by Em Petrova
“Stop.” He laid a hand on her forearm. She’d missed his touch so much. Like a moth moving to the light, she turned to him. When he brushed her hair over her shoulder, she shivered. “Are those your bags by the door?”
“Just the duffle, the rolling suitcase and my oils.”
“Hmm. Do you have enough of that stuff you were telling me about?” He had a devilish gleam in his eye.
“I’ve got a whole tub of it made. Want to try it out?”
“Fuck yeah.”
She went on tiptoe to kiss him solidly on his hard lips. “Good. Let’s get on the road. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can drive you crazy.” With that, she sashayed to the door and slung her duffle strap over her shoulder, leaving him to get the rest.
When she threw him a wink, he rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re gonna make me regret this.”
“Yes, I am. Let’s hit the road, cowboy.”
Chapter Eight
“What do you have to say about Jay Wallace being here in the arena today? Is there still animosity between the two of you? Have charges been dropped or are you going to trial?”
West shoved the microphone away from his face and kept walking. All he needed was bad press right now. His brother, Ridge, was about to ride.
“West, do you have any comment?”
“No comment,” he grated out and strode faster toward the group gathered watching Ridge in the chute.
As soon as Buck saw the reporters following West, he and Lane stepped up shoulder to shoulder, arms folded and legs braced wide. “Family only here. Move along,” Buck said.
“Thanks.” West threw him a look of gratitude. “I’m a little off my game today.”
“Could that have something to do with stopping a lot during your drive?” Lane asked.
“Uh… no comment.” He tugged his hat lower and bellied up to the front of the group. Merry jumped at his legs, and he picked her up. “Can you see Uncle Ridge?”
“Unca Widge!” she screamed and waved, but over the noise of the arena, Ridge couldn’t possibly hear.
“I saw him tip his hat to you. Did you see that?” West pointed.
She nodded fervently, blonde hair flopping into her eyes. She mashed it back with a sticky hand.
“Let me take her. I’ll wash her up.” Joy reached for her.
“Nah, I’ve got her. Maybe it will keep the reporters away.”
“Great—now my daughter’s a pawn.”
“Bodyguard,” he corrected with a smile.
Joy nodded and returned to her conversation with Ryder. From the corner of his eye, West watched the pair. When his brothers had fallen for their wives, they hadn’t acted like themselves at all. There had been fistfights and more surliness and drunken nights than West could keep track of.
But no one had offered them spinoffs. What was it West had that said bad-boy? He damn well wasn’t getting in any more fights, and he planned to stay as far from Jay Wallace as possible.
He’d tried to visit the guy in the hospital, but Wallace wouldn’t allow him entrance. In the end, he’d scribbled an apology note on a slip of paper a nurse had handed him and gone away.
West blew air out through his nose. Merry blinked up at him with wide eyes, and he issued a laugh. “What’s up, buttercup?”
“You a lion.”
He bobbed his head a little in agreement. “Today I am.” Trying to control himself and not doing that damn well. He didn’t want to deal with the crowds, fans or reporters. He’d just as soon punch out a cameraman as give him footage. And Malou was too far away from him.
Settled in her little back room, rubbing healing oils into other cowboys’ muscles.
He growled this time, low. Merry giggled in delight, and West dropped a kiss to the top of her head. “Roar,” he said to her, and she laughed more.
By the time Ridge made his entrance on the bucking bronc, West was ready for the event to be over so he could go. If he walked fast and kept his head down to avoid detection, he could reach Malou and have a few minutes before the next event. Damn, why did he have so many siblings to support?
If his father had felt the same about his mother as West felt about Malou, he could see how they’d ended up with six kids.
Ridge looked good out there. Solid. His score would send him close to the top and earn him a nice chunk of the winnings. As he came off the bronc, the Calhouns all cheered. West issued a shrill whistle that had Merry covering her ears with her little hands. And beside them, Kashley whooped.
