Texas Wishes: The Complete Series

by Kristina Knight

  Most of all she missed Trickett.

  Monica turned off the phone, dressed in her most comfortable pajama pants and camisole, and left her hair to dry naturally.

  What was she going to do about this?

  • • •

  Trick punched the heavy bag in his basement, but it barely moved. Monica had been gone just over seven days, he’d had at least ten fights with the heavy bag, and his arms and legs were toast.

  He missed Monica. Missed talking with her. Missed making love with her.

  Missed knowing she was around, somewhere, even when they were apart.

  Damn, but he was a fool.

  He threw another weak punch and then sagged against the bag.

  Slowly, he made his way up the basement stairs and into his bedroom, where the blue comforter that reminded him of Monica mocked him. He stripped the mattress and threw the bedclothes into a trash bin. He remade the bed in brown and tan and stood back to admire his handiwork. It hadn’t helped.

  He should just burn the whole damn thing. Headboard. Mattresses. Box springs. No matter what he did to change the bed, he could still see Monica in the middle of it, and the visions were messing with his mind.

  Trick showered and then pulled on track pants and wrapped the towel around his neck. The doorbell rang.

  He opened the door and nearly slammed it again, thinking the woman on the other side was yet another mirage. Monica stood; hands clasped before her, boots on her feet, and a navy sundress showing off her curves.

  She held a pink-and-brown-striped package in her hands.

  Not the pizza he’d ordered.

  Better.

  Maybe worse.

  “Hi,” she said.

  So she was real. He wasn’t losing his mind. Yet.

  “Can I come in?”

  He shrugged and motioned her inside. Keep it light, he ordered himself. Keep it easy.

  Her green eyes darted around the room when she stepped inside, but she kept her shoulders straight, her head high. She handed him the package.

  Trick watched her for a long moment. “What’s this?”

  “It’s for you. From me. I realized a couple of days ago that I’d never gotten you anything. Not when you surprised me with flowers, not after our cave date. So I got you something.”

  He sat on the brown suede couch and put the box on the coffee table. It mewed.

  A tiny spark of hope caught in his chest.

  Nestled inside the box, along with a couple of sparkly shirts and jeans, was Vern’s kitten. It looked up at him and mewed again. The kitten seemed to have doubled in size in the ten days since it had been born in his clinic. The bright orange of its fur was calming to a more dusky shade; its eyes had opened to a milky blue. The kitten batted its paw at him and rolled over, covering its eyes.

  “Vern named him Spanky, which actually kind of fits. But he said to tell you he won’t be upset if you want to call him something else.”

  Trick couldn’t connect the dots. “You’re giving me a cat?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m giving us a cat.”

  “Us?”

  “Us. I was less than a day down the road when I realized I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to be here, with you. I’m kind of hoping you still want me to be here.” She moved restlessly, her boots slipping along the hardwood floor. “With you.”

  Trick swallowed, unable to believe what he was hearing. He did want her to be here, but not because of him. Because it was what she wanted.

  “Give Vern back his cat.” He pushed the box toward Monica, who stood uncertainly on the other side of the table.

  “I can’t. I won’t. Spanky isn’t just your cat, he’s mine now, too. He needs us both.”

  “What do you want from me, Monica? Because I’ll tell you, I’m tired of trying to figure it out.”

  “I want the whole package. I want you and this house. I want to see Jinx run around the pasture again, and I’d like to finish Piebaby’s training. But mostly, I just want you.” She stepped around the table and sat beside him on the sofa. “Those are two of my favorite event shirts. I’m giving them to you, so you’ll know I want to be here, not out on the road. I’m staying.”

  Trick wanted to feel elated at her words but they left him cold. She was giving up rodeo for him? That wasn’t what he wanted. It was what he’d thought he wanted a few weeks ago, but now he knew differently. He wanted all of Monica, and if that meant she needed to compete then he wanted her to compete.

  “No.”

  Her face fell at the single word. Before she could say anything, Trick continued. “I don’t want you pretending to be what you think I want you to be. I want you. All of you. The rodeo queen and the horse trainer and the girl who stays up all night to feed a newborn kitten through an eyedropper.”

  “But I want to be here.”

  “No, you don’t. Or at least not all of you wants to be here all of the time. I get it. You have no idea how much I get it.” Trick took a deep breath. “My father was a lot like yours, minus the alcohol. He didn’t want my mother, another difference, so he had affairs. I can’t remember more than a handful of nights when he stayed at home after dinner in the evenings. To compensate, my mother pretended we were the all-American family. We went to the right church, had family pictures taken every year, had the house in the suburbs. She did all of that because she wanted to be what my father wanted, and she couldn’t.”

  “Trick, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” She clasped his hand in hers, and the warmth rocketed to his chest.

  “I don’t want you to tie yourself up in the same knots. I’m telling you no. Go live your life. Travel the world and enjoy the spotlight. I won’t hold you back.”

