When Things Got Hot in Texas

by Lori Wilde

  Furious at himself, as soon as the man went inside, Bundy left.

  Now, rolling over, his chest heavy with shame, he saw the truck keys on the bedside table. He hadn’t realized he still had the keys until he got back to the hotel. Would the old man realize they were gone and think he misplaced them? Or would he suspect someone had been there. Bundy didn’t need to stir up any suspicion. He should have left them there.

  Or maybe he shouldn’t have left at all. Getting up, he dressed and within thirty minutes he was on the road back to the house where the pickup had been. He was about a half a block from pulling into the long driveway, when he spotted the truck pulling out.

  It looked like the old man driving. Bundy lagged back, gave the truck about ten car lengths so he wouldn’t suspect he was being followed. The tires ate up the road for a good five minutes, heading south, back to the junkyard side of town.

  In a few minutes, the truck pulled off onto a dirt road that had to lead to a house. Today just might be his lucky day.

  Or not.

  The sheriff’s car pulled out from behind a tree. Bundy’s heart thudded. But the sheriff passed and got behind the black pickup. The truck pulled over. Bundy ducked his head and passed by, praying the sheriff wouldn’t look up.

  He drove until he saw another farm and market road that lead back toward town. He’d wait and come back later.

  Clay was feeding the horses that afternoon when he heard the front door bang open and closed. A glance back and he saw Pete’s bowlegged gait walking right at him. Walking with a purpose.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as soon as the man stopped beside him.

  “You’re wrong. You took advantage of her, didn’t you? I oughta . . .”

  Clay pulled the bucket away from Bingo. Jennifer had made it clear she didn’t want Pete to know they were sleeping together. How that was going to affect tonight’s sleeping arrangements had been chewing on him all day.

  “What gives you that idea?” He threw out the question to give him a few seconds to regroup.

  “Don’t bullshit me. It’s written all over your face, and you think I didn’t see how you x-ratedly wiped ketchup off her lip.”

  X-ratedly? Is that even a word? Denying it didn’t seem like the best option, so he searched for a different one, but he came up as empty as the feed bucket. “I’m not taking advantage of her.”

  “So, you’re gonna make an honest woman out of her?”

  “I . . . uh…” Clay scratched his head. “I’m not even exactly sure what that means.”

  Pete’s stance stiffened. “We were supposed to be protecting her. And I go off one night, and you . . . you used your snake charm on her.”

  “I didn’t use . . . I’m not . . . Nothing happened that she didn’t want to happen. And frankly, I really like her, and I don’t feel right talking about this with you.”

  “See, you admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  “You said you liked her. Like! You don’t bed a woman that you just like. I know you got that good-looking curse, just like I do. It’s all too easy to sweet talk a woman naked. But it’s too soon.” He pointed a crooked index finger in Clay’s face. “You shouldn’t have done that. And holy hell, I encouraged it by telling her about breaking horses.”

  “What?” His mind reeled thinking about Pete getting a woman naked by talking about horses. He finally spit out the only thing that made sense. “Times have changed since you were young. Men and women--”

  “They haven’t changed that much. You don’t poke a gal like Jennifer if you aren’t serious about her.”

  Poke? “I’m not . . . not serious.”

  “That girl’s as sweet as fine powdered sugar on warm Christmas cookies. You can’t go hurting her.”

  “I’m not. I care about Jennifer. A lot.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  His mind kept reeling. “Just what I said, I care about her.”

  “So, what’s happening Thursday after the trial? You gonna just live in sin with her, or kiss her goodbye and send her packing?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but not a damn thing came out. His first inclination was to say no, they weren’t going to live together, but they were already living together. More importantly, he liked living with her. Just thinking about the possibility of not sleeping with her tonight had nearly eaten a hole in his stomach.

  But wasn’t it too soon to make the living together official? If the answer was “Yes,” that meant she’d be leaving. And that thought curdled like sour milk on his tongue and threatened to eat a bigger hole out of his stomach.

  He wasn’t ready for her to leave, but he wasn’t ready for her to stay. And that didn’t make a lick of sense.

  “I’m just saying, don’t hurt her!” Pete huffed.

  “I don’t plan on it,” he said, but Pete’s bowlegged gait had already gotten him halfway to the house.

  Clay stood there. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Not that Thursday, two days from now, was that far. How the hell had he not seen this coming?

  Obviously, he and Jennifer needed to talk. But shouldn’t he know what he wanted to say? And right now he couldn’t think what to say, much less how to say it.

  He recalled Jennifer’s concern that he wasn’t in the relationship for the long term. If he brought this up, would she see it as a bad sign?

  How did two people who started a relationship living with each other restart things in separate dwellings without it feeling like a slow down or a step back?

  And why did stepping back feel just as scary as barreling forward?

  Pete and Jennifer cooked dinner, and that meant Clay had kitchen duty. As he wiped down the old Formica countertops, he listened to them laughing at Family Feud. Then his phone rang, and he spent the usual five-minute call with his mom. When he hung up, Jennifer was on the phone. He wasn’t sure, but it sounded like it was her dad.

