Lone Star Country Club: The Debutantes

by Beverly Barton

  A restlessness that he was unaccustomed to hung heavily on Brent’s shoulders as he entered the smoky, rumbling den of iniquity known as the Rusty Bucket. He’d been questioning his decision to make this sojourn into the Texas cattle business via working as a ranch hand. In only a few weeks, he’d grown calluses on his hands and backside, his skin was as tan as gingerbread and he’d been celibate for way too long. Although he couldn’t deny that the firsthand knowledge he’d gained on the ranch in Laredo and at the Carson Ranch had given him new insight into his work, he had begun missing his normal routine back in Chicago. There was a lot to be said for a cowboy’s way of life, but at heart, Brent was a businessman. He belonged in Chicago. Ranching would never be more to him than a hobby, a way to escape—temporarily—from the stress and pressure of a high-powered job in the city.

  And tonight especially he missed his social life. Although he’d been opposed to the idea of picking up some woman for a one-night stand while he was posing as a cowpoke, his libido had gone from whispering in his ear to shouting full blast: You need to get laid!

  Brent made his way to the bar area, found an empty stool and ordered a beer. The way he felt, he could use something stronger, but he would be driving himself home later, so he’d have to watch the amount he drank. Besides, having a good time wasn’t dependent on getting drunk. Not for him. Never had been. Never would be.

  While he sipped on the cool, foamy brew, a tall brunette sauntered up beside him, her arm brushing against his shoulder.

  “Hi, there, handsome. Buy me a drink?”

  The woman possessed a world-weary look, although he suspected she wasn’t much older than thirty, if that. She wasn’t pretty, but with her slender frame and artful makeup job, she was attractive. In an unsophisticated, country-girl way.

  “Sure. What’ll you have?” he asked.

  “What you’re having will be fine.”

  Brent ordered her a beer, but before he could introduce himself and find out her name, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face. The woman sat talking with a guy a few seats down the bar. Unless he was badly mistaken, the woman was one of Jenna’s friends whom he’d met briefly outside the Saddlebag this past Friday night. A knot of apprehension formed in the pit of his stomach. Did seeing her friend here mean that Jenna was at the Rusty Bucket? Or was his vision playing tricks on him and this woman wasn’t who he thought she was?

  Deciding to investigate, Brent rose from the bar stool. The woman at his side, grabbed his arm.

  “Where’re you going, sugar?”

  “Stay here,” he said. “Enjoy your drink. I’ll be right back. I think I see an acquaintance that I should say howdy to.”

  As Brent approached the woman he thought was Jenna’s friend, she glanced up at him and smiled. That was her all right. No doubt about it.

  “Hi, there, Brent,” she said. “What are you doing all the way down here in Kingsville? Get tired of the Saddlebag Bar?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Looks like you did, too. I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

  “Katie,” she told him. “Yeah, Jenna and I heard about this place and thought we’d come down and take a look.”

  “Jenna’s here?”

  Katie nodded her head, then glanced toward the crowded dance floor. “She’s out there somewhere. I swear, every man in the place wants to dance with her.”

  Yeah, sure. He’d just bet that’s what every man in the place wanted. Knowing his own sex as he did, he had a good idea what these guys wanted from Jenna. And it sure as hell was more than a dance.

  So why do you care? he asked himself. You knew that she was looking for trouble and that sooner or later she’d find it.

  He just didn’t think she’d find it while he had to stand by and watch—at least watch the initial stage of her downfall. If he were smart, he’d take the been-around-the-block-a-few-times brunette waiting for him at the other end of the bar and get the hell out of the Rusty Bucket as soon as possible. They could stop by a liquor store, pick up a bottle and then find a motel room. By morning, he wouldn’t even be able to remember Jenna Wilson’s name.

  And while his mind concocted the escape-and-forget scenario, his feet led him straight toward the dance floor. He stopped on the outer edge and visually searched through the couples swaying to the moans of a steel guitar. He heard her laughter a split second before he saw her. With her arms draped around her partner’s neck, Jenna tossed back that mane of golden hair and laughed giddily. Brent’s muscles tensed. The guy holding her was looking at her as if he could devour her whole. Damn!

