Lone Star Woman

by CALLAHAN, SADIE

  “If you hadn’t inherited your aunt’s ranch,” she asked, “would you have stayed in Stephenville?”

  “No. Before Aunt Margie passed away, I had been planning to start a new subdivision in a small town west of Fort Worth, where my mom lives. I already had my eye on some land and was putting some things in place.”

  “What if you can’t make the ranch work? Will you leave Lockett?”

  “I’ll have to.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  He was certain he heard dismay in her voice and was ridiculously pleased. “Jude, would you care?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I just can’t say I wouldn’t.”

  13

  Jude awoke, her stomach rumbling, but she didn’t open her eyes. Though everything in the kitchen had been packed, she knew a plastic jug of milk still sat inside the refrigerator. The idea of cold, soothing liquid sliding down her throat was incredibly enticing.

  The only sound she could hear was the low roar of the air conditioner. The room was cold, but beneath the sheet, Brady’s skin was toasty warm. She could feel his even breathing on her neck, his steady heartbeat and crisp chest hair against her back. She thought of waking him but decided against it. They had made love all night. The last time, they had emerged from a deep slumber, more asleep than awake, and found each other in the dark. Later they had drifted back to sleep with him still inside her.

  Through the gauzy layers of her still half-asleep brain, the conversation she’d had with Suzanne echoed. . . . You’ve never had it when it was really, really good. If you ever did . . . you couldn’t leave it alone. . . . When you find a guy who does it all, you’ll be so hungry for it, you’ll beg him.

  She felt silly and girlish. No wonder Suzanne constantly railed at her about her about being naive. Naive was what she was. Up until last night, that is. Would she now be someone who couldn’t leave it alone? Would she now find herself chasing after men, as Suzanne sometimes did, just for sex? She shrank from the thought, but at the same time, after what she and Brady had done in this bed, how could her attitude toward men, any men, ever be the same?

  Brady. She felt a tiny smile tug at her lips. Sweet, strong and gentle Brady. She had never known such intimacy with another human being. Compared to him, the two men her family would have seen her marry were pathetic.

  Finally, she opened her eyes and saw the chilly bedroom bright with sunshine filtering through the Venetian blinds. Uh-oh. The clock was packed and she didn’t wear a wrist-watch, but from the look of the golden light surrounding them, it had to be at least seven. And they had a five- or six-hour slow drive ahead of them, hauling horses. So much for Brady’s plan to get back to Lockett by noon.

  His arm lay like a weight across her body. She carefully moved it from around her midsection and untangled her legs from his. He stirred but didn’t awaken. She sat up and yawned, waiting for her wits to organize. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes. Her nose felt stuffy, which always happened when she slept in a room with air-conditioning. She was used to open windows and fresh air from outside.

  Spying last night’s jeans and top in two separate spots, she started to stand up but almost fell back to the mattress. Before last night, she’d had sore muscles from helping him with the barn boards. This morning she had tenderness in new places.

  She picked up her clothing and padded to the living room, where she had left her duffel, scolding herself for having four margaritas last night. Even in college, she’d never had four margaritas in an evening. In the bathroom, she washed as best she could with the corner of one of the two towels that hadn’t been packed. Then she brushed her teeth and washed yesterday’s makeup off with her hands.

  Sensitive whisker burns reddened her mouth and chin, even her breasts and stomach. Good grief. Would Daddy notice those on her face? And if he did, would he know what they were? She dug into her makeup bag and found cream.

  Unfortunately, she had brought only one change of clothing and she had worn it last night. The black lace panties smelled musky, reminding her of how wet she had been before Brady stripped her clothes off. She dug in her duffel and found the panties she had worn yesterday. The old jeans she had worn yesterday were filthy, so she put on last night’s jeans, enduring the stiffened inseam that chafed her sore places. Finally, she brushed her hair until it crackled with electricity, then plaited it into a single braid. She left the bathroom and tiptoed past the bed. Brady filled more than half of it.

