by Cindi Myers
Now there was a thought. She felt better. She'd find Kyle and suggest they sneak off.
She found him and Ken in the living room, seated at a wooden card table. "Hey, there she is!" Ken looked up from the box of dominoes he'd just opened. "You're just in time to learn to play Moon."
"Moon?" She glanced at Kyle.
He pulled out the chair next to him and patted it. "Ken's got his heart set on teaching you to play dominoes."
Theresa could not believe she was sitting here listening to a cowboy with a preposterous mustache explain the intricacies of a domino game. Zach would laugh his ass off if he could see her, but then, what could she do?
"Now, Moon is really easy," Ken said as he spread the dominoes on the table. "It's kind of like cards in that you try to match up pairs. First we take out all the blanks except the double blank."
He did this, dumping those tiles back into the box. Then he began turning over the rest of the dominoes and mixing them up. "Each of us will choose seven dominoes and bid how many tricks we think we can catch."
"You didn't know when you came here you'd be turning tricks, did you?" Kyle said.
"Catching tricks, not turning them," Ken said. "Now draw your tiles."
They drew and Theresa studied her hand, aware of Kyle watching her. Looking up and finding his whiskey-warm eyes on her made her think of at least a dozen more private games she'd like to play with him.
"You have to bid at least four tricks but not more than seven," Ken instructed. "You get a point for every trick you catch, and if you get set, you lose as many points as you bid. If you go negative, you get a hickey."
Theresa stared at him. "Could you explain that again in English?"
"I understood the hickey part." Kyle waggled his eyebrows at her.
She smiled. You had to admire a guy who could make even dominoes--a game she associated with groups of old men who chewed tobacco and spat in the dirt--entertaining.
"Let's just play a hand," Ken said. "You'll get the hang of it."
The game proved to be simple after all and more fun than she'd imagined. Soon she was slapping down dominoes and shouting in triumph when she made a bid or howling when Kyle stole her trick. But the fun was spoiled when Kristen joined them. Not that she meant to put a damper on things, but with his wife present, Ken toned down the flirting. And every time Theresa looked up, Kristen was watching Kyle, hurt evident in her eyes.
"I remember when we learned this game," Kristen said as she watched the others play. "From that old ranch hand. What was his name?"
"Ollie Paget," Kyle said. "He had one finger missing from where he'd got it caught in a dally rope."
"And he dipped Red Rose snuff." Kristen laughed. "We played for pennies, and when Mama found out we'd been gambling away our allowance, she had a fit."
"She'd never have known about it if you hadn't squealed," Kyle said.
Kristen made a face. "I thought that would get me my allowance back."
"Instead all it got you was grounded for two weeks."
The domino game abandoned, they fell into reminiscing about childhood pranks. Ken, who'd grown up nearby, joined in. Listening to their tales of roping calves, falling out of trees and riding horses, Theresa felt as if she'd been raised in a foreign country. Seeing how many free games she could rack up at the video arcade and sitting through fourteen showings of Star Wars didn't sound very adventurous in comparison to camping out overnight in a tree fort or jumping off cliffs into the creek.
She pushed back her chair and mustered a weary smile. "I can't believe it, but I'm getting sleepy," she said. "I think I'll go on upstairs."
"But it's only eight-thirty," Kristen protested. "I was going to suggest we play Monopoly."
Kyle groaned. "No way am I going to spend a Friday night playing Monopoly with my sister. My rep would be ruined if anyone ever found out."
"You're just saying that because I always win," she said. "I've told you the secret is to buy as many hotels as you can, but you never listen."
"You are way too bossy, did you know that?"
They were still bickering as Theresa climbed the stairs to the guest room. The truth was, weariness dragged at her, but it wasn't a physical tiredness. She was worn out from trying to cope with all the crazy emotions kicking up a fuss inside of her. One minute she was annoyed at Kyle for letting his sister boss him around, another she was asking herself why she cared so much what he did with his life. That led to trying to ignore the crazy way her heart squeezed tight whenever she thought of the day when she and Kyle wouldn't be together anymore. After all, they'd agreed they were only in this for fun.
