The Truth About Cowboys

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “Oh,” I say, my eyes going wide. “I’ll get her right now.”

  He holds up a hand. “She can stay. I’m just telling you where she is in case you need to find her.” He grabs his hat off the peg on the wall and tips a chin at his grandmother before disappearing.

  I whirl around and press my hands to the island. “Why is everyone, including the cat, trying to get me into that man’s bed? He hates me. Why can’t you and the cat see that?”

  She laughs. “A fine line, honey. That’s not hate. And as I proved with Oliver, that fine line is like an extra smidge of salt that makes a cookie perfect. That smidge of something is all it takes to make it really special.”

  “Let’s go with that. Let’s talk about your cookies.”

  “There’s plenty to go around, just like love, honey. Write the romance novel. Go on some dates to remember what your heroine will be facing.”

  “Okay. I’ll write the romance novel if you’ll help me spread some love.”

  “Okay. Jason is perfect for you. He has baggage though. You just have to know—”

  “Cookies, Martha,” I say, before she tells the man’s secrets and has him thinking I’m gathering gossip for a tell-all. “I’ll write the romance if you’ll sell your cookies.”

  She blinks. “What?”

  “They’re too good to stay right here on the ranch. Let’s package them and sell them.”

  “Package them? Sell them? I—I don’t even know how to start.”

  “I do. I did some research. Are you open to hearing what my ideas are?”

  “Yes. Yes of course.”

  “We need appealing packaging and a logo but if we start out just with the small stores and towns nearby to test the response, we can start out small. A see-through bag and a cute sticker.”

  “You really think I could sell my cookies?”

  “I do, and I even started a business plan, but we need to sit down and crunch some numbers. It won’t cost much to sell-in the products to the local stores and nearby towns, but if we expand we’ll need money. We need to know when and how we cross that bridge.”

  “That’s a problem.” She hesitates. “To be honest, honey, money’s tight and I need you to keep this to yourself. Jason doesn’t know I know, but the banker has called me several times. We’re behind on our credit line payments.”

  I’m stunned that she knows so much and yet she and Jason haven’t talked, but this also makes it easier for me to help.

  “Apparently,” she goes on, “we were behind when Jason inherited, and I’m not sure of the details on that, but it wasn’t good. Jason caught everything up, but now it’s behind again, and you know he was playing minor league for years. He’d only gotten pulled up to the majors and hit big shortly before the accident. I fear Jason spent all his money on this place, and for what? He needs to stop, just go back and play ball. He’d finally made it. That was his dream. It still is. I know it is. Again. Why stay?”

  “As to why he’d stay,” I say, repeating one of my thoughts from last night, “aren’t there a lot of people here who count on him?”

  “Yes, and I’m sure that’s why he stays, but a baseball contract could make it all come together.”

  “But then who runs this place when he’s playing ball? It could be that he feels that money would just go down the drain if he’s not here. It’s a catch twenty-two.”

  “We can sell.”

  “If the ranch isn’t profitable, how do you sell?” I ask. “Most likely you wouldn’t get enough to pay off the debts, and then the entire crew would be left without jobs.”

  “Oh my. Yes. Yes, you’re right. My grandson is a prisoner here.” She balls her fists on her chest. “I hate this for him.”

  “What if we can turn your baking into profit? Enough that Jason could go play ball because this place has a purpose that doesn’t require his help?”

  “That would be a lot of cookies, Jessica.”

  “Well, I have a lot of time and so do you.”

  “It’s a lot of work.”

  “I’m not exactly employed right now. Are you?”

  “I suppose I’m not, but what about the book?”

  “I can do both.”

  “Okay then, what about money? We’d still need money.”

  “Well, my ex basically stole money from me that I’m working to get back, but for now, I have my book advance money coming soon. We can get our plan together and then test the market while we wait on it to get here.”

  “Then we’re partners. Fifty-fifty split on everything after your investment?”

  “Seventy-thirty, with you getting the seventy. This is your thing. I’m just excited to help and eat cookies. And I need a purpose right now.”

  “Fifty-fifty or I’m not baking another cookie for you.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Fifty-fifty. Let’s sit down and make our plan.”

  “We have the feast to handle first.”

  “Right. Okay. So tomorrow we make our plans.”

  “Tomorrow we make our plans,” she agrees. “Today we feed a whole lot of cowboys.”

  Today we feed a whole lot of cowboys, but as much as I want to deny it, there’s only one cowboy on my mind. And I’m not only wearing his shirt with no bra underneath, but I showed the man my bare chocolate-covered breasts and then actually left his bedroom without letting him touch me.

  I think we both probably hate me right now, but hey, I didn’t get his mouth, hands, hot body, or an orgasm, but I did get to keep my heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Jessica…

  The thing about a cat is that you can’t call them and have them come to you. They get found when they want to get found. Kelly is officially missing in Jason’s house. Once I’m back in my tank top and bra, both without stains now, I hunt for her. And hunt for her. I give up for a while and keep working to ice cookies and prep desserts for “the feast”, as Martha calls the Sunday afternoon meal. It’s almost time to leave for said feast, and I find myself back in Jason’s bedroom, looking again. This mission lands me on my knees, ass in the air, searching under the bed. She isn’t there.

