Scarlet dropped her head back against the truck and closed her eyes as his touch assaulted her from every direction. His thigh pressed low and his hands teased high, plying her to suit his whim.
Suddenly it was all too much.
Opening her eyes, she looked up at him. He was staring at her breasts as if he’d never seen anything lovelier. A muscle worked in his jaw as his thigh pressed her center again. Helplessly, she arched.
“I knew you’d move this way,” he rasped low.
“Oh yeah?”
“Honey, anyone who can move like you do on the dance floor has gotta have some other moves, too. You’re burning me alive. I want you so bad, I ache.”
“As long as you’re not just feeling sorry for me, Nash. I couldn’t stand your pity right now.”
Scowling he stepped away from her and Scarlet felt the loss immediately. He made a rough sound and took her hand. Placing it over the hard, thick bulge pulsing behind the fly of his jeans, he stared into her eyes. “This isn’t about pity, darlin’. This is about me wanting you. Plain and simple.”
Her hand stroked down the front of his jeans. He sucked in a harsh breath, closed his eyes and placed his hand over hers. Never before had she acted like such a slut. What the hell was wrong with her?
There was something about this man that made her forget all the carefully taught moral lessons she’d learned at her mama’s knee. No man had ever stirred her like this tall, rugged cowboy.
Finally, she did what she’d wanted to do from the first moment she saw him. Scarlet stepped close and stared him straight in those whiskey hotter-than-sin eyes and sent her fingers up the sides of his face and through his hair. The battered black cowboy hat fell from his head to land on the gravel near the tire of his truck.
She didn’t care. Moaning her pleasure, she clutched at the thick, dark stuff and drew him close. Taking his mouth again was suddenly the easiest thing she’d ever done. The heady taste of him made her wish she had magical powers and could just blink them off somewhere to be alone. Preferably to her bed.
“This is a dangerous game,” he said against her lips.
“Maybe I like danger.”
“Oh yeah.”
He’d just drawn her closer when she heard the sound of an engine. Nash stiffened and looked up. He scowled.
“Hell.”
Scarlet felt his withdrawal with equal measures of relief and disappointment. “Who is it?”
“Shorty. A friend.”
All six feet ten inches of Shorty, unwound from the cab of a white pickup. “Hey, Nash I was just comin’ to look for you. Princess is feelin’ a mite poor.”
“Did you call the vet?”
She saw his brows lower over worry-filled eyes. He walked up to the other man and they spoke quietly. Not wanting to intrude, she glanced across the parking lot and saw Patti-Pie and Lyssa picking their way over the gravel. Lyssa was carrying the purse she’d abandoned during her mad race to make out with a complete stranger. Scarlet felt her face burn.
Patti seemed near tears with worry about her. Lyssa’s face was compassionate, too. “Hey, hon, you bout ready to head home?” she asked, holding out her purse.
“Um. Yeah, I suppose.” There was no suppose about it. The way they’d been going at it, Nash would’ve had her jeans off in about three minutes flat if others hadn’t arrived when they did. What on earth had she been thinking? She didn’t fool around with temporary men. Cowboys in Sweetridge for the rodeo were off limits.
She walked up to Nash and settled a hand on his muscular, delicious back. “Nash?”
He turned and pierced her with his gaze. His mouth tightened. “Yeah?”
“I, um, I’d better go on home. The dancing was fun. I really had a good time.” Ah, man, how lame was that? A good time? The man had almost melted her bones and she tells him she had a good time? Heeding the warning bell that blasted through her brain, she stepped back, clutching her purse to her belly like a coward. “My ride’s leaving so I’d better go. Maybe I’ll see you again before you leave town.”
That sexy little muscle worked in his jaw again as his eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Maybe. Good night, Scarlet.”
And just like that he turned away dismissing her as so many other men in her life had done. Rage snapped through her veins, along with a hefty measure of hurt.
“Come on, ladies. Let’s move it on out,” she said, hating the snap in her voice. “See ya later, Nash.”
Like never.
Nash watched her leave with her friends as a feeling of loss settled low in his belly. Reaching up with one hand, he rubbed the center of his chest, right over his heart and struggled for control.
It was better this way. Things were getting out of hand in a hurry. Scarlet was a woman who needed a local man to make her forget about the shithead who’d dumped her, hurt her.
Gritting his teeth, he wondered what kind of idiot would throw away a magnificent woman like pretty, sassy Miss Ballew. It wasn’t hard to figure out how things were around here. If she lived in a big city somewhere, like maybe Dallas or Houston, she’d be better off. In a place like Sweetridge though, she’d stick out like a sore thumb and she had to intimidate the gutless wonders around here.
But he wasn’t a man to take advantage of anyone’s grief. Oh, yeah, he wanted her and had a monster-sized erection to prove it but she was a whole lot of trouble for a man who was just passing through. He wasn’t about to add to her pain.