When West looked at her face, he noted the small lines around her eyes, like she wasn’t sleeping enough. Ridge must be taking his job of impregnating her seriously.
Deep down, West hoped the best for them. He didn’t like seeing his family stressed. They deserved a dozen kids if that was what they wanted.
He squeezed Kashley’s shoulder. “Good ride. Congrats.”
She smiled up at him, but the light didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks. He did great.”
“I’ll hand over Miss Sticky here.” He passed Merry to Joy, and Merry wrapped her gooey hand around her mother’s long blonde hair.
“Ugh, sure you don’t wanna clean her up first, West?”
He cast her a grin. “If I take her, I’ll find the cotton candy man.”
“Never mind!”
As he walked away from the group, Merry chanted, “Cotton candy! Cotton candy!”
“Thanks, West!” Joy called after him.
He raised a hand in farewell. Then he tipped his hat low, squared his shoulders and bulldozed a path through the reporters to reach Malou.
* * * * *
Malou had two bottles of oils out, gauging if she had enough to mix up more muscle rub. Her mind wasn’t completely on her task, though. Not with West Calhoun running rampant in her brain. More like sprinting. He could win a marathon in there.
She reached for her bottled water and took a drink, but it didn’t alleviate her dry mouth. With the heat, she’d been extra thirsty lately, which was probably why she was peeing a lot. As soon as she got home, she’d start taking better care of herself, maybe add a third smoothie to her day.
At the sound of a boot on the floor, she pivoted, mouth dropping open.
“Jay.”
“Hi, Malou.” When he cocked a smile, she noted what a handsome man he was. Not West, but good-looking. For some other woman.
“You’re looking well.”
He came into the room and leaned against the closest bed. “I see you’re working with your oils.”
She glanced back at the bottles on the table. “Yes. I’m working on a few new rubs for muscle aches. How’s the shoulder?”
Conversation was awkward. Forget the elephant in the room—it was more like a wooly mammoth with monster-sized tusks.
To demonstrate that he was better, Jay rolled his shoulder. “Feelin’ fine.”
She bobbed her head. “Great.” Time to get on with it. “Look, Jay, I’m sorry about that night at the bar. I didn’t know West was going to do that. I didn’t even know he was there.”
“I know. Wasn’t your fault at all, honey.” At his endearment, her stomach knotted. She had other things to say to him.
“I’m also sorry to tell you that I’m seeing someone. I think you’re a great guy—”
His lips twisted as he cut her off. “Seein’ West Calhoun.” His voice came out dead flat.
She dragged in a harsh breath and didn’t release it. The last thing she wanted was hurt feelings.
“You don’t have to tell me. Everybody’s talking about it.”
She nearly hiccupped as she exhaled too fast. Everyone?
We weren’t exactly discreet riding here together. But the cameras had stayed away from them—West had made sure of it.
Jay went on. “I’m just sorry to see you with a guy like that. You know he was with Sampson’s ex-wife not long ago, right?”
She could barely spit out the words. “S-Sampson? As in the tie-down roping champ?”
“Yeah. If you ask me, he’s just trying to get under his competitor’s skin. Sampson’s the only one who can beat West. It’s all a mind game.”
Malou felt like throwing up. All of a sudden, eating that taco for lunch didn’t seem like such a good idea. She swallowed hard. “When was this?”
“Haven’t seen a magazine lately?”
“No, I try to avoid them,” she said quietly.
Jay stepped up to her. “I don’t like thinking of you hurt. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us, but they were over before they got started, didn’t they?”
“Jay, I’m sor—”
“It’s all right. Just be careful, okay? Running with the wrong people could end your career.”
She stepped away. “Goodbye, Jay.” Twisting back to her oils, she waited until she heard his footsteps fade. Then she rubbed a hand over her face. Her forehead was dotted with perspiration. She felt clammy all over. Actually, she—
She ran to the garbage can and made it just in time to throw up. As her whole body heaved up the taco, or Jay’s words, she wasn’t sure which had made her sicker, she couldn’t help but ponder life.
