemma’s pulse raced and her ears rang like she’d been too close to a shotgun when it went off. “But it works the other way too. He’s giving me a run for my money. It’s a tight contest, but things can change in eight seconds.”

Judge Mary might be a judge and she might try all kinds of cases where she had a poker face, but what she thought of Gemma was etched into her face like writing on a tombstone. And it was not a pretty sight.

“Shall we order?” Thomas asked.

“I’ll have shrimp scampi and a longneck Coors in the bottle,” Gemma said.

“Me too,” Trace said.

Thomas motioned for the waitress.

“Two scampi dinners and two bottles of Coors. Two lobster dinners and a bottle of whatever wine you suggest,” he said.

The lady nodded and hurried off to the kitchen.

Judge Mary raised both eyebrows so high that they kissed her dark bangs. “Beer? Really, Trace!”

He shrugged. “It’s hot. I like beer. Let’s not fight, Mother.”

Judge Mary smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We should never have let him spend summers with Teamer. I swear that man put all kinds of crazy ideas in his head.”

“He didn’t have to put them there, Mother. They were always there. I’m not a city person. I love the wide open spaces and the smell of dirt. And if I win the Vegas ride, I’m using every single dime of the money and my savings to buy that ranch,” Trace said.

“So what brings y’all to Oklahoma City?” Gemma changed the subject.

“Investments. Thomas wants to invest in some oil properties and I’m not sure with the economy the way it is that it’s a good time to sink any money at all in the venture. So we came up here to look things over before we make a final decision. When Trace said he was flying through here and had a nice layover, we arranged to have lunch with him,” Judge Mary answered.

“We’ll be flying back to Houston on the two o’clock flight,” Thomas said.

The waitress brought two beers, a bottle of white wine, and two stemmed glasses to the table. “Your salads will be here shortly. Anything else I can get you?”

Thomas shook his head and she departed. “We wanted Trace to go into law. I guess you’ve already figured that out, Gemma. But he loves ranchin’ just like my brothers and my parents did.”

Gemma turned up the bottle and swallowed several times before setting it back on the table. “I can understand what you are saying. My momma has five children. One left the area and she didn’t like it a bit. She gives me fits about not settling around Ringgold.”

Trace reached under the table and laid a hand on her leg. She picked it up and dropped it off to one side. He wasn’t out of trouble yet. He could have told her that they were meeting his parents. She wouldn’t have worn a halter top which was all mussed up from sleeping. She would have worn jeans or maybe a flowing skirt instead of cutoff denim shorts, and sandals instead of cowboy boots. She was afraid to even think about her makeup and hair.

Judge Mary wouldn’t be a bit fooled by the fact that Gemma knew how to sit up straight, and use a napkin and a fork. No, sir! It was written in that woman’s eyes that she knew her son was sleeping with Gemma and she did not approve. Had it been a case tried in her court, she would have sentenced Gemma to life at the North Pole.

Trace Coleman had fallen from grace, and a hand on her thigh was not going to put him back on his pedestal. Hell, he could forfeit the ride the next evening and she still wouldn’t be in a forgiving mood.