“I agree.”
Renner flashed that swoon-worthy smile. “So, how about a . . . truce?”
“Truce.” She smiled as cagily as he did. “At least until you piss me off.”
Chapter Seven
The truce lasted all of thirty-six hours.
Tierney froze in the doorway of the office—an office that’d been tidy when she’d left it the previous evening. Now the space looked as if it’d been ransacked by raccoons.
Papers strewn across the coffee table. A disemboweled printer, the spent ink cartridge next to a pair of greasy pliers and a screwdriver, teetered on the edge of the table.
She crossed to the sitting area, picking up a fleece blanket. Beneath it was a decorative tasseled pillow from the guest sofa downstairs. She studied the paisley pattern. Was it her imagination or was there a drool stain? She sniffed it. Smelled like coffee. Better than bourbon, she supposed.
Renner had left his laptop charging, a fact she’d discovered after tripping over the cord in the middle of the floor. A pair of gray athletic socks peeked out of a gap in the cushions—cushions that were askew indicating he’d slept here last night.
He’d made himself coffee, evidenced by the grounds scattered all over the coffee station. Also evidenced by the Styrofoam cups everywhere—next to the fax machine, her printer, her computer. Her eyes narrowed. Hey. Wait a second. What had he been doing in her private area? Were those . . . boot prints on the edge of her desk?
She stalked over and scrutinized them. Yes, indeed, those were boot prints. Muddy boot prints. And he’d taped something to her monitor. She bent down to read it. Squinted at it because she couldn’t believe her eyes. A to-do list.
The man had made her a to-do list.
That was the last straw.
Infuriated, Tierney barreled down the stairs and out the side door that led to the barns. When the pavement ended, she was forced to traverse the rocky path to the back of the corrals.
Wooden planks ringed the perimeter of the fence. A dozen men hung on the corrals on the opposite side. One guy was inside the corral, but he kept throwing looks over his shoulder to the chutes.
Her gaze followed his to where a couple of cowboys stood on the upper ledge. A sound of something hard, like a hoof or a horn striking metal echoed and the entire enclosure shook. The bull jumped again, throwing the rider in the air.
Two things happened simultaneously: the rider vigorously nodded his hatted head and the gate burst open.
A whitish-gray bull leapt from captivity with its hind legs in the air. The cowboy kept one arm high above his head, as his other arm, somehow attached to the bull, was jerked every which way as the animal whirled and kicked. What a display of power, man versus beast. How strong the man’s leg muscles must be. How beefy his biceps and forearms must be. How agile he must be.
What an idiot he must be to climb on the back of a bull in the first place.
When the bull twisted toward her, Tierney caught a glimpse of the rider beneath the cowboy hat. Every bit of breath stalled in her lungs.
The idiot rider hanging on to that beast was Renner.
Fear, anger, and more anger surfaced. Surely he could’ve forced another cowboy to exhibit this dangerous behavior. But as that thought popped into her head, she knew Renner wasn’t the type to pass the buck. Or the type to pass up a chance to buck, apparently.
A loud buzzer sounded. Renner freed his hand and sailed off the bull. Clapping and wolf whistles exploded from the peanut gallery as he landed on his feet with grace and ease.
The bull, seeing his nemesis unharmed, charged.
The other guy in the ring shouted for Renner’s attention—or maybe he was shouting at the bull. Renner turned, lost his footing and slipped beneath the bull’s stomping hooves.
Tierney shrieked.
Renner rolled away before a hoof connected with his body. Then he was up, the fringe on his chaps making a flap flap sound as he raced toward the fence . . . straight toward her.
She tried to scramble away from the man and the beast giving chase. Her heels slipped off the edge of the wooden plank, her arms pinwheeled and she fell on her butt. Right in the muck. Then Renner was throwing himself over the top of the fence beside her.
The bull’s gigantic body distorted at the last second before it plowed into the fence. The substance on the hooves sprayed over them in a wet splatter.
Renner reached for her hands to drag her out of the mud. “Are you all right?”
“No!” She looked at her clothing with disgust. Her pink tweed skirt was speckled with brown. As was her beige silk shirt. The sleeves of her matching pink tweed suit coat had brown smears from elbow to wrist. Although she couldn’t see her backside, she felt cold dampness of mud seeping through. But witnessing the state of her shoes, her beautiful pink suede pumps, caused the most distress. They were ruined. She’d worn them one time.
“Where are you hurt?” Renner placed his mud-caked gloved hand on her right forearm.
“I’m not hurt.” She knocked his hand away. “I’m mad.” Mad and humiliated and the person who’d caused this distress was right in front of her, so she pushed him.
He staggered back a step before his eyes turned icy. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“What is wrong with me?” Tierney pushed him again, but this time he didn’t budge. “What is wrong with you? Did you even know what you were doing, getting on a bull?”
