The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (12 page)

* * *

“Was that as good for you as it was for me?” he murmured when she wiggled out of his embrace.

“Sleep, yes. But if you were having some kind of wicked dream, sorry, partner, I didn't share it with you.” She yawned.

He sat up, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and pointed at the television. “Wouldn't you love to be there right now?” He blocked out the golf game and pictured a beach with enough roll to the ocean to make it pretty, the wind barely blowing, and Jill in a bikini, lying beside him on the white sand.

She pulled herself up to a sitting position and leaned over to retrieve her quilt that had fallen on the floor. The sports announcer said something about the score in that same whispery-soft voice, and she frowned. “Just how long does it take to play a game, anyway?”

“This is a different one than we started off with earlier,” he answered. “This one is in Miami.”

“How do you know? You were asleep before I found the station with the first one.”

“I woke up when you stole more than your half of my blanket. You didn't answer my question. Already acting like a wife because we've slept together,” he said.

“We did not sleep together, and, yes, I'd love to be anywhere away from this feud, even Miami,” she argued.

“We did sleep together, and I had to snuggle up to you to even get a corner of my blanket. And why did you say
even
Miami
? You don't like it?” He crossed his fingers behind his back like he had when he was a child. Truth was, he'd awakened at four and wanted to be close to her, so he'd snuggled up to her back and draped an arm around her.

“I love the beach, but I don't like that many people.”

“Me either. Been there with the rodeo crew a few times, but I like less people too,” he said.

She turned over, and their faces were just inches apart. “So you did the rodeo tour?”

“My cousin did, and we followed it when we could. I tried riding bulls and broncs, but I wasn't star quality.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows. “My expertise lies in other areas.”

“Sawyer O'Donnell!”

“Your mind is in the gutter.”

“Yours isn't?” she asked.

“No, it is not. I have several cousins who were rodeo folks, so I know star quality when I see it. I found my niche, though. I usually got a gig as the rodeo clown.”

She laughed. “Well, I can sure see that.”

“So scratch off Miami for the honeymoon?”

“What honeymoon?” she asked.

“Ours, darlin'. Gladys will make me marry you, since we've slept together.”

She put her finger over his lips. “If you don't tell, I won't.”

“Something isn't right. I can feel it in the air,” Sawyer said when they opened the doors into the bar that night.

“I've been enjoying the quiet,” Jill said. “Seems like the feud is dying down, even after that chicken house incident.”

“It's the quiet that worries me. After the business last Sunday at the church, and Naomi's chickens flying the coop, you can bet your pretty little ass both parties are up to something. They've been layin' low all week.”

Jill nodded. “Come to think of it, we haven't seen much of them in the store either. Betsy did come in to buy a couple of whole chickens. Said her grandmother would have to make do until she could build a new henhouse. It was while you were taking a nap on the cot in the storeroom.”

Sawyer flipped the top off a Coors longneck and took a long drink from it. “And while you were taking a nap, Quaid came by to pick up two dozen pork chops. Almost wiped out the supply, and I didn't cut up any more for Monday morning.”

“It's the Brennans who are fixin' to strike,” Jill said. “I wonder what they've got up their sleeves.”

“How do you know that?” Sawyer asked.

“Betsy didn't ask about you. I bet there's not a half a dozen of either family in church tomorrow morning. Looks like this will be a lazy night. We might even get to close up early.”

“Or not,” Sawyer said when Tyrell shoved his way into the bar. Betsy and a half-dozen Gallaghers followed him and claimed a table in the corner.

“Two pitchers of Coors and seven red cups,” Tyrell yelled as he plugged coins into the jukebox.

“I jinxed it when I said that,” Jill said.

The door opened again, and Kinsey Brennan, Quaid, and half a dozen Brennans lined up on bar stools. “I want a strawberry daiquiri, and stir it with your finger, Sawyer,” Kinsey flirted.

“A Miller Lite and a pitcher of margaritas, and one of Coors for our table,” Quaid said.

Jill took their money and watched as they each carried their drink in one hand and a pitcher in the other to a table as far away from the Gallaghers as possible. Even though Jill couldn't hear a word either family said, their body language spoke volumes.

The Gallaghers were loud and boisterous, line dancing to fast songs, swilling beer by the pitcherful, and having a good time. The Brennans nursed their drinks and kept their heads together. Polly was probably right. The Gallaghers should be on Wild Horse Ranch, patrolling every square inch, because the Brennans were likely to strike that very night.

By nine o'clock, the bar was full and noisy, and smoke hovered in the air like fog. Evidently, dancing made folks hungry as well as thirsty, because Sawyer stayed busy at the grill while Jill drew pitcher after pitcher of beer. Thank goodness bar rules said that she didn't carry it to the tables, but that they had to order and pay at the bar. And Polly did not run charge accounts or take checks or credit cards, so it was cash only.

