by Pamela Tyner
“I think that might be a little extreme. Although, there is another test you could take.”
She blinked in disbelief. She hadn’t actually been serious about taking a test—any test. “Excuse me? You want me to take a test to prove something I already know?”
He lifted a shoulder. “It was your idea. And an excellent one too. We’ll go buy the test tomorrow morning.” He grabbed the doorknob and took a step back. “Good night, Tricia.”
She stared at the closed door and tried to figure out exactly how it had been her idea.
* * * *
Tricia opened the bathroom door to find Clint waiting on the other side. He was leaning against the wall, reading the back of the home pregnancy test package.
“I’m surprised you didn’t demand to come inside and watch me pee on the stick,” she spat at him.
“No need to be cranky,” he informed her calmly. He nodded toward the test wand she held in her hand. “What’s the verdict?”
She thrust the wand in his hand, wanting very much to thrust it right in his eye. He looked down and studied it.
“One red line.” His lips curved up in a smile. “That’s a negative.” Without warning, he leaned forward, wrapped a large, warm hand around the nape of her neck, and planted a quick peck on her forehead. “Congratulations.”
Their gazes met, locked. His mouth hovered above hers. He would only have to lean forward a few inches to close the gap and press his lips against hers.
Clint was an expert at the art of kissing. Long, sensuous kisses that started slow and built in intensity until she was unable to form a coherent thought. Kisses that left her feeling special, cherished.
It’d been a long time since she’d experienced something like that. And she could only imagine how much his technique must have improved over the years. Unable to resist, she dropped her gaze to his mouth. She waited, anticipated, wanted.
His hand tightened the smallest degree on her neck, the action prompting sanity to finally reacquire control of her brain. Dragging her gaze away, she took a step back.
Clint dropped his hand, expelled a shaky breath, and cleared his throat. “Now we’ll have something to celebrate tonight.”
“Tonight?” Her brows drew together in confusion.
“Yep, when we go to Bushwhackers.”
“Bushwhackers?”
“Is something wrong with your hearing? Why are you repeating everything I say?”
“If you’d make sense when you speak, I wouldn’t be repeating it.”
“Tonight we’re going to Bushwhackers, which is a bar, to hear Jack sing. You need to be ready to leave by seven.” He spoke slowly and precisely, as if explaining something to a small child.
“I’m not going out with you.”
That would be dangerously close to a date. Her yearnings from mere minutes before confirmed that she needed to avoid contact with Clint. In a social situation, where the atmosphere was relaxed and friendly, it might be too easy to let her guard slip.
“Suit yourself, but I said I’d be there, so I’m going. And after your take me demand, David’s expecting to see you there too. If you don’t show up, he’s going to be curious. He’ll probably ask questions. But if it doesn’t worry you…”
“I’m sure you’ll make an excuse for me.”
“Don’t count on it.”
He turned and headed down the hallway, leaving Tricia scowling at his retreating back.
I’m not going.
Once Tricia heard the back door shut, she went into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. She walked out onto the deck, dropped down in a lawn chair, and fumed.
She was not going. That was final. If David asked questions, Clint would make some vague excuse for her. She was certain of it. He’d already agreed not to tell David anything about her situation.
Tricia frowned as she remembered the words he’d tacked on to the end of that agreement—for now. He’d conveniently left himself room to wiggle right out of the promise. And if he got a few beers in him, he just might do it.
Damn. I’m going.
As she resigned herself to the notion of spending a night in a social situation with Clint, an idea began to form in her mind. She might have to go, but she certainly wouldn’t enjoy it. And if she didn’t enjoy it, then why should Clint?
* * * *
The banging on the bathroom door didn’t faze Tricia in the least. It was the third time it had occurred in the last five minutes, and she was used to it by now. With each session, the pounding had grown louder. At present, it was so insistent Tricia could swear she actually saw the door shake on its hinges.
“Come on, Tricia,” Clint yelled. “I need to take a shower.”
“In a minute.”
“A minute. Yeah, right.”
She snapped the lid shut on her eye shadow container and tossed it on the counter. Removing the top from a bottle of perfume, she sprayed her wrist and her neck, then unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse and squirted a generous portion on her cleavage. Not that anyone would be sniffing that particular part of her body, but it was simply a habit she had developed when she’d been a hopeful teenager.
She took a minute to fluff her hair, and then studied the outcome of her work in the mirror. She ran a hand over her jeans, readjusted the green silk shirt. They hugged her curves without being overly blatant. Satisfied with the results, she leisurely gathered the bottles and containers from the counter and placed them in her bag.
She opened the door and found herself face to face with a very agitated male who had his fist drawn back. For a full second she panicked before she managed to rein in the feeling. This is Clint, not Matt. He’d never hit me. I just happened to open the door as he raised his fist to bang on it again.
“About damn time,” Clint muttered as he lowered his arm.
“So sorry you had to wait.” The insincerity of her tone matched the smile she pasted on her lips.
“I’ll just bet you are,” Clint said as he moved past her.
