She knew that, but damned if she didn’t want to touch him anyway. As if he were the man of her dreams and this were the right moment and she could actually act on her feelings.
As if.
But this was Cole Chisholm and she was Nikki Barbie, and it would never, ever work.
If only she didn’t keep forgetting that all-important fact.
11
IF HE DIDN’T TOUCH her soon he was going to lose his freakin’ mind. That knowledge weighed on Cole as he scribbled down his last score—a winning number for Mrs. Earline Walker’s Bread and Butter Pickle Perfection—and downed a glass of iced sweet tea someone had set in front of him. The cool liquid slid down his throat, but it did little to douse the fire that raged inside of him.
He’d been at it for three hours. Playing the dutiful husband by sitting next to her. Sliding his arm around her every now and then. Smiling and flirting and talking even, particularly during the small breaks while the person in charge of the contest rustled up the next batch of pickles. He’d actually been surprised at how easy the conversation flowed, as if they were really and truly friends, and not just pretending. He’d gotten an earful about her final class and the prep leading up to her exam at the end of the following week, and he’d filled her in on the demanding PR schedule that waited for him once he hit Vegas for the finals. On how he hated doing the standard meet and greet with the rodeo officials, but loved meeting with the local charities. Which was why he’d set up five different events, everything from laser tag with a local Boy Scout troop to horseback lessons with the orphans living at Nevada’s Boysville.
Talking about his personal business wasn’t something he did very often, and never with anyone other than his brothers or Eli. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel the usual trepidation. The wariness.
Instead, it felt easy. Right.
She’d stared at him, her eyes full of understanding and compassion, and just like that, he’d felt less anxious. Relaxed, even. Because she knew what it was like to worry about appearances. She spent her life doing just that, just like he did.
As soon as the thought struck, he pushed it back out. He didn’t worry over appearances. He just didn’t like putting his business out there, opening himself up. Not because of the fear of repercussions. Hell, no. He was simply a private person.
“If I don’t ace my final, I’ll have to repeat the class.”
“You’ll nail it,” he heard himself say, and he believed it. While she might be hiding behind her clothes, she still had courage. Drive. Determination.
He couldn’t help but admire her as much as he liked her.
Like, he reminded himself. That’s all it was. All it would ever be.
Well, that and a healthy dose of lust. He felt that in spades. Not that he was acting on it.
He reminded himself of that over the next hour as they finished the competition, awarded the trophies and ribbons, and sampled a hoard of baked goods thanks to the ladies’ auxiliary.
“You’ve just got to try my pecan-caramel tart,” said a blue-haired old woman in a pink apron emblazoned with the words Caramel Cuties in zebra print. “There’s three of us on the baking team, but this is my own secret recipe.”
“Is not, Norma Jean Daughtry,” said a tiny woman with white curls and a matching apron. “I’m the one who told you to add an extra teaspoon of cinnamon and just a hint of ginger.”
“In your dreams, Louise Lou,” said the third member of the team. Her white hair had been piled high in a massive beehive and her cat’s-eye glasses were the same pink as her apron. “I’m the one who came up with the ginger. And the pie-crust base—”
“It’s obviously a team effort,” Cole cut in, scooping a forkful and loading it into his mouth. “Why, I can’t wait to try the rest of these.” He motioned to the table laden with various pies and cakes that the team had submitted and suddenly the argument was forgotten as the three women blushed and fell all over themselves to dish him up more goodies.
When they finally made their way back to his Jeep, Cole’s hands overflowed with bakery boxes. A good thing because it kept them too busy to reach out and take Nikki’s hand as they walked.
“That went well,” she said as she climbed into the car. “Although you’ll probably gain fifty pounds if you even attempt to eat all of that.”
“Don’t worry about me, sugar. I get more than my fair share of exercise.” And he knew just how to burn up the extra calories.
The thought struck as she stared back at him, her eyes glittering in the dusky shadows, her lips curved into a knowing smile.
“I’ll bet you do,” she murmured before she seemed to catch herself. “This is a nice vehicle.”
She trailed her hand over the black leather seat and Cole felt the stroke down his spine. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Easy, bud.
“I bought it last year...” They spent the next few minutes talking about his Jeep while Florida Georgia Line belted out lyrics about rolling down windows and cruising around. Blake Shelton came on next singing a twangy number about jacked-up trucks and red-dirt roads and ice-cold beer, and the subject shifted to the mountain of bakery boxes.
“You can’t possibly eat all of that without slipping into a diabetic coma.”
“I can if I pace myself. Besides, a little sugar never hurt anybody.”
“That’s what my grammy used to say.”
He expected her to stiffen up the way she usually did when she mentioned the old woman, but instead, she stared out the window and tapped her fingers on the dashboard. “She had a ton of euphemisms,” she added. “Like ‘if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all.’ And ‘for every finger you point, there are three pointed back at you.’ Stuff like that.”