“Yes, I knew what I was doin’. In case you forgot, I own a stock contracting company. I know how to load bulls in the chute and I sure as shit know how to ride them. So I don’t know where you get off—”
“Where I get off?” she repeated. “You got off right in front of me! Straight over the fence like some high jumper on meth. I thought you and the bull were going to trample me!” She did a sweeping gesture over her clothes. “Now you’ve ruined my suit, not to mention my shoes—”
“Which is your own goddamn fault.” He gave her feet a derisive look, sneering, “No woman in her right mind would ever wear a pair of shoes like that to the barn and corrals. You come out here in the real world you should expect to get dirty, understand?”
“I cannot believe I’m coated in mud and manure and God knows what else.” She removed her glasses, which were almost impossible to see through because of the splatters. She jerked her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt, using the clean corner to wipe her lenses. She shoved them back on her face and glared at him.
“Is there a reason you came down here? Or was it just to chew my ass in front of a bunch of guests?”
Tierney glanced over at the chutes. The bull was gone from the arena and the guys were waiting for something—Renner the bull-riding stud, probably. She dropped her voice. “Yes, I came down here looking for you.”
“What for?”
“To ask why you trashed my office. It did not look like that when I shut the lights off last night.”
He angled closer, keeping his voice low. “It’s my freakin’ office too.”
“Well, it’s not your bedroom and I don’t appreciate that you slept in there last night.” A new thought crossed her mind. “Oh. My. God. You didn’t bring a woman into my office and screw her on my couch, did you?”
“Fuck no. But if I had it would’ve been the first time that couch had seen any action, ’cause God knows you haven’t put it to good use since you’ve been here.”
She gasped, even when she hated that she’d gasped like some affronted maiden. Which she was. Holy buckets. Could he tell? Her face burned as red and hot as a pepper.
“Sorry. Shit. That was a low blow and totally out of line.” His sheepish eyes roamed over every inch of her flaming face. “I . . . I have stuff to do right now. Can we talk about this later?”
“As far as I’m concerned, we’re done talking now.” Tierney spun on the toe of her pump and started walking the plank.
“Tierney, wait.”
She faced him. “What?”
“
You have a streak on your face that looks like . . . ah, hell, just c’mere.” Yanking off his glove, he reached out, exactly as he had the other night, curling his hand around the side of her neck, using his thumb to rub on her jawline. “Sorry if I’m pressing too hard.”
“What is it?” She shuddered, but she wasn’t entirely sure her response wasn’t from Renner’s tender touch. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”
“It sorta looks like brownie batter, but it don’t smell near as sweet.”
“Eww.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s mud, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t blood. Or a bruise.”
“Blood. Great.”
His thumb slowly arced over her jaw. “It’s not blood. If it had been I’da felt guiltier yet.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. However the level of guilt would’ve been dependent on if it was your blood or mine.”
That was a sweetly insightful, yet somewhat bizarre statement. “And if it would’ve been a bruise?” How had that come out sounding so breathless?
“Maybe I would’ve offered to kiss it and make it better.” He grinned. “More’s the pity it’s just a smudge of dirt.”
Damn you, Renner Jackson, don’t be nice to me now. Now that I’m publicly covered in shit and humiliation. Be an asshole so I can stay mad at you.
Then he turned abruptly, scaled the fence and raced across the arena toward the chutes without looking back at her.
Jesus. Telling Tierney he’d like to kiss it and make it better. What kind of pussy says shit like that?
Him, apparently.
His recriminations ended when the group of guys all started talking at once.
But Hank Lawson took him aside. “You all right?”
“Yeah. That bull is a mean son of a bitch, ain’t he?”
“No offense, but if you managed to stay on him eight seconds? He ain’t gonna be much of a challenge for the pros. Although he’s perfect for amateurs.” Hank knew his stuff. He’d walked away from the world of pro rodeo at the top of his game as a world-class bullfighter. As much as Hank loved being a rancher, he also loved going head to head with the rankest stock around, so Renner was glad Hank agreed to share his skills at the Split Rock and protect the guests who wanted to try their luck on the back of a bull.
“So any of these guys ready to give bull ridin’ a whirl?”
“Probably. You made it look awful damn easy.” Hank grinned. “What’s up with that landing? You nailed it like an Olympic gymnast.”
Renner shrugged. “No clue.”
“You weren’t showin’ off for Tierney?”
“I didn’t even know she was here until I heard her scream.” That’d shocked him. Seeing her scared to death, leaning against the fence in a fucking pink suit. Pink. Christ. She might’ve just as well waved a red goddamn cape at the bull.
“Thought maybe for a second there I’d have to send Abe over to referee.”
“Nah, I set her straight.” Renner hopped up on the second rung of the metal fence and looked at each one of his guests. “So who’s next?”
After watching eight guys eat dirt within two seconds of the bull exiting the chute, and two other guests managing to hit the three second mark, the last two guys decided to skip bull riding. Renner needed a shower in a bad way, but he had to talk to Janie on her first day back after the car accident.
He unhooked his chaps, ditched his vest and kicked off his boots and spurs before entering the lodge’s laundry area. At the industrial-sized steel sink, he scrubbed his hands with water as hot as he could stand.