  The harder Clay tried to find an answer to their living arrangement issue, the more confused he felt.

  Pete retired early. Clay used pillows and an extra blanket to make it look like he was sleeping on the sofa in case Pete woke up to go to the bathroom. Then he slipped in to sleep with Jennifer. They made slow, quiet love.

  It wasn’t as playful as before, but it somehow seemed more powerful. She cried again. He wrapped her in his arms and held her against him, not liking the tears, even when she swore they were good.

  Afterwards, awake in the dark, she asked about his conversation with his mom.

  “It was good.”

  “Are you still mad at her?” Jennifer asked.

  He stared at her. “I’m not . . . why would I be mad?”

  “Because she left you.” She brushed his hair off his brow.

  “I’m not… I mean, she gave me a choice of where I wanted to live.”

  “Why didn’t you go with her?”

  “She was moving to Dallas. I had my horse, my friends, so I chose to stay with my dad.”

  “And that didn’t make you feel abandoned?”

  He hesitated, the question bumping against old hurts he didn’t think needed to be woken up. But the way she looked at him had him answering anyway. “No. Well, maybe, but they got a divorce.”

  “Who wanted the divorce?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “She did. She accused Dad of having an affair.”

  “Did he?” she asked.

  “Dad swore he didn’t.” Clay attempted to push back the past. “That was a lifetime ago. I don’t harbor any grudges.”

  “Then why don’t you see her more?”

  A frown pulled at his lips. “How often do you see your dad? I think that’s the first you spoke to him since you’ve been here.”

  He felt her flinch. “Touché.”

  Shit! Why the hell was he attacking her? “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’re right. I mean, considering we’ve both lost one parent, you’d think we might want to try to mend fences with the ones we have
left.”

  He ran a hand down her bare back, fitting into the naked curve of her waist, wanting to think about her and not the past.

  “Why don’t we make a pact.” Her gaze held soft pleading. “I’ll try to mend things with my dad, and you do the same with your mom.”

  “Okay,” he said, just to make her happy.

  As the night grew late, they held on to each other until they fell asleep. It took Clay a little longer than usual, trying to keep the past where it belonged. Buried. But in the end, he admitted she was right. He should see his mom more.

  At four in the morning, Jennifer woke him up and suggested he go back to the sofa. Leaving her all warm and naked held about as much appeal as being kicked in the balls by a horse.

  And it wasn’t because of the sex. It was the companionship. It was being with someone who made you better than you were alone.

  That’s when Clay knew what he wanted.

  Or what he didn’t want.

  He didn’t want her leaving. Yeah, he was still afraid of this thing between them moving in the break-neck speed it was traveling. But he was more afraid of losing his chance with her. Even a little afraid of her meeting some short, hairy, small-penised, funeral director.

  He left her room and went into the bathroom. When he stepped out, he almost walked over Pete.

  Pete studied him with a puzzled look, then glanced back at the sofa, then back to him again. Muttering something under his breath, he entered the bathroom.

  When Pete came back out, Clay was still standing in the same spot.

  “It’s not just like,” he told the old man. He couldn’t bring himself to say the word love, but it was right there on the tip of his tongue. “And you’re right, it probably happened too fast, but . . . I want to keep her. I mean . . . if she wants to be kept.”

  Chapter 15

  Jennifer hadn’t slept since she’d made Clay leave. All she could think was that in two days it was probably going to end.

  While she was only there because someone was trying to kill her, she’d barely thought about that. Instead, she’d spent the time absorbing and savoring the feeling of . . . of being a part of something. A part of something that felt like a family. Cooking, washing dishes, horseback riding, even watching Family Feud with Pete.

  A part of a relationship that felt so real, so right, that the thought of leaving hurt like a goodbye—a forever kind of goodbye—like the last day of high school hurt, like leaving her first job hurt. Not just the I’m-gonna-miss-this kind of ache, but one that came with knowing it would never be this way again.

  How could it just end? She’d laughed more in these last few days than she had in months. And she felt . . . whole. As if she’d accidentally fallen into some alternate world where she actually belonged. The last few days had been refreshing, relaxing, rewarding . . . Not like a vacation because while you might want a vacation to last forever, you know it won’t. This time here felt like . . . like coming home feels. The sensation you get when the daily stresses fade away, and you kick off your shoes, take off your bra, remove your jewelry, and slide into something cottony.

  Clay, Pete, Devil, even this house with the horses and cattle—all of it fed her soul in a way it hadn’t been fed in a long time.

  But it was illogical to think that she could just stay. It was too soon. They’d never even dated.

  Although wasn’t dating overrated? Didn’t you learn more about someone living with them?

  Stop! Stop! Stop!

  She couldn’t let herself go there. And no matter how much leaving was going to hurt, it didn’t really mean it was a forever goodbye. Clay liked her. Maybe not as much as she liked him, but she knew he cared about her.

  What was it he’d said? Damn it, I have no idea what this is. I can’t promise anything—we just met. But you managed to get under my skin.

  She needed to go a lot deeper than skin. She needed to get all the way to his heart. But just because he hadn’t promised anything didn’t mean that down the road he couldn’t reconsider. Her best chance of this working out long-term was for her to play it cool, not come off like some lovesick, clingy female.