  With no glasses left in the kitchen cabinets, she pulled the milk jug out of the refrigerator and drank directly from it, the cold, smooth liquid easing the gnawing feeling inside her stomach. She had never been a big milk drinker, but if she spent much time around Brady, she might become one.

  Spending time with Brady. The idea brought to the forefront of her mind a conundrum she didn’t know how to tackle. A courtship—and he hadn’t said he wanted that—would be impossible to maintain back in Lockett unless he quit his job at the Circle C. And if he did that, how would he earn enough to hang on to the 6-0? In Willard County, made up of ninety-nine percent family farms and ranches, few real jobs existed.

  Even with working at the Circle C, rebuilding his aunt’s old place might be impossible. Then there was Grandpa’s intention to acquire the 6-0. Exactly how he planned to do that had yet to manifest itself, but she knew her grandfather. He would get it done eventually. As much as she loved him, a secret part of her believed he was his father’s son.

  She returned the milk to the refrigerator, then, careful to be quiet, opened the front door and went outside into the morning sun. It appeared today’s weather would be a duplicate of yesterday’s—sunny and pleasant now, until the temperature climbed into the nineties in the afternoon. She placed her palms at the small of her back and stretched, then sank to the porch’s top step. The sun hadn’t had time to warm the porch’s wrought-iron mesh, and one layer of denim didn’t protect her bottom from the cold metal.

  But that discomfort was nothing compared to the frustration now building within her. She had so much to think about, so much guilt to absorb.

  She had never known sex—no, lovemaking was what it had been—as it had been with Brady. She had always known something was missing between her and Webb and, later, between her and Jason. Now she knew what. In Brady’s arms, she had been his total focus. He had made her feel as if she were a goddess and his only concern was to please her. She had never been the total focus of either of the two men whose engagement rings she had worn. Strayhorn wealth and influence had always been an elephant in the room. Strange. She hardly knew Brady Fallon, but other than providing him with a job, her family’s money seemed to mean nothing to him.

  But there was no upside to this story. She and Brady had polar goals and battles to wage—starting with her family and the lifetime caveat Daddy and Grandpa had hammered into her. She had heard it a thousand times as a little girl: Stay away from the bunkhouse, Jude.

  When she became a teenager, the mantra had changed: Don’t forget who you are, Jude. . . . Don’t get involved with one of the hands, Jude. . . . Don’t distract the hands from their work, Jude.

  She hadn’t heard those admonishments in recent years, but no matter. They were marked in her brain as permanently as a brand. And just because they were no longer voiced didn’t mean she could ignore them. She might be a grown woman, but no way would it ever be acceptable to either Daddy or Grandpa, or even to herself, for her to have slept with a ranch employee. She had done something so irresponsible, so against the rules, so unacceptable, it had to be kept a secret. If Daddy and Grandpa ever learned about it, things would be bad for Brady. As sure as the sun rose and set, they would fire him. Nothing was as unpleasant as the cold, hard truth. What had she done?

  Then there were the lies she had already told her father, heightened by her father’s expectation of a report on the Boren watercolor from the museum in Fort Worth. A sigh escaped. She had mere hours and a little over three hundred miles to make up another believable
lie. Damn. Lying was hard.

  As if all of that weren’t enough, guilt and insecurity fueled a deep-seated anguish. For the first time in her life, she’d had a one-night stand. She now knew how it felt to wake up beside a man she hardly knew. She might have touched every naked body part, but that didn’t mean she knew him. Anxiety wormed into her stomach. How would he feel about her this morning after she had thrown herself at him? After all they had done last night?

  She thought of her cousin, Jake, and his ability to see through everyone and every circumstance. His respect meant more to her than anyone’s. What would he think of her if he knew she had practically forced herself on one of his good friends? Would Brady tell him?

  Dear God, what kind of a mess had she made? At the sheer awfulness of it, she propped her elbows on her knees and covered her face with her hands. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get back home, back to the safety of the Circle C. Leaving the ranch house’s rock walls was dangerous.

