The Last Good Man in Texas

by Peggy Moreland

  But just because she didn't approve of seduction as a form of barter didn't mean she was averse to men. Or kissing. Or sex, for that matter. Boobs or not, she was still a woman and had the same desires as one blessed with "more up front," as Rory had so vividly described her shortage.

  And she'd never been more keenly aware of those desires than when Rory had responded to her kiss.

  She blew out a breath, her blood heating at the mere memory. The man could kiss, she couldn't argue that. And he had moves that made every other man Macy had been with look like amateurs in comparison. Strong, clever hands; a rock-hard body; a face that would make a sculptor weep. And a smile that had the power to strip away even the strongest convictions. In retrospect, she could almost understand why her mother had attempted to trick Buck into marrying her. If the father was anything like his son, he would've been a hard man to resist.

  Which was reason enough to steer clear of Rory, she told herself as she made the turn into the trailer park. From what she'd heard about Buck Tanner, he was a womanizer, lacking even an ounce of integrity. Definitely a person Macy would never want to become involved with.

  So why did she still have this irrepressible desire to see Rory? Talk to him? Why did she wish he would—

  Her thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind at the sight of Rory's truck parked on the street in front of her trailer. What was he doing here? she thought, panicking. She parked her Jeep in the allotted space in front of her trailer and tucked the tin inside her purse, stalling while she gathered her willpower like a shield around her.

  By the time she climbed from her Jeep, he was walking toward her, his gait long and lazy, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Dressed in worn jeans and a chambray shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes, he looked good enough to eat, which wasn't at all fair, considering she'd already decided he was poison.

  Shoving her purse strap over her shoulder, she eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

  He shrugged. "Thought I'd check on you. See if you went to Burnet."

  Reminded of her visit with Sheila and the tin she'd slipped into her purse, she hugged her purse closer to her side. "I did."

  He ducked his head to hide a smile. "Figured you wouldn't waste any time."

  "I didn't see any point in waiting."

  He glanced up and a shiver chased down her spine as his gaze met hers. The amusement was gone from his eyes and there remained only a soft warmth that looked dangerously like compassion.

  "Want to tell me about it?"

  "Not particularly."

  "Have you eaten?"

  Knocked off balance by the unexpected question, she shook her head. "No."

  "Wanna grab some takeout and drive out to the ranch with me? You can see the house I'm building."

  Good sense told her to refuse. Hadn't she less than five minutes before convinced herself that he wasn't the kind of man she wanted to become involved with?

  She released the breath she'd been holding.

  "Yeah," she heard herself say. "Sounds good."

  * * *

  With a bucket of fried chicken and Macy as passengers, Rory drove down the path toward his house, bouncing his truck over rocks and swerving around holes deep enough to lose a tire in. He glanced over at Macy, who had her eyes riveted to the path ahead and a death grip on her seat.

  "Sorry about the bumpy ride," he said, and slowed. "I'm waiting until the house is finished before putting in a road. Figure the construction trucks would tear one up if I were to put it in now."

  She nodded. "Probably wise."

  "We're not far," he assured her, then gestured up ahead. "If you look closely at that group of trees, you can see the top of the chimney."

  She strained to look, her eyes rounding as the house came into sight. "Oh, my gosh," she murmured. "It's beautiful."

  Pleased that she'd think so, he parked as close to the house as he could and grabbed the bucket of chicken. "Come on inside and I'll show you around."

  He waited for her at the hood of the truck, then led the way. "Watch where you step," he warned, dodging a pile of discarded lumber. "No telling what you might step on."

  He heard a grunt and glanced back to find Macy straining to drag a sheet of discarded plywood off what looked to him to be scrub brush.

  "What are you doing?" he asked in dismay.

  Her teeth bared, she strained to move the sheet of wood. "Trying to save this shrub."

  Grimacing, he retraced his steps. "Cleanliness isn't one of the men's strong points, that's for sure. There's a Dumpster for them to use, but they rarely do."

  Before he could take it from her, she shoved the plywood away and dropped to her knees to examine the flattened bush.

  "Oh, you poor thing," she moaned as she tried to straighten its bent limbs.

  He caught her hand and pulled her to her feet. "Don't worry. Once the house is finished, I'm planning to hire a landscaper to put everything back in order."

  "By then it'll be too late," she said miserably, dragging her feet behind him.

  Frowning, he unlocked the door, then stood back, letting her enter before him. "You think so?"

  "If the necessary precautions aren't taken before and during the construction process, the root systems of surrounding trees are damaged and all the natural vegetation destroyed."

  He handed her the bucket of chicken, upended two empty five-gallon paint buckets, then motioned for her to sit while he sat down opposite her. "Is there anything I can do now to keep that from happening?"

  She lifted the lid from the bucket of chicken and peered inside. "Other than fire all the men currently working on the job?"

  He gave her a wry look. "I can't do that. These guys may be slobs, but they're skilled craftsmen and good at what they do."