  Sighing, I sit up and turn around to find Jason standing in the doorway with Kelly in his arms. “Looking for something?”

  I hop to my feet. “Were you looking at my ass?”

  “It was in the air, in my room, in the vicinity of my bed. To be honest, Jessica, this is starting to get a little aggressive on your part.”

  I glower and walk up to him, taking Kelly in my arms. “You’re lucky I won’t hurt you when my new daughter is watching. Move. I need to help your grandmother.”

  “I’m here to help as well.” He backs up and motions me forward. “Ladies first.”

  “I’m not going first and letting you look at my ass again.”

  “Because you’re certain I will?”

  I ignore him. “You go first. Then it’s my option to look or not look at your ass.”

  “Because of course my ass has to look good in Wranglers to qualify me as a romance novel hero.”

  “You know, you’re awfully obsessed with the romance novel I’m not writing. Perhaps you’re afraid you don’t stack up. You aren’t handsome enough or alpha enough. That your ass just isn’t tight enough. That your cowboy hat doesn’t tilt just right.”

  “Maybe you’re afraid I stack up a little too well. I’ve had your naked breasts and your ass presented to me all in a matter of hours.”

  My cheeks heat. “You’re my landlord and nothing more.”

  “And that’s why you ran earlier?”

  “I was simply getting out of your space.”

  “But not my shirt.”

  “I’m out now.”

  “And yet you’re in my bedroom.”

  “Because Kelly was here.”

  His lips q
uirk ever so slightly, and he motions me forward. “Ladies first.”

  I could refuse, but then I’d just stay here in this standoff with him having the upper hand, as this is his bedroom, and that’s not going to work. I move forward, and yes, I know, he’s looking at my ass. I feel his eyes on me, and believe me, I’m aware of every step I take, all the way down the hallway and up the stairs.

  Finally, we’re on the upper level, and when he clears the lower level and steps to my side, he says, “In case you were wondering, yes, I did assess your ass on the way up to determine if it was romance heroine quality, and for no other reason.”

  And then the asshole says nothing else. He doesn’t tell me if that assessment was good or bad. He wants me to ask. My chin lifts defiantly. “I’m not going to ask what you thought because I don’t care.”

  His eyes light with mischief. “Yes, you do.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Ask me,” he challenges.

  “No,” I say, setting Kelly down, and Lord help me, she runs for the stairs and heads back down toward his room. “I will not.”

  “You will not what?” Martha asks, joining us in the living room.

  Jason arches an amused brow at me, daring me to tell her, but he forgets that I’m an attorney with a skilled tongue. One that got carried away and all but fired, but that’s not the point. “I will not call Jason an asshole in front of his men,” I inform Martha. “I’ll do it now, in front of his grandmother.” I look at him. “Asshole.”

  Martha laughs and motions us forward. “Come, you two crazy kids. We need to load up and get moving.” She hurries away.

  Jason’s lips twitch. “I should warn you that you calling me an asshole is starting to turn me on.”

  “Then I guess I better pick another insult.”

  “I guess you better.”

  …

  Jason…

  It’s no surprise that when it’s time to leave, my grandmother, the apparent hookup queen, insists that Jessica sit in the middle, sandwiched between her and me. And holy hell, I’m aware of her there, craving her closer, hot and hard. Which means nothing besides the fact that I saw her naked breasts covered in chocolate today. What man wouldn’t want to pull her close and kiss her after that? What man wouldn’t be turned on when she called him an asshole after that?

  Thankfully, the ride to the farmhouse my parents converted into a supper house and living quarters for some of the men years before is short. Soon, I’m out of the reach of temptation and inside the main hall, which is basically a giant cafeteria that, as usual, plays loud country music, while fans turn above rows of tables. I spend a fortune on these Sunday meals, but the men deserve them. Now that I’ve made the decision to do something new, I know it’s a great decision. I’m tired of dreading the Sunday price tag.

  To Jessica’s credit, she works hard, helping me carry in trays of desserts and forbidding my grandmother from lifting a hand. It’s not long before I’m listening to Jimbo, our sixty-year-old cook, greet Jessica. “Never trust a skinny cook,” he tells her, patting his fat belly.

  “I’ve never trusted a skinny cook,” she assures him. “They don’t taste, they don’t get it right.”

  “Exactly,” he says. “And you, you’re a city girl. And I hear from Martha, a divorce attorney. Good thing I don’t have a wife. You might give her ideas.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who could do that,” Jessica replies.

  “Marry me and let’s find out.”

  I shake my head, wondering how many proposals she’ll get today, and not liking it. My grandmother punches him. “Behave,” she warns, linking her arm with Jessica’s and pulling her to the dessert station, a protective mother hen. Thank God for it. She loves Jessica, and I do believe Jessica sincerely adores her. For that, I owe Jessica. I might even get her a new window unit in the cottage. Or not, I think, as I watch her bend over to get something under the table and stick her perfect ass in the air, and a few of my men nearby don’t miss the show. I told her no tight pants, cleavage, or make-up. So why the fuck did I buy her those pants?