And they'd certainly had a lot of good times. She couldn't remember enjoying herself more. But when had all this seriousness crept in? All of a sudden, when she thought about Kyle leaving her, she felt as if she might cry.
And she never cried.
Maybe I'm coming down with something, she thought as she stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. That was the only logical explanation. After all, it wasn't likely a city girl like her would fall for a cowboy like Kyle, no matter how good he was in bed or how much he made her laugh. Just because there was a lot more to him than she'd thought at first glance didn't mean he was special or anything.
Did it?
SCOTT TALKED CHERRY INTO going to the Save Sixth Street rally with him, which was some progress, he guessed. Except that she spent the whole time paying attention to the speakers and stuff and never once looked at him. He checked his look in a storefront as they walked back to the shop after the rally ended. Maybe he should have worn a different shirt. He had on a cool, retro tie-dye, one that would probably appeal to her granola-girl side.
"Uh-oh." She stopped on the sidewalk, so that he ran into her.Not that he minded much, he thought as he steadied himself against her. Underneath all those flowing skirts, she had a really nice figure. "What is it?" he asked.
She pointed ahead of them. "I'm pretty sure that's a reporter waiting outside the shop."
He noticed the woman now, a tall, tanned blonde who looked vaguely familiar. "Isn't that Marci what's-her-name from Nine News?"
Cherry looked back over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised. "You actually watch the news?"
Now that was a low blow. "I'm not camped out in front of the TV every evening at six, but I'm not a moron, either, you know."
She had the good grace to wince. "Sorry," she muttered.
An apology from Miss Perfect? Maybe there was hope after all. He nudged her forward. "Let's go see what she wants."
"Hi, I'm Marci Andrews from Nine News." She greeted them with a wide smile and a surprisingly powerful handshake as Scott unlocked the door. "I'm doing a story on the Save Sixth Street rally and wanted to talk to some of the local businesspeople. Could I have a few minutes of your time?"
"We're not really--"
Scott pushed Cherry into the shop. "I'd be happy to talk to you." He smiled and looked into her eyes. Maybe he'd struck out with Cherry, but this Marci woman was hot. And maybe seeing him flirting with another woman would wake Cherry up to what she was missing.
"Great." Marci entered the shop, followed by an older man with a handheld camera.
"My name's Scott, by the way. Scott Simpson." He offered his hand. When she took it, he kept hold of hers just a little longer than necessary, continuing to look deep into her eyes. Chicks loved a guy who really paid attention to them--or at least seemed to.
"Uh, nice to meet you, Scott." Marci pulled her hand away and turned to Cherry. "How long have you worked here?" she asked.
"Not long." Cherry moved behind the counter. "I'm only here part-time."
"I've been working here four years," Scott said. He struck a casual pose against the counter, making sure his profile was to the camera. Might as well show off his best side....
"What impact would you say Darryl Carter's Clean Up Austin Campaign has had on businesses in the area?" Marci asked.
"He's scared some peo
ple away, but he doesn't have as much influence as he'd like to think. I mean, look at this place. Does it look like a den of iniquity to you?" He swept his hand around the room. Unfortunately he ended up pointing to a particularly wicked-looking flash of a skull with snakes crawling out of it that he'd drawn for a biker. Not exactly hearts and flowers. He moved over to block the flash, but not before he was sure it was immortalized on camera.
"But if Carter hasn't had an impact, why did the business owners feel the need to start their own campaign?" Marci asked.
"That's a good question, Marci." Isn't that what politicians always said when they didn't know the answer? "I think with Carter putting us in the news, we decided to take advantage of the spotlight and let people know all the good things going on here."
Cherry was giving him a strange look, but he ignored her, on a roll. Not only was he good-looking, he had a gift for rhetoric. Maybe he should consider a career in politics.
