Place Your Betts (The Marilyns) (12 page)

“Two weeks, final offer.” Gabe crossed his arms as a cocky smile worked its way across his face. The bastard had done this on purpose.

Betts spit the hot cookie into the sink and glared at him. “Make it a month.”

At negotiations, she was a master—third-degree chocolate burns on her lips and sexual frustration notwithstanding. “And I’ll throw in cold milk.”

“Deal.” Gabe parked himself in the small banquette surrounding her dinette table. “Let’s talk cows.”

Betts stared at him for a full minute. Cows? Her thighs were ready to burst into flames and he wanted to talk about cows? The man was psycho. One minute he was doing his level best to melt her from the inside out, and the next he was sitting at her kitchen table, hat in his lap, chatting like he’d dropped by for tea.

“Do you have multiple personality disorder?” From Fifty Shades of Gabe to Farmer Joe, who was next?

“Not that I know of, but with all these voices in my head, it’s hard to concentrate.” He flashed her a toothy smile.

“Great, Sybil with boots and a pitchfork,” Betts mumbled and turned her back on Gabe, discreetly rubbing her tingling neck where he’d nipped her. She grabbed the cookie dough and slapped mounds of it on the baking sheet. After shoving it in the oven, she set the timer.

“Know the purpose of fences?” Gabe’s tone was friendly if slightly mocking.

“Yes.” Betts turned around and leaned against the counter. “They make good neighbors.”

“Amen. The taller the better. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” Gabe propped one ankle on the opposite knee. The resulting position pulled his tight jeans tighter and accentuated his crouch. It was hard not to look. “They keep things out—”

“It’s my land.” Betts put her hands on her hips and did her best to figure out his angle.

“Fences also keep things in. Take a look out your front door and tell me what you see.” Gabe nodded in the direction of her door.

Betts narrowed her eyes and forced herself to concentrate. Something was going on here. Slowly, she unfolded from the counter, straightened, and stepped in front of her door. With a jerk, she yanked on the cord, and the mini blinds rolled up. “I see grass, the Mustang, and your house.” She held up her hands. This was ridiculous. The friendly neighbor routine was getting on her nerves. “As entertaining as it is to play I spy with you, I have things to do—”

“Funny how you don’t see any cows though? That ten or so head grazing by the road seem to have disappeared.”

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she pushed the button that opened the door and stepped down into the sunshine. Betts shielded her eyes from the glare and strained to see down the driveway. Sure enough, several cows were milling up and down the road on the other side of the fence. One cow was jogging at a pretty good clip down the yellow center line. Was it making a break for the greener grass on the other side of the street? Betts snorted.

She stomped back up the steps. Gabe was bent over, pulling a cookie sheet out of the oven.

“Don’t you think you should rustle or herd or whatever you do to get those cows back in?” Betts glanced at the road. “They’re getting away.”

Calmly, Gabe placed the pan on top of the stove, picked up the spatula, and scraped each cookie onto the paper towel on the counter. “Not me. Those aren’t my cows. 
Your
cows are getting away.” He picked up a cookie, blew on it, and bit off a small bit, testing the warmth. “I’m having a snack. You’d better get to work though.” He checked his watch. “The longer you wait, the farther away they’ll get. Cows and cars don’t mix on the highway.”

He popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth, opened the refrigerator, glanced around, and then grabbed a half gallon of milk. With the milk tucked under his arm, he balanced the paper towel full of cookies on top of the straw hat he was holding and stepped past Betts.

“Nice doing business with you,” Gabe called over his shoulder. “Good luck with those cows. I’d change out of that red top if I were you. The big brown-and-white bull charging down the street hates red.”

It took all she had not to strangle him. Gabe was really going to leave the cow wrangling to her. She ran after him. “You can have the cows if you help me get them off the road.”

“I’d trade ten head of cattle just to watch you embarrass yourself.” Gabe winked. “You’re on your own.”

Betts gritted her teeth. She’d gone to great pains for the simple life, no assistants or entourage—what she wouldn’t give for a devoted fan who happened to be a ranch hand. Or Mama with a cattle prod and a bad attitude. She glanced down at her Manolo Blahnik sequin-cuff ankle boots and grimaced. Looks like she’d have to trade these in for some rubber-soled work boots. It was past time to dial down the pretty in favor of the sensible.

