Lone Star Country Club: The Debutantes

by Beverly Barton

  She lifted her arms and draped his neck, then paused, stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Right there on the dance floor, with people all around them. She didn’t care who saw them; didn’t care what anyone thought. Brent returned the kiss, tenderly at first, but when she ran the tip of her tongue over his lips, he thrust inside her mouth and deepened the kiss. His sex pulsed against her belly. Unconsciously, totally instinctively, she melted against him, wanting more. She whimpered, the sound a plea for him to take them to the next level.

  Suddenly Brent ended the kiss, drew in a deep breath, released it, and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Let’s sit this one out and get something to drink.”

  Feeling bereft over his rejection, Jenna turned away from him. Tears welled up in her eyes. How was it that he could end something so utterly wonderful, as if it had meant nothing to him? When she left the dance floor, he followed her, but she didn’t want to see him or talk to him right now.

  “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she told him.

  He nodded. “I’ll order us another round of root beer while you’re gone.”

  Brent ordered the drinks and waited. He drank half his root beer and waited. He finished off the last drops of his soft drink and waited. Where the hell was Jenna?

  He realized that she’d been less than pleased when he’d abruptly ended their kiss. But God Almighty, didn’t she realize what was happening? Another couple of minutes and he’d have dragged her off the dance floor, out to his truck and been in her pants before common sense could have stopped him. Yeah, she had a good idea how hot she’d made him. She’d been determined to force him to lose control.

  He scanned the roadhouse’s interior, searching for his date. When he spotted her, he groaned. Jenna stood at the bar next to a guy who looked as if he was having a difficult time keeping his hands off her. And she was flirting like nobody’s business. He knew exactly what she was up to, so he had little choice but to play this game by her rules. For now. If he didn’t come to her rescue soon, he’d wind up having to fight the other cowpoke or let the man have Jenna—and that was not an option.

  Brent scooted back his chair, removed several bills from his wallet and tossed them on the table. Making a beeline straight for the bar, he knotted his hands into fists when he saw the cowpoke grasp Jenna’s shoulder. Increasing his pace, Brent reached the bar area in ten seconds flat, then went in behind Jenna and wrapped his arms around her waist. She gasped. He nuzzled her neck.

  “You took a little detour on your way back from the ladies’ room, didn’t you, honey?”

  She relaxed against him, obviously relieved that he’d shown up when he did. “Sorry, darling. Were you worried about me?”

  Brent’s gaze lifted and hit head-on with the cowpoke’s. In a silent masculine message, he told the other man to back off. Private property. The other guy understood, but hesitated for a split second before he grinned good-naturedly and eased back away from Jenna.

  “Come on, honey, let’s go,” Brent said.

  “Nice to have met you, Chuck.” Jenna winked at the guy.

  Brent grabbed her wrist and hauled her through the crowd and out into the warm April night. He dragged her across the parking lot, slowing only when he realized she was having difficulty keeping up with his long-legged stride.

  After he unlocked the truck, he turned around, lifted her by her waist and started to put her into the cab. She grabbed his shoulders and held tight.

  “You were jealous, weren’t you?” She smiled triumphantly.

  “Little girl, you were playing with fire,” he said, barely able to contain his anger. “You were coming on to that guy and he thought you were making him some promises. What do you think would have happened if I hadn’t interrupted when I did?”

  “Would you have fought him for me?”

  Brent placed her inside the truck, pried her clutching fingers from his shoulders, then slammed the door. When he got in on the driver’s side, she slid across the seat and wrapped herself around him.

  “You would have fought him, if you’d had to.” She tried to kiss Brent, her lips making contact with his cheek, then his chin and finally the side of his mouth.

  His lips responded involuntarily and before he knew what was happening, Jenna was halfway in his lap and he had his tongue in her mouth, one hand on her hip and the other inside her blouse and under her bra strap.