  The sound of a vehicle caught her attention, and she looked toward the county road. In the distance, a pickup turned onto the driveway and sped up the hill toward the mobile, dust trailing behind it. “Oh, damn,” she mumbled under her breath.

  The pickup, a newer-model Ford, came to a stop, and a burly man, belly bulging over his belt, climbed out and stamped up to the porch in quick little steps. He eyed her in a peculiar way and planted his hammy hands at his waist. “Jack Durham’s my name. You a friend of Brady’s?”

  Yikes! Brady’s boss. Or, that is, his old boss. “Yes.”

  The man looked around. “Where’s he at?” he asked gruffly.

  She hesitated. “Uh . . . sleeping.”

  His eyelids narrowed. “What’d you say your name is?”

  Her stomach dropped. It was possible Daddy, Grandpa and Jack Durham were acquainted. “Uh, Judy. Judy Strong.”

  “You look familiar. You live around here?”

  “Abilene. I’m from Abilene.”

  His assessing eyes pored over her. “Don’t hardly ever get to Abilene. But you shore do look familiar. You ever go to the cuttin’ shows in Fort Worth?”

  “Uh, no.” Another lie. “I must have one of those faces that looks like everyone else’s.”

  “Huh,” he said, continuing to examine her until she began to feel uncomfortable. Now she was certain this man must have seen her before, and it could very well have been at a horse show. If not in Fort Worth, then somewhere else.

  “I need to talk to Brady,” he said. “Reckon we could wake ’im up?”

  She got to her feet, eager to escape. “Sure. I’ll get him.”

  Just then, Brady came out of the mobile buttoning the shirt he had worn to supper last night. He must have heard them talking. “Hey, Jack, what’s up?”

  “Thought I’d save you some trouble. I come by to get the keys. I figured you’d be close to clearin’ out by now.”

  “Almost. Just have to load up a few more things.”

  “Well, go ahead and gimme the keys. I got a Meskin gonna move in here and look after the stock in this pasture. I told ’im he could bring his stuff on over around noon.”

  “I’ll get ’em.” Brady walked back into the mobile.

  “By George, I got it.” Jude whipped around toward the voice. To her horror, Mr. Durham’s sausagelike finger was pointing at her. “It was Amarillo at the horse sale. You was sittin’ with Strayhorn’s horse wrangler, Clary Harper. He’s a good friend of mine. Known ’im for years. Clary bought that big palomino mare that day.”

  Jude knew the horse. She thought panic might explode her skeleton, but before that happened, Brady returned to the porch with a ring of keys. When he handed them over to his former boss, the man said, “Damn, Brady, it pains me to see you go. You done a good job for me here. It’s hard to find a man you can trust out here all by hisself.”

  Brady looked as if he wanted to jump off the porch and run. Jude was beginning to learn that he did not deal well with compliments. He ducked his chin and scratched his eyebrow with his thumb. “Thanks, Jack.”

  “But I wish you the best. I hope you get that place a-goin’. It was a fine thing your aunt done leavin’ it to you.”

  After more conversation, he and Jack Durham said their good-byes and Brady assured him he would be gone within an hour or two at the most.

  As soon as the rancher left, Brady turned to her, the corners of his beautiful mouth tipped up into a wide, white smile. “Morning.” He came to her, hooked an arm around her neck, drew her close and placed a smooch on her lips. “You sore?” he asked softly. He picked up the end of her braid and tickled the tip of her nose with it.

  He was obviously unconcerned about Jack Durham seeing her here, but Jude’s heart was beating like a snare drum. “A little. That last time—”

  “Was awesome,” he finished, and smooched her lips again. “I woke up hard as a fence rail. If Jack hadn’t showed up here, I was planning on dragging you back into that bed.”

  She was too distressed to think about what he said. “Brady, he knows who I am. At least almost. He’s seen me before.”

  Brady’s gaze swung to the departing pickup. “How do you know?”

  “He said so. He saw me at the horse sale in Amarillo a few months ago. I was there with Daddy and Clary Harper.”

