What a Texas Girl Dreams (Crimson Romance) (5 page)

It was just the sex, she told herself. His hands had a way of leading her right over the edge of ecstasy. Sooner or later, that would wear off.

Jinx nudged her shoulder on their next lap, breaking her train of thought. She leaned her head against his and sighed. Smart horse. She was getting too worked up about Trick Samuels.

“Okay, just stand and let the water hit him for a bit.”

Monica positioned Jinx so the back jet pulsed against his leg and patted his nose.

“You’ll be okay,” she whispered to him for at least the hundredth time. The sooner he healed, the better off they’d both be. Jinx could get back to racing, the thing he loved. And this time, Monica would make it a clean break with Trick. “Can I do this with him every morning or evening? In addition to the sessions with the actual trainer?”

Kathleen shook her head. “Mon, that isn’t a good idea.”

“It’s not racing. Trick said the water was good for him. I’m just asking for a little more time.”

Her sister frowned. “Another couple of hours in the pool won’t heal the bruising any faster.”

“He’ll have plenty of time for rest. I’m asking for an hour more in the water. If he rehabs in the mornings, we’ll do this in the late afternoons.” She twisted the lead around her palm again, holding it tightly against her. “That won’t hurt him, will it?”

She needed the distraction. Of course she didn’t want to hurt Jinx, but the extra sessions would give her something to do, other than call Trick, would get her out of Lockhardt all the sooner. Monica wasn’t about to tell those things to her sister. She and Kathleen had come a long way in the past year, but that didn’t make them bosom buddies. Kathleen couldn’t understand how hard it was to be the younger sister of one of the best horse trainers in Texas. Or the younger sister of one of the most beautiful women in the state. Monica had always come in a distant third behind Kathleen and Vanessa. The rodeo arena was her place to shine. She needed her horse to get back to that.

“Sorry, we need to be cautious.” Kathleen pulled her feet out of the water and awkwardly rose from the side of the pool. “We’ll rehab mid-morning. You can have three to four in the pool each afternoon, but nothing more strenuous than what you just did. Slow laps, with the jets. No circles, no turning, and definitely no riding. Now get out of the water before you both turn into prunes.”

Monica knew Kathleen was right, and she really did want the best for Jinx, but with all this extra time on her hands, she knew her thoughts would always be turning to Trick. She walked Jinx from the pool, dried him off. He tossed his head, as if nodding at her ministrations.

Kathleen began the slow trek to the horse barn, putting her arm through Monica’s as they walked. She jabbered on about the baby and Jackson, who should be back on the ranch by the end of the following week, and the last-minute shopping trip she and Vanessa had planned that weekend. Monica nodded in all the right places, but wasn’t fully listening. A vet with piercing grey eyes and light brown hair had her attention, and he wasn’t even on the property any longer.

She needed to break away from Trick or she might be the forgotten third sister for the rest of her life.

• • •

The following afternoon, Trick closed the file on his laptop and stretched his arms over his head. Three hours at his desk, writing notes onto animal charts and updating shot records was three too many. He hated this part of his residency, and because they were between clerks at the moment, his paperwork load was larger than usual. He reminded himself to put an ad in the paper or talk to the FFA sponsor at the high school to find someone new. Handling the animals was great. Handling the animals and filing and keeping the place in general working order was a lot, especially with Vaughn practically in retirement mode already. The older vet was around most mornings, but Trick couldn’t remember the last time the man filed paperwork or ordered supplies.

Especially with Monica Witte back in town, distracting him from a distance of fifteen miles. She hadn’t called the night before, not that he expected her to. Hoped, maybe. But he’d learned early that Monica was unpredictable.

The practice was small like the town he loved; it was a large-animal practice, but Dr. Vaughn took smaller pets, too. Trick decided early on not to change that aspect once he bought the practice at the end of his residency. He looked around the office. A few magazines needed to be replaced on the chrome-and-glass coffee table, and the pamphlet bins on the table near the door needed restocking. There were new shots posters for heartworm that needed to be hung now that warmer weather was here. Garth Brooks sang low from the radio. Perfect. This was what he’d pictured when he’d finished his final year at U-TEP and begun working in Lockhardt. He walked through the backroom, doing a final check on two dogs, a parakeet, and a ferret. All were resting peacefully. They’d have something to say by morning.

