Texas Roots: The Gallaghers of Sweetgrass Springs

by Jean Brashear

  She halted beside him and looked around. "Oh, Ian…it's beautiful." A small clearing, with one side open to the view, a well-used fire pit at the center of it, nestled in the midst of live oaks. "Did you come here as a kid?"

  "As often as I could. There wasn't a lot of time, between chores and school."

  "I heard you were the quarterback. The Four Horsemen. You were good, Ruby says."

  He shrugged. "That was a long time ago."

  "Did you ever want to play at a professional level?"

  "That wasn't in the game plan. I played for awhile at Tech. Football paid for my education."

  "You were the college quarterback? Did you date a cheerleader? Or the homecoming queen?"

  Color rose on his cheeks.

  "You did!" She grinned. "I want to see pictures of you in your pads and those tight football pants. I bet you were hot then, too."

  He waved off her compliments and concentrated on spreading one of the blankets. "How about some wine?" He opened the basket and drew out a bottle. "Red okay? I'm not much of a wine guy, but at the winery they said this was a good one."

  She was incredibly touched that he had gone to the trouble she could see as he brought out bread and cheeses and fruit. "Where did you get all of this?"

  "Fredricksburg." He squirmed. "A buddy of mine from school owns a winery there. I threw myself on his mercy."

  "You did all this for me?"

  "You'd prefer a baloney sandwich?"

  She laughed. "Not really."

  "Then just drink. And eat."

  His discomfort was absolutely charming. "You did all this yesterday, on top of getting smacked against a fence by a bull."

  "So?"

  Oh, she was in so much trouble… She accepted the glass of wine from him abut remained on her knees, brushing her lips over his cheek. "Thank you. I feel terrible that you went to so much effort, but I'm also impressed."

  "Yeah?" Then he caught her mouth with his.

  The kiss quickly turned so carnal that she nearly dropped her glass.

  He took it from her hand and set it aside, safely nestled in a corner of the basket. "Taste the wine from me instead." He took a sip of his own, then put his glass aside.

  Then he kissed her again. Dragged her body over his and began to ply his hands over her body.

  Oh. She'd been so worried that things would feel stilted, but—

  "Stop thinking," he growled. "Kiss me back."

  Gladly. Suddenly it was all too easy to get back to that place where she thought she would die if she didn't get her hands on him.

  And he was right there in front of her, within easy reach. She yanked his shirttails out of his jeans, thanking her lucky stars that it was January in Central Texas, not New York. The air was crisp, but they'd just have to get closer, wouldn't they?

  And then she was done with thinking.

  Those big, strong hands cruised over her body with a skill that left her breathless, she who'd thought herself the sophisticate and him the rube.

  "If you stop, I'll kill you," she managed, and rose to straddle his lap.

  "Not on your life." He backed up his words with action, skimming his hands up her side and pulling off her shirt and jacket together.

  She worked at the buttons of his flannel shirt, muttering as she fumbled.

  "Here—" He skinned the whole thing off over his head.

  Beneath he wore a plain white t-shirt.

  And about an acre of muscles. "Gimme," she said, and pulled at that garment, too, until his chest was bared. "Oh, my…" It was all she could do not to rake her nails over his chest. It was broad and lean and muscled, but not the gym muscles she was accustomed to.

  This was a working man. A real man, the way God intended. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip.

  Then she spotted his bruised side. "Oh!"

  "It's nothing–" He gasped when she pressed her lips to the bruise

  She could swear that strong body trembled, just a little. She smiled. "My mother used to say kisses make anything better."

  "I'm healed already." He grinned, but his eyes scorched her.

  She could swear her heart fluttered. Her insides melted like butter.

  Before she could get too fanciful, she bent again. Swiped her tongue over his chest and up the strong column of his neck.

  "Sweet mother of—"

  Abruptly she was on her back on the blanket, endless blue sky overhead. He fastened his teeth to one of her nipples, and she yelped.

  "Sorry—I didn't—" He halted. "You're so delicate. I don't want to hurt you."

