When Things Got Hot in Texas

by Lori Wilde

  “You had the worst draw in the finals. You’ll get the next one, Partner.” Ace propped one foot on the pole fence, unbuckling a spur.

  I won’t. There’s the problem, right there. The bull wasn’t bad. In fact, he was good. Maybe great. And Stead had about as much chance of riding him as he did riding the wind. His reflexes were almost as good as they used to be—and he wasn’t a top ten bull rider then.

  Disappointment burned at the back of his throat, failure, in the lining of his chest. He knew he couldn’t ride forever, but it had been in the far-off Hazy Future. Now that the future had faded to black, he realized that he’d never seriously looked down the road to plan B—he’d been too busy chasing women and drowning what few brain cells he had in beer. A chasm of What Next opened under his boot heels.

  Despite the burn, he reached over and smacked Ace on the back. “Damned fine ridin’, Dude. That purse is gonna buy a lot of gas to get us down the road.”

  “Screw that. First, it’s gonna buy me a bunch of beers tonight.” He tossed the spur in his bag, and started on the other. “Come to the bar. I’ll even buy you a couple.”

  “I’ll probably see you there. Gotta collect a lady on the way.”

  Ace swiped at his sweaty neck. “Yeah, from what I saw of that kiss, I’m not betting on ya’all making the bar.”

  “Can I help it if I’m irresistible?” He ducked as the spur flew by his ear. “You finish throwing things. I’ve gotta go get a date for the evening.” He smacked his jeans to loosen some arena dirt.

  “I’ll pick up one at the bar. This should help.” Ace held up the champion buckle he’d just won and it flashed in the lights.

  “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. A better athlete, yes, but not a nicer guy.” He trotted off while Ace looked for something else to throw.

  He walked through dark, only occasionally broken by circles from pole lamps, passing contestants and stockmen, horses and kids.

  “That kid that heels with Casey Jürgen is damn handy with a rope.”

  “Did you see how he stopped?”

  “Yeah, he really buried his butt.”

  “. . . Mom said you have to give it to me. Hand it over, you little weasel.”

  The smell of hot dogs, hot dust and animals mingled to make the rare, expensive perfume called rodeo.

  God, he loved it.

  God, he was going to miss it.

  God only knew how he’d live without it.

  “Not going there now,” he muttered, seeing the spotlight he sought ahead. The one with the Taylor-Made truck smack in the middle of it.

  Worries whisked away as he strode into the light and stepped up to the side of the serving window. A grannie with a cloud of white hair, wearing plaid and denim stood beside him, waiting.

  “Here you go, Miz Paredes. You be sure and tell Martha hey for me, now.”

  “Will do, Harp. And you tell your Daddy how much I enjoy his meat.”

  Stead’s snort of laughter earned a glare from Harper.

  The oblivious old lady wandered off, hands full of food.

  “Hey pretty one, let’s go out tonight.”

  She blew a damp curl off her forehead. “Can’t you see? I’ve got customers here.”

  “Oh.” He checked over his shoulder at the three people in line. “Okay.” He walked to the back of the line, and in minutes he stood at the counter once more.

  Harper looked adorable; a red kerchief covering her hair, flushed from the heat of the grill, a stained apron over her jeans. She stood pen in one hand, pad in the other. “What can I get you?”

  “Come, go out with me. We’ll discuss the rest, later.” He winked.

  Her face didn’t change. No, that’s not true. . . the skin around her eyes tightened, and a muscle flexed in her jaw. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “I mean later. Come on, don’t you want to put on something pretty and go dancing?”

  Her eyes darted right, then left, maybe checking to be sure her dad wasn’t nearby.

  That’s okay, Stead owed him an apology too.

  “Meet me out back.” She leaned back, “Hey, Melissa, take the window for me for a minute, willya?”

  By the time he walked around the back, she was leaning against the trailer, hands behind her, looking jumpy as a fly-bit horse.

  “What’s the matter? I’m not asking you to run away to the circus, only to go out dancing with me.” He held out his hands, palm up, to show his good intentions.

