by Taylor Hart
“There are serious things in our own country happening that nobody wants to talk about either.” He countered.
He wasn’t making sense. “What does that have to do with Nigeria?”
“I’m just saying, there are lots of ways to change the world, Liberty. It doesn’t have to be at risk to yourself.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Has anybody ever had a say in what you do or don’t do with your life?”
An easy smile filled his face. “Point taken, but I never had a trust fund with strings attached to it, so it’s probably not a good comparison.”
“Exactly.” She agreed.
“But, you need to give yourself more credit.”
“What does that mean?” She asked.
“You don’t need somebody’s money to change the world. You’re clearly smart, capable, and annoyingly persistent.” He winked at her. “You just need to trust yourself.”
Trust herself. Something about hearing those words resonated with her. She liked that.
“You have to live hard and die young.”
Another of his songs.
She smiled, hating to admit he amused her.
He pointed at her and stood. “Yeah. You know it, don’t you?” He belted out the first words to his song. “That woman looked like an angel, but she fought like a dog, wanting to give her life to anyone … she didn’t know who she was.”
Mischief was in his eyes, and she laughed again, hating that she’d been pretty much listening to his songs all the time, even in the background while she wrote the article. She did know his music much better now. She grinned. “I hate that song too.”
He laughed. “I bet you really hate the line, ‘She was born to be a princess, but never found the right Charming.’”
She laughed. “Shut it!”
Before she knew what was happening, he stood and bent and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder. His strength was impressive and overwhelming.
“Stop!” she yelled, pounding on his back.
“Sing the next line, or I’ll throw you in the pool.” He loomed over the pool with a bit of energy that had her hanging onto him.
She giggled.
“Sing it!”
She reached for the words. “But when you’re born young and free, you have to live hard and die young!”
Then she was sailing through the air and splashed into the water.
The cold of it jolted all her senses. She emerged, laughing and hating him. “You liar!"
Laughing, he shrugged. “You’re right. I am a liar!” He cannonballed into the pool. “Liberty!” he shouted as he cowbunga-ed in.
When he emerged, she was ready and pushed his head back under. She erupted into giggles.
He was way too strong and got a hold of her foot to yank her toward him.
She tried to fight back, finding his chest with her other foot and kicking hard.
He was still too strong, and she found herself going under.
When she emerged this time, he had a stupid, playful look on his face.
She splashed him, and he splashed her back, reaching for her, pulling her into him and spinning her around so her back was against him. “You are one feisty little reporter. I will tell you that.”
Her heart raced, and she tried to ignore the attraction she felt for him. It was insane how the smell of Irish Soap was intensified. That his eyes looked somehow even bluer, and the feel of his naked chest against her felt irresistible.
Hale flashed through her mind. His propriety. He would never be out in the pool goofing around. Sure, at the pool talking politics with someone. Not in the pool playing with her.
She noticed the tattoo on the inside of his bicep, the flesh closest to his body. Suddenly, she thought about an article she’d read about the Purple Heart he’d received.
Taking a chance, she touched the tattoo. “You were shot in the arm during an attack. Is this where?” As she traced the tattoo, the skin revealed a scar.
He went completely still, keeping her in his arms.
She continued to trace the tattoo to the inside of his bicep. Looking closer, she spotted names. “What does it mean?”
He didn’t answer, just let her go.
She turned to face him and saw all the playfulness gone. This was the thing about Texas Waters. There was no mask. Every bit of him wasn’t polished or ready for an introduction to someone who could bring in clients.
No, he was himself, and she could read his emotions. She hadn’t been able to at first because he held them behind a wall and a distant look. With that look, you didn’t know if he was thinking about you at all, or somewhere lost in his head. She also recognized pain in his eyes. Reaching up, she gently touched his face. “Tell me about your pain, Texas.” Her voice was soft.