  She reared up and took his mouth with hers. "You didn't. Don't you dare stop. I could eat you alive."

  He laughed. "Not if I devour you first." He unzipped her jeans and drew them down her legs, nibbling his way as he went. He seemed to catch every sensitive spot she possessed as he cruised his way back up.

  Then he drew her panties off with his teeth.

  She nearly swooned.

  Then his eyes widened. "You have a tattoo." He grinned at her.

  A youthful indiscretion. "It's a tasteful one," she protested. Well, sort of.

  "Betty Boop." He winked. "I always thought she was kinda hot."

  "Of course you did. Don't laugh at me."

  "Oh, darlin', I'm definitely not laughing." He bent and swirled his tongue over the image, ending with a kiss that felt like a benediction.

  She couldn't seem to get her footing with him.

  Then his tongue traveled to more intimate places.

  She gasped. Dug her fingers into his hair.

  After that, it was all heat and need and speed, as they took one another to the brink and beyond.

  She'd made love outside before, but it had never been remotely like this.

  Nothing had ever been like this.

  He nipped and suckled, licked soft, slow stripes over her skin. Pressed intimate kisses to her core, then used his tongue and teeth to devastating effect over tender tissues crying out for him to let her fly over the edge.

  But he was taking his time, heat and need notwithstanding.

  Then he switched the pace. Made her scream.

  And she flew. Collapsed, melting in the aftermath. Wanted him inside her in the worst way.

  Instead he started all over again, building a fire that was quickly consuming her.

  She shoved at his shoulder, caught him off guard and tumbled him to his back. "My turn," she said, and began working her way over his body, nipping at his hip, licking his navel, dancing her tongue down his happy trail to—

  "No. Scarlett, don't. I'm too close—"

  She took him into her mouth, and he groaned from deep in his belly. She tormented them both for precious seconds—

  Abruptly she was picked up by her waist.

  Lifted clean off the ground.

  God, he was so strong. So freaking gorgeous.

  He slid her down over him with agonizing slowness…

  She couldn't help moaning aloud as she took him in.

  His laugh was shaky. "Yeah. Me, too."

  She opened her eyes and looked into his beautiful brown ones.

  For a moment they were both suspended on the edge of something she couldn't name.

  "You are so beautiful," he said.

  And then he lifted her and settled her again, until she took over the rhythm. She rode him until need was screaming through her—

  Then found herself on her back once more with his powerful frame over her as he sent them both soaring.

  * * *

  They napped in the sunshine beneath the second blanket he commended himself on thinking to bring. When he awoke, she was cuddled in his arms.

  And she felt exactly right there. Ian stared around him at this place that had always been special to him, but never this special before.

  Could he figure out a way to keep her?

  Did he want to?

  Hell, yeah, he did. But that wasn't the problem.

  He had to find out why s
he was so intent on leaving.

  Then she stirred in his arms and opened her eyes. Smiled up at him. "Wow." She pressed a kiss to his chest and opened her mouth on his nipple.

  The whys and the hows would just have to wait.

  They made love again, more slowly this time, but more playfully as well. She drizzled wine over his chest and sipped it from his navel.

  He painted her body with wine and suckled every drop.

  You know this is special, he thought. You have to.

  Her eyes said she did.

  He wouldn't risk screwing this up with words.

  Instead he took her mouth with his and told her with his body everything he didn't think she would want to hear.

  Afterward, they devoured every bite he'd brought.

  * * *

  She was surprised that the kitchen was clean, and she smiled ruefully at herself. Just because two guys lived here didn't mean she should assume they couldn't clean up after themselves.

  Hadn't she learned that Ian McLaren was a man of purpose who managed to accomplish whatever he intended? Hadn't she just gone on a picnic with him even though she'd meant as recently as this morning to find a way out of it?

  And oh, what a picnic it had been. A delicious shiver trembled through her body. He was an extraordinary lover. Built, yes, mouthwateringly so, but even if he hadn't been such eye candy, he took care of her…in so many ways. Satisfied her, yes. Made her scream. She bit her lip to stifle the grin that kept wanting to pop out.