  “You don’t have to. We’re going to do Rodeo on the Rez, we’re good.”

  “Have to? You beat all, you know that?” He scratched at the sweat bead that rolled down his neck. “Come out with me. I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t want to put on some bling and cut loose a little.” Her expression of misgiving was hardening like setting clay. Words piled into his mouth and he spilled them fast, just now realizing how much he wanted to be with her—to see her laugh—to see her happy. “I’ll bring you home before last call. And I won’t even have a beer, so you don’t have to worry about getting home safely. Hell, if you want, I’ll go find your daddy and ask his permission.”

  Eyes down, she scuffed the dirt with the toe of her old boot. “I just think it’s better if we say goodbye here.”

  “Goodbye? Why would you say goodbye?” A gut-bomb of panic went off. He was getting shut down. Getting shut out. “You can’t tell me that kiss didn’t mean something. It wouldn’t be goodbye anyway, because we’ll be working on the Rodeo together, and I’ll be back before then—”

  “Stead, your acquaintance with the truth is pretty tenuous. Better not push it.” One side of her mouth curled in the saddest smile he’d ever seen. “Besides, I’ve got to work. The shop is a mess from the craziness this weekend. I promised my mom I’d clean, so she wouldn’t have to.” She pushed away from the side of the trailer.

  “Okay, if that’s what you want.” It only took one step to put him in her personal space.

  She looked up, startled.

  “But this isn’t goodbye.” He lifted a silky curl that had escaped the bandana; leaning in close, he ran it between his fingers before tucking it behind her ear.

  She froze, and he hesitated, his lips close enough to feel her rapid breath. All he’d need to do is tilt his head, and they’d be kissing.

  But she didn’t waver, didn’t lean the fraction it would take to close the gap.

  So he turned, shoved his hands in his front pockets and walked away, whistling.

  She wasn’t getting rid of this cocklebur cowboy that easy.

  After a quick shower, he ironed in his bluest blue jeans with a razor crease, and his black pearl snap dress shirt. Too heavy for this heat, but he was going to need all the good looking he could garner to persuade Harper. With a liberal splash of cologne, he was out the door and on the road. Luckily, Ace was riding to the bar with his buds, so the truck was available.

  He ignored the speed limit and within ten minutes he was again at the door of Taylor-Made Catering. Harper stood at the back sink in shorts, a tank top, an apron and big yellow rubber gloves, waiting for a bucket to fill.

  He knocked. She jumped and spun.

  He gave her his sexiest smile and a thumbs-up.

  Shaking her head, she walked to the door and unlocked it. “You’re harder to discourage than a two-year-old on the cookie aisle. What do you want? I know you didn’t come to help, dressed like that.”

  “I’ve come to keep you company, then drive to you home to get a shower before we head out dancing.”

  She looked him up and down then turned and walked to the back. “What part of goodbye didn’t you get?”

  The dart found its target and he deflated. He gave her his little boy smile. The one that never failed him. “Aw, why you wanna be so mean, when I’m just trying to be sweet?” He lifted the bucket from the sink. “Where are we going with this?”

  “Nowhere.” She pulled at the fingers of the gloves and tugged them o
ff.

  Her persistent stare told him she wasn’t talking about the bucket.

  “Let’s just say you’re not my type, and let it go at that.”

  The dart must have been poison-tipped because he started to burn. She wasn’t the only one who could take gloves off. “That’s not what you said last year. I was there, remember?”

  From her rapidly pinking face, she did remember. She turned away. “Well, that was last year, okay?”

  “No. It’s not okay, because you’re not telling the truth.” He put a hand on her arm. “That spark is still there. Hell, half the people at the rodeo saw it on the jumbotron tonight. Why are you denying it?”

  “You’re one to preach about the truth. Just let it be, will you?” She shook off his hand and walked across the room to a metal door propped open with a chair.

