Sweet Water

by Anna Jeffrey

Her hand touched his forearm, a frown creasing her brow. “You don’t have to do all of that for us. We’ll be leaving soon.”

  No, he almost blurted out. “But I’m not pushing you to move.”

  What had he said? She and her mother had to move. They had to get out of his way.

  “I’ve sent out some resumes,” she said. “I expect to hear something soon. In days, hopefully, rather than weeks.”

  They were standing shoulder to shoulder, their faces inches apart. He leaned in closer, wanting to assure himself that a woman as honest and unselfish as she was real. She didn’t back away, so he settled his lips on hers. Sweet. Delicious. He placed an arm around her shoulder and gently urged her lips open with his. She gave him entrance and returned a kiss that made him dizzy. As the room spun around him, his baser instincts pushed him to haul her body against his and kiss her silly, but he controlled himself.

  When he lifted his mouth from hers, she looked into his eyes, her lips parted. “Oh,” she said softly.

  “Oh, yes,” he whispered, cupping her nape with one hand and pressing his forehead against hers. He could smell her perfume, her body, her mouth, all of it an aphrodisiac. His body’s response was hard and immediate. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

  ”Terry...”

  Now or later, it was going to happen between them. He knew it. In the background, Steve Holy softly sang “Good Morning Beautiful.” The romantic words penetrated Terry’s psyche and he thought about waking up with Marisa beside him.

  He took the glass from her hand and set it on the breakfast bar, then risked placing his hands on her waist and pulling her close, front to front. He was certain she could feel his erection “More,” he whispered, lowering his lips toward her again. “I want so much more.”

  She didn’t pull away, but she said, “I—I can’t, Terry.”

  He dragged his mouth to her ear. “But you want to.” He continued down the sweet, fragrant trail of her silky neck, his pulse pounding in his dick. “I can feel that you want to.”

  Instead of wrapping her arms around him, her hands came to rest on his forearms, like she might push him away. “It’s a bad idea, Terry. I’ve given up men.”

  Her belly felt hot against him. His eyes landed at the hollow of her throat and he could see that her heart was pounding. “Liar.” He opened his mouth against her throat and flicked the pulse beat with his tongue, her fuzzy sweater tickling his face. “You’re fibbing to me, lady.”

  “I need to go.” Her voice came out quavery, which only made him hotter. “Honest,” she said. “I try not to be away from the trailer for long spans at a time. Mama’s out cold from her pills, but you never know what might happen.”

  He was hard and hot and ready. In the worst way, he wanted to lead her to his bed and ravage her, let her ravage him. He groaned mentally. “I understand.” He ducked in to nuzzle her neck and her sweater tickled his nose. Smiling into her eyes, he tugged at the neck of it. “That thing has to go.”

  She pushed away, giving him a Mona Lisa smile and putting space between their bodies. “I’m what has to go. And I mean right now.”

  Shit. Of course she had to go. She shouldn’t leave her mother alone. What was he doing, anyway? Marisa Rutherford was a woman he shouldn’t even consider fucking. With a great sigh, he dropped his hands. “Okay. I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter 15

  Marisa had never kissed a millionaire and that was why she had kissed him back.

  Liar.

  The accusation echoed in her mind as she stared up at her bedroom’s dark ceiling. Outside, lightning flashed and brightened her bedroom. Thunder crashed.. Rain thrummed like kettledrums on the singlewide’s roof. She couldn’t sleep though she was exhausted.

  In reality, the fact that she had never kissed a millionaire was not why she had kissed him back. The real reason was because she had thought of it at least a hundred times since she met him. The guy was just plain kissable. Lord, Tanya had almost creamed in her jeans just talking to him.

  And he wanted sex. Well, most men wanted sex. And a man who looked like him and was rich to boot probably got it whenever and wherever he wanted it. A secret smile quirked her lips because she had been strong and had resisted him.

  But who was she kidding? She didn’t want to resist him. She liked everything about him—the way he looked, talked, smelled, his wise blue eyes, the no-nonsense way he conducted himself. In fact, she liked him so much she couldn’t remember when she had last thought of Woody.