"So you're active in the business owners' coalition?" Marci asked.
Somehow he kept his smile in place while his mind scrambled for an answer. "I wholeheartedly support their efforts," he said. "They're doing really important work." Was he good or what?
"Thank you." Marci nodded to the cameraman. "I think that wraps it up here, Nick. Let's see if we can get sound bites from any of the Esther's Follies troupe."
"Wait, wouldn't you like to stay longer?" Scott intercepted her at the door. "Maybe we could meet for a drink later?"
She shook her head. "I don't think so." She stepped past him and shut the door behind her. He had to jump back to avoid having his nose crushed.
He heard a sound behind him and turned to find Cherry stifling laughter. "What's so funny?" he demanded.
"You! Did you really think that reporter was going to go out with you?"
"Why not?" He struggled for a cool look to cover up his bruised feelings. "She doesn't know what she's missing." He glanced at his reflection in the front window and smoothed back his hair. Was he losing his touch?
"Could you just dump the player attitude?" Cherry asked.
"What attitude?" He turned to face her. "This is me." He was Scott Simpson, ladies' man.
Cherry rolled her eyes. "All you are is attitude. No substance."
Okay, she was starting to annoy him. "That's rich coming from you."
"What do you mean?"
He joined her behind the counter, effectively blocking her escape. "You have a major attitude. You think you're better than everyone else."
Her eyes widened. "That's not true!"
"It is true. You walked in here the first day with a chip on your shoulder. Theresa couldn't even tell you anything because you already knew it all."
She blushed pink. "That's not true. I mean, I wasn't trying to be a smart-ass."
"Well, you were." She deserved to be set straight about her attitude after making those comments about his own 'tude.
"Only because I really wanted the job." She hunched her shoulders. "And maybe--sometimes--I'm a little short with people, but that's only because I get nervous."
"What do you have to be nervous about? You're cute and smart and talented and everything."
She stared at him, clearly stunned. "You really think so?"
He shrugged. "Sure." He figured she already knew that. It was obvious.
She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a long look. "I could say the same thing about you, you know."
He didn't much care for the way she was staring at him--as if he was a specimen under a microscope. "I don't know what you're talking about."
She leaned toward him. "I think I'm getting it now. This whole Don Juan routine of yours is just a front."
"A front? You don't think I'm a hit with women? You come out with me some Saturday night and I'll show you."
She waved his words away as if she was swatting at a pesky fly. "Sure, you're a big flirt and a lot of women like that kind of thing. And you lucked out in the looks department--you and a million other people. Big deal."
Did that mean she thought he was good-looking? Why didn't she just say so then? "Is there a point to this conversation?" he asked.
"The point is, underneath all that macho crap, you're as insecure as anybody else." She poked him in the chest with her finger. "I just realized that."
She thought he was insecure? Maybe a little, if getting tongue-tied around her was insecurity. And striking out with Marci just now had been an ego blow. "I guess all you chicks expect a guy to be perfect, huh? Sorry to disappoint you."
He turned away, then felt her hand on his shoulder. "Hey, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she said.
He shrugged her off. "Like I care what you think, anyway." But it surprised him how much it did hurt knowing she saw him as flawed.
"No, wait. I said that wrong." She pounded her fist on the countertop, making him jump. "Dammit, I always screw things up."
He turned and their eyes met--hers big and brown and shiny with tears. "Aw, don't cry." Did she know he couldn't take a woman's tears? He was a big wuss that way. He rushed over to her, reaching for her but too afraid to touch her.
She sniffed. "What I meant to say is that I'm glad to see you're not perfect."
"You are?"
"Perfect people are real bores, you know?"
"Yeah. I guess they are." He'd never thought of it before, but maybe there was something to be said for flaws. Like the fact that she'd admitted new people and situations made her nervous. It made her more approachable. He nudged her arm. "So maybe we have something in common after all."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Maybe we do."
"So..." He went for broke and took her hand in his. She didn't jerk away from him, so he figured that was a good sign. "So from now on, you won't think you have to know everything."