  “But you’re not holding me back.” She rested her head on the back of the sofa and squeezed his hand. “You know, when I tested Piebaby at the fairgrounds, I was relieved. Not because I don’t want him to be a racer, but because I don’t want to be, at least not all the time. I’ve been running away from Lockhardt since I was that little girl, sleeping in the corner. I don’t want to be her anymore.”

  “Then don’t let her hold you back. Take what you want.”

  “I want you.”

  Trick reached over to caress her face. “Close your eyes.” She obeyed. “Picture your life in ten years, exactly as you’ve always dreamed it would be. What are you doing?”

  “I don’t need to do this. Trust me. What I thought I wanted wasn’t what I really wanted.”

  “You trust me. Close your eyes. Picture it. Ten years from now, when are you happiest?”

  “When I’m with you.” Her breath caught. “When I’m racing.” The words were barely a whisper.

  “You want it all. Me, racing, training. Don’t you?”

  She nodded miserably.

  “Then take what you want. Women have careers and families all the time, and it works for them.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “But if it doesn’t work, you’ll be the one who gets hurt.”

  “I’m a big boy, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m not your father or my father. And you are no one but you.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her still-shut eyelids.

  “Can we still be a we?”

  Trick sighed. “Damn it, I hope so. If we’re not, I’m going to need to buy a new punching bag for the basement.”

  “You have a punching bag in your basement?”

  “Installed last summer. When you came home for Kathleen’s wedding. You flirted with me all night and then left me high and dry, holding two glasses of champagne and with a stupid grin on my face.”

  “We didn’t even start … you know, until a few weeks ago.”

  “Then there was the bull sale and ball in February, another event where you
flirted and cajoled and danced the night away only to disappear at midnight.”

  “I made you get a punching bag?”

  He shrugged. “Seemed like the best alternative. I could take out my frustrations on the bag, leaving just Charming Trickett to have his way with you.”

  “Charming, Trickett.”

  He chuckled. “I need to tell you something, and I need you to listen.”

  She nodded solemnly.

  “I love you. Every corner, every annoying habit, not that I’ve seen any yet. Every facet that makes up you, I love. And I want to be with you.”

  She kissed him, a gentle kiss that seemed to go on for hours.

  “Trickett?”

  “Yeah?” he whispered the word against her lips.

  “I love you, too.”

  He nibbled her lower lip and smiled. “I know.”

  She grinned. “Did you know you’re going to marry me?”

  He kissed her cheekbone, the tip of her nose. “Baby, I’ve known that for months.”

  She drew back, watched him carefully for a minute. “Did you know we’re getting married on the Fourth of July?”

  He kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear, and she scooted across the sofa to sit on his lap.

  “Seems appropriate,” he said. ‘Fireworks are what really got this started, after all.”

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  On the Fly by Katie Kenyhercz

  Thursday, August 25th

  Jacey Vaughn clutched a pile of flattened boxes and glanced around the mirrored interior of the elevator. She looked nervous, even to herself, and she swallowed, trying to wipe her slick palms on the cardboard. It felt like waiting to see the dentist. It was late August, which in Las Vegas meant temperatures in the low 90s. Even though the air conditioning hit her full blast, a bead of sweat slid down the back of her neck. When the doors opened, she took a deep breath and stepped off. Twenty pairs of eyes peered at her around cubicles, and she pasted on a weak smile. The glances followed her as she walked down the corridor to her father’s office.

  A petite, pixie-like woman in her late thirties darted around a desk with a ring of keys. What her light brown hair lacked in length, it made up for in wavy volume. She wore a conservative, gray skirt suit and no makeup but big jewelry. The woman smiled and looked her up and down. “You must be Jacey. I’m Nealy Windham, your father’s assistant. Let me get that for you.” She jiggled a key in the lock until the door swung open then motioned to the papers strewn across the desk and offered a half smile. “You can’t tell now, but it cleans up pretty well. My extension is two-forty if you need anything.”

  Jacey braced herself, stepped inside, and Nealy saw herself out.

  “Change is a good thing,” Jacey whispered as she stared at the Stanley Cup Championship plaques lining the wall. They were from the eighties and the Cleveland Rockers incarnation of the current team but still reflected hockey success. The room smelled like the cedar and musk of her father’s cologne with a faint undertone of cigar smoke, and she closed her eyes. She could almost feel his presence.

  “Hello?”

  Jacey gasped, dropped the boxes, and spun around. A man stood in the doorway, solidly built and towered quite a bit over her five feet eight inches, even though she wore heels. He wore a black Las Vegas Sinners T-shirt, cargo shorts to his knees, and leather flip-flops. His gelled blond spikes were styled to look un-styled, and almond-shaped, hazel eyes took her in with no attempt at subtlety. A small, slashing scar at the outside corner of his left eye as well as some purple-yellow bruising under his right told her who he was. Or at least what he was. Hockey player.

  “Easy there, didn’t mean to scare you. I’m looking for Mr. Vaughn.”

  Her heart contracted at the statement, and she took a slow breath through her nose. When she spoke, there was ice in her voice. “He passed away a week ago.” Didn’t they know? It was their owner who’d died.