  "What can I do to help?" said that very voice, the one that seemed to resonate inside her as no other had.

  "I've got it under control. Why don't you go relax with your dad?"

  "I can hang with my dad anytime." His voice was a deep burr that abraded her nerves like velvet on tender flesh.

  She couldn't resist glancing up, only to see his gaze hot on hers.

  "Why would I want to be anywhere else but here? For once I don't have to share you with the whole blasted town." He grinned, but his eyes were dark and serious.

  "Don't look at me that way."

  "What way? Like I could devour you in one bite?" His dimple popped. "If I weren't so hungry I'd drag you off and do exactly that."

  "What about your dad? And how can you be hungry again? You ate every crumb of your picnic share and half of mine."

  "I just did chores. I worked up an appetite again." His gaze locked on hers, then dropped to her mouth. "Or maybe I'm just hungry for this." He lowered his head and took her mouth in a sweet, spicy-hot kiss.

  "You're getting in the way of my cooking," she murmured, but couldn't resist grabbing a kiss of her own.

  He drew her into his arms and slid one hand into her hair, cradling her head close while he brought their bodies together.

  Clearly he was hungry for more than food.

  She was, too.

  "Okay for me to—" His dad halted at the door. "Sorry."

  Scarlett broke away. Was she blushing? "Please don't be. Your son is distracting me."

  "Maybe you should put both of us to work," his dad said. "What can we do to help?"

  Scarlett was torn between a wish to commune with this kitchen in private and the desire to know them better. You shouldn't. It's not wise. No, it wasn't. But this was their kitchen, wasn't it? "You said you had more red wine."

  "I do. Want a glass?" Ian answered

  "I would because it was wonderful, but no—I want to make this beef dish from a little bistro on the Left Bank."

  Ian's eyes lit. "Glad I bought a couple of extra bottles while I was there."

  She smiled. "Me, too."

  "I'll just go get it."

  "You using beef from the cafe?" his dad asked.

  "Ian said you have plenty here."

  "Sure do. What cut do you need? You won't find better than Double Bar M beef. Ian's got some he raised organic." His brows drew together. "Had to set aside a whole blasted pasture to meet the requirements."

  "You wouldn't have to go slaughter the cow right now if I said yes?"

  Gordon chuckled. "No, ma'am. Got a freezer full right there. You'd have to thaw it, but we have a microwave."

  "I would love that. Is it marked? Should—would you rather get it out?"

  "You make yourself right at home, little girl. Mi casa es su casa."

  "Thank you." She went to the freezer and picked out what she wanted. On her return, she first stopped at the wood cook stove that she'd spotted earlier. "You never use this?"

  "Naw. Many a meal has been prepared there, and my mom used it all the time, but my wife—" He shook his head. "She only wanted the new."

  Ian had still not returned, and Scarlett itched to know more about this mysterious woman. "Where was she from, if you don't mind my asking?"

  "I don't. I met her when I was in the service. She was from San Francisco. Should have left her where I found her. She'd have been happier." He grimaced. "But I wouldn't have Ian. Boy's the light of my life."

  "It must have been hard, raising him alone." She smiled. "I hear he was a handful."

  Gordon laughed. "There were days when I swear I coulda worn a belt out on his behind and never made a dent in his determination. Boy always did know what he wanted, and those other three…" He chuckled. "I took him out on the range with me every day until he started school. Life was busy, but I wouldn't trade for a second of it."

  "He seems to have turned out very well, Mr. McLaren. You did a good job of raising him."

  "Told you to call me Gordon, and yes, he's a very good man. I worry about him, though. Boy's got too much on his shoulders, and I'm not worth a damn to help anymore." He looked off into the distance, his expression sorrowful.

  "I bet he'd say that you already did a lifetime's worth of shouldering the load."