When he raised his head, a towel appeared in his peripheral vision. Mopping his face, he met Janie’s curious gaze.
“Should I ask?”
“No.” He dried his hands. “But lemme ask you something. Did you and the tyrant have a conversation about Dodie today?”
“No. I haven’t seen Tierney yet.”
Damn woman probably ignored the to-do list he’d left her.
“But I had a long talk with Dodie this morning,” Janie said. “We went over a few basics, and she confessed nerves got the best of her. Cooking in a new place, new expectations. She asked if she could bring her pans and stuff from home to cook with here.”
“Really? That seems like an excuse.”
Janie shrugged. “Most cooks I’ve dealt with have preferences for everything from knives to ramekin sizes. I told her to use whatever she needed to better do her job.” She tossed a look over her shoulder. “I emphasized the word job, to remind her that this gig is more serious than whipping up appetizers for a bridge party. She picked up her utensils after breakfast. I sampled what she’s been working on. It’s fantastic.”
As she spoke, Renner studied her. Her face was still puffy in spots, but she’d covered up the bruises with enough makeup that he wouldn’t have known they were there if he hadn’t seen them with his own eyes.
“What? You’re staring at me.”
“Just wondering if you’re up to the challenge of managing the staff as well as bein’ the chipper hostess with the mostest for the guests tonight?”
“I’m fine. The thought of being stuck in my trailer with my own miserable company for another day drove me bonkers.”
“I ain’t gonna lie. The last three days have sucked. I’m damn glad to have you back. I don’t think I can run this place without you, to be real honest.”
Her eyes softened. “Ren, this is temporary.”
“I know, so don’t get any ideas about hittin’ me up for a raise because the tyrant would have my neck measured for a noose.” He loomed over her. “That said, if you think your accident might’ve had something to do with—”
“It doesn’t,” she said too quickly. She snatched the towel from his hands and snapped him in the butt. “Get cleaned up or I’ll hose you down myself. You smell.”
He bent down and bussed her forehead. “Aw, listen to you. A few months back in Wyoming and you’re talkin’ cowgirl tough, makin’ threats and shit. Next thing, you’ll be chewin’ tobacco.” Renner ducked her snapping towel and scaled the stairs to the office, half afraid, half looking forward to going at it with the tyrant again. That woman fired his blood in more ways than he’d thought possible.
It didn’t take long to straighten his mess, but he could see why it’d gotten Tierney’s panties in a twist. She was such a neatnik. Her personal items didn’t take up much room. No photos on the desk or bookshelves. No live plants or quirky desk objects like his pooping cow jellybean dispenser. Every item had a specific purpose and a specific place.
However, she’d left her mark in the bathroom. The shower curtain was printed with rubber duckies. Some wore funky hats—cowboy hats, bowler hats, stocking caps, trucker caps. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the rest of the shower curtain was dotted with pirate duckies. Devil duckies. Angel duckies. And his personal favorite, psychotic-looking clown duckies. He couldn’t imagine any kid wanting this shower curtain in the bathroom—it was as scary as it was embarrassing.
Renner stripped and kicked his clothes aside, thinking about Tierney. The woman defined contradictory. Shrewd financial mind but limited managerial skills, almost bordering on . . . shyness. She wore classy, sexy tailored suits, but she had a weakness for colored sprinkles, ducky-printed shower curtains, girlie shoes with bows, ribbons and flowers, and romance novels. He’d noticed the jam-packed bookshelves in her cabin. Not a newsflash the woman was a bookworm, but he would’ve pegged her as the type to read self-help books. Not novels with titles like Take Me, Barbarian, and Slave To His Rough Touch, and Seduced Against Her Will.
He cranked on the shower and climbed in, letting the hot water flow down his face and body. God, it was almost better than an orgasm.
Man, it has been a long time if you’re comparing getting wet to getting off.
He squirted the gel in his hand and created lather. Tempting, to jack off, as a reminder of the pleasures of the flesh, even if that pleasure was brought about by his own hand. But
given how his day had gone, it’d be his luck to literally get caught fucking off.
What would Tierney do if she caught him with his hand on his cock? Back away with embarrassment, stammering and blushing? Roll her eyes and remind him to clean his come off the wall when he finished? Would she watch him with those liquid brown eyes? Or would she lend a hand?
Right. Might as well keep up that fantasy, bub, ’cause her hand and your cock ain’t ever happening.
Sighing, Renner ignored his hard-on and finished sloughing off the mud. As he dried his chest, he realized he hadn’t grabbed clean clothes from the closet. Securing the towel around his waist, he opened the bathroom door and strolled out.
Naturally, Tierney walked into the office at that exact same time.
Naturally, the end of his towel snagged on the edge of her desk.
Naturally, the towel hit the floor.
Tierney’s jaw hit the floor too, seeing him naked as a fucking jaybird, sporting a hard-on that’d make any man proud.
Hell, he’d’ve been proud of it if the circumstances had been different.
Wrangled and Tangled Page 5