***

Gabe watched the road. He should leave well enough alone. For the ten thousandth time, he told himself that her cows were her problem. But he’d loved her once, and with the chocolate-chip-cookie-coated past swirling around them this afternoon, he couldn’t help himself.

It had taken one very long, very cold shower to calm his body after his last encounter with Betts, so staying away from her was in his best interest. All it took was one taste of her warm skin and he was seventeen and horny again. Unfulfilled sexual arousal twice in one day just might kill a man.

And he had no one to blame but himself. He and Betts had always had chemistry, so he’d tried to use it against her…only it had exploded in his face. He glanced at the end of the driveway at her compact form. Even from here, he could make out her sweet, heart-shaped ass. Why did she have to be the one who lit his fire? Half the world’s population was female, but his body wanted her.

He growled.

Shaking his head, he climbed into his pickup. Selling tickets was what he should be doing instead of riding to the rescue. As light as he’d made of herding cattle, it wasn’t easy or safe, especially for a person like Betts who maybe weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. She could be trampled or gored or rushed, and he couldn’t let that happen. Doing the right thing was in his genetic code. Why couldn’t it have skipped another generation like it had with his father?

Gabe pulled up to the fence. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Betts was in deep conversation with a brown-and-white heifer. The cow nonchalantly chewed her cud and watched Betts gesture grandly and point at the hole in the fence. Tentatively, Betts reached a hand up and touched the cow’s nose. The heifer blinked but didn’t show any signs of distress.

“I see you’re making progress,” Gabe said as he slid down from the truck. “The cows are still on the wrong side of the fence.”

“Everyone’s a critic.” Betts used her sleeve to wipe the sweat off her brow. “I was on the verge of getting him inside the fence when you drove up and scared him—”

“Her. She’s a heifer. That means a female who has yet to give birth.” Gabe pulled his leather gloves from his back pocket and slipped them on.

Betts’s jeans curved over her round bottom as she bent over and checked the underside of the cow. Her red tee shirt popped out of her waistband and showed a strip of pale back. “Sun of a gun. You’re right. He’s a she. I’m gonna name her Bessie. Every ranch needs a cow named Bessie.”

Gabe unlatched the tailgate and reached for the bale of hay in the back. “They aren’t pets. It’s best not to name them.” Gabe shook his head. “That cow is a steak waiting for a plate.”

“That’s a terrible to thing to say about Bessie.” She turned to the cow. “Don’t listen to him.” Reaching a hand up, she stroked the cow’s nose. “Come on now, Bessie, let’s go back inside the fence. It’s your home. Don’t you want to go home?”

“Your plan is to talk them to death?” Gabe hefted the hay bale over his head and tossed it on the ground. “Take this.” Gabe grabbed a handful of hay and shoved it in her direction. “Dangle the sweet hay under her nose, and she’ll follow you anywhere.”

For once in her life, Betts did as she was told. “Wow. That really worked.” Grabbing more handfuls, she enticed the other cows back inside the fence. Thirty minutes later, only the bull remained.

“I see you didn’t take my advice about changing your shirt.” Gabe stepped between her and the bull. It was dangerous and cantankerous and mean, or at least he hoped Betts believed it was.

“That’s a myth—”

“And you know this how?” Gabe eyed the bull. He looked about as happy to be staring down Gabe as Gabe was to be staring him down.

“The Discovery Channel. I watch lots of nature shows.”

“Great. An armchair expert. Stay behind me.” Gabe waved his hat at the bull, trying to make it move. “Yahhh,” he yelled and then whistled through his teeth.

Betts stepped around him with a handful of hay. “Thanks for the help, but my cow, my problem.”

Gabe shook his head. “Betts, this isn’t some dumb cow you can bribe with hay or talk to death.”

It was too late. The longhorn bull ducked his head and charged straight for her. Gabe lunged at Betts, tackling her. They ended up in a tangle of arms and legs on a bed of crunchy grass by the side of the road.

They were eye-to-eye, Gabe on top with his hands on either side of her head. He stared into her eyes as they breathed the same air. He’d forgotten she had little gold flecks in the irises of her green eyes. He shifted to roll off of her when Betts’s legs wrapped around him and pulled him down hard against her. He scanned the road to make sure the bull was still on the other side and not planning to trample them. The bull ran down the road away from them at a pretty good pace.

