“I’d sign up if you were on the menu,” he whispered, leaning over and brushing his lips against her ear. She tried to glare, but he saw the flare of desire in her eyes.
It was so normal that for a moment, he forgot he was on borrowed time or at best, on trial. But she was wearing her new boots, and Diego was wearing his. And Axel felt a sense of contentment that usually eluded him, unless he was working on the ranch with his crew.
He drove through the gates of the ranch.
“Why don’t you have a sign that says Riverbend?” she asked.
“It was stolen years ago, when I was a teenager. I think by that time no one really cared.”
“You could get another one.”
“No one locally calls it Riverbend but me and Minna Herdmann, who’s sort of the town matriarch. It was her birthday party we were celebrating last weekend.”
“Ghost Hill,” Cruz murmured softly. “That’s what I’ve heard a few people at the hospital call the ranch when they learn where I’m staying. Where did that name come from?”
He tensed, feeling his good mood bleed out. It wasn’t that she couldn’t learn most of what she wanted by asking around. She’d hear a lot of stories, not all of them true. The skin between his shoulder blades prickled. August had always loved the stories about the family being volatile and the ranch being haunted. He’d reveled in the rumors, even played up some of them by telling kids about ghosts he’d supposedly seen wandering around spookily. And as for the hauntings, he’d loved to make up stories to scare his younger brothers—not that he’d ever sit up with them when they were terrified. Especially after he’d told them about sightings that never happened.
“The ranch is one of the oldest and most established in the area,” he said cautiously. “And that has caused some envy over the years.”
She was looking at him in a way that told him she could see through his BS.
“A lot of folks have worked on the ranch over the years, and well, you heard the wind,” he said, going for the physical explanation rather than the one that had anything to do with his family. “And sometimes on cooler nights along the river and creeks where it’s damper and the hills rise up, there’ll be a bit of a fog that drifts along the water and around the stand of oaks. I guess, over the years, it might have spooked some of the hands and they took the stories home to their families.”
“Ghost Hill was named for the weather? Not a battle or some specific event?”
“The town was named after a battle in the saloon. The building still stands. You can get a beer there and still see bullet holes.”
“Is there a karaoke night?”
He relaxed and smiled. “I don’t think so, but I’d love to see you go in and ask the owner what he’d think about starting one.”
Or maybe he wouldn’t. The owner of the saloon, the police chief’s brother, was still very single. And as a bartender and proprietor—and a burr under the chief’s saddle, much like August was for him, he was a far better flirt and conversationalist than Axel would ever be.
“I’ll take you to the saloon one night if you want to go,” he said. “It’s popular with locals, but now a lot of tourists visit as well because of the history.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a date,” she said.
“Depends on your outlook,” he said, keeping things light, very aware they might be entering new territory.
They were like boxers, circling each other, trying to get a feel for each other’s intentions, except the only hits they’d land would be emotional.
“Let me guess,” she said as he drove down to the stables and parked his truck. “One of your ancestors was in the saloon, hunkered down shooting a bottle of whiskey and his rifle at the approaching Mexican army.”
“Damn straight. Except it was a Colt 45. We still have the gun. It used to be on the wall of my daddy’s office.”
He nearly gulped. Axel never mentioned his father. Never. He avoided the topic with everyone, including his brothers. But Cruz seemed to make everything easier.
“I love that about your family. You have so much history. It surrounds you in the house, but I haven’t seen any family pictures or the famous Colt.” She waggled her fingers in a shooting motion and then blew on one tip. “Texans love their guns.”
“August remodeled the house. I’m not sure why—he doesn’t intend to live there.”
“August packed everything away? Is it easy to get to? I’d love to see a picture of you as a little boy.”
Hell, no, August hadn’t packed anything up. Axel had done it himself, in a raging fury. He’d done it right after he came home from the circuit—just boxed up anything of a personal nature, except the office computer and Anders’s bedroom, and then hauled it all down to one of the equipment sheds. To his knowledge, it was all still there. And if lightning struck the building, incinerating everything, he’d lose no sleep.
“You do that a lot,” Cruz said softly as they followed Diego into the stable. “Go quiet.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I don’t think I noticed it before,” she said. She laughed a little and her voice dropped low. “Probably because I was always after your body more than your words.”
“And you’re not now?”
“I’m trying to behave myself. And you don’t make it easy.” She pinched his butt hard and then darted into the stable in front of him. His heart, which always felt heavy when he thought of his father and the distance between his brothers, lightened.
He felt even better when he saw Cruz facing him, a big smile on her face, leaning against a stall so he couldn’t retaliate.
“No kittens yet,” Diego called out.
“Maybe the cat is just fat.” Cruz laughed, looking inside the stall at the contented feline.
“Pretty sure it’s not,” he said ruefully. “Devin, the softy, found her huddled on the side of the road in a rainstorm. He brought her to the barn and has been feeding her. She even has a cat bed.”
“I bet you bought the cat bed, and maybe even that little cat toy I see in the corner, softy.”
“I’m not so soft,” he said.
