Red-Hot Texas Nights (20 page)

He nodded, but the affirmation didn't touch the taut line of his mouth. “Even so, can I stop by your place again and take a look in your granddad's room? There's something still bothering me from the other night.”

“I didn't think you found anything.”

“I didn't. That's the problem. I keep feeling as if there's something there.” He scratched his temple. “Something I'm missing.”

“I usually stay late to prep for the next day, but I was actually going to cut out early tonight.” Thanks to Tyler. They were going to ask around some more about Gator and then head back to his place.

But first she needed to swing by home.

“I should be home around seven.”

He nodded. “I'll see you then.”

*   *   *

Tyler slid off the mechanical bull and wiped his hands on his jeans. His phone beeped from his pocket and he slid it free to see the latest stats from the rodeo going on in Blackwater, South Dakota. It was a small-time venue with little in the way of prize money, but it did feed the national standings. Not enough to knock Tyler out of his spot, but enough to shake things up and make him think twice about crawling back on the mechanical bull.

He needed a real bull. A mean sonofabitch.

He needed Junkyard Dog.

He eyed the sleek black animal in the nearby pen, the familiar Sawyer emblem blazing on the sign mounted just outside the railing. While Brett had issued a press release stating that he was going to retire to work his family's cattle ranch, he'd decided to put some of his effort into bulls.

Grade A, prizewinning bulls like the one only a few feet away.

Junkyard Dog was just one of a handful penned at the rodeo arena in anticipation of the weekly Saturday-night event that the venue hosted. A small-time show that didn't feed into national standings, but certainly afforded some really good practice.

If Brett had been inclined to share with Tyler.

The thought struck as he watched his second cousin in the nearby arena, talking to one of the cowboys who'd just hit the dust after an unsettling ride. Tyler couldn't help but wonder what words of wisdom the reigning champ was passing on. If any. Maybe they were smack-talking the way he and Brett used to do.

Too much smack for Tyler to turn around and ask for help now.

That's your pride talking
, a voice whispered.

But Tyler had gone without so much for most of his life that pride had been all he'd had. And while things had changed, old habits died hard.

He checked the rest of his texts, his heart pounding ever so slightly when he saw Brandy's name and the message that she would be a little late tonight.

Cold feet?

That was his first thought, but then she hadn't called things off between them, so it could very well mean just what she said—she had to take care of something at home. The notion filled him with hope, a rare commodity for him these days, and eased the tension in his shoulders just enough so he could take a deep, easy breath.

He checked Coop's number yet again and listened to the familiar voice mail. He didn't even bother to leave a message this time. Maybe Cooper was still out of town. And maybe he was just hiding. Either way, Tyler intended to find out. They might be hunting for Brandy's mash tonight, but he fully intended to find out as much as he could about his brother's new line of work at the same time.

Cooper hauling moonshine.

It didn't make a bit of sense since his brother had barely gotten his driver's license the last time Tyler had been home. He'd been so timid, so determined to walk the straight and narrow—unlike their father—that he'd been fearful of even getting a parking ticket.

And now he was running with the fastest in the county.

It didn't add up.

No, it just started the throbbing in his temples that said he had a major migraine coming on.

So much for hope.

He slid the phone into his pocket and walked around to another nearby pen and a bull by the name of Grenade. He wasn't fast, but he was brutal and so Tyler spent the next few seconds prepping his hands before climbing over the edge of the stall. His ass hit the bull and the animal jumped and jerked. He dug in, wrapping his fingers under the rope and tilting his head forward for a long moment.

He gave the signal and just like that, the bull shot forward, bucking and bolting this way and that while Tyler held tight. The seconds ticked by … three … four … five—

Whumph!

He hit the ground. The air bolted from his lungs and pain jolted him.

But he moved anyway, springing to his feet and moving out of the way as the cowboys fought the bull back into its pen.

He stopped and drew a deep, shaky breath, his backside screaming, his shoulder throbbing. Okay, so he'd gotten faster in addition to being mean.

“Good ride,” a cowboy called out.

Half-ass
came the text message a split second later when Tyler's phone beeped and he hauled the iPhone out to stare at the screen.

He glanced at the familiar number before his head snapped up to catch the stare of the man who stood clear across the rodeo arena. Brett Sawyer shook his head before turning back to his own phone.

When you ride, you have to do it like you mean it. Pull your head out of your ass
came the next message.

Tyler's fingers flew over the keys.
If you know so much, get over here and show me how it's done.

I might
came the blinking reply.
I just might. But first you need to get your head in the game. Whatever's bugging you, deal with it and then get back to work.

Tyler stared at the screen long and hard, the unanswered questions about his brother beating at his senses. That, and he was still thinking about Brandy, about the fact that she'd come so close to putting the brakes on and that while she'd agreed to more sex, she'd been almost reluctant. As if she wasn't half as anxious to spend time with him as he was to spend time with her.

That, or she just didn't want to admit it.

Deal with it
, came the next text.

Tyler stuffed his phone into his pocket, dusted off his jeans, and headed for the small apartment on the second floor. A quick shower and he intended to do just that.

 

CHAPTER 26

“Here you go,” Brandy said, showing the sheriff into her grandfather's room. “It's all just the way it was the last time you were here.” She still hadn't made the decision between Goodwill and the church. “Take your time.”

He nodded. “Thanks.” And then he walked into the room and started moving around boxes, peering inside.

Jez yapped at Brandy's feet and she spent the next fifteen minutes feeding the small dog as well as the handful of strays around the house. She'd just finished scooping some rabbit food when she heard the deep male voice behind her.

“I hate to bother you, but is Jenna home?”

