Dylan
Page 30
When she yanked free of his hold, he was more than ready to read her the Riot Act. Drawing in a deep breath, he was about to let loose, when he heard a little voice calling.
“Mommy?”
“Lacy, honey, I told you to stay in the back seat until I fixed the car.”
Looking down, he noticed a pint-sized cowgirl staring up at him, her big blue eyes wide with wonder. Not much surprised Jesse Garahan, but the little bit of a thing, no bigger than a fairy, was wearing pink—from the top of her head to the soles of her feet—and stood out like a swirl of cotton candy at the county fair.
“Go on back now; I have to thank the man for trying to help us.” The woman’s voice was firm, but the little girl wasn’t listening. Before he could process that fact, the vision in pink was tugging on his jeans and asking, “Are you a good guy or a bad guy?”
He shook his head at the incongruity of the situation. He’d intended to put the fear of God into the woman foolish enough to open the cap of her over-heated radiator while she stood in front of it, and instead here he was staring down at the tiniest, pinkest, cowgirl he’d ever seen.
“I uh—” he didn’t know how to answer. If he’d done what he’d intended to do—yell at her mother—the little girl would probably be crying now, and positive he was a bad guy. “I stopped to help.”
When the little one nodded, but refused to let go of his jeans, the woman came closer and soothed, “He’s a good guy, honey.”
The little girl tilted her head to one side and frowned up at him. “But he gots a black hat—Gramma says good guys wear white hats.”
Jesse chuckled. “Is your grandmother a fan of Gene Autry or Roy Rogers?”
Her little head bobbed up and down, and her cowgirl hat slipped off her head and would have hit the ground, if not for the bright white cord attached to it. She was still looking up at him when she said, “Uh huh.”
“That was a long time ago, and only on TV,” the cowgirl’s mother told her. “The good guys wear white or black hats now.”
The little one bobbled and grabbed ahold of his leg with both little hands and whispered, “Daddy wears a black hat.”
He didn’t need to know that. Concentrating, he couldn’t figure out a way to delicately loosen the little one’s grip without scaring her. Her mother surprised him, by kneeling next to him. Looking down at them, he remembered the times his mother had gotten down to eye level with him when he’d been scared as a kid. It always helped ease most of his worries—except for the biggest one—why wasn’t his father coming home?
To keep from letting his mind go down that rocky path, he focused on the still-steaming engine and grumbled, “Don’t you realize how dangerous it is to open the cap on an over-heated radiator?” He’d learned that particular lesson from his grandfather years ago, his pride had taken a direct hit, but he hadn’t ended up disfigured from steam burns.
The blonde’s head snapped up and their eyes met. He couldn’t help but notice the frosty blue daggers pointed directly at him.
“I was going to be careful to keep the cap facing away from me.” She cupped her hands around her daughter’s, where she still held tight to his leg and urged, “Come on Lacy, you can let go now.”
To his relief, the little one finally did as she was told. When her mother lifted the itty-bitty cowgirl up in her arms, he relaxed. The only kids he came into contact with were the handful of teenagers who came out to the ranch, working off a debt they owed to his older brother Tyler and his fiancée Emily.
“But, mommy,” she whispered, “I gots to ask him.”
He was standing close enough to hear. “Ask me what?”
“Are you a real cowboy?”
Before he could answer the little girl added, “I never seen one in my whole life!”
“Your daddy’s a cowboy.”
“Nu uh.” Lacy shook her head. “He rides bulls, not horsies, ’member, mommy?”
Jesse couldn’t keep the chuckle inside; the rumbling sound seemed to capture little Lacy’s interest because she poked her tiny pointer finger in the middle of his chest.
“Lacy, what did I tell you?” Looking up at him, the blonde’s eyes were troubled, “I’m sorry, she’s curious about everything. We’re working on keeping our fingers to ourselves.” She smoothed a hand over the fly-away hair on the top of Lacy’s head and said, “Aren’t we, sweetie?”
“I was trying to find the sound, mommy,” the little girl admitted. “His lips din’t move.”