It was predictable. He liked predictable. Dogs that needed their shots, the occasional birthing call.

He also wanted Monica, baggage and all.

He checked his calendar. Another light day tomorrow, perfect for the busywork of hiring a new employee and straightening up the office. He shut off the lights, switched the phones over to the answering service, and locked up.

Tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, Trick stared hard at the brick building for a long moment. He reversed and turned the truck toward the Longneck, a bar on the outskirts of town. Screw it, he wasn’t going home to stare at the walls or wait for a call that wouldn’t come.

The Tuesday crowd at the Longneck was light. A couple of cowboys from the Double Diamond and Vern from the gas station stood at the old mahogany bar. Neon signs advertised beer and a new, video-dart game stood in the corner. A few old-timers sat at scarred, brown tables, listening to Merle Haggard on the jukebox. The stage was empty and the dance floor dark. Fletch manned the bar and Dru wandered around the room, refilling glasses and flirting with the patrons. Trick chose the bar and ordered a beer.

“Saw Monica drive by with that horse of hers this afternoon,” Vern said. He moved down the bar to sit beside Trick. “Look as bad as we all thought?”

She looked wonderful, was his initial thought, but he held that in, concentrating on Jinx. Trick shrugged. “Could have been worse.” He sipped his beer, but didn’t offer more information. Vern was one half of the town gossip mill. The other half was Mrs. Gillespie at the Cattle Café. Any news worth spreading around Lockhardt came from those two and not the town newspaper.

Vern tugged at the blue-checked cuff of his long-sleeved shirt. Pearl buttons winked in the dim light. He pushed a weathered hand through what was left of his gray hair and set his ball cap, greasy from changing oil filters and pumping gas all day, beside him on the bar. Trick could just make out the Rangers logo in the center. Here it came.

“I saw what happened on the video feed. Those cows just went plumb crazy.”

Crazy, indeed. Crazy because a few teenage pranksters thought it would be fun to start a stampede, putting hundreds of lives in danger.

“That Monica, though, she sure can ride a horse. Just like her sister and her daddy before her.” He whistled. “Boy, can she ride.”

Yeah, she could ride. But Trick wasn’t interested in talking about Monica or the rodeo. The point in coming to the bar was to stop thinking about Monica Witte.

Trick cocked his eyebrow and lowered his voice. “Any news on which senior superglued Mike Johnson’s stinger to his truck bed?” The week before, the senior class at Lockhardt High pranked Mike, the FFA instructor, by gluing the truck stinger, which was used to grab hay bales in the fields, to the bed of his pickup. As pranks went, it was more time-consuming to clean up than destructive. He and Mike had used a gallon of turpentine to loosen the glue residue and get the stinger back in place.

Mike was still looking for the culprits.

Glee lit Vern’s eyes. Trick imagined him mentally rubbing his palms together as he geared up to tell the tale.

Light flickered in the mirror behind the bar as the door opened. A female figure was silhouetted against the outside glare for a second, and then the door closed. The room seemed to shrink in size as Monica waltzed across the room and up to the bar — the other end of the bar, far away from him. Vern whistled low.

“Those Witte girls sure are fine to look at.”

Trick grinned. Vern had no idea. Monica in jeans, boots, and fitted, western shirt was gorgeous. Monica naked on his silk sheets was beyond everything. Her clear, green gaze found his in the bar mirror. Trick’s mouth went dry at the heat in her expression. She ordered a beer and settled against the bar. Her luscious, pink mouth closed over the glass as she drank, and his palms went clammy. She smiled when Fletch said something to her as he wiped down the bar. Vern finished his story about the superglue suspects, but Trick didn’t hear a word.

He wanted to stalk down the bar, grab the beer from Monica’s hand, and plant his mouth on hers, taste her barley-scented breath and make her do that gasp-y thing against his mouth. That would land them both in the middle of the Lockhardt gossip mill, though, and he didn’t want that.

Trick cursed himself. He finished his beer and pushed a ten across the bar. He wanted a relationship with Monica. That’s what he wanted.