  Gordon lifted a shoulder. "Weight gets heavier on him all the time." He glanced over, eyes eagle-sharp. "Don't make it harder on him, Scarlett. You're not interested, I'm gonna ask you to back away. You might be eager to leave this place like your mama was, and that's your privilege—but I don't want my boy being left with a hollow chest the way I was."

  She wanted to feel indignant, but the clear love for his son trumped that. "He's a wonderful man, Mr—Gordon. I just…things are complicated."

  "Life is complicated, but I've always found that some plain talking fixes most anything." In his eyes was a warning.

  Hadn't she tried to keep herself apart from Ian until today? Didn't she know getting involved was wrong?

  But there was something about him that she just could not resist. "I don't want to hurt anyone, Gordon. I never expected to find so much to care about here."

  They both heard Ian's footsteps on the wood floors.

  With one last exchange of glances, they dropped the subject.

  "I brought you a present," Ian said. "Fresh cream and butter from our Jersey."

  She pressed a hand to her chest. "I swear my heart just skipped a beat."

  They both laughed.

  "I'm serious. I have never had a chance to cook right at the source of the ingredients. I tried in my restaurant to have everything as fresh as possible, but still it had been trucked in. I would dearly love to have a place where I could cook with solely local ingredients."

  Ian was watching her with a look she could only classify as fond. "So you can do something with these?"

  "Are you kidding? Just you watch me." She opened the package of meat. "This beef is beautifully marbled."

  "It's Brangus, a cross-breed of Brahma and our Angus bull. Brahmas can tolerate the heat, and Angus marbles well. I'd like to take the whole operation organic."

  "Too damn expensive," his dad said.

  "There's a market for it, Mr.—uh, Gordon. Maybe not here in Sweetgrass, but I bet you money there are high-end restaurants in Austin or San Antonio that would jump all over it. Grocery stores, too. People care a lot about what goes into their food these days, and cities provide customers who can afford it."

  She didn't miss the lo
ok Ian cast his father.

  "Nothing wrong with the old ways," his dad grumbled.

  "There's room for both," she said. "But Ian is onto something." It wasn't her business, * * *

  Two hours later, the place smelled like pure heaven. Bread was baking, and whatever that French dish was had an aroma that made Ian's mouth water. At Scarlett's request, he'd invited Ruby and Arnie, Brenda and Henry out to share in the bounty. The Judge and Mrs. Oldham had already been settled in for the night, but he'd promised them leftovers—if there were any, given how amazing this stuff smelled.

  Scarlett had asked him to make a salad while she whipped up a fresh dressing out of thin air, it seemed. "You have a recipe in your head for that?"

  She glanced up. "No, I've never made this particular dressing before. I'm used to having an array of fresh herbs to work with, so I'm inventing with what I could find."

  He shook his head in amazement. "You really know your way around a kitchen, don't you?"

  She performed a little curtsey. "I do indeed, sir." She looked over toward the wood stove. "I bet the bread would be even better if I knew how to use that."

  "Dad might remember some. Ruby would probably know, too. You're welcome to try it anytime, though it doesn't feel fair to have you over and make you work."

  "I asked, remember?" Her eyes sparkled. "This is a wonderful kitchen. I know you'll think I'm crazy, but I swear I can feel the women who used it. I've never been in a space with so much soul to it."

  She surprised a laugh from him. "A kitchen with soul."

  "Don't scoff, unbeliever. You don't understand kitchens the way I do. You don't like being in here, so it doesn't do its magic for you."

  "You think those pioneer women felt magic here?" He shook his head. "New York, their lives were about as hard as it gets. They weren't in here having fun."

  "I know that. Or I guess I would if I'd ever given a second's thought to what a woman's life was like on the frontier. But still, when you cook with love, there's a kind of magic to it that seeps into the walls. If these walls could talk…"

  His face closed down. "Not all the stories would be good."

  She touched his arm. "You don't know that she didn't love you, Ian."

  His jaw flexed. "She left me, that's what I know. Never looked back." He shook his head. "But she's nothing to me. I never spare her a thought."