Brandy turned to see blond-haired, blue-eyed Jase standing in the kitchen doorway, a Tupperware container in his hands, a worried look on his face. “I don't mean to barge in, but I just had to see for myself that she's feeling better. We were supposed to go to the annual dry-cleaner awards banquet tonight. I'm getting the award for best creases in the county.”

“That's great.”

“It was, until Jenna got sick. Now it just doesn't seem like such a big deal. I know she can't get out of bed yet and I don't want to disturb her, but I thought I could drop off this soup. I made it myself.”

“You made soup? For Jenna?” Who'd left that morning for a two-day equine clinic in nearby Blue County. Not that she'd told Jase as much. Not after faking an allergic reaction. “I, that is, how sweet. I'm sure she'll love it.”

A smile touched his lips. “It's the least I can do considering it's my fault she's out of commission. I knew I should have gone with chocolate chips and whipped cream to garnish the pancakes instead of the chocolate-dipped strawberries. But the guy on the YouTube video—Romeo Ron is his name—said that women love fruit and, well, talk about a disaster.” He glanced behind him down the hallway. “I'll just take this up to her—”

“No,” Brandy cut in. “That is, she's finally sound asleep and I'd hate to wake her. She really needs her rest.” So much for brutal honesty. “Just leave it with me and I'll see that she gets it.”

He didn't look as if he wanted to, but then he seemed to think. “I guess that would be okay. Just make sure you tell her how sorry I am. And that I love her. And that this is just a bump in the road leading to a long and bright future—”

“Go,” Brandy heard herself say. “Get your award. You deserve it.”

“It just won't feel right without Jenna.”

“About that…”
Just tell him.

That's what she thought about doing, but Jenna had to do her own dirty work. That, and Brandy didn't have the heart to disappoint the young man.

For the first time, she could understand how Jenna constantly found herself in such dilemmas when it came to men. Jase looked so smitten, and there was something sweet and wonderful about that.

Brandy found herself wondering what it would be like to have a man so hopelessly in love with her.

To have Tyler so hopelessly in love with her that he would give up everything just to bring her chicken soup.

Not that she had anything to worry about. He'd said himself that he was just here a little while longer. There would be no hanging around. No moving back home. No chicken soup. No being in love. No giving up anything.

Thankfully.

If he had felt that way, then she would find it hard to deny her own feelings and bam, she would find herself marching the same path as her mother.

No, she wasn't going there.

Still, it didn't hurt to at least think about it.

She took the soup from Jase, shooed him out the door, and headed down the hall to check on the sheriff. She found him neck-deep in a box of old shoes. He held up a battered black tennis shoe.

“Was this James Harlin's?”

“I'm assuming so since it's in his box. Why?”

“Because we found one just like it at Big Jimmy's place.”

“Which proves James Harlin went out there to threaten Big Jimmy.”

“Not necessarily. It proves he was there, but it doesn't prove why. What if he went out there for another reason?”

“Which is?”

“That's what I'm not sure about, but I've got a few ideas. Mind if I take the shoe?”

“Be my guest.” She pushed aside the endless questions swirling through her brain and showed the sheriff to the door. A few seconds later, she headed back to her room to change clothes.

She'd just unhooked her bra when her hand grazed her nipple and a strange tingle of awareness shot through her.

Because she couldn't stop thinking about tonight.

About him.

About how much she wanted him.

Too much, a voice whispered, and while she wanted to think that was a good thing, suddenly the fact bothered her. To the point that she ditched the rest of her clothes, stretched out on the bed, and did her damndest to curb that want herself.

*   *   *

She was almost there.

Brandy clutched the edge of the sheet, her knuckles white, as she stared at her bedroom ceiling. Dusk crept past the edge of the curtains and filled the room with shadows. Her nerves buzzed. Her legs trembled. Her heart beat a frantic rhythm.

Almost, but for some reason she couldn't quite get there.

She let the images from those few nights with Tyler replay in her head. The impression his fingertips had made against her heated skin. The rasp of his jaw against the tenderness of her breasts. The warm press of his lips against the side of her neck. The soft feel of his arms wrapped around her. The press of his fingers …

The thing was, she didn't feel Tyler. She was all by her lonesome. Lonely.

The notion struck, but she pushed it aside. She wasn't lonely. She was horny.

That was it. One quick orgasm and she would stop thinking about him so much, wanting him.

And so she did what any healthy, red-blooded female would do. She trailed her fingers down to Funland for a quick visit.

Oddly enough, it didn't feel quite as good. Her hands weren't callused, her skin raspy, or her touch quite as purposeful as that of the man who lived and breathed in her thoughts.

She frowned and stepped up the action, moving lower to the tender flesh between her legs. She closed her eyes and tried to picture her favorite singer, Luke Bryan, particularly in his “Country Girl” video. The man certainly could shake his ass.

Instead, it was Tyler who was shaking it in a pair of skintight jeans, a wicked smile on his face, a gleam in his eyes. Tyler looming over her, driving into her …

She came quickly, clamping down on her bottom lip to contain the scream and the screech and … Ahhh.

Delicious sensation gripped her for a few blessed moments and she slumped back, welcoming the satisfaction sure to follow. The rush of warmth she'd felt their last time together. The punch of
oomph
that had drained the tension from her body and left her limp and lifeless and completely sated.

If only.

Instead, she still felt edgy. Nervous. Needy.

She ignored the strange emptiness and focused on the positive: the clenching and unclenching between her legs, the trembling of her body, the numbness in her toes, and the all-important fact that while she might still want him, it wasn't the all-consuming, rip-off-your-clothes-right-here-and-now want she'd felt five minutes ago.

This she could handle.

That's what she told herself, but she still felt a rush of excitement when she opened her door half an hour later to find him standing on her doorstep.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him. “I thought we were meeting at the bakery.”