Not much touched his heart since the woman he’d been planning on marrying changed her mind, but this pint-sized, cotton-candy cowgirl had the walls surrounding it cracking. He smiled down at them and it felt good inside. “Name’s Garahan, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat to the little lady. “Jesse,” he said, staring into the mother’s cool blue eyes.
Her cheeks flushed a tender pink, reminding him of the sweet peas climbing on the fence by the back door that his new sister-in-law, Ronnie, had planted. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Garahan.”
Lacy bounced in her mother’s arms, “Me too, me too!”
Her mother hugged her daughter and looked up at him; her slow smile stole the breath from his lungs. He’d seen a lot of pretty women in his time, and loved his fair share, but something about the pair in front of him just got to him on a level he didn’t quite understand. It was new to him, and he wasn’t quite sure how to react or what to say. Lucky for him the little one kept babbling about cowboys, black hats, and funny rumbling sounds until his brain kicked in and he realized he’d been staring at the little one’s mother.
She kissed the top of her daughter’s head, and he’d swear he heard another crack echoing deep inside of him.
“Does your mommy have a name, Miss Lacy?”
The girl beamed up at him and nodded.
Satisfied that he’d find out the woman’s name, since she hadn’t offered it yet, he grinned and Lacy answered, “Mommy.”
He pushed his Stetson to the back of his head and let out a breath, “Hel—er heck, Miss Lacy, I already knew that.”
She tilted her head to one side and studied him for a moment. “I like him,” she said in a stage whisper. “Even if he wears a black hat like daddy.”
The look of sadness in her mother’s eyes was swift and filled with pain. “We’ll talk about that later, sweet pea.” She looked at him and said, “My name’s Danielle Brockway, and you already know this pint-sized cowgirl is Lacy.”
“Pleasure to meet you both.” And it was, when the two were laughing, it was contagious and for the first time in weeks, he felt lighter, happier. Wanting to keep the feeling going just a bit longer, he nodded toward her still-steaming car. “Can I give you and Miss Lacy a lift into town?”
“Shouldn’t we crank open that cap first?”
He shook his head. “It’ll cool off better if you let it sit. I’ll stop by on my way back to the Circle G and check the radiator and coolant level for you. Where can I drop you ladies off?”
When she looked at him and then over her shoulder, he knew she was going to refuse. She shifted Lacy in her arms and reached into her back pocket and pulled out her cell phone. After pressing a couple of buttons, her troubled gaze met his. “The battery’s dead.”
“S’OK, mommy,” Lacy patted her on the cheek. “You can plug it in the car, ’member?”
She hugged her daughter with just a hint of desperation. “I don’t have a charger, Lacy, honey, this is our new phone. We had to give the other one back.”
Her gaze shot to his, and he knew she hadn’t meant to mention that last little bit of information. No surprise, women liked to talk, except when a man was trying to find out what he wanted to know. Then all of the sudden a woman had nothing to say. Her eyes filled with sadness and for reasons he couldn’t understand or explain, he wanted to do something to help.
Why did they have to give their damned phone back?
Where the hell was Lacy’s daddy?
And why was Danielle sad?
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Before he could ask, she was thanking him for his time and trouble. “We’ll be fine. My uncle will be worried if we don’t show up soon; he’ll come looking for us.”
“And he’ll know just where to look because?”
The light of irritation in her pretty blue eyes made him feel a whole lot better. He liked a woman with a little temper but as of late preferred redheads to blondes. Blondes only led to trouble. He’d better be wary around this one.
The longer he stared at her, he noticed there was something familiar about her. “I’m trying to help you,” he ground out. “Not hurt you.”
Had they met before? Had he broken a promise or worse, her heart? A feeling of dread swamped him.
“Who’s your uncle?”
She shrugged and Jesse was starting to get a clearer picture about these two damsels in distress: Lacy’s daddy wasn’t in the picture, they’d traveled far enough driving a car that either had little or no maintenance done on it—or one with a crack in the radiator—either option would cause the car to overheat, and the chances were pretty good that her uncle had no idea she and Lacy were headed into Pleasure to visit with him.