Was she really so head over heels for West that she would stand by him through thick and thin, court dates and bad press?
She straightened and grabbed a clean towel. She wiped her face with it and then set the garbage can off to the side where she wouldn’t smell it and nobody else would either. She’d deal with the mess later.
After sipping some water, she felt more able to process what she’d just learned. Was West sneaking around with Sampson’s ex? If so, when and how hadn’t she known of it before?
Was Jay just telling stories because he and West were rivals for her affections? She couldn’t blame Jay for disliking West after what had happened.
She reached for her water again, and somebody put it into her hand. She glanced up to see West standing there. His eyes distant, as if he weren’t thinking of her.
When he got a good look at her face, concern crossed his features. “You okay, Lou? You’re pale.”
She took the water from him and drank deeply to avoid speaking at once. And to chase the rising bile back down her throat. All of a sudden she felt like crying. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d taken on many roles in her life, but being West’s lover was the most confusing and difficult yet.
“Malou…” He brushed her hair behind her shoulder. “You okay?”
She whirled back to her oils and began dumping measured amounts of each into a small plastic pot.
He reached across her and stayed her hand. His big one warm and heavy. Comforting.
Damn him.
“What the hell’s going on?” he demanded, but his voice held a scratchy note that made her look up to see uneasiness in his gaze.
“You tell me,” she spat back.
His shoulders squared and he jerked a thumb toward the exit. “I just passed Wallace out there. Was he in here talking to you?”
“Why don’t you go ask Sampson’s ex-wife to take care of you? She’s blonde.”
He rocked as if punched. “His ex— You think I’ve been with her?”
“It’s all over the tabloids, isn’t it?”
“Dammit, woman. When are you gonna understand that it’s you I want? You’ve been on my mind for months, and no matter what I do I can’t get you out.”
“No matter what you do? Like fucking your competitor’s ex?”
“I didn’t touch her. Lou, that footage is old. If you look close, you’ll see Wynonna in the background, and she’s with a guy she hasn’t dated in almost a year.” He skidded to a halt, scouring her face with his gaze. His eyes widened in alarm. “Baby, are you—”
She rushed for the garbage can again. Bent over it, feebly pushing her hair back as she heaved up the remainder of her stomach.
“Oh baby.” He gathered her hair into a bundle at her nape and stroked her back as she sputtered. When she’d finished, he gathered her against his side. She felt hot and cold at the same time.
“I’m sorry,” she said faintly.
“Sorry? For what? Hell, I’m sorry you’re sick. Was it something you ate?”
“I think so. A taco.”
He made a face. “Those carnie tacos will do it to ya every time. Come here. Sit down and I’ll get you a drink.”
He settled her in a chair and she drew deep breaths to steady herself. In her head, his words played on repeat. You’ve been on my mind for months.
She heard him talking to someone, low, and went to the curtain to see him with Ryder, their heads bent together. West nodded and said, “I’ll be there in a minute. We’ll take care of it.”
Then he returned to Malou and handed her a bottle of water. She drank from it long and deep, feeling marginally better. Whatever grip this taco had on her, she needed it to end. She had a job to do and couldn’t be running to the garbage can every few minutes.
“You all right, L’il Bit?” His worried tone wove into her, and she didn’t know if she could withstand his charm. She didn’t want to believe he was with Sampson’s ex, someone whose name sounded like a condiment or anybody else for that matter. Deep down she knew West was genuine. He wasn’t lying to her, but how many more old photos could the tabloids dig up? And he did seem to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I did speak to Jay. I let him down. Told him I’m seeing someone.”
West’s grin flashed and then fell away as fast as it had come. “So he got mad and told you I was with that woman, right?”
“Well, sort of. But he did say it’s in the tabloids.”