One of Betts’s hands snaked up his back and fisted in his hair, pulling his mouth down on hers. The heat of her tongue filled his mouth. Betts’s other hand slid down and squeezed his butt. Her breasts mashed against the front of his shirt as her hips pressed against his. The hard-on he’d had since the cookie incident throbbed for freedom. Christ, he’d forgotten what a wildcat she was.

Her tongue explored the inside of his mouth, while her hand left his bottom and found his hand. She yanked off his leather glove and pressed his hand between her warm thighs. Sweet Jesus, he was ready to explode. Betts pulled his shirt free and fumbled with his belt buckle. She rocked her hips back and forth against his hand, urging him to rub. With his thumb and index finger, he popped the snap on her jeans and slipped inside. His fingers encountered a tiny strip of silky lace.

A car horn blared.

Gabe jumped about ten feet in the air. “What the hell?”

He scrambled off Betts and rolled onto his back. The tire of a black Mercedes convertible rolled to a stop not two feet from his head. The door slammed, and the
clip-clomping
of high heels on pavement came from the driver’s side.

Betts’s mother stood over him holding a baseball bat. “This is just about the friendliest damn neighborhood in the world. Forget the Sunday barbeques, lets go right to screwing in the grass.”

Betts sat up and fastened her jeans. “We were trying to get the bull back in the fence.”

Her mother glared down at Gabe and tapped the bat against her thigh. “Your bull gets out of the barn around my daughter again, and I’ll show you the business end of my cattle prod.”

The growl of a diesel engine downshifting had Gabe glancing to the left. A school bus was fifty feet away. It slowed and eased parallel to the Mercedes.

The door whooshed open, and Cal Hopkins eyed Betts’s mother. “Everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. Bull’s out.” Gabe waved him on.

The bus moved on.

“For goodness sake, there are children around.” Betts’s mother used her bat to point to the receding bus. “Get up and fix your clothes. Tom will be home soon.” She swung around on impossibly high heels, strutted back to the open car door, and slid behind the wheel. “Betts, get your ass in this car right now.”

“But the bull.” Betts stood and brushed dried grass off her butt.

“I’ll handle it.” From this angle, he had a nice view of her bottom. Not two minutes ago, he’d encountered a lacy scrap of nothing. Was it as tiny in back as it was in front? He stared and stared, but try as he might, he couldn’t summon his inner Superman and check it out with x-ray vision.

“Um, okay.” Betts looked at a spot just over his left shoulder. She was flushed and rumpled and sexy as hell. She opened the car door and slid onto the black leather seat. The engine turned over, and the car backed up, turned, and bumped down the driveway.

Gabe sat and watched the plume of dust kicked up by the tires. A snort came from behind him, and Gabe rolled to his knees.

The bull was back.

Gabe jumped up and brushed off his pants. “Buttercup, this is all your fault. The next time I show you how to escape, you better come back.”

Buttercup blinked.

“Well, come on.” Gabe pulled three cubes of sugar from his left breast pocket and held them out.

Buttercup licked the sugar out of his hand as Gabe scratched his nose.

“I told her to change out of that flashy red top, but she didn’t listen.” Gabe shook his head. “Women.”

Buttercup snorted his amen to that.

“Get back inside the fence, and go find the ladies.” Gabe slapped him on the rump. “You put on a manly show. I’m sure one or two will want to congratulate you.”

Gabe doubted if he’d get any thanks for saving Betts from the only bull in the universe that was a lover not a fighter. He sighed. He’d damn near had Betts on the side of the road. It was a freak of human nature that he could lust after a woman he didn’t particularly like. Blame it on hormones and a lack of sex. It had been a long time. Still, one of them should show some restraint.

***

Trucks and a few cars rumbled around Tom Swanson as the school parking lot thinned out, but his eyes were glued to Kaitlin Smith. Watching her from afar was okay, but he’d prefer to be up close and personal. Her long, tanned legs disappeared into the short, purple skirt of her cheerleading uniform. That day in third grade when she’d kissed him, she’d had a purple ribbon in her hair. Purple looked pretty on her. It made her eyes bluer.