  She plucked out a chicken leg and took a bite before passing the bucket to him. "Then you need to implement damage control. First, you clean up the mess that already exists. Second, you put the fear of God in the workers. Threaten to dock their pay every time one of them fails to use the Dumpster you've provided. Third, or sooner, if you can squeeze it in, hire a landscaper. Somebody with experience working around construction and who knows what protective measures to take. Somebody who wouldn't hesitate to rip the guys a new one if they're caught harming any of the plants."

  He lifted a brow. "Got anyone in mind?"

  She glanced up at him, then rolled her eyes. "That wasn't a hint that you hire me."

  He took a bite of his chicken and hid a smile as he chewed. "Didn't say it was. But you obviously have the knowledge and, from what I've seen, wouldn't hesitate to go nose to nose with anyone who didn't see things your way."

  She pursed her lips. "I don't know whether I should be flattered or insulted."

  Laughing, he tossed his chicken bone into a nearby trash can. "Flattered. The job is yours, if you want it."

  She rose and crossed to the window, worrying her lower lip as she looked out, obviously tempted by the offer.

  "It's a big job to take on," she murmured, as if thinking aloud. "I'd have to do a site survey. Develop a preliminary design. Inventory what plants can be saved. Remove those that are beyond help. Which means I'd need equipment." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "What I reserved from the sale of my business is in storage. I only have with me the tools that I bought to do the landscaping job for your store."

  "You can buy what you need and charge it to me. I've got accounts in every store in town."

  She stared at him a long moment, then turned back to look out the window. "But what if I'm not around long enough to finish the job?"

  "I'll take whatever time you have to give."

  Her gaze on the landscape beyond, she drew in a deep breath, then turned. "I'll do it."

  He shot her a wink. "I was hoping you would."

  She crossed back and selected another piece of chicken before sitting down again. "I hope you're wanting to go with a natural landscape," she said. "This setting is perfect for it,
plus you've got the advantage of having all the existing vegetation to work with. That alone will save you a ton of money."

  "You're the boss. Whatever you think best."

  She took a bite and chewed, frowning thoughtfully. "Of course, you'll want to enhance what's here. Create points of interest. Water features are always nice, but you've got to know going in that they aren't maintenance-free. And considering your location, you'll have to plan around whatever wildlife is present. Are deer a problem?"

  He was having trouble following the conversation. She kept darting out her tongue to lick at a crumb caught in the corner of her mouth.

  "Deer?" he repeated dully.

  "You do have deer on the ranch, don't you?" She paused to lick at the stubborn crumb again. "I'd think with all the raw land and woods, deer would consider this area a buffet."

  Totally transfixed by her mouth, he said vaguely, "Yeah. I guess."

  "There are things you can do to keep them from feeding close to your house and destroying your landscape. Higher fencing is one option, but not one I'd necessarily recommend. If you enjoy watching the deer and want only to dissuade them from feeding near your house, you can plant things they don't like to eat."

  Her voice faded to a drone as he found himself thinking about that kiss she'd plastered on him and the way her mouth had felt on his … the way she'd tasted … the way her body had moved sensuously against his … the heat the friction had stoked.

  "Rory? Rory!"

  He gave himself a shake. "What?"

  "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah. Fine. Why?"

  She took a napkin from the sack, eyeing him suspiciously as she wiped her hands. "You had this … I don't know. Look on your face. Like you were contemplating your next meal and I was it."

  Since that pretty much described what he'd been thinking—and was still thinking—he had to smile. "You do look mighty tasty."

  Sputtering a laugh, she balled up her napkin and tossed it into the trash can. "I'd just as soon you stuck with the chicken, if you don't mind."

  He dropped the piece he held back into the bucket, his appetite gone—at least, where food was concerned. "I sure do like your mouth."

  Caught in the act of picking up her purse, she froze, then slowly straightened, leaving it where it lay. "Where did that come from?"

  "It was what I was thinking."

  She blew out a breath. "Well, think about something else."

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and teased her with a smile. "Does knowing that I think about your mouth make you uncomfortable?"

  She eased around on the bucket, as if preparing to run, if the need should arise. "Well … yeah. Wouldn't it make you uncomfortable?"

  "Depends on who was doing the thinking. Now, if it was you—" standing, he pulled her to her feet and dropped his arms to loop them loosely at her waist "—I'd think that was just fine."

  Since his face was bare inches from hers, there was little else Macy could do but think about his mouth. Full lower lip, the upper shaped with a well-defined bow at its center. One corner of his mouth seemed to curve naturally upward, as if he were amused at some private joke.

  She closed her eyes and gulped, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers and wishing that if he was going to kiss her, he'd hurry up and do it. The anticipation, the expectancy was slowly killing her.

  She felt the warmth of his breath against her face, the feather-light brush of his lips across hers before he settled at their center in a kiss that stole her breath. A low hum of satisfaction rumbled low in his throat and he tightened his arms around her waist, drawing her nearer, taking the kiss deeper.

  Sensation after sensation rippled through her in waves. Mesmerized by them—by him—she swallowed back a low moan of disappointment when he withdrew.

  "The sun will be setting soon," he said, and caught her hand. "I've got a blanket in the truck. Let's go outside and watch."

  Numb, she stumbled after him, unable to think of anything beyond the fact that he'd ended the kiss when she'd wanted it to go on and on.