  This was his exit cue. In the old days, this is where he’d disappear in a cloud of dust, head to the bar to pick up the next girl. But that was a problem, because sometime during the weekend he’d realized that he didn’t want the next girl. Or the one after that.

  He only wanted this feisty redhead who was good-hearted and proud and way, way too good for him.

  Something wasn’t right here, and he wasn’t letting her drive him off like a stray until he knew why. He followed her. “So, you have no use for an uneducated bull rider?”

  She spun at the door. “That must bother you, because you keep bringing it up. One of us obviously believes that, but I assure you, it’s not me.”

  “Really? Then you want to explain why you’re, ‘come on’ one minute, and the frigid schoolmarm the next?”

  “I owe you the same explanation that I got after you lit out of here last summer.” She stood in the doorway, jaw tight, arms crossed. “How does it feel to be on the other side?”

  “It sucks. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” His voice was deep. As deep as the regret the words sprang from.

  For just a moment, there was flicker of indecision in the turbulent sea in her eyes. Then she turned and walked into the room, throwing over her shoulder, “Yeah, well, go tell it to some buckle bunny.”

  He realized the room must be a refrigerator, because when he stepped in cool air brushed his anger-flushed skin. Tiered rolling racks lined the walls, filled with dirty trays. Flanking the door were stainless counters. “Why don’t you tell me what this is really about?” She was acting like a Chihuahua he knew once. It’d growl and bare its teeth when it was . . . “You are afraid, aren’t you?”

  If he hadn’t been watching close he’d have missed the waver in her fingers when she reached for a tray on a rack—the slightest hunch of her shoulder, as if the words hurt—the tiniest sound of indrawn breath. She rounded on him. “I don’t want you here. Are you so arrogant you can’t see that?”

  The day’s frustrations, fuss and failures had worn on him. Her mulishness rubbed through his last thread of Zen. “Lady, if you can’t see what I’m trying to say . . . fuck it. You know what? I’m outta here.” He lashed out and kicked the chair holding the door. It skittered across the floor.

  “No! Wait!” She lunged for the door, but the chair hit her thighs, slowing her.

  The door fell closed.

  He put his hand on the handle. “You give me a call when—” He pushed the handle down. It didn’t move. He rattled it.

  He turned at her groan. She had her face in her hands.

  It’s broken. I noticed it on Friday night, but I’ve been so busy, I forgot to tell Daddy.” She lifted her head. “It only opens from the outside.”

  Chapter 6

  “If you are unable to find the truth right where you are, where else do you expect to find it?”

  Dogen – Zen for Dummies

  Leap, and the net will appear.

  Zen for Dummies

  “Are you friggin’ kidding me? We’re locked in?” He leaned on the handle again, like he hadn’t pushed hard enough, last time.

  “Shit, my phone is out there.” Her voice came from behind him. “Why did you kick the chair?”

  “How was I supposed to know?”

  “I can’t believe this.” She leaned her back against the wall, and hit her head on it a couple times. “This could only happen to me.”

  “Not to sound like a wimp, but are we going to suffocate?”

  She rolled her eyes. “This thing is over fifty years old. We only use it to store cookies and keep wedding cakes fresh. I don’t think you have to worry about it being airtight.”

  We’re locked in. His irritation drained like a bucket with a hole. Alone. Maybe all night. Plenty of time to get to the bottom of what was going on with her. And to convince her into his arms where, he was more and more sure, was where she belonged.

  “Your mom or dad won’t be looking for you?”

  “I told them to take the night off. They were going to watch a midnight movie.” Her face lit up. “Hey, do you have your phone?”

  Thank God, he’d left it in the truck. “Nope, sorry.”

  “What the heck are we going to do all night?”

  Back when he was unenlightened, he’d have loosed the horndog comeback that jumped to his lips. To keep from it, he stepped off the perimeter of the room, to hide his smile and to scope the place out.

  It was about fifteen by ten feet, half taken up by those rolling cart things they used in grocery stores. Most of them were empty, or full of dirty trays, but in the back . . . “Score. We won’t die of starvation, anyway.”