  Grimacing, I focus on supervising the crowd while the men start piling in, filling plates, and it’s not long before Roarke has found his way over from his property to join us. He and I and what round out to be another five men huddle around together, beers in our hands, when the talk turns to the inevitable.

  Kirk, one of my foremen, is the first to comment. “Grandma’s new helper certainly livens things up. Livens me right up.”

  Paul, a new hand who’s barely out of diapers, chimes in. “She’s pretty. Is she single?”

  “Older than you,” I say, knowing from my grandmother’s desire to win me over where Jessica is concerned that she’s twenty-seven. “What are you? Twenty?”

  “Twenty-one,” he says. “Means I have lots of stamina. Women like that about me.”

  Lots of male laughter and glances in Jessica’s direction follow that comment. They’re all thinking about her, and even though it all seems innocent enough, I don’t like what they’re thinking.

  Roarke smirks and turns his attention back to me. “Old men like you and me don’t stand a chance, then, do we?”

  I grunt. “She’s writing a romance novel,” I say dryly. “Anyone who dates her is nothing more than a city girl’s research for the book.”

  Paul jumps back in. “As long as she rides me before she goes, I’ll even teach her to ride a horse. Might even help write that book. I’ll be all romantic about it.” He sticks his tongue out.

  I cast him a brutal look. “Have some respect, Paul,” I snap. “She lives in the cottage. She doesn’t need your shit.”

  Paul holds up his hands. “Sorry, man. Just talking trash.”

  Darius, one of my horse handlers, jumps in. “I’m a perfect gentleman. I’ll treat her real nice, and I don’t mind the romance novel. Kind of interesting that she writes like that.” He turns and heads toward the dessert table where Jessica is working. Someone asks me something about apples. I answer with a grunt and force myself to pay more attention, but damn it to hell, Jessica is laughing at something Darius just said.

  Roarke elbows me. “You going to kill Darius or just cut him here or there?”

  I scowl at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re a little distracted by what he’s up to.” He sips from his beer. “Or what she’s up to.”

  “I’m pissed is what I am.” I don’t explain. I pull away from the group and head toward Jessica, who serves a cowboy while smiling at Darius.

  I don’t like it, and I round the serving station to stand beside her. “That sounds good,” she says to Darius, casting me a sideways look before refocusing on him. “It’s in town?”

  “Yes ma’am. I could take you, if you like. How about Wednesday night?”

  Already she’s dating my damn men. “I need a word.” I look at Darius. “Go eat and get back to work.” I turn Jessica and walk several feet with her in tow before stopping and turning to face her. “I told you. Don’t distract my men. They’re not your research project. I don’t need them getting hurt.”

  “I’m serving them food.”

  “While setting a date with one of them. I told you not to date my men, not as long as you live and work on the ranch. Move off the ranch, date who you want, but not while you’re here. Distractions are dangerous and costly.”

  She purses her perfect, pink painted lips. I hate that I notice her damn mouth. I hate that I think about where I want her mouth, and I bet every man in the place is as well. They don’t get to find out. “Darius was telling me where the post office is located.”

  “Darius. First name basis and all.”

  “I can’t call everyone asshole,” she snaps. “I told you—”

  “The post office. I heard. And I’m expected to believe that you, a city gi
rl, needs help getting there? There’s not much in our town.”

  “You’re being—”

  “An asshole?”

  “Obnoxious, Jason. He was being friendly.”

  Jason.

  Why does my cock twitch when she says my name? Holy hell, I need her to go back to the city. “He wants in your pants. I told you not to dress to invite that shit.”

  “I wore the jeans and boots you bought me.”

  “I have enough problems right now,” I continue. “I don’t need them being played with while you write your book. If you want to stay—”

  “Don’t fuck anyone but you?”

  “Don’t push me,” I warn, releasing her and walking away, but I don’t leave. I stay to make a point. I run this place. I fill a plate and go and sit down at a table where I can supervise her behavior.

  Roarke fills a plate, says a few words to Jessica as he accepts a few dessert choices, and then sits down next to me. “Talk to me, man. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t need her distracting my men.”

  He leans in closer. “Are you sure you aren’t judging one girl by another? Because Jessica isn’t Tessa.”

  Tessa.

  Just the name pisses me off.

  “And you know this how?”

  “For starters, Tessa was a diva movie star who never even stepped foot in this place. It was beneath her. She was only here until you got the ranch out of your system. She didn’t get you or this place. Jessica’s not only here, she’s having fun. She needs to be here. I feel that when I talk to her.”

  “For her research.”

  “Nah, man. It’s not like that. I don’t get that off her. Tess wouldn’t be caught getting her hands dirty with pies or dirt.”

  “She was about to set a date with Darius.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?”

  “Aside from me telling her that she could stay if she didn’t distract my men? And with good reason. The last time one of my men got distracted on the job, he was naked in the hay, left a valve on, and the orchard ended up flooded. We’re still paying for that.”

  “She’s not Tess. She’s not taking turns riding your men instead of your horses, and even if she was, that’s her prerogative. Tess was your woman. You considered proposing, which I never understood, and I was glad as fuck when you didn’t. My point? Jessica is not yours.”