  But what did they have in common? Their social strata were separated by a million levels as well as a million dollars. No doubt he had fifty girlfriends back in Fort Worth or Dallas. High-maintenance women who were sophisticated and smart, who had soft hands and manicured nails, who never smelled like a kitchen.

  Or maybe he had just one girlfriend, which would be worse.

  Even if she—unsophisticated, ordinary Marisa—succumbed to his desires and her own, she would be nothing more than his “Agua Dulce sleepover.” Temporary sex while he worked on his project, whatever it was.

  Not that she was such a Goody Two-shoes that she was averse to temporary sex. She had learned years back that good sex and romance didn’t necessarily go together. In retrospect, perhaps good sex rather than romance was what defined her trysts with Woody.

  But with Terry Ledger, things would be dangerous. She had tasted lust on the lips of men numerous times, but she hadn’t sensed a soul-deep connection—not with Woody or any other man she could recall. Though more profound, the feeling was similar to that weirdness that had come over her the first time she had seen Terry in the café and they had danced to Frank Sinatra singing from the old Seeburg jukebox.

  Stop wasting your time, she scolded herself. Good-looking millionaires didn’t just drop in and take up with the Marisa Rutherfords of the world. Any kind of relationship other than an arm’s-length one with Mr. Terry Ledger could only have a bad outcome for her.

  She raised up on her elbow, punched her pillow into a ball and flopped onto her stomach. Beyond her own rotten experiences with men, she had witnessed a bad one firsthand for more than thirty years. In more ways than one, a man and sex had imprisoned Mama. First the sperm donor, Hector Espinosa, had left her pregnant in the middle of nowhere; then a married man, Clyde Campbell, with his money and his empty promises of security, had held her captive in Agua Dulce for all of Marisa’s life.

  No damn way would she end up like Mama.

  Terry Ledger could plant all the flowers, build all the fences and pour all the concrete sidewalks he wanted to, but Marisa wouldn’t allow her own carnal desires to tempt her into a flawed assumption of security and thus be entrapped by a man who couldn’t possibly care about her.

  Furthermore, she had to stop thinking about him and squandering the precious time that she needed to use to plan for her and Mama’s future.

  The rain became a deafening deluge and distracted her from her thoughts. No doubt, tomorrow there would be flash-flood warnings.

  Before Terry Ledger could return to her mind, she muttered into the storm, “Be strong, Marisa.”

  ****

  An uneventful week passed in Agua Dulce. The sun baked the landscape. The spring heat, usually bearable, had been made uncomfortable by the humidity that came with May’s thunderstorms. The café’s swamp cooler struggled, but failed in its purpose.

  Another week passed. Other than an intense calm shrouding everything in sight and the temperature climbing into the nineties, nothing changed in a discernible way. No town meetings occurred, none of the citizens came to Marisa expecting her to do something for them and Ben stayed sober except for a six-pack of Coors a day. Only Ben and a few traveling strangers came into Pecos Belle’s to eat.

  Terry Ledger had been gone from his mobile home the whole time. In an odd way, Marisa had started to feel as if she had imagined him.

  After a surprisingly good weekend with Mama, on Monday morning, Marisa found Lanny waiting at
the café’s front door when she opened. He looked better than she had seen him in months, if ever. His clothes—a white Western shirt and Wranglers—were clean and starched and ironed. He had on new boots and a new pearl gray hat. And he smelled like the perfume counter in Dillard’s.

  “How’s it going?” she asked as she led him through the flea market toward the café.

  “Fine,” he said to her back.

  “It’ll take me a few minutes to get the coffee on.” She detoured behind the lunch counter toward the Bunn.

  “That’s just fine.”

  “Eating breakfast with me this morning?” Everyone knew Lanny usually ate with his cowhands. With no one in his house but him, he liked having his meals in the bunkhouse where his hands lived.

  “I could, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  Marisa chuckled as she busied herself setting up the coffee maker. “Lanny, this is a café. The day I find fixing breakfast for a customer too much trouble is the day I’d better close the doors.”

  He chuckled, too. “Guess so.”