  The laughter of a group of guys emerging from the roadhouse reminded Brent of where he was. With a great deal of effort, he disengaged himself from Jenna and managed to put a couple of inches of breathing space between them.

  “What’s wrong? Why did you stop?” she looked at him with hungry eyes.

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “Why?”

  Grasping the steering wheel, he prayed for strength and patience. And a sense of humor. “Hey, this is our first date, remember? I don’t put out on a first date.”

  His reminder about first date rules gained the desired effect. She smiled. While he had the chance, he started the engine and backed his truck out of the parking lot. Once on the road, he punched the radio button and a local country music station came to life. A Dixie Chicks’ number was playing. On the drive to the Wilson home, one of several estates within the city limits, Jenna cuddled against him and hummed along with the music.

  Brent pulled the truck into the driveway and stopped. He got out and then helped her down from the cab. As he walked her to the door, hand-in-hand, his noble instincts warred with his male desire. She paused at the double front doors, then stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He gave her a soft, nonthreatening kiss, then pulled back.

  “Do you make out on a second date?” she asked.

  “Look, Jenna, you’re a sweet kid, but this isn’t going to work with us.”

  She looked at him as if he’d slapped her. “I don’t understand.”

  “Honey, I’m the wrong man for this job. Initiating a virgin is a major responsibility. One I’m not prepared for. A girl like you should wait until she’s in love and then it would be making love and not just sex.”

  “You don’t want to be my first lover?”

  Ah, hell! Of course he did. But he couldn’t. “I want you to wait until it’s right. Until you’re in love. If you think you could handle a one-night stand, then you’d better think again. You couldn’t.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. Brent felt like a heel. Why was it that if he was doing the right thing—the noble and honorable thing—he felt so damn miserable?

  She planted her hands on her hips. “You don’t know the—the first thing…about me.” Her voice cracked with emotion. “I have every right to sow some wild oats before I settle down. And if you don’t want to be the one I sow my wild oats with, then I’ll just find somebody else.”

  The thought of someone taking advantage of Jenna bothered Brent, but what was he supposed to do? She was daring him. He was in a no-win situation. Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Run like hell, man, he told himself.

  “Then you’re going to have to find yourself another man.”

  She gasped, as if surprised by his statement. Her piercing glare cut straight through him. “Fine with me. I’ll do just that. I’m sure there are plenty of guys who’d just love to take over where you’re leaving off.”

  She opened the front door and stormed inside, leaving Brent on the portico. He cursed under his breath. Damn stupid woman! Let her find somebody else. What did he care? He was well rid of the little pest. Better some other guy than him. Right?

  Brent marched back to his truck, got in and raced out of the driveway. He drove like a madman down the road, a country song about she’s-with-him-now blaring on the radio.

  Chapter 4

  Brent removed his hat, wiped the perspiration from his face with the palm of his hand and looked up at the bright sun. Physical labor took more out of a man than a workout in a gym. It wasn’t that he’d gotten soft living in Chicago, but until coming on this research trip, he’d forgot
ten how downright hard being a ranch hand could be. One thing was for sure—when a cowpoke went to bed at night, he didn’t have any trouble sleeping. Being bone tired was conducive to a good night’s rest.

  The nighttime hours weren’t a problem for Brent. It was the long days that gave him trouble. He kept telling himself to forget Jenna Wilson, that she was not his responsibility. Hell, he barely knew the girl. But he couldn’t stop worrying about her, wondering what kind of trouble she might be getting herself into, how far in over her head she’d go before she’d wise up.

  Brent caught a glimpse of Flynt Carson coming toward him, a sweating cola can in each hand. He hadn’t seen the boss man, as the other employees referred to Flynt, since the big date with Jenna this past weekend. Lucky for him that Flynt knew Jenna and had clued him in on the sort of woman she was. Otherwise, despite his own better judgement, he might have rushed into a physical relationship with her because he found her so doggone irresistible.

  Flynt walked up to Brent and offered him a cold drink. “Hot for late April, isn’t it?”