"And you'll stop trying to impress me with what a ladies' man you are." She smiled, and her eyes lost their sadness. "Because really, I was already impressed."
If hearts did backflips, his executed a triple somersault. "You were?"
She nodded. "Yeah. You're a really nice guy when you're not trying so hard."
"And you're a really nice girl when you relax a little." He bent to kiss her but froze halfway, still afraid she was going to turn on him.
He didn't have to worry, though. She slipped her free hand around his neck and pulled him down to her. She might not know everything, but she proved she knew how to kiss.
He didn't even hear the bells on the door ring. When she pulled away, she looked as dazed as he felt. "We have a customer," she whispered.
"We do?" He grinned at her, a stupid grin, he was sure, but he couldn't make his mouth move any other way.
She nodded and pointed behind them. "We'd better get to work."
"Right." Work. He was sure he was never going to look at his job--or his co-worker--in the same way again. In fact, if anyone had asked, he would have said everything was just...perfect.
THERESA WOKE TO THE SMELL of brewing coffee and frying bacon and bright sunlight streaming through the window. Shielding her eyes against the glare, she groaned and squinted at the clock. Six-thirty in the morning. She fell back on the pillow and shut her eyes tight, but the bright light seeped through her eyelids, driving out all chances of returning to sleep.
She could hear the others bustling about below--muttered voices, the scrape of silverware against pots and pans. They were probably thinking evil thoughts about lazy city folks who lolled around in bed all day.Muttering curses, she threw the covers aside and sat up. Not that she cared what the K clan thought of her, but her stomach was growling. Coffee and bacon and whatever else went with it sounded awfully good.
She found Kyle nursing a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. He managed a grunt in greeting, and she smiled in satisfaction. He didn't look any more awake than she felt.
"Good morning, Theresa." Kristen looked up from a bowl of eggs she was beating into submission and spoke far too cheerfully for this time of day
.
"Morning," Theresa managed and made a beeline for the coffeepot.
"I hope I didn't wake you," Kristen said, continuing to whip the eggs. "Kyle said he didn't think you normally got up this early."
"He's right." She glanced at the man slumped at the table. "I don't think Kyle gets up this early, either."
"I know, but the girls wanted to see their uncle before they left for 4-H camp." She poured the eggs into a big iron skillet, where they sizzled and bubbled violently. "I knew it wouldn't kill him to get up and say hello."
"It might." He set his empty mug on the table with a thud. "No sane person should be up at this hour."
"Don't be silly. This is my favorite time of day."
He caught Theresa's eye, and she put her hand over her mouth to hide a smile. "I rest my case," he said.
"I thought maybe this morning after breakfast Ken could show you the new pasture we bought this spring," Kristen said as she arranged slices of bread on the toaster oven rack. "Theresa and I can hit the shops in Wimberley. We can all meet back here for lunch and then maybe we could go riding."
"Whoa! Stop!" Kyle held up his hand. "I thought I'd take Theresa on a tour of the ranch this morning. Alone."
Kristen deflated, her bubbly mood burst. "But I want you to see all the improvements we've made. And you don't care about shopping." She turned to Theresa. "Wimberley has some of the most wonderful boutiques and antique stores. I know you'd love it."
Theresa was always up for shopping. And visiting Wimberley would probably be fun--with anyone but Kristen.
"We came here this weekend to relax, just the two of us," he said. "Don't go making elaborate plans."
"I just thought it would be fun." Kristen regained her composure somewhat. "We don't see near enough of you these days. Theresa has a brother. I'm sure she understands."
Kyle's expression softened. "Maybe this afternoon we could go riding."
Theresa frowned. Climbing on the back of some big beast wasn't her idea of fun. And until Kristen had pressed her point, it hadn't been what Kyle had in mind, either. Suddenly the kitchen was entirely too stuffy for her. "I think I'll go outside and get some fresh air," she said, and before anyone could stop her, she left.