He asked again, and this time she answered. “James Sullivan, he owns—”
“Sullivan’s Diner,” he interrupted. Crap.
“Thank Mr. Garahan for stopping to help us, Lacy.”
“But I—” his words died in his throat as the little girl practically leaped out of her mother’s arms reaching for him. “Whoa there little filly,” he warned, taking a step closer.
Breathless belly laughs had the little girl tumbling farther out of her mother’s arms. He reached for Lacy as her mother changed her grip to keep her daughter from falling on her head. Jesse was faster. And before his head could warn his heart to be careful, the ladies were cradled in the protective circle of his arms, warming him from the inside out.
“You saved me!” The little girl’s squeal of excitement was a totally foreign sound to him. Uneasy and unsure of the feelings he wasn’t used to experiencing, he settled her safely in her mother’s arms and stepped back.
But the pint-sized cowgirl wasn’t through. “Leggo, mommy. I gotta thank my hero.”
Jesse rolled his eyes, another phenomenon, men didn’t roll their eyes. Hell, he’d only been in the company of these two females for fifteen minutes and already he was acting like someone else. Shaking his head, he held up his hands and said, “My pleasure, ma’am.”
Lacy seemed disappointed, but he had other worries on his mind. “You can use my phone.” He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt, then offered it to her. “Call your uncle.”
He thought she’d refuse, and wondered what it was about him that worried her. Most of the women in town were happy to have his help—some more than others. After a few moments, she finally reached for the phone and dialed.
He was surprised when she handed the phone back to him. “Uncle Jimmy wants to talk to you.”
He took the phone, met her gaze and smiled. A deep, gravelly voice on the other end demanded to know what the hell happened and who the hell was he talking to. Putting himself in the other man’s shoes, he calmly answered, “This is Jesse Garahan, Mr. Sullivan.” He waited for the owner of the diner to say something about the time he and his brothers got caught stealing a pie from the windowsill of the damned diner.
It wasn’t long in coming. “What the hell did you do to my niece’s car? Don’t think I don’t remember you and your brothers, Garahan.” He felt like he was a kid again, caught with the pie in his hands. Tyler had passed it off to Dylan, and Dylan to him, as Sullivan was hollering at them from inside his diner. They’d nearly gotten away, but Jesse had tripped and fallen on top of the pie. They’d had to make it up to Sullivan, their grandfather had insisted.
To this day, he always steered clear of the diner. Too bad, Jimmy Sullivan made the best damned pie in Pleasure.
“Did you hear me?” The man’s question brought him back to the present. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. I was driving by on my way to town and noticed them stranded by the side of the road. Their car overheated. I’ll check things out later. Yes,” he answered, wishing he could ease the frown lines between her eyebrows. “Not a problem, I’ll make the time.”
After reassuring her uncle that he wasn’t going to go back and steal her car, or let her stand by the side of the road baking her brain in the hot Texas sun, he handed the phone back to her. “Your uncle wants to talk to you.”
She narrowed her eyes and frowned up at him. He shrugged and walked back over to her car. It should be cool enough to add more fluid to the radiator by the time he was on his way back to the Circle G. Damn but her uncle had a way of making him feel like an irresponsible kid again. Lost in thought, he didn’t hear her approach.
“Mr. Garahan?”
He looked over his shoulder. “I guess you don’t remember me… I’m only a couple of years older than you. Call me Jesse.”
She squinted at him. “Vaguely.”
Once he’d made the connection, he remembered meeting her at Dawson’s, she’d been pestering her uncle for a chance to ride a real horse and not a stupid old pony. The memory made him smile.
“Jesse, then,” she grumbled. “If you’re sure it’s no trouble, would you please drop us off at my uncle’s diner?”
“None at all, ma’am.” Placing his hand beneath Danielle’s elbow, he led her toward his truck. “Can you slide into the middle, Miss Lacy?”
“Uh huh!”