“Looks like a normal Saturday night,” Sawyer said during a rare lull in business.

Jill wiped down the bar and nodded. “Maybe they've had enough thieving and burning down henhouses. But frankly, Sawyer, I don't give a damn about the infamous pig war. I want to get through the night and sleep until noon tomorrow. I told Aunt Gladys not to look for me in church. I swear, by this time on Saturday, my butt is draggin' so bad that I don't have the energy to even sing.”

“And according to this sexy redhead who kisses like an angel, I snored last week, so I'll be staying home with you,” he said.

That cocky little grin of his sent shivers down her back. What was wrong with her? Never before had a few kisses and a shared nap made her throw caution and common sense to the wind.

Then
why
am
I
doing
it
now?
she asked herself.

“You are fighting with yourself again,” he said.

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are,” Sawyer said. “Your head cocks over to one side and then the other when you do that. Are you deciding whether to give Quaid or Tyrell another chance? If you want quiet and steady, go with Quaid. If you want a good time and a hell of a dancer, holler at Tyrell. As far as money and fame, you'll get it with either one of them.”

She took a step to the side so that she was shoulder to shoulder with him. “For your information, I was thinking about my friend.”

“Betsy or Kinsey? I'll put my money on Betsy, since you and Kinsey have some evil vibes going on between you tonight,” he said.

“No, my friend who protects me from the evil feuding family.” She grinned.

“Hey, gorgeous, can I get three pitchers of Coors?” Tyrell bellied up to the bar. “And, Sawyer, we'd like seven burger baskets. Load 'em up with everything. Double the grilled onions.”

Jill pulled the lever and filled three pitchers and set them on the bar.

Tyrell flipped two bills toward her. “If there's anything left, consider it a tip. If not, let me know what else I owe when the burgers are done. And, darlin', say the word, and I'll wait for you after-hours and we'll go watch the moon from a special spot I know about.”

“Sorry, the only thing I'm interested in…” She stopped short of saying that she wanted to fall into bed.

“Is what?” Tyrell grinned.

Too bad his smile wasn't as hot as Sawyer's, or she might have taken him up on a visit to his special spot.

“The only thing I'm interested in is sleep,” she said.

“I would love to hold you in my arms all night. I'll be the last one out the door, so if you change your mind, let me know.” He picked up two pitchers in one hand, and the last one in the other, and swaggered off to his table.

“Should I tell him that you steal covers?” Sawyer asked.

“What about covers?” Betsy asked from the bar. “I'd be right happy to keep you warm enough that you wouldn't have to worry about covers, Sawyer. Thought I'd wait for the burgers and carry them back to the table as you get them ready. We are starving.”

Jill didn't miss the look exchanged between the two women when Kinsey brushed past Betsy on her way outside with a cell phone plastered to her ear.

“I was saying that you can't judge a book by the cover,” Sawyer lied. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Betsy.”

“Well, hot damn, darlin'! I agree with you on that. Anytime you want to see inside this book, all you have to do is open the cover.” She flipped her hand around to sweep from head to toe.

Sawyer ignored her comment. “Three burger baskets right here, and the other four will be ready when you get back.”

“Fast thinking there, cowboy.” Jill laughed.

“Yes, ma'am.”

Kinsey let a welcome blast of fresh air inside when she returned with the phone tucked away somewhere and a smile on her face. She and her cronies, which had grown a table full of people to two tables, put their heads together for another confab and kept glancing toward the bar.

“Either they're about to murder Betsy, which I wouldn't mind, or they're going to try to enlist us into their family for help on the next battle of the pig war,” Jill told Sawyer.

“I'm a lover not a fighter,” he said.

There was that cocky grin again.

“No sassy comeback. You must be tired,” Sawyer said.

“I was thinkin' maybe I'd tell Betsy that you're a lover, or maybe Kinsey,” she said.

“They know it already. That's why they're both chasin' me.” He laughed.

“Not a bit of ego risin' up from your cowboy boots, is there?”

“Awww, this is Sawyer you're talkin' to, ma'am. Not Quaid or Tyrell. You don't have to stomp on my feelin's because you're mad at them.”

“A pitcher of beer and two cheeseburgers, no fries,” Kinsey said.

“Four burger baskets for Betsy Gallagher,” Sawyer yelled.

Betsy made her way through the crowd and perched on a stool right beside Kinsey. “So how's business? You chargin' more than a dollar to meet some poor old cowboy out behind the bar? I saw you leave a while ago.”

“Prices went up,” Kinsey said sarcastically. “For prime they have to pay two bucks. When I found out you was chargin' a dollar, I figured I was worth twice that much.”

“Don't forget to pay your taxes. I'd hate for the IRS to get you for tax evasion. The righteous Brennan name couldn't stand a mar on it,” Betsy said.

“Like the bootleggin' Gallaghers?” Kinsey smarted off.