  The man narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “I know. I meant his son, J.C. Vaughn. The new owner of the team.”

  She bit back a smile, and her cheeks warmed. “I’m Jacquelyn Vaughn. My father … called me Jacey.”

  He looked her over, but his face gave away nothing. “How much do you know about hockey?”

  Jacey straightened. “I know enough. And I have an MBA from Yale, so while I probably couldn’t ref a game, I can run the team. You know, I’ve introduced myself, but you have yet to return the courtesy.”

  His eyes tightened and an amused smile curled his full lips. “Carter Phlynn, captain of the Sinners.”

  Her face went slack then she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, I … things happened pretty quickly.” When she looked back to him, his sharp features softened, and his arms eased to his sides.

  “I understand. I’m sorry about your father.”

  Jacey pressed her lips together and nodded. Carter turned to go. “Wait. You were looking for me. What did you want?”

  He turned back slowly and looked at her for a long moment then shook his head. “Nothing. It can wait.”

  “No. Please. I could use something to take my mind off of … ”

  Carter glanced to a spot on the faded burgundy carpet and furrowed his brows. “My agent was in the middle of renegotiating my contract. Your father was also the acting GM after he fired Leyman. I kind of need to know where things stand. I got an offer from the Chicago Blackhawks. My agent should be here any minute.”

  Jacey’s lips parted as that sank in, and it took a minute to find her voice. “You want to leave the Sinners?”

  He glanced at her then away again and slid a hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t want to leave the Sinners. I’ve played here for the three seasons they’ve been a team. It’s just … Chicago is offering a better deal.”

  • • •

  Why the hell did he feel guilty? Carter fully intended to play hardball and get the salary he deserved from the Sinners or walk. He’d expected to get in Vaughn Junior’s face and come out with no regrets either way. The problem was that Vaughn Junior happened to have big, vulnerable, blue eyes, pouty lips, and legs for days in a skirt that showed them off. And despite the fact she probably couldn’t tell a puck from a stick, there was something appealing about her.

  She cleared her throat. “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll look through the paperwork while we wait for your agent.”

  Carter hesitated, but she moved around the polished oak desk, dropped into a high-backed leather chair — she looked so small — and shuffled through the piles of paper that hadn’t been touched. Carefully side-stepping the boxes she’d dropped upon his arrival, he sat in a chair opposite her and leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach.

  Carter took in the way her loosely curled, long, strawberry blonde hair was pulled back on top and bet she’d look hot if she let it down. Then he looked away. Hell of a thought when she was grieving for her father. He focused instead on the walls of the office, first noticing a plaque with a team gathered around the Stanley Cup. The Cleveland Rockers had been successful in the eighties but had faded in the following decades.

  Next to the plaque, he spotted an old, family 8x10. Everyone in Rockers jerseys. Vaughn Senior in the middle with Jacey under one arm and a young guy under the other. Had to be her brother because they shared the same blue eyes and light hair. Jacey was smiling and happy, but her brother looked sullen, trying to be tough. Carter’s eyebrows rose, but he shrugged it off and looked over the cluttered desk, noticing a gold puck with the engraving Strive for your goals. Vaughn Senior had certainly believed that.

  “I see you’ve scored the most goals in the past three seasons. More than that, you’ve had the most assists.” Her light blue eyes flashed at him, serious and ensnaring. “You’re a team player; I can see why you’re captain.”

/>   That sounded familiar. When it had been her old man throwing out the compliments, he brushed it off. But coming from Jacey, it sounded sincere. She ducked her head again and flipped through some more papers. If he had to guess, he’d say they were printouts of the team budget. She was actually going to be fair about this. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and tapped a short, manicured nail against the numbers. Carter caught himself staring and wiped the smile from his face before she could see.

  A knock on the open office door jerked him out the trance, and he refrained from telling his agent to leave. It would be counterproductive. Even if he did want a few more minutes alone with Jacey.

  “Sorry I’m late. Previous appointment. Brad Curtis. Nice to meet you, Ms. Vaughn. I’m sorry for your loss.” Brad extended his hand across Jacey’s desk, and they shook.

  “Thank you. I was just looking over my father’s printouts and notes. From what I can tell, I’m afraid his offer has to stand. I can afford to give Carter another one point five million a year, no more.”

  “If you’d like to take some time — say, a week — and think things over, talk to your advisors, you can get back to me directly. Mr. Phlynn is in demand, and it would take some incentive to stay with a team that hasn’t made the playoffs in its three-year existence.” Brad sat in the chair next to Carter’s and straightened his suit jacket.

  Carter wanted to wince but kept a blank face. His agent hadn’t lied about the facts, but it seemed almost cruel to lay it out for her like that.

  Jacey nodded once, all business. “I understand, but I know my father. He’d have done anything to make his team the best it could be, and I’m sure that included keeping Carter.” Her gaze darted to him and that damn vulnerability shone in her eyes. “If he said one point five million was the best he could do, he meant it. I know you’re important to this team, and I’d hate to lose you. Will you stay?”