  Brent stood back, watching. And without realizing it, he waited. One song ended and in the brief interlude before the next began, half a dozen guys swarmed around Jenna, each one vying for her attention. And no wonder. Why had she dressed like that? You could see straight through her blouse to her lacy bra. And her breasts were bulging over the pushup cups. Ah, hell, things were fixing to get out of hand. Six young bucks and only one doe. He sensed a fight coming on. And Jenna would be caught right in the middle of it.

  Good thing he’d shown up here tonight. Somebody would have to save her cute little butt, and it looked like he was the only candidate for hero. He hadn’t been in a fistfight in years and would prefer to avoid one tonight, but he wasn’t going to stand by and let some drunk cowpoke put his hands all over Jenna.

  What the hell was he thinking? What’s your real motivation? Which is it, Brent—do you simply want to protect her or do you want to take her away from those other guys so you can have her all to yourself?

  The rumblings of battle had begun. A shove here. A smart-mouthed comment there. Jenna right in the middle, smiling, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement, as her barroom suitors tried to mark their territory. The silly girl giggled when the guy she’d been dancing with grabbed her arm. That’s when Brent realized Jenna had been drinking and was slightly tipsy. Great. Not only would he have to deal with a group of testosterone-driven bulls, but he’d have to cope with an inebriated little sex kitten. Neither prospect appealed to him.

  A short, stocky, auburn-haired man struck the first blow, sending a pretty-boy blond Adonis to the floor. Jenna screeched and jerked away from her former dance partner. Within seconds, all hell broke loose and a free-for-all fistfight commenced among Jenna’s admirers. Through the smoky haze, Brent got a good look at Jenna’s face. An expression of shock came first, followed by fright. Wonderful. Now, after she had instigated a riot on the dance floor, she finally realized she was in danger.

  Katie ran up beside Brent and tugged on his arm. He glanced at her, then returned his attention to the ongoing brawl.

  “Aren’t you going to do something?” Katie asked.

  Brent glared at Katie. “Do you want me to rescue her?”

  “Yes, of course, I do.”

  “Then tell me one thing—” Brent looked Katie square in the eyes “—did she know I’d be here tonight?”

  Katie hesitated, a guilty expression on her face, then she finally admitted, “Yes, she knew. Fiona Carson overheard you and her brother talking about where you were going tonight.”

  “So, this little scene was staged for my benefit?”

  “Yes, but we…she had no idea it would get out of hand this way. Honestly.”

  “Katie, do you have the car keys?”

  “Car keys?”

  “To Jenna’s car.”

  “We came in my car.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, you can get yourself home, right? I’ll take care of Jenna. That’s what she wanted, isn’t it?”

  Katie hung her head.

  Although he felt a bit like a puppet with his strings being pulled by a foolhardy young woman, Brent trouped across the dance floor and through the throng of onlookers. He was a man on a mission. When he heard Jenna scream, he picked up his pace and rushed toward her. Her suitors were so busy trying to beat each other’s brains out that they paid no attention to him. He walked straight to Jenna, who smiled the moment she saw him a
nd waved her arms, signaling him to come get her.

  Doing his best to avoid getting accidently socked in the nose, Brent sidestepped the fighters. The minute he came near, Jenna threw herself at him, but being unsteady on her feet, she tripped, which tossed her toward Brent’s knees. He leaned over, grabbed her around the waist and tossed her over his shoulder. She wriggled and squirmed.

  “Put…me…d-d-down. I caaan walk.” She slurred her words, enough to indicate she was drunk.

  With Jenna over his shoulder, Brent exited the dance floor and headed for the door. He wanted to get out of this place before the brawlers realized some other guy had walked off with their prize. The minute the night air hit them, Jenna squirmed more and more. Without giving his actions a thought, Brent reached up and popped her on the butt. She let out a squeal.