  Leave. And then maybe he’d miss her and want her back.

  But she could eat herself up with maybes. Instead, she should start working on his place.

  She sat up, got into her meditation pose, and pulled her mind away from possible heartbreak. With deep breathes, she forced herself to see his home. Mentally, she did a little virtual tour of the space. Not to see it the way it was, but to see it for its full potential.

  At eight AM, Clay was sitting out on the front porch, sipping a cup of coffee. Pete, who’d gotten up early and fed the animals, walked out.

  “Hey, your phone rang twice.” Pete, dressed in what he called his going-out clothes, handed him the cell.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Where are you heading?”

  “I’m going to go take Ralph home. His son is supposed to be back around one, but he’s likely to get released earlier. And if he’s not feeling well, I might stay with him until his son gets there. I thought I’d go by and pick up some groceries, too. I promised Jennifer I’d show her how to fry chicken when I get back.”

  “Sounds good.”

  When Pete’s truck wouldn’t start, Clay tossed him his keys.

  Pete drove off, stirring up a cloud of Texas dirt in his wake. Walking back toward the house, wanting to go snuggle up with Jennifer, he remembered Pete saying that someone had called him.

  He hit recent calls to see who he’d missed. When the number came up, air hitched in his throat. What the hell did Sheri want?

  When Clay walked in from feeding the horses, Jennifer was standing in the middle of the living room, coffee in hand, turning in slow circles. So focused on the room, she didn’t hear or see him. In spite of the emotional storm talking to his ex-wife had stirred up, he watched her turn, appreciating her at every angle.

  When she still didn’t notice him, he spoke up, “You okay?”

  The question echoed back at him. He’d been so damn sure this morning about the two of them, about what he wanted. The three-minute conversation with Sheri—about her needing a signature to sell a car they’d bought together—had kicked up a boatload of insecurities. He didn’t love her anymore, but he had once.

  And now he worried. Worried that caring this much could land him in another world of hurt. Because, damn it, all the women he’d loved in his life had ended up hurting him.

  Starting with his mom. And Jennifer had even reminded him of that last night.

  When Jennifer circled back to him, she wore a huge, happy smile that contradicted his mood. “I have an idea!”

  “What kind of idea?”

  “My storage unit. I have living room furnishings in my storage shed from when I did a guest house design last year. It would fit this house perfectly. That would mean for the living room, all we need to do is paint, and I can transform this room to look like a million bucks. The kitchen is going to take a little more work. The wallpaper has to go. I think we can just paint the cabinets, but you need new countertops.”

  She waved her arms out, expressively, energetically. She was doing what she did best. Design. “I was thinking of going with a soft taupe color for in here. The sofa is light brown, and the recliner is a tapestry pattern with browns, reds, yellows and dusty greens. Oh,” she did a little jump for joy and pointed at the wall behind the sofa, “I have this print with cows, sort of Impressionist style, but masculine, and it would be perfect right there! And I have some wrought-iron art work with a touch of Western flare that could go there and there.”

  Her enthusiasm bubbled out of her and challenged him to let go of his issues, but before he accepted that challenge, he realized another problem. “I, well, we could paint, but I’m going to have to wait to get new furniture and furnishings.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I have them.”

  “Yeah, but I would need to pay you for them.” Because one day she might
be wanting him to sign papers so they could sever ties.

  Her expression lost some of its bliss. “No, we were bartering, remember?”

  “For your ideas, not for actual furniture.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I was planning on emptying out the storage unit. I pay way too much monthly. And I usually have a consignment shop take the furniture. I only get fifty-percent of the profit, and I have to pay them to move it. Right now, I have to so much that it would take two trucks to get the furniture there. I’d lose money. So, you’d actually be saving me money.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.”

  Her smile faded. “We had a deal.”

  “That’s too good of a deal.” One look at her and he felt like he’d stuck a pin in her happy balloon. “I just … I don’t like owing people.”

  Her big blue eyes widened. “You wouldn’t owe me anything. I’m the one who imposed on you.”

  “You didn’t impose.” I love having you here. And I’m a whisper from falling in love with you, and it’s scaring the fuck out of me.

  He was screwing this up. His cell phone, resting on the coffee table, rang. Needing a diversion, he picked it up, saw the number, then looked back at her. “It’s Jake.”

  She nodded.

  “Hey,” he answered, only half listening, still squirming in the limelight of her frown and his own fears.

  “Good news, bad news,” Jake said.

  “Tell me.” He watched Jennifer walk outside. She was upset, but he wasn’t sure why. Because he didn’t want her furniture? Or could she read his mind? Did she know he didn’t trust her enough to let himself love her?

  “Bundy’s left town.” Jake’s voice pulled Clay’s attention from the front door banging closed.

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  “A rental car, a black Chevy Cruise, was found at the airport in metered parking. It even has dents on the bumper with scrapes of paint matching Jennifer’s car. It was just found, but it appears to have been there for several days. He must’ve skipped town right after the showdown at the junkyard.”