Cruz looked down at the part that was always hard or semi-hard around her. He heard her breath hitch and then she dragged her gaze back up, and he felt as if he came alive under her heated regard. She stared into his eyes. The moment stretched, and he found himself falling even further under her spell. This time, he let himself go.
It just felt so damn good to be alive. For the first time in a long time, he was looking forward to the next day. The next sunrise was not just bringing a list of obligations that he was determined to check off for the Bluebonnet Festival. It was another day with Cruz.
He didn’t let himself think of the future, just the now. And Cruz was in it.
“You going to tuck your horses in, Cowboy, and call it a night?”
Was that an invitation?
“Or are we just going to stare at each other?”
“Staring’s good,” he said, relaxing against the doorframe. “I like the view.”
“Not bad from here, either, but I remember your predilections for barns,” she said. “And we have an audience.” She indicated Diego, who was going from stall to stall, climbing up on the gate to say good night to each horse. Some ambled to greet him, others stayed in their corners, suspicious or indifferent.
“He’s singing,” Axel noted.
“He got that from me. We drove around a lot and as you know, I like to sing in the car.”
“I remember. He must have got his love of horses from you, too.”
“I wish I knew more about what my brother was like. And his biological mother.”
Axel noted the change in conversation. “Why won’t you ride anymore?”
She looked away.
“I miss it,” she said. “But after I finished school, the scholarship money was finished, too. And since I didn’t join the rodeo, sponsorships dried up. And then…well, you know what came next. I was r
eally overwhelmed and trying to switch programs and get more loans and grants and merit-aid scholarships, and I just couldn’t afford to keep Misty River anymore.”
Axel felt frozen inside. She’d loved that horse. She’d taken so much care with her. Many of the early conversations they’d had—the verbal back and forth he’d enjoyed so much, even though he’d never been much of a talker, had been while she was caring for Misty River. He used to watch her. She’d sung to her horse. Talked to it more than she talked to the other barrel racers.
“You sold her?”
“I had no choice. I didn’t have time or money and I didn’t want her to suffer.”
Cruz pressed her lips tightly together, and he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes from here. She could have come to him. He’d been making more money than he ever had, right out of the chute, so to speak. He’d had a ranch and a crew that could have taken care of the horse while Cruz got her life together.
Hell, she wouldn’t have had to get her life together, either. She could have come to him. He would have helped her. He would have… He sucked in a deep breath and unclenched his fists. She could have come to him. But she hadn’t. What did that say about them? At her most desperate, she’d sold the horse she loved more than anything instead of coming to him for help.
“Don’t say it,” she said shakily. “Don’t.”
It was hard as hell not to.
But what was there to say? She’d broken up with him to pursue her dream. She’d been hit hard by circumstances beyond her control and instead of coming back to him, she’d made hard sacrifices.
He needed to hear that message loud and clear.
He may have thought they had enough between them to build a future, but Cruz hadn’t. She’d walked away, sacrificing her horse and her dream of being a doctor, to raise her brother’s child alone.
Admiration warred with hurt and a disappointment that was stronger than it should be. He’d thought they had a chance. She never had.
Chapter Nine
Cruz arched her back and bent over to touch her toes. Who knew a morning of fun and an afternoon of pouring wine samples and discussing wine could be so physically taxing?
Catalina’s energy had never flagged. She’d held on to her smile for the entire afternoon and glowed with enthusiasm when talking about the wine, the winery and their first estate vintage crush that was happening this year. She chatted up the winery as if it was already fully established and had been winning awards and features in vintner magazines for years.
There was going to be a wine bar with a gourmet pizza oven, where people could make their own meals. All the ingredients would be locally sourced and much of the food would come from the estate.
“The estate,” Cruz had breathed under her breath. It sounded so high concept and rich and so far from anything that had to do with her.
“Is any of the stuff you’re saying real?” she’d asked Catalina during a rare lull.
She’d laughed. Her unusual pale green eyes sparkled.
“Not yet,” she emphasized. “But we’re going to blow Last Stand and the Hill Country wine world’s tiny minds.”
Cruz had tasted the wine early in the morning at Catalina’s insistence and with vigilant instruction. It had seemed more like a science experiment than either of the two tastings she and Shell had attended in the past.
And then Bill Clemmens had come up to the booth, looking furious. He’d had two younger men with him. They hadn’t seemed angry, but they didn’t appear any nicer, either.
“Cover for me.” Catalina had taken off her deep green apron that read Verflucht, folded it up in jerky moves, tucked it under the table and marched off. The three men, whose gazes had never moved from Catalina as she took off her apron, followed.
She’d returned about ten minutes later. She hadn’t said anything, but judging from her flushed complexion, the chat hadn’t gone well. But then another wave of tasters came, and she and Cruz were swamped. August, even though he was still injured, gave them both breaks often. Catalina didn’t take them, but Cruz did.