  Brent unlocked his truck, opened the passenger side and put Jenna on the seat, then hurried to the other side and got in. As he inserted the key in the ignition, he caught a glimpse of her in his peripheral vision. She swayed back and forth. Damn! He reached over, buckled her seat belt and set her up straight.

  “I knew you—you’d…” Her words trailed off.

  “Come to your rescue? Save you?”

  She lifted her arm, stuck out her index finger and plopped it down on Brent’s nose. “I’m not the ag-ag-gress…I’m not the one doing the chasing.”

  “Do you have any idea how close you came to getting yourself in a heap of trouble? The kind of trouble you’d regret for the rest of your life?”

  “Are you…taking my…taking me home?”

  “Yeah, honey, I’m taking you home.”

  Jenna smiled, a lopsided, tipsy grin. “I told Katie. Knew you would.”

  She fell asleep. Or passed out. Brent shook his head, put the gears into Reverse and backed up, then exited the parking lot. He’d take her home all right—straight to her mother. It was high time Jenna and Mrs. Wilson worked through whatever problems that were causing Jenna to rebel. Because next time Jenna decided to put herself in harm’s way, he might not be around to save her from herself.

  Chapter 5

  Brent pulled his truck up in front of the Wilson mansion shortly before midnight. The outside security floodlights lit the exterior of the house, but the inside looked dark, as if no one was at home. He dreaded facing Mrs. Wilson, but he was doing what he thought best for Jenna. If she were his daughter or his kid sister, he’d want someone to watch out for her, bring her home and force her to face parental wrath. Jenna might be twenty-one, but she’d been acting like a foolhardy kid lately. He got out of the truck and went around to open the passenger side. When he shook Jenna gently, she moaned and curled around the seat belt that held her in place. He shook her again. Her eyelids fluttered.

  “Come on Sleeping Beauty. It’s time to face the wicked witch.”

  “Huh?”

  He reached inside, undid her seat belt, then ran his hands under her and lifted her up and into his arms. Sighing contentedly, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. She was a little thing, but every inch of her body was firm and sturdy. Heaven help him, he had to stop thinking about her body. He reminded himself that he was playing the good Samaritan tonight. When he reached the double front doors, he maneuvered Jenna around so that he could ring the doorbell. He waited. No response. He rang the bell again. Still nothing. Didn’t a place like this have any servants, at least a housekeeper?

  “What ’cha doing?” Jenna asked, her eyelids lifting slightly and her lips forming a sleepy smile.

  “Trying to get somebody to come to the door,” he told her.

  “Where are we?”

  “At your house. At your mother’s home in Mission Creek.”

  “She’s not here. Gone to Houston with friends…to the ballet. She’s staying over…overnight.”

  “Damn.” He cursed under his breath. “What about the housekeeper or—”

  “Weekend off.”

  Great. Now, what was he supposed to do? “Do you happen to have a key to the house with you?”

  “Sure I do.” Jenna yawned.

  “Where is it?”

  “In my pocket. Key to my house, key to my apartment…my credit card and a hundred dollars.”

  “Which pocket?”

  “Side pocket.”

  Brent set her on her feet. Still a bit wobbly, she kept her arms around his neck. “Get it for me,” he said.

  She shook her head, flinging her long blond tresses about her shoulders. “You get it.”

  He huffed loudly, then rammed a couple of fingers down into one side pocket, found it empty and repeated the move on the other pocket. As he discovered the keys, the credit card and the money, he also discovered the softness of her hip and as he dug deeper into her pocket to shove the items up and out, he felt her pelvic bone. Sweat popped out on his brow. Hurriedly, he pulled the items out of her pocket. With her still clinging to him, he tried one of the keys in the lock. Presto, the door opened. He shoved the other items into his shirt pocket, then guided Jenna through the front door. The security system alerted him that he needed to punch in a code before the damn thing went off. He felt along the inner wall for a switch. Found it. A crystal chandelier illuminated the grand marble-floored foyer.

  “What’s the code for the security system?”

  “The code? Uh, it’s three-two-two-nine.”