  “What?” She stepped up behind him. “Oh no. We’re not touching that. That’s Sadie Clark’s wedding cake. You don’t know her, but she’s big, she’s mean and she hunts.”

  “Not to mention, she has horrible taste. Glad I didn’t get an invitation.” It was a three-tiered cake, with chocolate and green Cammo frosting. A painted plastic deer couple stuck their heads out of the top tier to gaze adoringly at each other. “When’s the wedding?”

  “Next week, but . . .”

  He lifted off the deer heads, set them on the tray above, then lifted the top layer off the little plastic stilts. “Neither of us got dinner. I’m hungry, and you’ve got to be, too. Do you think it’ll taste better’n it looks?”

  She sniffed. “My mother made it. It’ll be delicious, no matter how hideous the outside.” She sighed. “I guess it won’t take her long to make another.” She stuck a finger in the frosting, put it in her mouth, closed her eyes and moaned.

  It was the exact sound she made when he kissed her. Mr. Johnson snapped to attention so fast it hurt.

  She must have recognized it too because her eyes flew open and a blush shot from her chest to her face. “Um. Okay.” She took the cake from him and carried it to the stainless-steel table beside the door. “We don’t have any plates, or silverware, or—”

  He reached around her and broke off a chunk of cake.

  “Ugh, that’s gross.”

  He held his open hand up to her mouth. “Here. This way only one of us has to get their hands messy.”

  The ramifications of being locked in with him flashed like lightning in her eyes: irritation, worry . . . and was that a flicker of desire? It went by too fast to be sure, before unease settled in.

  “It’s okay, Harper.” He kept his voice low and even, like he’d talk to a spooky horse. “Nothing will happen here that you don’t want. I swear it.”

  She leaned forward and took a delicate bite of cake.

  He did the same, except his bite wasn’t delicate. He broke off another piece. “It’s funny how you expect the taste to be as bad as it looks, but it only tastes like cake.”

  “Yeah, Mom made a hot dog cake for a Girl Scout Troop once. Hard to wrap my brain around a hot dog tasting sweet.” She leaned in for another bite.

  “You’re right. Your mom makes a mean cake.”

  When they’d eaten their way down to crumbs, he stashed the remains on a dirty tray on a rack, then looked around for something to wipe his hand on. There wasn’t so much as a di
rty napkin in the small room.

  “Here.” Harper untied the apron and pulled it over her head. “Use this.”

  He took it and wiped his hands, enjoying the improvement in the view. She wore red shorts that hit way above mid-thigh, and a little washed to almost-see-through-t-shirt that made it plain she was chilly.

  “Oh man, where are my manners?” He grabbed the bottom of his shirt, and pulled. The snaps popped like cap gun shots.

  She backed up a step. “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged out of his shirt, leaving him down to his wife-beater t-shirt. “You’re cold.”

  She looked down. The blush spread from the top of her shirt. She took his shirt and shrugged into it. It hung to just above her knees, and there was only a glimpse of the tips of her fingers below the sleeves. “But now you’ll be cold.”

  “Nah, it’s what, fifty in here? It’s nice not to be sweating for a change.”

  “Thank you,” she said to the floor.

  He’d seen a lot more of her than this in the past, and he’d promised to be a gentleman. Why was she so jumpy? Women were a mystery to him, but this one was a mindboggler. Well, he had hours to puzzle her out.

  But how? She dodged questions better than a bullfighter in the arena. Tricking her was out—she was smarter than him. Besides, if he wanted a relationship it couldn’t be founded on lies and tricks. He learned that in his last life.

  What would Buddha do?

  How the hell would he know? He had only read a ‘for dummies’ book, for cripes sake. He was going to have to go with his gut on this one. But his gut was just about as uneducated as he was. A scrap of something he read floated through his mind:

  Good decisions come from experience,

  And experience comes from bad decisions.

  God knew he had enough history in bad decisions for a solid base. He thought for a minute. “I’ve got an idea.”