After depositing the bag in the bedroom, Tricia sauntered into the living room. Staring out the window, she absently fingered her necklace as she considered how best to put her plan into action.
At the sound of footsteps, she glanced over and surveyed Clint from the tips of his boots, to his form-fitting jeans, to his gray shirt, which did an excellent job of defining the muscles underneath. His face was clean shaven, and even hardened with irritation like it was, there was no denying it was appealing.
He looked fantastic, and it had only taken him twenty minutes, as opposed to the hour she had spent getting ready. God, how she hated him for it.
“Well, don’t you look nice,” she said with a smile. “Is Candy going to be there?”
“I imagine so.”
Perfect. “What fun we’re going to have.”
“We?” He lifted a brow. “I thought you weren’t coming.”
Oh, he knew she was coming. “I changed my mind.”
With a wave of his hand he gestured for her to precede him to the door. “Then let’s go.”
Once they were inside the truck, Tricia patted her chest with her hand and exhaled an exaggerated long breath of air.
“I had to practically run to keep up with you. You’re sure in a hurry to get there. You must be missing Candy something awful.” She reached over and touched the hair that brushed against the collar of his shirt. “Your hair’s getting a little long.” Deliberately, she ran her finger lightly down the side of his neck. “It might be time to get a haircut.”
He glanced in her direction. “What are you doing, Tricia?”
She shrugged and hoped to achieve a look of innocence on her face. “Just making an observation.”
He regarded her with a disbelieving, wary expression, then focused his attention on the road without responding. Tricia sat back with a small smile and enjoyed the silent ride into town.
When Clint pulled into a dirt parking lot, Tricia straightened in her seat and
glanced around. There were several cars and a few trucks that looked sparkling new, but they stuck out conspicuously in the midst of the older, dirty, dented trucks which filled the majority of the lot.
By the time Tricia finished her survey of the area, Clint had exited the truck and was opening the passenger door for her.
“Just a second.” She pulled a tube out of her pocket. With the cab light now on, she flipped down the visor and took a moment to apply a fresh coat of lipstick. Once she finished, she glanced up and saw Clint watching her, his gaze fixed on her lips.
“All done.” She capped the tube and stuffed it back in her pocket.
“Thank God,” Clint muttered.
She slid out of the truck. “It was so sweet of you to wait for me.”
She pressed a kiss, quick but firm, near the corner of his mouth. Stepping back, she examined her work, pleased to see the dark pink outline of her lips on his face.
Ignoring the suspicion in his eyes, she turned and led the way to the building, Clint following behind her. She concentrated on putting a little extra swing in her hips and hoped Clint was watching, otherwise all that effort was for nothing.
The second she pulled the door open, a variety of sounds assaulted her ears. A multitude of voices laughed and talked, practically yelling to be heard over the loud country music playing in the background.
She stepped inside and examined the interior of the building. It basically was one enormous room, and it was filled with people. Some stood at the bar, others sat on stools, and still more were at tables. Everyone was dressed in jeans and a good portion of them had a Stetson plopped on their head.
A band played on a stage on the opposite side of the room. In front of the stage, a huge dance floor was filled with couples plastered together swaying to the music.
Fans attached to the ceiling swirled, circulating the air. But they weren’t powerful enough to dissolve the lingering haze of smoke hanging in the room.
“There’s a table.” Clint placed his hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the back corner.
As they made their way across the room, she caught a customer at the bar staring at her. The man was built like a football player. A bulky body, massive shoulders, and the most enormous neck she had ever seen in her life. While Tricia didn’t find him particularly attractive, the admiration in his eyes gave her confidence an immediate boost, and her lips curved in response.
Clint shifted his hand from her back to her waist, pulling her close to him. She glanced up to see him scowling at her admirer. And her smile grew even bigger.
They continued toward the table and had just sat down when a waitress came over to take their order.
Tricia looked up at the woman and smiled widely. “Hello, Candy. It’s so nice to see you again.”
Her eyes skimmed Candy’s outfit. She wore jean shorts which were so tight Tricia wondered how she managed to breathe. The cotton tank top, several sizes too small, stretched snugly over her curves, putting her breasts prominently on display. The top was tucked into the shorts, emphasizing her tiny waist. No doubt the outfit increased her tips—from her male customers at least.
Candy nodded. There was no smile on her lips. “Tricia.”
Candy moved her gaze from Tricia to Clint. Now she smiled. But it wasn’t the same flirty smile she had given Clint in the department store. This one was tight and plainly forced.
“What can I get for you?” she asked Clint.
He pushed his hat back on his head and grinned at Candy. Obviously, that charming smile of his wasn’t working, because her expression didn’t soften. And it didn’t surprise Tricia in the least that it hadn’t worked, because when his lips had curved up, all it did was emphasize the lipstick mark she’d left on the corner of his mouth.
“Two beers,” Clint said.
Candy lifted a brow, cut her gaze to Tricia for a brief second, and shifted it back to Clint. “Are you sure she should be drinking in her condition?”
“What?” Tricia asked.