Taking her hand into his, he shook his head. “Why?" He gave her a sardonic look. “So you can enjoy my music more, so it will be meaningful to you?” The way he said it was laced with sarcasm.
Taking a chance, she closed the space between them and tentatively reached out, touched his tattoo, winding her fingers over the barbed wire that ended in the jagged scar and the names etched into it. “So I can know you.”
Their eyes held, and she didn’t know what was happening, but it was all changing between them. She felt like she was falling. Falling like how other music had described love before. Something out of control and off balance. She tried to think of one of his songs that could express the way she felt, but she couldn’t think of one.
She didn’t know if he would tell her or not, but then he pointed to one side of the tattoo. “My buddy John Sucko, my buddy José Sharpton.” He pointed to four more names. “Roscoe Frank, George Watson, Luke Hemley, and Tyrone Smith.” He looked back at her and those eyes, those dangerous deep eyes, were clear. “I couldn’t save them." He flinched. "I should’ve saved them, but I couldn’t.” He sighed. “Our platoon was tasked with clearing a building. I sent them upstairs while I cleared the bottom. They were only gone a couple of seconds, and this kid emerged. He was about twelve. He looked harmless, but I could see it in the way he looked, how he approached me with something like balls of steel. He ran into the stairwell, and the building blew.”
She was silent, her heart raced.
“I got five out. We dug through that rubble all night and into the next day, pulling out the rest, but it was too late.” His jaw flexed.
The moment was filled with emotion. Truth, sorrow, responsibility, loss, and in comparison to everything he’d been through in his life, her pain was nothing. More than his rough childhood, it was his military service. Service for which he’d been awarded a Purple Heart and presidential honors he clearly hated because of the men who had died who he couldn’t save. Now, his father was dying and he couldn’t save him either. She felt like an idiot.
“That’s it, Wright. Where are your fancy reporter words now?”
Her heart beat wildly. She shook her head. “I’m such an idiot. My problems are so stupid compared to the life you’ve lived.”
Seeming to evaluate her, he gently reached out and took her hand, peering into what felt like her soul. “Pain is pain, Wright. Pain hurts like hell.” He let out a breath. “The longer I live, the more life I experience, and the more men that die, the less answers I get. The more I understand we all just live with it. In our own, as you would say, broody way.”
An understanding fell through her. He wasn’t a “bad boy,” this broody, dangerous-looking, soul-piercing giant of a man. No. He was just a hero. He was a lost hero. “A lone star cowboy.” She muttered.
“What?” He asked confused.
Shaking her head, she let out a laugh. “I’ve been listening to a lot of country music lately.
He pointed at her accusingly, and grinned. “You’re converting.”
Giving him a slow smile she ignored the silly happiness that her listening to country
music seemed to give him. She held up her hand. “It really fits you.” She’d been listening to a variety of country music lately.
Cocking an eyebrow, he shook his head no.
“Yes,” she said, liking the sound of it more and more. “You’re brave, you have the whole hero thing going on.”
He rolled his eyes.
She laughed. “You do. And, you’re good, honorable, duty bound.”
“I’m not as good as you think.” He stared at her lips.
Her heart hammered in her chest and she thought how much she really admired him. “Yes, you are.” Thinking of all he’d been through she said, “I thought I was the one here getting answers, but you saw me. Saw through to my pain.” She was mystified.
Letting her hand go, a small smile played at his lips. “I guess we see each other.” He said softly. He let out a little laugh. “It kinda sucks, doesn’t it?”
Compassion surged through her. “I’m sorry, Texas. For all you’ve been through.”
Briefly, he looked raw and vulnerable himself, but it was only for a second. He shrugged. “Up close and personal enough for you, Wright?” His words weren’t mean or sarcastic. They were sad.
Before she even knew what she was doing, she leaned over to his bicep, and she kissed his scar, slowly, pointedly.
The gesture felt intimate, and she felt him stiffen.
