Red-Hot Texas Nights (5 page)

“You've already had one too many.” He expected her to argue. She always argued, giving him the lecture that she was the mother and she could do what she wanted. But then her eyes closed and he knew she had, indeed, had one too many, and the snores started again.

He fed her into bed the way he had so many times in the past, tucking the covers around her and making sure she had a trash can nearby just in case she was past the point of passing out and the spiked gourmet roast decided to come back up the way it had gone in.

“Did you find it?” her slurred voice asked him a split second before he closed the bedroom door.

“Not yet, but he'll turn up.”

“'Cause I can't sleep without it,” she murmured and he knew then that she wasn't talking about Cooper. “I can't sleep without my face mask. These damn shades aren't worth a penny. They're cheap. I told your daddy to buy the nice ones like I had back at home, but he said these would do just as well. Why, the man wouldn't know quality if it jumped up and bit him…” She rambled on a few more seconds about his dad's failure to keep her in the lifestyle she'd been accustomed to. She'd been a Sawyer. Accustomed to the finer things in life. And she'd sacrificed it all for a man. For love. And she'd never regretted it, not one single day. Or so she repeatedly told anyone who would listen.

But when the Jack started talking, the optimism that Waylon McCall would come running back and do right by his family faded, and the uncertainty leaked out. The bitterness.

“… ruined everything, he did. We had a good life.”

What they'd had was a trailer they could barely afford and two boys that they could barely feed.

Not that his mother had concerned herself with either. She'd been too busy ignoring their problems during the day, and hiding from them in her damn spiked coffee every night.

“I'll find the mask. Just close your eyes and get some sleep right now. Everything will be okay.” He tucked the edges of the blanket around her and killed the small light that burned on the warped nightstand.

Closing the door behind him, he walked back into the living room. Picking up his mom's discarded cell, he typed in her password—Sawyer—and scrolled through her calls, searching for any communication from Coop. There was nothing since last week when he'd left a voice mail telling her that he was fine and he would be home soon.

But
soon
had come and gone. He'd missed freshman orientation already. If he didn't get his shit together, he'd be out for good. Stuck.

Tyler hit the
CALL BACK
button and listened as his brother's familiar voice came over the line.

“You've reached Coop. I can't take your call right now. Leave a message and I'll call you back.”
Beeep
.

“This is your brother. Again. Call me. I mean it, Cooper. Time's wasting.” He stabbed the
OFF
button and tossed the cell to the couch. His gaze snagged on a ragged throw pillow, the edges frayed, the expensive brocade fabric marred by several cigarette burns.

He could still remember the day his mother had bought it. She'd come home from Fancy Designs, an elite shop owned by her second cousin Liza Sawyer, with a crisp black shopping bag stuffed full of gold tissue, the store's trademark logo embossed on the side. He'd been a gangly thirteen, his feet too big for the worn cowboy boots he'd picked out of the donation bin at the local church, the toes scuffed and the soles worn down to practically nothing. Cooper's boots had been in the same condition, squeezing his eight-year-old feet to the point that he was nursing blisters. The fridge had been empty and the cabinets bare. But none of that had mattered when his mother had plopped down their last forty dollars for the genuine cowhide pillow.

“Liza has one just like this at her place,” his mother had declared. “She says it's the latest.”

He hadn't been too sure what that meant at the time. He just knew that he'd hated the crisp, ripe smell of cured hide and fancy fabric.

The thing was but a shell of itself now, pungent with the stench of cigarette smoke and spiked coffee. Just like his mother.

Like the entire trailer.

The walls seemed to close in on him in that moment. The air stalled in his lungs. He reached for the bottle of Jack and took a long swig. It did little to ease the anxiety knotting his muscles. There was only one remedy for that.

He set the bottle down and reached for the doorknob. The fresh night air hit him, pulling him out of the stench and the past, and into the present. The door slammed behind him. He breathed deep and hit the steps before crossing the distance to his truck. Climbing inside, he keyed the engine. A Luke Bryan song blasted on the radio, and the air conditioner stirred the new-car scent.