  Brent rubbed the back of his moist neck, then replaced his Stetson atop his head. “Glad I won’t be around here in July.” He reached out and accepted the cola. “Thanks.”

  “How much longer do you figure you’ll be around?”

  “A few more weeks. A month at the most.”

  “Are you planning on seeing Jenna again?” Flynt lifted the can to his lips and downed a swig. “I thought maybe you might have another date with her since it’s Friday night.”

  “I’ve decided that the wisest course of action for me is to steer clear of her, if at all possible. She’s on a collision course headed straight for disaster. Somebody needs to watch out for her and try to keep her out of trouble.”

  “Why not you?”

  “Whoa there, buddy, no way am I volunteering for the job. I thought maybe it might be something you could do, considering the fact she’s a family friend and all.”

  “Jenna’s rebelling against her domineering mother and since I am a family friend, she’d figure out pretty quick that I was keeping an eye on her because Nelda asked me to. I’m afraid my taking on the job wouldn’t work.”

  “Well, if you’re commandeering a recruit, count me out. And when you do find somebody, you’d better offer him hazardous duty pay.”

  Flynt smiled. “If you change your mind—”

  “I won’t.”

  Flynt shook his head, then moved on to another subject. “Well, do you think you’re learning anything on the ranch that will help you when you get back to Chicago?”

  “If nothing else, I’m learning why I left Kansas City and my father’s ranch,” Brent said jokingly.

  “Right before you head back to the Windy City, I’d like for you to have dinner with the family. It won’t matter by then that we’ll be blowing your cover.”

  “I’d like that, but until then, I’ll eat with the other hands and hang out at the places they do.”

  “Places like the Saddlebag Bar?”

  Brent caught the twinkle in Flynt’s eye. “I think I’ll steer clear of the Saddlebag for a while, just in case Jenna goes back there looking for me. Tonight I thought I’d head down toward Kingsville. I hear there’s a place there called The Rusty Bucket that makes the Saddlebag look like Sunday school. I don’t figure I’ll be bothered with any little girls there—only experienced women.”

  Flynt slapped Brent on the back. “Have a good time. I’d go with you, but a bar isn’t the best place for a recovering alcoholic to hang out.”

  Hearing just a hint of something odd in Flynt’s voice—sadness and regret maybe—Brent felt sympathy for his old friend. The man had lost his wife, his unborn child and nearly drank himself to death before he turned his life around. Flynt Carson today bore only a vague resemblance to the old fun-loving Flynt of yesterday.

  “You have every reason to be proud of yourself, man,” Brent said. “It takes a strong person to fight the battle you’ve fought and win.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve won,” Flynt admitted. “Every day’s a new battle.”

  The two stood around drinking their colas and talking, changing the subject to the ranch, the commodities business, the weather. Brent understood that Flynt had said all he wanted to say about his personal tragedies. And Brent didn’t want to discuss Jenna Wilson. Hell, he hoped he never heard her name again as long as he lived.

  Jenna had moped around her apartment all week. Every minute she wasn’t in class or studying she was thinking about Brent Jameson. And sometimes even in class, her mind wandered to the gorgeous cowboy who’d told her to get lost last Saturday night. All those wild, hungry emotions she’d felt couldn’t have been one-sided. He’d felt them, too. She just knew he had. So, why had he rejected her? She’d asked herself that question a hundred times, but the answer that kept repeating itself over and over in her head did little to squelch her desire. Her inexperience might have frightened Brent off, but she believed Katie and Dana’s assessment of the situation was closer to the real reason he had bid her adios.

  “Guys like to do the chasing,” Dana had said. “This may be the twenty-first century, but men prefer being the aggressor.”

  “She’s right,” Katie had agreed. “You came on too strong. You pushed too hard.”

  Well, how was she to know that she’d taken the wrong approach with a man like Brent, an old-fashioned rough and rowdy cowboy? After all, her romantic experience had been with boys, not men. Young men handpicked by her mother. Young gentlemen whom she’d found completely boring and unappealing.