  At his truck, he tugged a blanket from the back seat and headed for a low hill in the distance. Once there, he released his hold on her to shake out the blanket, letting it drift to the ground like a cloud, then dropped down on it and offered her a hand.

  "Come on," he urged. "You don't want to miss this."

  Placing her hand in his, she folded her legs beneath her and sank down beside him, turning her face to the west, where the sun perched on the horizon like a ball of fire.

  "Oh, wow," she murmured, awed by the sight. "That's really something."

  Stretching out on his side, he propped himself up on an elbow and laid a hand on her knee. "It's that," he said with a sigh.

  They sat in silence, watching as the sun made its slow descent, its rich colors bleeding into the sky. The only sounds to disturb the quiet were the whir of cicadas and an occasional low bawl from the herd of cattle grazing in a pasture nearby.

  After a while, Macy became aware of the slow stroking of his fingers along her thigh. He wasn't aware of the movement, she was sure, yet it sent warmth flooding through her. She stole a glance his way and found him looking at her. Her heart skipped a beat at the softness she found in his gaze, the heat.

  Reaching up, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I remember the first time I saw you I thought that your hair looked as if a sheep shearer had gotten ahold of you."

  Insulted, she tried to duck away, but he cupped a hand at the back of her neck and held her in place.

  "But I have to say, the style is growing on me." He drew her down to lie beside him and leaned to bump his nose against hers. "You're growing on me."

  She stilled, her gaze freezing on his.

  Biting back a smile, he dipped his head to nuzzle her neck, then drew back and frowned. "What perfume is that you're wearing? It has a floral scent but isn't sickly sweet like some I've smelled."

  "It's—" She cleared her throat and tried again. "It's not perfume. It's lavender water."

  "Never heard of it."

  "Specialty shops carry it, but I make my own."

  He shifted to lie on his side, using his arm as a pillow. "I always thought you were talented. You just proved me right."

  She sputtered a laugh. "Any fool can make lavender water."

  "You're the first woman I've ever known to do it. That makes you special. Unique."

  Embarrassed, she lifted a shoulder and let it drop. "That's something, I suppose."

  "You're filled with a whole lot of somethings." He caught her hand and lifted it to examine. "Take your hands, for instance. You know what I'm thinking when I look at them?"

  She curled her fingers inward, trying to hide her chipped nails. "What? That they look like a field hand's?"

  His gaze on hers, he drew her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. "No. I wonder what they would feel like on me."

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Smiling, he dropped her hand to his chest and held it there. "Want to show me?"

  "I—I don't think—"

  He leaned in and brushed his mouth over hers. "Don't think. Thinking is reserved for things of the mind. What we're talking about here is purely physical."

  She gulped, then slowly unfurled her fingers until her hand was splayed wide.

  He covered it with his.

  "Hot," he murmured. "Even with my shirt between us, your hand burns like a brand against my chest." He leaned to touch his mouth to hers and reached for the first button of his shirt. "Let's see what it feels like on my skin."

  As he teased her lips with his, he freed each button in turn. When he reached the waist of his jeans, he tugged his shirttail free, then quickly unbuttoned the last three. She didn't wait for an invitation, but opened her hands over his chest. She heard his low moan of pleasure, felt its vibration against her lips as her flesh met his for the first time. Unable to resist, she pushed her hands upward, shoved his s
hirt over his shoulders, then dragged her palms back down.

  He might've started this, Rory thought, but she had definitely taken over the reins. The kiss was hers now, her lips demanding as she forced his back to the blanket. Her hands seemed to be everywhere at once—in his hair, gliding over his chest, framing his face. Shifting over to straddle him, she took the kiss deeper.

  He fitted his hands at her waist and allowed himself a moment for shock. He'd never imagined that beneath that tomboy exterior lurked such a sexy woman. She was so … hot. So aggressive. But he didn't intend to waste any time mulling over the revelation. He intended to enjoy.

  With that single goal in mind, he guided her legs down, fitting her body along the length of his, anxious to experience every facet of this irresistible and totally amazing side of her he'd discovered.

  He roamed his hands down her back and proved what he'd already known. She was slim as a reed … but firm. There wasn't an ounce of fat anywhere on her. Not on her back. Not on her waist. Not on her thighs. Cupping his hands on the cheeks of her butt, he brought her up against him and swallowed a groan as she rocked her pelvis over his length. The woman might taste like sweetness and light, but her moves were pure sin.

  Curiosity drew his hands upward beneath the hem of her blouse and to the clasp of her bra. Unhooking it, he smoothed his hands up her ribs until his palms rested on the soft swell of her breasts. He increased the pressure, heard her mewl of pleasure and slipped his hands between their bodies to cup them fully. Her breasts were small, as he'd guessed, but firm and round, her nipples distended buds of sensual pleasure.

  Anxious to taste her, he sat up and flipped her to her back, then leaned to shove her blouse to her neck and expose her breasts. Shades lighter than the skin surrounding them, her breasts gleamed like fine porcelain in the fading sunlight, a temptation he couldn't have resisted even if he'd wanted to. He raked a thumb over one nipple, watched it darken as the blood rushed to it, then opened his mouth over it and drew her in.