Chapter Three

Monica watched, frustrated, as Trick left the bar. What did it take to get that man’s attention off her horse and on to her? Her resolve to stay away from him lasted less than twenty-four hours. But when another night of running after dill pickle-laced chocolate ice cream for her sisters appeared, she had to get away from the Double Diamond. Trick was as far as she could get.

She saw his truck parked in the bar parking lot and her own truck seemed to drive itself into the lot. If she was going to be stuck in Lockhardt for the foreseeable future, she needed a bigger distraction than one measly extra hour each day in the therapy pool. She didn’t want to go chasing after him, though. That would put the whatever-this-was — and she would
not
call it a relationship — ball firmly in his court.

As Monica saw it, she had two options: first, sit here feeling sorry for herself, finish her drink, order another, and start down the alcohol-splattered road her father had traveled throughout her youth or go home and be the same outsider she’d always been — listen to her sisters plan their births, to their ideas for decorating their nurseries, and chatter over baby names.

Both options left a bad taste in her mouth.

The door swished closed behind Trick. Fletch wiped down the bar, and Vern eyed her over his beer bottle. He was harmless, one of her grandfather’s cronies.

“Saw the ride. Boy, you handled that horse like your daddy before you.”

Monica swallowed and played with the label on her own beer. “Thank you.”

“You have another horse set to go; now that Jinx is in therapy?”

She did. Well, almost. She’d been training a new horse since last fall, but when things started up with Trick, the new horse took a backseat. One more reason to stay away from him, but she couldn’t seem to do it. And, if she were being completely honest, the new horse just wasn’t Jinx. She was faster, maybe even better around the barrels. But Jinx was special. He’d been with her since she started building her solo life. Her confidant. Her travel buddy. And look what she’d done to him. She couldn’t very well tell Vern that, though, so she settled for a nod.

“Jinx’s rehab takes priority, but I’ll begin working more with the new horse in a week or so.”

Vern went back to his beer.

Still indecisive, she blew out a breath and leaned her elbows against the bar as the label on the brown bottle fell onto the bar top. Finally, she shoved a couple of bills across the smooth mahogany and left the bottle, still half full, on the bar.

There was a third option, if she was willing to grovel just a little bit.

Monica threw open the door to the Longneck and stopped short. Trick stood before his truck, arms crossed over his chest and booted feet crossed at the ankle. Waiting.

For her.

No groveling needed.

Excitement and another emotion Monica refused to name bloomed in her chest. He wasn’t mad at her. Or if he was still a little bit annoyed at her afternoon antics, he was willing to put those feelings aside. The door snicked closed behind her. No one else loitered in the parking lot. Monica sauntered across the gravel.

“Hi.”

Trick nodded, his cowboy hat tipping low and brushing against her scalp. “Some coincidence, running into you tonight. You don’t usually like bars.”

She shrugged and looped her thumbs on her back pockets. “I don’t like bars at all. But you weren’t at the clinic or at your house. Or the Cattle Café. I took a chance.”

“You came looking for me?” Shock underlined his words. Monica nodded. “Because you want to talk about Jinx?” She shook her head. Not even close.

She took a deep breath. “Because I needed to apologize for yesterday afternoon.” She reached out, trailing her index finger against his bicep. Electricity sparked between them. “And because I missed you.”

Trick swallowed. “This doesn’t change my mind about Jinx’s diagnosis.”

Monica smiled. “I know.”

“Kiss me.”

“Trick … ” She flicked a glance at him from under her lashes.

“Live dangerously, Mon. Kiss me, in the middle of the parking lot. Where anyone could see us.” His hand snaked out to capture hers, linking their fingers together. He leaned forward, his lips a breath away from hers. “Dare you.”

Monica swayed. Trick’s gray gaze twinkled in the twilight, and he grinned.

“You know you want to,” he whispered the words in her ear as his thumb drew intricate designs on the back of her palm.

She did want to. That kiss in the back of her horse trailer had started a hot burning in her stomach that still hadn’t faded a day later. It had blazed hotter the moment their gazes had met in the bar mirror, and now that Trick was mere inches from her, it threatened to consume her.