  He punched in the code, then breathed a sigh of relief when the green deactivated light came on.

  “Where’s your room, honey?” he asked.

  She swayed into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, then stared up at him. “Are you going to take me to bed?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

  “Aren’t you going to even kiss me first?” She puckered her lips.

  Brent chuckled. Drunk. Disorderly. And cute. Actually, the word adorable came to mind, too. He pushed back a loose strand of shimmery hair that had fallen over her left eye.

  “Do you think you can walk up those stairs?” he asked.

  “Why don’t you carry me?” She nuzzled his chest and then his belly. Her fingers reached for the top button on his shirt.

  He had to put a stop to her shenanigans right now.

  He jerked her up and into his arms, then climbed the stairs. The sooner he got her into bed so she could sleep it off, the better for both of them. He wasn’t the type of man who took advantage of a woman, especially not one who’d had too much to drink. But a normal man could take only so much temptation before he succumbed.

  After he reached the landing, he paused. “Where’s your room?”

  “Third door on the right.”

  He forged ahead, flipped on the light switch in her room and stopped dead still. This wasn’t a young woman’s room; this was a little girl’s room. Antique white furniture, handpainted with delicate floral designs. A canopy bed with an eyelet lace bedspread and matching curtains at the windows. Stuffed animals and dolls adorning a wall of shelving. Damn! Poor Jenna. No wonder she was trying to rebel. Apparently Nelda Wilson had tried to keep her daughter a child. Why on earth hadn’t Jenna rebelled before now? For the first time since he’d met this flirtatious, little renegade, he understood what she’d been up against. This room spoke volumes.

  “Brent?”

  “Huh?”

  “I—I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “What?”

  “I drank too much beer and I had a couple of mixed drinks, too, and… Oh, God, put me down. Now!”

  He set her on her feet. She raced through her bedroom and flung open the door to the adjoining bathroom. He heard her heave, then empty her stomach. Poor kid. He wondered if this was the first time she’d ever been drunk. Probably.

  He fished in his shirt pocket for the items he had removed from her jeans pocket before they’d entered the house. After retrieving the two keys, the credit card and the forty dollars apparently left out of the original hundred, he laid them on a white anti
que desk in the corner.

  Jenna moaned, then retched again. Brent entered the bathroom just as she finished throwing up a second time. On her knees in front of the commode, Jenna glanced up at him. Tears misted her eyes.

  “Not a very pretty sight, am I?”

  He lifted the hand towel by the sink, dampened it, then squatted down beside her and washed her face. “Feeling any better?”

  “Some.”

  “What you need is a good night’s sleep.”

  “Please, don’t leave me.”

  “Do you think you’re through in here?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  He helped her to her feet; she clung to the edge of the sink. He removed a paper cup from the dispenser above the sink, filled it with water, then held it to Jenna’s lips. “Here, rinse out your mouth.”

  She did as he’d instructed. “Thanks.”

  He caressed the side of her face. Sweet Jenna. He guided her back into her bedroom. “Want to put on a gown or pjs?”

  She shook her head. “I can sleep in my clothes.”

  He pointed to a spot on her blouse and another on her jeans. “You’ve soiled your clothes, honey. Let me find you something else to sleep in.”

  Jenna began tugging on her sheer blouse, but in her slightly disoriented state, she found it difficult to undo the buttons.

  “Let me help.” Oh, yeah, he’d help her undress. No problem. But who was going to help him keep his hands off her?

  Steeling his nerves to act as a nursemaid, Brent removed Jenna’s boots, blouse and jeans, which left her in nothing except a pair of red bikini panties and a lacy red bra. He swallowed hard. Talk about temptation personified.

  Leading her by the hand, he took her over to her bed, turned down the cover and helped her in. She reached up for him. Tenderly, he pushed her hands away.

  “Go to sleep, Jenna.”

  “Aren’t you coming to bed with me?”

  He grinned. Even now the little hellion had a one-track mind.

  “You’re in no condition for anything except sleep.”

  “You won’t leave, will you?”