At that, West gave a low, “Damn.” He met her gaze head on. “It’s an old photo, I swear to you. I—”
“I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Do you believe me that I turned Jay away?”
His face brightened. “He did look as if he’d just eaten a pickled dog turd.”
A laugh bubbled up, and she welcomed something besides stomach upset. She let the sound out, and he joined her.
“Are you okay really? How’s the stomach?”
“Better. I need to get to work. What was your brother here about?”
West narrowed his eyes, a storm cloud overtaking his rugged features. He was like an Oklahoma sky in June. Volatile one minute, ready to spin out deadly tornadoes. And the next, clear and bright.
“Wynonna’s having some trouble with that last gray hair she was with.”
“Gray hair?” She arched a brow.
“Yeah, haven’t you noticed she’s into old guys? Turns out that jackass makes adult films and he asked her to be part of one. He’s in town and harassing her with texts. We need to take care of it.” He dropped a swift kiss to her brow and then another, lingering over her skin and inhaling. She held onto him, loving his solid warmth against her.
When he pushed back, he said, “I’ll see you in a little while, okay?”
“Yes.”
“Text me if you don’t feel well and I’ll come.”
She didn’t think she’d go that far, but she nodded anyway. She was embarrassed he’d seen her sick in the first place. She wasn’t likely to call him for support if it happened again. But now that her stomach was empty, she was totally fine.
“Go on. Champion your sister.”
His grin was back, wider, and this time his eyes lit with it. He was so damn beautiful.
He tipped his hat and turned for the exit.
“West?”
He glanced back.
“Try to stay out of trouble.”
* * * * *
West strode across the parking lot to his brother’s pickup sitting there running. The back door hung open, and he jumped in beside Lane. Buck was behind the wheel with Ridge up front and Ryder was on the other side of Lane in the back seat.
Five Calhouns in a pickup made a posse. Exactly what they needed right now.
“Can you believe this fucker?” Ridge huffed wi
th anger.
“Yeah, I can. I didn’t trust him from the start,” West said. “Had a bad feeling.” He looked out the window, thinking of Jack and how oily he’d seemed. Schmoozing their mother and Wynonna and anybody else he got a chance at.
“Asking her to star in a porn. Jesus Christ,” Buck bit off. Their brother rarely swore anymore, now that he was a father twice over and had situated himself in the role of head of the family.
“We got a plan?” Lane asked. He still wore his chaps, having just finished his ride.
“It’s premeditated if we plan it,” said Buck, turning right and stepping on the gas. “Seems he’s set up with a studio in the area. I heard he’s got one in several main cities throughout the South.”
West scrubbed a hand over his face. Screw with him or his brothers and the asshole might have walked away unscathed. Fuck with any woman in West’s life and he wouldn’t accept anything less than repayment for the man’s actions.
Unfortunately, Jay Wallace had been a mistake, and West was sorry for it. But Jack deserved to have his nuts chopped off and fed to him. Preying on Wynonna and how many other women?
He tapped a fist on his thigh.
“Up ahead. That’s the address,” Ridge said, pointing out the windshield.
West craned his head to see. “Looks like a motel.”
“Rented by the hour, is my guess.” Buck’s lips were set in a straight line. If Jack only faced Buck, he should shit his pants and leave town now. But add in the other four brothers and he should start digging his own grave and get in it.
Buck parked haphazardly in front of room number 31. For a beat, they stared at the door.
“There’s his SUV,” Ryder said.
“Yep. Let’s roll.” West’s boots hit the asphalt first, and they all followed. A glance over his shoulder told West that Lane carried his trusty baseball bat he kept in his truck for self-protection. He loped toward the door, the bat resting on his shoulder in the most casual of ways.
West reached the door, peeling with paint, and thumped it twice with his fist. “Fuck, I can smell the weed through the cracks of the door.”
“I can’t believe our sister was seeing this asshole. Wynonna needs tied up in the barn and prevented from dating again,” Buck bit off.