  Marisa had known Lanny all her life. He was a man of few words. His wife had died of breast cancer at forty-one and he had remained a widower for fourteen years. He had three kids, all of whom Marisa knew, but they never came around. His oldest, a daughter, was the same age as Marisa and had been in the same grade in school in Wink. His only son lived in New York, where he studied, of all things, music, and sang in various plays and operas. The two daughters lived in Austin, but for all the attention they paid to their father, they may as well have lived on Mars. It was common knowledge that all three of them had enviable incomes from trust funds set up years back and fed by oil royalties.

  With the coffee on to drip, she walked back to the kitchen and lit the burners under the griddle, then returned to the lunch counter, where Lanny had taken a seat. “You’re all dressed up today. Going to town?”

  He shot a glance over one shoulder, then the other.

  A frown tugged at her brow. Was he worried someone would hear what he said? “There’s no one in here but us,” she told him.

  He looked up at her from beneath his hat brim. “I think I’ve got the place sold,” he said quietly, as if he were afraid to utter the words.

  As her pulse rate surged, Marisa caught a quick breath. “Really?”

  He nodded. “It’ll be final in two or three months. The new guy made me a deal I couldn’t turn down.”

  “You mean Terry Ledger.”

  Unnecessary to make the words a question.This news was no surprise, but that didn’t prevent it from calling for a strong jolt of caffeine.She turned and glanced at the coffee carafe, saw it was full. She dragged two mugs off the shelf and poured coffee for Lanny and herself both.

  He lifted his mug to his lips and blew across the hot liquid’s surface.

  When Terry told her he was attempting to buy the XO she had only half believed him. She didn’t know exactly how much land the ranch encompassed. It took up more than half the county, so it had to be thousands of acres. A working ranch that big would surely go for millions. Now, awe and a little bit of something that felt like fear almost left her dumbfounded. “Wow, Lanny, no more punching cows for you.”

  “I like the cows. I’ll miss ‘em. They’re all I’ve ever known. All I’ve ever had, to tell the truth.”

  Lanny was far removed from the stereotypical loud and brassy Texas rancher and oilman. Born on the XO, he had scarcely left it except to go to college, where, no doubt, he studied something to do with cows.

  “But now you won’t be tied down. You’ll be able to travel the world. Do anything you want to.”

  “Won’t be any fun all by myself.”

  All at once she wondered why some woman hadn’t latched on to him. He was a nice man. All cleaned up, he was handsome in an older-gentleman kind of way. And he was definitely rich. She gave him an encouraging smile. “Something tells me you won’t have any trouble getting someone to go with you.”

  He took a long swallow of coffee, then set his mug on the counter and gave her a solemn look through his silver-rimmed glasses. “Come with me, ‘Rissy,” he said softly.

  Marisa felt her jaw drop. Was he kidding?

  He took off his hat and set it on the counter, exposing short salt-and-pepper hair. “I know it’s sudden and we haven’t gone a-courtin’ or anything, but we’ve known each other for thirty-odd years. I’ve always thought a lot of you, Rissy. I’ve always been able to see that you’re a good woman. And you grew up to be a pretty woman.”

  He wasn’t kidding. And he was old enough to be her father. She had an insane urge to laugh like a madwoman, but couldn’t. “Well, I, uh...I, uh, don’t know what to say, Lanny. Thanks, I guess.”

  “Before you say no, hear me out. I’ve thought it through. We could get married. I’d give you some money up front. You know, to seal the deal. It’d be yours, to do anything you wanted to with it. I’d buy you a pretty diamond ring. I’d take care of you and Raylene, get her some professional help. Or whatever she needs.”

  Marisa’s throat began to work, her eyes teared. It was the most sincere—and the only honest—proposal of marriage she had ever received. “Gosh, Lanny, I’m flattered, but—”

  “I didn’t expect you to just jump in and say yes.” His mouth turned up in a sweet smile she had never noticed he had. His teeth were even and white, not false, something else she hadn’t noticed about him. Seeing his good teeth reminded her he didn’t smoke or chew snoose, which was a plus.

  “I know you’re a practical woman,” he went on. “I knew you’d have to think about things.”