“Any word?” Duff glanced up from his own phone and the text he was reading.

“Nothing.” Tyler took one last look at the sad-looking trailer and shoved the truck he'd won six months back at a rodeo in Arizona into reverse.

A few seconds later, he hit the road that led into town. He dropped Duff off at the Rebel Quality Inn then headed for the rodeo arena and the small apartment that sat just above the foreman's office.

The place was reserved for long nights when the events ran late and the arena boss, Jack Gallagher, needed a place to crash that was closer than his spread, which sat a good fifty miles past the county line. Since Jack and Tyler went way back, the man was more than happy to let him bunk there whenever he came to town. A habit that had started out of necessity because Tyler had been tight on funds the first few years and desperate to steer clear of the trailer and all the bad memories it held.

One that continued because the apartment had come to feel more like home than any other place in Tyler's life.

Like hope.

It wasn't big or fancy, but it had a double bed, a set of clean white cotton sheets, a private bathroom with a shower, a small kitchenette, and a bay window view of the arena where Tyler had first started to make something of himself.

Even more, there wasn't a damn throw pillow in sight.

 

CHAPTER 6

“Where are you?” Jenna Tucker demanded when Brandy set aside the loaf of dough she'd been kneading and picked up her ringing cell. “
Shark Tank
is about to start. I made the queso and you're supposed to bring home an extra bag of Doritos. We're almost out.”

“I'm sorry, Jenna. I completely forgot. I'm still at the bakery.”

“Surprise, surprise. You're a workaholic, you know that, right?”

“Look who's talking. I haven't seen you in three days.”

“I've been inoculating cattle out at the Browns', but that doesn't mean I was doing it twenty-four/seven. I did stop to eat. And sleep. And talk to this really cute cowboy named Tim. He's from El Paso and he's got blond hair and green eyes and the cutest dimples you've ever seen. And don't even get me started on his butt.”

“What about Jason?” Brandy mentioned Jenna's current squeeze.

“Jason and I are on the outs.”

“Does he know that?”

“Not yet, but he will just as soon as he picks me up tonight. He invited me back to his place later for a quote—special romantic dinner—end quote, and you know what that means.” She said the words with the same enthusiasm she reserved for telling pet owners that they were about to lose their loved one. “He'll pull out the ring and I'll tell him it just wasn't meant to be.”

“That's what you're going to say?” Brandy added the loaf she'd just finished to the dozen others spaced out on the large metal tray.

“Of course.”

“You're sure?” She headed for the sink and shoved her hands beneath a warm stream of water. A quick squirt of antibacterial soap and she washed the flour away before cutting off the faucet and reaching for a hand towel. “You're not going to tell him that you're allergic to platinum and that's why you won't wear his ring, are you?”

“I wasn't planning on it, but now that you mention it, that
is
a pretty clever excuse.”

“It's terrible.” She set the towel aside. “And it's sure to get you into trouble and stuck with a stalker just like the time you told the last guy that you needed space. He thought you were claustrophobic and now we're still fielding phone calls from that hypnotist who swears he can help you with your
issues
.”

“I don't have issues. I just hate killing someone's dream. You know me. I'm an optimist.”

“You're a wuss.” Brandy grabbed the tray and slid it into the warm oven to let the dough rise overnight.

“I'm an optimistic wuss. It isn't my fault if these guys are so in love that they don't want to let go. It's not like I encourage them. I do exactly the opposite.”

“You think you do, but you don't say it outright, and most men, in case you haven't figured it out, can't exactly take a hint. No games. Just break it off. Straightforward. To the point. Drop the ax.”

“Consider it done.”

“I mean it, Jenna. If you're through with this guy, nut up and let him go. Fast and clean.”