“The Lone Star Groom.” A slow smile played at her lips. “The last man of honor and principle.” She winked at him. “You can tell Montana that would be a good angle for you.”
His eyes were still intense, she could feel he was still stuck in ‘kissing the bicep’ world.
Rearing back, she felt ashamed. Why had she done that? She covered her mouth. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry.” What was happening to her?
That intense, smoldering look was back. He looked determined, almost angry and a bit wild too. It left her a bit afraid.
Before she knew it, he clamped his hands on her biceps and pulled her into him. “I told you, I’m not as good as you give me credit for.” His mouth crushed hers. Hard.
At first, she was shocked, almost paralyzed by him. Overwhelmed by this intensity.
Then she felt herself give in and found herself reaching for his neck, grabbing his hair, and pulling him closer to her.
Passion, fire, and pain, all rolled into one as he deepened the kiss.
Reminding her, this was not Hale. This was not anyone she’d ever kissed or dreamed of kissing.
The hulking, brave, army types had never been her type. She’d found them a bit unnerving. Yet she couldn’t get close enough to this one. This man. This darkness in him pulled her to him, and the light of him smothered all her pain.
Yanking back, he pushed her away, forcefully pushed her away. “No.” Looking lost, he shook his head and licked his lips, turning away from her. “No, I can’t. Do. This.”
Humiliation washed through her.
“You’re as good as engaged to another man.” His eyes were angry.
He was right, she wasn’t some groupie. Out of the blue, she laughed at how ridiculous this all was. Here she was in a pool kissing a man she hardly knew.
He swung back to her, his eyes wary. “What’s so funny, Wright?”
Great, he was offended.
She laughed harder and began backing up to the side of the pool, finding a ladder. “I’m not this person.” She fumbled and found her way out of the pool, but she felt like she was in some type of shock on the side of the road, after getting hit by a car. She laughed harder and then felt tears on her cheeks. “I rode a motorcycle, and”—she gestured to the hot tub—“I’m hot tubbing with Texas Waters? And kissing you in the pool?" She lost it and laughed harder, feeling insane. Crumbling, she rushed away from the pool. “This is not my life. I’m … I’m …” As she slid the door open, she didn’t know what she was anymore.
Chapter 16
Texas ran hard early the next morning, pushing himself on the road in front of Montana’s house. Usually, he ran on the treadmill in the fitness room, but when he’d woken at five thirty, unable to quiet his mind or quit replaying that earth-shattering kiss he’d fallen asleep thinking about, or the feel of her against him which had given him a whole other mind-troubling problem, he’d hit the pavement.
Nothing was better for pushing something out of his mind like a hard run.
He grinned as Paradise City blasted through his ear buds. Bless hard core rock.
Heck yeah, he listened to it. Eighties, nineties, early seventies, some sixties. They all had a place. It was the one thing he’d probably been given from his father that he liked. His love of rock. His mama had loved Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, and Dolly Parton. Texas guessed he’d meshed it all. It wasn’t completely original. A lot of artists were doing it. But the Backstreet Boys playing with Florida Georgia Line? Or all that poppy, preppy hit stuff? Justin Bieber crap. No way. He pushed harder and felt the sweat dripping off of him.
When he got back to the house, he was quiet as he headed down to the weight room, where he hit it hard. He’d been off his schedule, and dang it, when he was off his schedule, crazy stuff happened.
Like the girl.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
It must just be he was off his schedule and he had all this intense pressure on him.
It must be that. His father, he surmised. Why had he gotten in, or let this girl get into, his mind? Usually, he never thought about anyone else’s problems. No. He wasn’t that type. Not the counselor. Not the let me hold you while you cry type of guy. Man! He dropped the fifty pound weights he was curling onto the padded weight room floor.
Dang. That felt good.
Pushing out more sets of heavy lifting, he spent the next hour trying to focus on the current song he was working on in his mind. Going through it line by line. The song wasn’t a love song. Well, on some level they all were. But this one was more rock, upbeat. About a kid getting out of a small town. He tried to think of the lines.