She’d enjoyed the festival in the morning with Diego. There were plenty of games for kids, crafts and some organized activities. In the afternoon, since he couldn’t even sit in the alcohol tent where Verflucht and other wineries were pouring, he’d hung out with August or Axel and then he’d come across some friends from school and had gone off with them. She’d made sure to meet the kids’ parents and reminded Diego to keep checking in with her.
The parents had exchanged cell numbers and Cruz’s heart warmed. These were her first Last Stand contacts that she didn’t work with. Or live with.
Although that definition wasn’t exactly accurate, or permanent. She couldn’t stay in this limbo. She was way too comfortable, and such close and constant proximity to Axel was definitely messing with her head, not to mention her body.
“Lucky,” one of the moms had murmured in her ear when Axel had approached the tent with some sweet tea for her and Catalina. “Axel was every girl’s dream in high school, and he’s only gotten finer. Hold on tight, girl.”
She wanted to.
And that was the problem.
She needed to stand on her own two feet before she reached out to hold Axel’s hand.
“You’re done.” August waved her away just as the light started to turn from bright yellow to a soft gold tinged with the first fingers of pink and gray.
“What? We don’t close up until seven.”
“We don’t,” August said, smirking. “But you’re done. The boss has claimed you, although you might want to tell him to clean up first.”
Cruz looked up to see Axel approaching with Diego. The jump her heart gave was more like an awkward lurch. She could feel her skin prickle with goose bumps.
“God, you’ve got it as bad as he does,” August said.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Thanks for helping today. I hope you’re not too tired to dance because the boss will be pretty pissed at me if that’s the case. He specifically kept hauling me over here to spell you every hour, as if I’m some kind of cruel taskmaster.”
“You are.” She smiled. “But thank you for your concern.” She pushed off from the table. “Later y’all.” Then she greeted a barefoot Axel. “Why are you wet?”
“Dunk tank. This monkey—” he pointed to Diego “—has quite the arm.”
“Good job,” she praised her grinning son.
“It might have something to do with the way he climbed up the back of the tank, leaned over and hit the lever.”
“You did?” She was appalled.
“Uncle August dared me, because no one had knocked Axel in yet.”
Uncle?
She looked up at Axel, trying to gauge his reaction. He just met her inquiry with the same neutral expression that had always made her heart flutter because it had allowed her to read so many feelings in there. He’d been her strong, silent cowboy, but in her mind, his silence had hidden deep thoughts.
His hair was wet and slicked back and a few drops of water trickled down his cheek to his strong jawline.
So much for taking it slow. She should be the one tossed in the dunk tank.
“Sorry?”
“Everyone got a good laugh,” Axel said. “Although Diego is going to help me plan my revenge on Uncle August.”
Okay, so he had noticed.
“I’m not sure that’s the best use of your time,” she said. “Either of you,” she added tartly. “Do you want to go home and change?”
“No. I always take a shift on the dunk tank. It benefits 4-H. I have a change of clothes in my truck. It’s the first time I’ve needed them.”
“I guess I should apologize for my son…but I have a feeling, in this case, you were due.” She laughed. He smiled and she reached up to push a curl of hair that had fallen over his forehead.
It was hard to pull back. To not trace his thick, straight brows, his cheekbones, straight, strong nose, and then
his mouth.
“I thought we could meet up in the barbeque line.” He slid his palm briefly against hers and she tucked her hand in her back pocket so she didn’t touch him again. “The music’s about to start.”
“Sounds good.”
Was that even her voice? It sounded husky, as if she had the world’s worst cold.
Axel strode off, and she watched him go. God, with his T-shirt plastered to his torso and the flex of muscle so visible, he made her mouth water. And his jeans looked glued on. He had a spectacular ass.
“Mom.” Diego tugged on her hand. “You look weird. Why are you staring at Axel? He’s coming back.”
She looked down at her son. She was acting like the lovestruck teenager she’d been at seventeen, spying on him while he cared for his horse, stretched, talked with the other cowboys, and worked his ropes. She’d imagined he was touching her like that.
She’d told Axel that once, after they got together, that she’d fantasized about him touching her the way he ran his gloved hand over his ropes before a competition.
“Resin is sticky,” he’d said, looking puzzled.
She’d laughed. It was so Axel. Practical. Dousing her fantasy with reality. But then the playful stealthy Axel had emerged. That night, when she’d gone back to his trailer with him and he’d undressed her and kissed her until she was flushed and shivering with desire, he’d put on gloves, brought out a rope and loosely tied her hands.
It had been so hot, she’d climaxed at practically the moment he first touched her.
“You’re still staring.” Diego tugged on her hand. “I’m hungry.”
Axel met them as they neared the front of the line. Dang. She’d wanted to treat him for the meal since he’d done so much for her and Diego, but she knew he wouldn’t let her.
“You clean up good, Cowboy,” she said. “You’re not the only one who brought a change of clothes,” she said, indicating her bag where she’d packed a sleeveless wrap dress that would look even better with her new boots. “Although after all the pouring this afternoon, I could use a shower. Who knew pouring wine would be so messy?”
A Son for the Texas Cowboy Page 12