“Will do. You sure you can't take a few hours off to make
Shark Tank
? You need a little fun in your life.”

Brandy knew that. She felt it in the steady trembling of her body and the ache in her nipples. And all because Tyler was back in town and she couldn't stop thinking about that all-important fact, no matter how many loaves of bread she rolled and kneaded until her elbows ached.

Not that she was admitting as much to Jenna. Or anyone for that matter.

That was the thing about her “arrangement” with Tyler. They weren't an item. They didn't gab on the phone. Or go out on dates. Or swap stories over ice cream cones at the Dairy Freeze. They hooked up. No talking about it. Not to each other. Not to other people. No talking, period.

Which meant she shouldn't be the least bit irritated that he hadn't alerted her to the fact that he was back in town. He didn't usually give her a heads-up. Rather, he rolled back into Rebel, they spotted each other, and bam she showed up or he showed up, and they hooked up.

It was no frills. Easy.

“Tonight's episode is going to be super good,” Jenna went on, pulling her from her thoughts. “They've got these guys who make flour out of actual crickets. It's supposed to be really healthy and I imagine there's a market for it, but just the thought of biting into a strawberry-flavored cricket cupcake gives me the heebie-jeebies. What do you think?”

“I think you're going to have to record it and give me a rain check. I'm working on this new recipe and I might be out a little later than usual.”

“Late as in an hour or two? Because Jason's working until nine, so we're doing an after-hours supper. I could hit the
PAUSE
button and wait for you.”

Brandy glanced at the full oven ready and waiting for tomorrow morning. “I'm afraid I might be a while.”

“Want me to swing by before Jason gets here and bring you some food?”

“No,” she blurted so fast that she startled herself. “I mean, I already ate a few leftover muffins to tide me over until I get home. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. So what's up with Callie? Did she call you about the dress?”

“Yes, and I'm scheduled for a fitting next week. Have you seen it?”

“No. She says it's a surprise that we're going to love.”

“It's a bridesmaid's dress. I seriously doubt there will be anything even close to love involved. You remember that last dress I wore in Katie Peterson's wedding? Neon yellow, puffy sleeves, parasol to match. I swear I looked like a giant banana. Stop it, Jez.” Jenna said to the yapping dog in the background. “That's
my
Dorito.”

“I picked up doggy treats yesterday. They're in the pantry.”

“She hates those, but give her a ranch-flavored Dorito and she's all over it.”

“She's spoiled.”

“She's picky.”

“She's you.”

“Only when it comes to men. Don't work too hard, sis,” Jenna told her. “Gotta go. The show's starting.” The line went dead and Brandy hit the
OFF
button.

She reached for a towel and some cleaner and spent the next few minutes wiping down the cabinets as Luke Bryan drifted from the small iPod dock that sat in the corner, crooning about lost love and stripping it down and getting back to the way it used to be.

And as much as she tried not to, she found herself thinking about Tyler. Wanting him.

Wanting
it
, she reminded herself. She was only human, after all. A normal, red-blooded female with wants and needs.

She turned, her body shifted, and her nipples rubbed against the lace of her bra. An ache shot through her and she caught her breath.

Okay, so maybe she was a little more worked up than the average female. She thought of all the rumors that had circulated about her courtesy of all the boys she'd turned down during high school. Boys too embarrassed to admit the truth for fear that they were the only ones not getting any action. And so they'd lied, and her reputation had grown.

But then Tyler McCall had peeled off her clothes and made her realize she wasn't that far off from the sex-crazed girl the boys had always painted her as. So desperate, in fact, that her hands trembled and her knees shook as she moved about the kitchen. It would be so easy to let her need get the best of her. Just like her mother, who'd fallen hard and fast for Brandy's father and, in the process, forfeited her own dreams.

She gathered the strength her mother had never had and steeled herself against the unsettling thought. She wasn't going to drop everything just because Tyler was back in town.

Sure, she was wound up and due for a little stress relief.