“Sound advice. The best Jesse could ever come up with was ‘keep your mouth shut and it will all be over soon.’” He wasn’t sure why he told her. He didn’t talk about his past with anyone other than his brothers. But there was something lulling about the wind whipping through the window and the engine humming in the background, mingling with the music drifting from the radio. The moon shone big and bright overhead, bathing the interior of the Jeep in a celestial light that made the entire moment seem almost surreal. As if this were just a dream. Temporary. Safe. “He usually said that when my dad was on a drinking binge. He wasn’t the nicest guy then, not that he was much to speak of when he was sober, either. But he got even meaner when he was drinking. Jesse would sneak us out the back door and we would hide out in the Chevy in the driveway until he calmed down or passed out.”
“How long did that take?”
“Let’s just say I woke up with pins and needles too many times to count from being cooped up in that backseat.”
“Which explains why you’re claustrophobic.”
“I’m not claustrophobic.”
She motioned to the open Jeep, the top stuffed into the backseat. “This, and you’ve got an RV with skylights. Trust me, you’re claustrophobic.”
“I just like my space.” He chanced a glance in the rearview mirror at the empty stretch of dirt road behind them and the knot in his stomach eased just a little. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
He expected her to argue, to press home the point, but instead she fell silent for the next few moments as they roared down the road, gravel spewing, the wind whipping through the open top.
“That must have been hard,” she finally murmured. He gave her a questioning glance and she added, “Growing up with so much instability. My mom was a ballbuster, but we always had a bed to sleep in and food to eat, albeit greasy and fast.”
His stomach hollowed out at the memory of all those cold, dark, hungry nights before he stiffened. “It was at first, but then we got used to it.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Who?
The teachers? They would have taken us away, split us up, maybe even sent us to different towns. All we had was each other. We needed to stay together, and we did.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. No kid should have to endure so much.”
He’d heard the words from various people over the years, but he’d never actually believed it. Most people said as much to be polite, to ease their own conscience because they’d grown up never knowing what real strife meant.
But when Nikki opened her mouth, he actually believed her. Not because she’d endured the exact same situation, but because she’d known the same isolation. She’d spent a lifetime stuck in her sisters’ shadows, hiding, fearful of discovery much the way he and his brothers had been fearful of being split apart.
He could hear it in the conviction in her voice. See it in the sincerity gleaming in her eyes. And he felt it when she leaned across to where one of his hands rested on the gear shift and covered his fingers with her own.
A soft pat that meant little in the big scheme of things, but still the tightness in his chest eased just a fraction.
He drew a deep breath. “Like I said, we’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
“So you’re not angry with your dad?”
“I don’t care enough to be angry.” He forced his hands to relax on the steering wheel. “He was a liar and a cheat. He doesn’t deserve my anger, or anything else.”
“It’s okay, you know,” she said after a long, contemplative moment.
“What is?”
“For you to love him. It’s okay. My mother isn’t the warmest woman, but she’s still my mother. I love her even if I don’t think she loves me sometimes.” She licked her lips. “Or at all.”
“She doesn’t deserve your love.”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t change the fact that I feel it.”
“It should.” That’s what he said, but he wasn’t so sure he believed it anymore. Not with her sitting so close and sounding so sure. “So spill. What do you have against pecan-caramel tarts?”
“Excuse me?”
He motioned to the boxes. “Or apple fritters. Or cherry cobbler. Or any of the other homemade desserts sitting in these boxes. I thought you were going to have a coronary when the ladies started loading them up.”
“I just hate to see anything go to waste.”
“So eat it.”
“I told you, I’m specializing in more refined flavors. I don’t want to kill my palate with all this stuff. It’s too simple.”
“There’s nothing wrong with simple.”
“If you’re entering a small-town-fair baking contest. I want to play in the big leagues. This stuff wouldn’t stand a chance, so there’s no sense wasting my time or my palate on it.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s the truth.”
“You know what I think?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“I think you’re afraid if you take even one bite, you’ll want another despite the fact that it’s simple. Because there’s nothing wrong with simple.” Simple and sweet and pure.
“What makes you so sure?”
He’d had one bite of her and all he could think about was another. And another. And another.
Because she was the one thing he couldn’t have, he reminded himself. It had nothing to do with the fact that he suspected she was a helluva lot more pure beneath the surface that she let on, and damned if he didn’t like it.
He didn’t.
He liked his women experienced and worldly and temporary. And while Nikki looked the part, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t all she was cracked up to be.
No, he wanted her so bad not because she was different from all the other women in his past, but because she didn’t want him back. She was the one thing he couldn’t have and so it made sense that he would be so infatuated with her. He had no doubt that one night would kill his curiosity and he could get back to thinking about Vegas and his record-breaking win.
If she’d been the least bit obliging.
She wasn’t and so he intended to do his damnedest to respect her wishes.