  Jenna spread out across her bed on her stomach, opened her history book and tried to read. But the words on the page began blurring together and her thoughts drifted from the subject matter straight back to Brent. Maybe it wasn’t meant for her to experience a true rebellion. Maybe her short-lived revolution had ended before it had actually begun. But she’d been so sure that Brent was the answer to her prayers. Hadn’t he been in the right place, at the right time? But if he was truly her white knight, the man destined to rescue her from her doomed existence, who’d help her spread her wings and fly, then he wouldn’t have refused what she had offered. Herself. On a silver platter. With an apple in her mouth.

  Damn! If she had it to do over again, she would play hard to get. She’d let Brent do the chasing. She’d let him do the begging.

  When the phone rang, she didn’t pay much attention because Katie usually grabbed it by the second ring, which she must have done this time. Jenna slammed her history book closed. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to get any work done tonight. It was Friday night and she couldn’t help wondering if Brent would be at the Saddlebag Bar.

  Katie tapped on the door and said, “Phone call for you. It’s Fiona Carson.”

  “I’ll get it in here,” Jenna replied, then reached over to her nightstand and picked up the telephone receiver. “I’ve got it,” she yelled through the door to Katie. “Hi, Fiona.”

  “Want to know where your cowboy is going tonight?”

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you still interested in roping and hogtying Brent Jameson?”

  “Yes, of course I am, but—”

  “No buts about it,” Fiona said. “I just happened to overhear the tail end of a conversation between Flynt and him this afternoon. They had no idea I was anywhere around. He told Flynt that he was driving down toward Kingsville tonight to a place called the Rusty Bucket.”

  “The Rusty Bucket? I suppose it’s a bar like the Saddlebag, huh?”

  “Yes, but even rowdier. So, you do whatever you want with this information, but a smart girl just might show up beforehand and get herself a few guys hanging all over her before the man she really wants puts in an appearance.”

  “You know, Fiona, that’s not a bad idea.” The wheels in Jenna’s head turned at breakneck speed. “If I can persuade Katie to go with me, I might be brave enough to try a new plan of action.”

  “And what mi
ght that plan be?”

  “Showing Mr. Jameson that I can have a high old time without him. And when he shows up, I’ll ignore him. If wants me, then he can pursue me. Not the other way around.”

  “Hey, when did you get so smart? Sounds like you’ve figured out how to work this guy. You go, girl.”

  “Fiona, thanks for calling. I owe you one.”

  “All you owe me is a progress report.”

  Jenna giggled. “If I’m lucky, maybe the report will be R-rated.”

  “If you’re really lucky, it’ll be X-rated!”

  After hanging up the phone, Jenna jerked her skintight size 4 jeans out of her closet, found a semisheer white blouse that was supposed to be worn with a camisole, then called out loudly, “Katie, get dressed. We’re going out tonight. And wear something similar to what you wore last Friday night.”

  Katie flung open Jenna’s bedroom door. “Where are we going?”

  “To some place down near Kingsville. A roadhouse called the Rusty Bucket.”

  “Be still my heart.” Katie patted the center of her chest. “Are we talking a repeat of last Friday night?”

  “Yeah, only better.” Jenna stripped out of her navy cotton shorts and gingham blouse, down to her underwear. “And since Dana went home this weekend, she isn’t here to give us a hundred reasons why we shouldn’t go.”

  “I’m glad to see that you’re over that infatuation with Brent Jameson. I told you he wasn’t the only fish in the sea. You’ll probably meet another hottie tonight.”

  “Oh, I intend to meet more than one guy.” Jenna pulled on the silky see-through blouse “You drive your car, okay? If my plan works, you’ll be coming home alone.”

  “Jenna!”

  Laughing, she plotted and schemed as she fell back on the bed and wriggled into her one-size-too-small Calvin Klein jeans.