He waited until they were settled on the front seat before he closed the door and rounded the cab to get in the driver’s side. The odd thought that he’d like to keep them and bring them back home to the Circle G had him shaking his head as he slid onto the seat. Closing the door, he waited while Danielle buckled the seat belt around her daughter, and then herself, before he put the truck in drive.
Cruising along the road at a more sedate pace, Jesse had the feeling that these two ladies had just changed his life. While they chattered back and forth about the hole in the knee of his jeans and the smear of dirt on his shirt sleeve, he wondered if it was too late to head for the hills and regroup. Women were trouble, and in pairs—dangerous.
He shook that thought from his head. Garahans don’t back down and they sure as hell don’t retreat. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and concentrated on getting them into town so he could drop them off at Sullivan’s Diner. Distance was required in order to clear his mind and deal with his reaction to the ladies.
Tyler
by C.H. Admirand
Desperate times call for desperate measures…
When Tyler Garahan said he’d do anything to save his family’s ranch, he never thought that would include taking a job as a stripper at a local ladies’ club. But the club’s fiery redheaded bookkeeper captures Tyler’s attention, and for her, he’ll swallow his pride…
And one good turn deserves another…
Emily Langley feels for the gorgeous cowboy. It’s obvious that he’s the real deal and wouldn’t be caught dead in a ladies’ revue if he wasn’t in big trouble. And when he looks at her like that, she’ll do anything to help…
Working days on the ranch and nights at the ladies’ club, Tyler is plumb exhausted. But could it be that his beautiful boss needs him just as much as he needs her...
Praise for C.H. Admirand:
“Admirand’s second frontier romance features clever and well-crafted plot lines.”—Publishers Weekly
For more C.H. Admirand, visit:
www.sourcebooks.com
Red’s Hot Cowboy
by Carolyn Brown
He wasn’t looking for trouble…
But when the cops are knocking on your door, trouble’s definitely found you. And this is where Wil Marshall finds himself after checking in to the Longhorn Inn. It could all be a big mistake, but Wil’s not getting much sleep. Then the motel owner—who is drop dead gorgeous and feisty to boot—saves him from an even worse night behin
d bars. Now he owes her one, big time…
But Trouble comes in all shapes and sizes…
Pearl never wanted that run-down motel, but her aunt didn’t leave her much choice. And then this steaming hot cowboy shows up looking for a place to rest. Next thing she knows, she wants to offer him more than just room service. But if he calls her Red one more time, he won’t be the only one accused of murder…
Sparks are definitely flying and before long, the Do Not Disturb sign might be swinging from the door…
Praise for Love Drunk Cowboy:
“Brown revitalizes the Western romance.”—Booklist
www.sourcebooks.com
New York Times and USA Today bestseller
Love Drunk Cowboy
by Carolyn Brown
She’s a self-made city girl…
High-powered career woman Austin Lanier suddenly finds herself saddled with an inherited watermelon farm deep in the countryside. She’s determined to sell the farm, until her new, drop-dead sexy neighbor Rye O’Donnell shows up…
He’s as intoxicating as can be…
Rancher Rye O’Donnell thinks he’s going to get a good deal on his dream property—until he meets the fiery new owner. Rye is knocked sideways when he realizes that not only is Granny Lanier’s city-slicker granddaughter a savvy businesswoman, she’s also sexy as hell…
Suddenly Rye is a whole lot less interested in real estate and a whole lot more focused on getting Austin to set aside her stiletto heels…
Praise for Carolyn Brown’s Honky Tonk series:
“Fun, sassy, and fast-paced romance.”—RT Book Reviews, 4 stars
www.sourcebooks.com
Tall, Dark and Cowboy
by Joanne Kennedy
She’s looking for an old friend…
In the wake of a nasty divorce, Lacey Bradford heads for Wyoming where she’s sure her old friend will take her in. But her high school pal Chase Caldwell is no longer the gangly boy who would follow her anywhere. For one thing, he’s now incredibly buff and handsome, but that’s not all that’s changed…