“Pretty little thing,” Shorty commented with a nod of his head. Like Nash, he watched the tail-lights of a small compact car pull out of the parking lot and onto the street.
Nash looked at his old friend. Shorty had been traveling through American and sometimes Canadian cities with him since he’d begun his career. “Tell me about Princess.”
Shorty spit on the gravel and leaned back against the door of his truck. “Aw, doc says she’ll be okay in a day or so. He changed up her feed, added some vitamins. She always did have a touchy stomach.”
“Come on, then. Let’s go check on her.”
They arrived at the fairgrounds in record time, parked their trucks and wound their way through the myriad horse trailers to the stables. Despite the late hour, the place was hopping. The scent of hay and manure permeated the air along with the occasional colorful curse from cowboys who were giving their stock one last check before turning in.
Princess’ stall was in the third row about midway down and Nash stopped to rub the mare’s breathtakingly beautiful face. Her big eyes seemed dull tonight. “Ah, baby,” he crooned. “Bad tummy, huh.”
She snuffled an answer as he continued to stroke her red coat then brushed a hand over her black mane. Oh yeah, she was a beauty and one of his favorite cutting horses but she would sit this rodeo out. He wouldn’t take chances with her health.
“Guess you’ll be riding Big ‘un tomorrow.”
“Looks like it,” Nash said as he moved one stall over and clicked his tongue at the inky black gelding. Big ‘un snorted and tossed his mane before nosing Nash in the chest.
Nash responded with a quick stroke of his hand.
Shorty spit tobacco and reached into his front pocket for a piece of apple and held it out to the horse. “He’ll do you fine for the steer roping.”
“That’s one fine lookin’ animal.” When a familiar female voice called out, Nash looked up and saw Amy Sue Shoemaker, a barrel racer who hailed from Tulsa. She flashed a flirty grin and strutted his way. The pretty brunette looked like she’d been melted and poured into those tight jeans and she filled out the front of her t-shirt nicely. She’d been chasing his butt off for the past three months but Nash wasn’t biting.
Not only did he not get involved with the locals, he avoided sexual romps with the rodeo cowgirls, too. He preferred his sex during the off-season. Yeah, sometimes he fell off the denial-wagon but it wasn’t a habit with him.
“Ya’ll bout to call it a night,” she asked as she halted beside them.
Shorty
cleared his throat and looked down at the toes of his worn boots, his face as red as a fire truck. “Um, yes ma’am.”
Surprise caught Nash at Shorty’s actions. He was sweet on Amy Sue! Leave it to Shorty to fall for a woman whose initials spelled ASS and not for the first time, he wondered what her parents had been smoking when they named her. Considering Shorty’s infatuation and the woman’s obvious interest in him, Nash thought it might be smart to get the hell out of Dodge.
“Yeah,” he said. “Better head on back to the hotel, get some sleep before the events tomorrow. Hope you have a good ride.”
Amy dimpled sweetly. “Thanks. You, too. ‘Night, Shorty.”
Shorty tipped his hat and the two of them left the stables and headed for their trucks. Both were staying at The Corral Hotel out on the interstate and within ten minutes were nursing cups of coffee at the Waffle House located across the parking lot from where they were bedding down.
The place was packed tonight. Bustling waitresses carried plates of breakfast and jotted down orders at record speed. The scent of frying bacon and coffee permeated the air. Chatter was loud, interspersed with the sounds of cutlery clinking as everyone got a bite to eat before turning in. Tim McGraw blasted from the juke box, advising everyone to Live Like You Were Dying.
“You talked with Mama Rose, yet?” Shorty asked as he sipped his black coffee.
“No, not tonight.” Nash doctored his own coffee with a hefty dose of cream and gave it a stir. “You?”
Shorty looked out the plate glass window toward the interstate. In profile, his overlarge nose was slightly hooked, his mouth was thin and, at the moment turned down. Not a handsome man by any stretch, but kind and very soft hearted when it came to Mama Rose. “Yeah, I called her before I came out to fetch you. I drove by the bakery on Main Street, you know, just passing some time and could’ve sworn I smelled homemade chocolate chip cookies. It made me think of her so I called.”
Nash shifted in the booth and smiled politely at the harried waitress who set down two heaping plates of food. They’d both ordered the Rancher’s Special of two eggs over easy, hash browns and sausage. Shorty had pancakes to go along with it and Nash wondered how any human could put away so much food.
They settled in to eat and after Nash doctored his coffee with a healthy dose of half and half, he bit into a flaky homemade biscuit slathered in butter. “So what’d she have to say?”
“Hell, she’s missin’ Big Daddy Buck something awful.”