  “Who’s Clary Harper?”

  “The ranch’s horse wrangler. He takes care of the remuda. If Mr. Durham puts two and two together . . .”

  “Shit,” Brady mumbled, then looked down at her, frowning and pulling his lower lip through his teeth. It didn’t seem possible, but she felt an invisible barrier spring up between them. “Did you tell him your name?”

  “I said Judy Strong. From Abilene.” She pulled away from him and sank to the porch, unconcerned about the chill of the wrought iron against her bottom. “I swear to God, if I ever get back to Lockett, I will never tell another lie.”

  When he didn’t say anything, she turned her head and looked up at him. He was gazing out toward the horizon and a clear blue summer sky, not revealing so much as a hint of his thoughts, and she realized again that she truly did not know him. She had no idea what might be going on inside his head. Still, she needed reassurance of some kind from him. She waited for him to sit down beside her and put his arm around her, yearned to hear him say everything was okay.

  But he didn’t. A long silence passed. Then he said, “I’m gonna get the bedroom cleaned out.” His eyes met hers. “Lying’s never a good plan.” He turned and walked back into the mobile.

  Back in the trailer, Brady began to strip the sheets off the bed. Shit. This charade he was in the middle of had stopped being a game. What were the odds Jack Durham would appear from out of the blue this morning and have a face-to-face with Jude on the damn front porch? Or that he would have seen her at a horse sale just a few months back? In the almost two years Brady had worked for Jack, the man hadn’t visited this remote trailer half a dozen times. When Brady had needed a personal meeting about something, he had usually gone to the Durham ranch house. He had heard Jack say at some point in the past that he was acquainted with the Circle C’s horse wrangler, but it was one of those inconsequential facts simply thrown into conversation, and Brady hadn’t let it take up room in his mind.

  Now he wished he had remembered hearing it. No way would he have brought Jude here. If word of their overnight trip somehow got back to J. D. Strayhorn and the man figured out that his daughter and Brady had slept together, for damn sure, Brady would find himself unemployed. And that would set him off on Plan B, a direction he had neither thoroughly thought through nor wanted to go.

  Shit. Women. Just look at the trouble they had caused him. When Jude had come on to him last night, why hadn’t he tucked her into bed, said good night and bedded down on the couch? He had been in sticky situations with women before and had usually had wits enough to make the right choices. So where had those wits been last night? He couldn’t even blame what had happened on booze because he hadn’t drunk that
much. His judgment seemed worse now at thirty-four than it had been at twenty-four.

  As he gathered the sheets into a ball and stuffed them into a black plastic bag, the smell of sex reached his nose and he couldn’t keep from thinking of last night. He had no logical answers for his logical questions, but he sure had some illogical excuses. Last night, he had wanted Jude in a way he hadn’t wanted any woman in a long time. When he learned she wanted him, too, his ego had soared and temptation had won out.

  Compared to most women he had known, she was practically untouched. Instead of turning him off, that knowledge had been a powerful aphrodisiac. All he had been able to think about was how he wanted her for his own, how he wanted to possess her. And how he didn’t want some asshole like Ace pawing her. He hadn’t had that attitude about a woman, including the woman who had been his wife, in a long, long time, if ever. Indeed, last night, Brady Fallon had wanted to be Jude Strayhorn’s man.

  But this was today, and reality had ridden the sunrays right into the room, bringing conflict with it. A woman like her could fuck up his life beyond description. She was daddy’s little girl who had everything she wanted all the time. He knew firsthand just how hard that was to live with. Jude, despite her inexperience with sex, had her choice of men, no doubt. With all she had to offer, she had only to crook a finger and a dozen salivating bird dogs would follow her anywhere. He had to forget about her.

  Could he? Last night she had said things to him, things that made him think he meant something to her. Could he believe her? Did he dare?

  Even if those questions had answers, and even if he still wanted her, two facts he couldn’t ignore: He simply had nothing to offer her, and he couldn’t afford her.