“That was fun,” she told him when they climbed out of the Jeep and he followed her to the RV. Moths flitted around the porch light, casting dancing shadows across Nikki’s pale blond hair. Her eyes were rich and warm, and his heart kicked up a beat.
“It wasn’t too bad.” He reached for the door handle, slid the key in the lock and hauled open the door. He motioned her inside and tried to ignore the warmth that rolled through him when her arm brushed his.
“I guess I’ll see you later,” she said once they were inside. “I should call it a night.”
He nodded. “Hopefully she’ll make a move early and we can move out.”
“Hopefully. Sleep tight.” She stepped inside her bedroom and started to close the door. “Cole?”
He turned, his lips parted and ready—
“I really like the ring.” She smiled, her luscious mouth parting to reveal a row of straight white teeth. “I know it’s not real, but it’s still beautiful.”
Pure satisfaction somersaulted through him and he found himself grinning before he could stop himself. “A beautiful ring for a beautiful woman.”
And he meant it.
At that moment, she was just about the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Better than any championship buckle. Or an arena full of screaming fans, or a wide-open Texas sky.
Before he could dwell on that startling thought, her soft voice drew his attention. “No man’s ever given me anything before,” she added, almost as an afterthought. As if she didn’t want to admit the truth to him but couldn’t help herself. “You’re the first.”
And I’ll be the last.
The notion stuck as he gave her a quick peck on the lips, but then he bypassed her and walked the few feet toward his own bedroom before he said “to hell with it” and tossed Nikki on the nearest horizontal surface. Closing the door behind him, he pulled off his clothes and headed straight into an ice-cold shower.
12
NIKKI WASN’T GOING to think about Cole. Or the way he looked. Or the way he smelled. Or the fact that he was sleeping in the room right next to hers.
That’s what she told herself as she lay in the comfortable bed in Cole’s RV and stared at the ceiling.
Comfortable, as in she should be sleeping right now. It was midnight and she was exhausted. She’d spent the past four hours since they’d come back to the RV working on the pastry crust for her wellington while Cole had taken a shower and holed up in his bedroom to watch NASCAR and wait until her mother made the next move.
She fought down a wave of guilt for not divulging her theory.
But then that’s all it was. Just a theory. It’s not like she knew Raylene’s whereabouts with dead certainty. She was going off their last conversation and a hunch, and both could be totally wrong. Why, her mother might take a turn off her current path and head for Austin or Houston. She might even cross the state line into Louisiana. The possibilities were endless and so Cole was right to wait for the next credit card transaction.
Meanwhile, she’d whipped up the perfect puff pastry—to the point that her arms ached—and retreated to the safety of her room long before he’d come back, and so she felt extremely pleased with herself. Comfortable plus exhausted plus pleased usually equaled a decent night’s sleep.
Not this time.
Not with her lips still tingling from his chaste kiss or the image that had followed firmly entrenched in her brain.
She’d gone back into the kitchen to put away the boxes of goodies he’d brought back from the fairgrounds, and run smack-dab into him as he’d been coming out of the bathroom. She could still se
e him dripping wet and half-naked wearing nothing but a towel. He’d stared back at her, a handsome smile on his face, his eyes glittering with a light that said he knew how uptight he was making her. And he liked it.
Because he still wanted her.
And she wanted him.
More so now that they were pretending to be married. And spending more time together. And talking.
Her eyes snapped open and she stared at the ceiling again. She rolled onto her left side and gathered the pillow underneath her cheek, stuffing it close and snuggling down. She was going to sleep this time.
Really.
It was time to close her eyes and forget him and his fluffy white towel and knowing gaze and sexy grin.
Even more, she was going to ditch the memory of the heat in his fingertips when he’d brushed against her while sliding by to open the fridge and snag a white bakery box containing a cherry pie. She’d been surprised by the gesture and startled by the contact and amazed at her fierce response....
Her skin prickled and her eyes popped open. She rolled onto her right side and stuffed the edge of the pillow under her chin. A few wiggles and she found a good spot. One where she could surely fall deep into another world and forget all about the way he’d looked leaning against the counter, forking cherry pie into his mouth.
And the way he’d smelled, an intoxicating mixture of sweet, ripe cherries and a dangerous wildness that told her he was far more intoxicating and addictive than the most decadent of desserts should she indulge in even the smallest taste....
Her nostrils flared and she threw herself onto her stomach. Stuffing her head under the pillow, she held the edges down tight, burying herself in total blackness. Unfortunately, there was plenty of light in her head and his image was too firmly fixed. She saw him in the bright morning light streaming past the RV blinds. The broadness of his shoulders within the small confines of the RV. The bulging muscles of his massive arms. The tight ripple of his thighs as he’d walked away from her. The ever-so-slight sway of white cotton around his waist. The glimpse of one sinewy, hair-dusted thigh as the towel pushed and pulled to the side—
Texas Outlaws: Cole Page 8