“Ladies, remember where you are,” Jill said.

Betsy leaned forward until she was inches from Kinsey's face. “I see a few wrinkles around your eyes. Won't be long until you'll have to lower your prices or pay the customer.”

Then she flipped two dollar bills on the bar in front of the stunned Kinsey and said, “I wouldn't want you to starve to death since your chicken and dumplin's dried up. That should buy you a latte tomorrow morning.”

She lined the burger baskets up on her arm like a professional waitress and sashayed her way through the line dancers back to her table. Kinsey swiped all the color from her lips with a paper coaster and smiled at Sawyer.

“I'm experienced, not old,” she said.

“I'm not sayin' a word,” Sawyer said bluntly.

“I'll take the beer back and return for the burgers,” Kinsey said.

The baling on the hip pockets of jeans glimmered as she carefully made her way past the folks two-stepping to Blake Shelton's newest song. Then suddenly she stumbled and fell right into the Gallagher table, dumping one pitcher of beer on the floor and the other on Betsy.

Jill grabbed a mop and headed that way, with Sawyer right behind her. Betsy jumped to her feet, slinging her hands and throwing drops of beer on everyone around her.

Kinsey's eyes went wide in mock shock. “Oh, dear, I'm so sorry,” she said coldly. Then she moved closer to Betsy, grabbed her by the shoulders, and licked the beer from her face from jawbone to forehead. The song ended, and the bar went quiet. It was worse than sitting in the eye of a tornado, and more eerie than the music in a horror movie.

“What the hell are you doing?” Betsy quivered like she'd stepped on a mouse in her bare feet.

“A Brennan doesn't waste good beer.” Kinsey smiled. “If all you can do is whine and bark, then you don't have a place with the big dogs.”

Betsy's hands knotted into fists. “I'll show you a fight, if that's what you want.”

“Not in here, you won't. You've both had your fun, now settle down,” Jill said.

Sawyer quickly plugged two coins into the jukebox, and loud noise filled the building again. Jill didn't know if he simply punched in numbers or if he'd chosen the songs, but she couldn't keep from smiling when Gretchen Wilson's voice filled the room with “Redneck Woman.”

Jill swabbed up the beer on the floor and put the mop back in the closet. “It says that she's a product of her raisin'. I believe that Kinsey and Betsy should sing along with her,” she grumbled when she was back behind the bar.

“What was that? I was afraid the crowd might goad them into a brawl, so I started poking numbers into the jukebox. I'm not sure what I played,” Sawyer said. “I was ready to step in if fists started flying, because I was afraid you'd get hurt.”

“Hey, I had a mop. I'd have decked them both with the handle.” She started to laugh when the song ended and “Romeo,” an old one from Dolly Parton and Billy Ray Cyrus, started playing. “Are you sure you didn't handpick these?”

“Hell, no! I'm not interested in being anyone's Romeo, if that's what you are thinking,” he answered.

She laughed even harder when the lyrics said that she might not be in love but that she was definitely in heat. “Sounds to me like Dolly Parton knows Kinsey and Betsy both pretty damn good. They're not in love, darlin', they are in heat, like she says in the song.”

“It's not funny,” Sawyer said.

But it was, because Jill had the same problem. Love and heat were two different things, and she could easily see where Sawyer, with his tall, dark, handsome looks could put any woman in heat. The words said she didn't get as far as his eyes when she was lookin' him over, and Jill could relate very well. She had trouble listening to that damn song and not letting her eyes stray to the silver belt buckle above Sawyer's zipper.

Good
God, when did this happen? A couple of kisses, and I'm wanting to jump his bones? What's the matter with me?

It was a few minutes past eleven when Sawyer finally unplugged the jukebox and announced that the place was now officially closed. The Brennans and Gallaghers had left, and a couple of old worn-out cowboys who'd come close to dancing the leather off their boots shuffled out the door.

Sawyer locked it and picked up the broom. Jill started wiping down tables and chairs. She'd barely gotten past the first table when she heard money clinking down the chute in the jukebox and turned to see Sawyer coming toward her with that grin on his face.

“Will you be my Juliet?” He growled exactly like Billy Ray in the “Romeo” song.

“I'm too damn tired to dance,” she said.

He grabbed her hand. “Don't make me waste my money.”

He tucked his hands in his belt loops, and good Lord, those jeans did things that gave her hot flashes. It was either dance with him or stand there slack-jawed like a Saturday-night drunk. She tossed the cleaner and the rag on the table, tucked her thumbs in her jean loops, and matched him step for step in the line dance.

When it ended, she was panting so badly that she couldn't even talk. “That sucked every bit of energy out of me.”

“You ain't that old yet,” he said as Mary Chapin Carpenter started singing “Down at the Twist and Shout.” He swung her out to the Cajun-flavored music and brought her back to his chest for three minutes of swing dancing.