“Well...” Clint’s gaze met hers. “Candy’s friends with Beth. Beth is the cashier at the drugstore. As a matter of fact, she was working this morning.”
Now she understood. Beth had been working when Clint had dragged her into the store to buy that pregnancy test. Apparently, Beth had informed Candy of the purchase.
“It’s so sweet of you to be concerned, Candy. But it’s safe to bring me a beer.” She wrapped both her hands around Clint’s arm. “Unfortunately, the results were negative.” She released a sad sigh. “But we’re hopeful the next time will be different.”
Without a word Candy disappeared into the crowd. She returned minutes later with their beers and slammed the bottles down on the table. Clint gave her a cautious look as he removed his wallet from his back pocket. He held out some bills, and Candy jerked them from his hand and stalked off.
Tricia reached for her beer. “Oh, she is mad at you.”
“And you just love that, don’t you?” Clint twisted the cap off his bottle, tossed in on the table, and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not worried about it. She’s been mad at me before. She always gets over it. You, on the other hand...” He tipped his beer in Tricia’s direction. “...should be very concerned that she’s mad at you.”
“Why would she be mad at me? She doesn’t even know me.”
“I’m sure that doesn’t matter to her.”
Tricia waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t concern me. I’ll probably never see her again.”
“Maybe not, but tonight you’re both in the same place. And she’s got some pretty sharp claws.”
Tricia could have argued with him. Logically, it was Clint, and only Clint, that Candy should be angry with. But Tricia knew women didn’t tend to think logically when they felt betrayed. Hadn’t she been in a similar position before—with the very same man? But that situation had been totally different. Rachel had been her friend.
“Since you’ve assigned yourself the job of my protector, I’m confident you’ll shield me from her attack.”
He lifted a brow. “You think?”
“Yes, I do. Besides, she may be angry at the moment, but she’ll thank me for it later. It’s best she learns the truth about you now before she gets any more involved.”
“And what might that be?”
“That you have a great deal of difficulty managing to keep your little thing inside your pants where it belongs. And once a cheat, always a cheat.”
Clint straightened in his seat and stared at her silently, no doubt absorbing her declaration of him being an addicted cheat. When he opened his mouth, she expected him to deny it. When he snapped his jaws shut without saying a word, there was no question in her mind that he realized it was true. She wondered if he would be man enough to admit it.
“Little thing?”
“You know what I mean.” That was hardly the important part of her speech.
“Little thing?” he repeated. “I don’t remember you complaining.”
Okay, she hadn’t anticipated this conversation, but…
“I was a virgin,” she pointed out. “What did I know about size?”
“No one has ever complained.”
“I’m sure they haven’t. Women know how sensitive men can be about this particular subject.” When he simply stared at her with a look of indignation on his face, she felt somewhat guilty because it wasn’t true at all. But she shoved the feeling aside and continued to torment him. “You’re getting touchy. It’s not important, Clint.” She patted his arm. “Size really doesn’t matter.”
Maybe this wasn’t the type of torture she’d originally had in mind for him, but she’d always been a flexible girl, she could make adjustments to the plan when the situation called for it.
“Oh, hell, yeah it…” He stopped in mid-sentence, blew out an angry breath of air, and then tipped his bottle back to take a long swallow of beer.
They sat in silence, Clint steaming and Tricia st
ruggling to keep the smile off her lips. She turned her attention to the stage. The band was small, consisting of only four members, but they were good.
The lead singer glanced their way. A black Stetson covered dark brown hair that brushed the collar of his shirt. His well-shaped mouth was surrounded by a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. Although lean, there appeared to be an ample supply of muscles under his tan shirt and blue jeans. It all combined to make an attractive package.
And it was obvious the man was born to be on the stage. His smile, the way he held himself, emitted a confidence that a woman could see a mile away. That, combined with the good looks and incredible voice, no doubt drew women to him like magnets.
He nodded toward them in greeting and shot a wink in Tricia’s direction.
She turned toward Clint to ask if that was his friend and saw that he had finished his beer and was motioning to Candy to bring two more.
“We don’t need two,” Tricia told him. “I’ve barely gotten started on mine.”
“They’re both for me,” he growled.
“Oh.” Tricia turned her face to the side to hide the smirk on her lips.
Chapter 6
Damned if the woman hadn’t pushed him too far this time. She was having a grand ol’ time at his expense. Clint leaned back in his chair and studied Tricia’s expression. Nothing in the world would make him happier than to erase that smirk from her pretty face. He took a swig of his beer and contemplated how best to accomplish the task.
Then he smiled.
If Tricia was so eager to give the impression they were lovers, maybe he should help her with the charade. It might prove to be very enjoyable. And if he played his cards right, she’d be the one squirming for a change.
Pulling his chair as close as he could get to hers, he draped his arm over her shoulder. Her body stiffened, and she squared her shoulders. The movement caused her breasts to thrust forward, offering him a nice view of her cleavage. Unable to resist, he took a moment to appreciate the sight before dragging his gaze away. He felt Tricia tense even further when he began to stroke her shoulder. A gentle stroke—like a lover’s caress.