The desperation on her face, the way she clung to him yesterday. The way she’d kissed him like she’d meant it. He hadn’t felt something so real and passionate since … since his thoughts trailed off.
A string of curse words left his mouth.
This wasn’t happening.
It took him off guard when he heard the doorbell that actually sounded through the entire house. Checking the clock on the wall—barely seven thirty, he rushed up the stairs. Who could be here? His band wasn’t scheduled to come until the afternoon, and most of them knew to leave him alone in the mornings.
When he threw back the door upstairs, he instantly knew the guy in the polo shirt, khakis, and brown leather shoes, shoes that were obviously expensive. For some stupid reason, Texas wondered if he could smell the leather.
The guy turned and waved away a car. He held a black bag. The perfect bag for short business trips. He held a phone in his other hand, and he had no facial hair. Texas could already tell this guy had a spa day on his calendar every month. He had to. Everything so perfect made him look like a chick.
“Oh.” The man reached his hand out. “You … well, you’re Texas Waters.” He gave him a polite smile.
Texas didn’t comment, putting his hand out and shaking the man's hand.
Good for Hale, his handshake wasn’t wimpy. Not a dead fish, so he did have one thing going for him.
He wasn’t as tall as Texas, but he was close. Texas estimated he was right around six foot. Obviously, about fifty pounds lighter than him, but he didn’t look like he spent much time in the weight room.
“Hey.” Texas grunted when he pulled his hand back. Texas didn’t invite him in.
Waiting for a sec, Hale gave him a once over. “Sorry, guess I caught you while you were working out.”
Texas knew how he must look. He was wearing gym shorts, no shirt, wireless ear buds, and running shoes. His face was scruffy, and his hair was slicked back with sweat. He could easily look intimidating. Especially if he wanted to. Unfort
unately, he didn’t know what he wanted at the moment.
“Is Liberty here?”
Texas could tell he’d flummoxed the guy. Flummoxed, he laughed to himself, thinking he was using bigger words after being around Liberty for so long.
Texas decided to at least let her choose what she wanted to do. Go with the snobbish, leather shoe wearing idiot or stay here.
He grunted and stepped back. “I’ll get her.”
“If you tell me where she is, I can find my way to the room.” Hale made the offer in a crisp and precise upper-class accent. Once again, Texas mused that the motorcycle riding, hot-tubbing girl from last night didn’t sound so snobbish anymore. That made him smile, but he put up his hand to stop Hale from following. Hale had to know who the boss was. “You stay.” He turned down the hallway.
Most people did what Texas told him. Well, other than Liberty, he thought as he walked to her room and knocked gently.
No answer, no rustle.
Taking a chance, he opened the door, peaking in.
He heard her music blaring as she slept in bed.
A rush of happiness swept through him when he realized it was one of his songs.
Tapping her on the shoulder, she immediately jolted up in bed, her hair matted from falling asleep wet apparently. “What?” She had black beneath her eyes too, and she kinda looked like crap.
All kinds of song titles rushed through his mind. “Ah, your boyfriend’s here.” He said it accusingly.
“What?” Putting her hand to the top of her hair, she blinked. “Hale?”
Texas jerked a thumb down the hall as he retreated from the room. “Unless you got another.” He wanted to ask her if he should send him away, but he already knew he shouldn’t do that.
It was her boyfriend, almost fiancée according to her. He paused. “What do you want me to tell him?”
“Oh.” She still looked dumbfounded. “Tell him I’ll be out in a sec. Thanks.”
Their eyes held and something passed between them.
That rawness. That …
Clarity.
It was hard to describe but if Texas had to, he would say it was like what close friends get when they can really see each other. What parents have with children sometimes. His mama had it with him. It didn’t matter what was happening, she could take one look at his face and know exactly how he felt. He couldn’t hide it from her.