  “But Lanny, I can’t honestly say I love you. I mean, I like you a lot. You’re a wonderful, honest person. I’d trust you with my last dime and I admire you, but—”

  “Rissy, me and my first wife, rest her soul, didn’t have half that much going for us.”

  Marisa had never heard Lanny’s marriage was unhappy. She stared down at the mug of coffee from which she hadn’t even taken a drink. “I just don’t know, Lanny.”

  His expression became more earnest, his deep brown eyes more intense. “You’re in a lot of trouble here, Rissy. I know for a fact Raylene couldn’t find much money to put back. You’re not gonna be able to sell all this stuff for much, either. If at all.”

  Dammit, it was hard having him—or anyone—know that. That bastard reality had just slapped her again. Marisa couldn’t hold back her anguish. Tears sneaked down her cheeks. “I know,” she said, feeling a hitch in her throat.

  Lanny stood up and came around the end of the lunch counter, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her eyes. He placed the crisp white thing over her nose. “Blow,” he said, as if she were six years old.

  She pushed his hand away and wiped her nose on the back of her wrist. “You’re right about one thing, Lanny. Mama and I are in deep trouble.”

  His thick arms folded around her, he pulled her against his chest and began to rub her back. He felt warm and wide and secure. Even with her nose plugged by tears, she could smell his cologne, but couldn’t identify the fragrance.

  “Shh-shh,” he murmured. “Don’t cry, now. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” She felt his big hand petting her hair and the vibration of his deep voice in his chest. “I’d take care of you, Rissy. You’d never want for anything.”

  Rissy. The name she had been called as a child. “Oh, Lanny, I appreciate it, but it’s crazy to even think about—”

  “Rissy, I don’t want just anybody for a wife. I want somebody I know and care about. I think, in time, you could care about me a little, too, and you damn sure know me. I admit it’s not like in the storybooks, but what goes on in storybooks ain’t the way life is. Sometimes folks just have to forget all that and do the best they can with what’s in front of ’em.”

  She stepped away. “Where’s that damn handkerchief?”

  His eyes smiled as he handed it to her.

  She wiped her nose. “You know what, La
nny? I’m not gonna just say no. I’m gonna think about it for a few days. I’m gonna honestly think about it.” A nervous titter burst out. “Like you say, I’m in trouble. I can’t afford not to think about it, right?”

  His mouth tipped into a smile that matched the one in his eyes. “That’s good enough for me. Tell you the truth, it’s more’n I expected.”

  “Okay then, that’s the deal. I’m gonna think about it.”

  He nodded. Awkward moments passed while they stood there. Then his hands came up to her shoulders. “Could I kiss you? I mean, while you’re thinking about it, I guess we could say we’re a-courtin’.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  His mouth tasted of mint, sweet and sterile, and she had no trouble kissing him back. To her surprise, he was a good kisser. When he lifted his mouth from hers, she looked up at him and smiled. “How about that breakfast, cowboy?”

  She cooked him breakfast—bacon, eggs and hash browns—and sat beside him at the lunch counter drinking coffee while he ate. He shared snippets of his deal with Terry, though he didn’t tell her the price Terry had paid him for the XO. “He told me I could have a house in his subdivision,” he said on a deep chuckle. “But I said, ‘no thanks’. I can’t see me living in a subdivision.”

  “Where do you see yourself living, Lanny?”

  “Colorado, maybe. In the mountains.” Another sweet smile came her way. “What do you think? About the mountains, I mean.”

  She had never been to Colorado, but the idea of living in the mountains had some appeal. She had seen them in the far, far distance all of her growing-up years. “I don’t know. I never really thought about it.”

  “They build those log houses up there. They got trees. Real pretty.”

  “I’ve seen pictures. It sounds nice.”

  She got another huge smile from him.

  After breakfast, he said he had to get to Midland on business. She walked with him to the front door. He leaned down to kiss her good-bye and his glasses bumped her temple. He tried again and their noses bumped. He gave her a shy grin. “We’ll get better at it. It’s not the most important thing anyway.” His whole head turned red in a blush and he cast his eyes downward, toward the floor. “I mean, it’s important and I like it and everything, but there hasn’t been anybody since—”