Emotion welled in Nash’s throat and he took a quick sip of his scalding coffee. Big Daddy Buck Walters and his wife Rose had made a wonderful home for both of them when they’d been kids no one wanted. With three grown sons and an empty ranch house, they’d opened their hearts to troubled boys and given them a life. “Hard to believe we lost him about this time last year.” Nash shook his head as memories of the big, gruff rancher sifted through his mind. “It sure was sudden.”
Shorty shook his head. “Mama was always tellin’ him he needed to eat right, take better care of himself but he was stubborn.”
“So what’d she have to say?”
“She took in three more foster boys last week. One of ‘em has been in and out of juvie for the past few years.”
“Sounds like me. Trouble on the hoof.”
His old friend grinned. “You cleaned up pretty good, Nash. Man, you should’ve seen the look on that woman’s face out there in the parking lot! Lordy, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hotter woman and she was sure as hell smokin’ for you.”
Just the mention of Scarlet had Nash shifting his gaze out the window. Damn. He couldn’t remember ever meeting a woman who turned him inside out the way she’d done. A dangerous woman to a guy’s peace of mind. It would take a truly confident man to take up with a woman like her. Smoking hot, independent, and smart.
He wanted her. No doubt about it.
After they’d eaten, Nash and Shorty parted ways and he went into the lonely motel room he’d call home for the next few days. It was like all the others containing only a king-sized bed and a miniscule closet that currently housed his shirts and jeans. Two extra pairs of boots set beneath everything in the small space. The room also featured a television, microwave, a small fridge, and a tiny coffee pot that wouldn’t satisfy the caffeine cravings of a mouse.
Nash flopped on the side of the bed and yanked off his boots tossing them with deadly accuracy toward the other boots in the doorless closet. His shirt and jeans were thrown into an empty corner. No underwear. Nash was a “commando” kind of guy who seldom bothered with it. Mama Rose would have his ass on a platter if she knew.
Naked he stretched out on the bed and flipped on the television. He wasn’t much of one for watching but the noise made the room seem less lonely. The Dirty Dozen was playing on one of the channels and he settled in to watch Lee and the boys blow up Nazis. It was one of his favorites. A real man’s movie.
By the time Big Jim Brown bought a bullet, he was bored and muted the sound of gunfire. He reached for his phone on the bedside table and dialed a familiar number.
“Hey, Mama.”
“Nash? That you, honey?”
“Yeah, calling from Sweetridge. Just got in.”
She laughed. “You and me always were night owls, weren’t we, boy?”
Mama Rose Walters was the only person on Earth who still called him “boy” and that was fine with him. Made him smile. Made him remember. “Been thinking about you. You doin’ okay?”
Over the phone, he heard her sigh. “Good. Really. I’m fine, sweetie. You boys all worry too much. Steve and Robert have both moved back to the ranch with their families and are running things just like Buck would’ve wanted.”
Steve and Rob were Buck and Rose’s two oldest boys and had taken over the ranch after their father’s heart attack. The youngest, Donnie, was a lawyer practicing in Reno and had no interest in ranching. “How do they feel about your boys?”
She laughed. “They know dang well I don’t give a rat’s behind what they think about it. I’ve been taking you boys in for too many years to count and I’m not about to stop now.”
At one time, Nash and Shorty had counted up to twenty foster boys the Walters family had taken into their home but then they lost track. As far as he knew, every single one of them remained close to Buck and Rose long after he’d left the ranch and become a man. Nash was no different.
“You feeling lonely, son?”
“Yeah, a little.”
Rose went quiet and he could almost hear the wheels turning in that sharp brain of hers. “Then why don’t you give up this rodeo stuff, honey? Come on back here and help my boys train cutting horses. You’re plumb gifted, Nash. Buck always said so.”
“I want my own place, Mama, you know that. I almost have the money and I’m planning to buy my own ranch soon. Just have to find the right spot. The Rocking R belongs to you and your sons. They’re good men and I’m not about to move in on their territory. I want something that belongs to me. Do you understand?”
He heard water running in the sink and knew she was probably in the kitchen filling up the coffee pot for the morning. The thought made him smile. “’Course I do, Nash. Everybody wants something to call their own. With you it was always a burning desire. You want a home, boy. You always have.”
Truer words had never been spoken.
After the call, Nash closed his eyes and thought of the dreams he’d built for himself when he’d become a man.
They were big dreams.
More than anything, he wanted to have a place somewhere, a ranch, where he could raise and train the cutting horses so essential to the working cowboy. He had a magic tough with the animals Big Daddy Buck had told him. But he wanted more than that, too.
He wanted a woman who loved him, kids. He wanted it all.
Rubbing his eyes, Nash stood and pulled down the bedspread and crawled between the crisp white sheets. She’d have to be strong, he thought, this woman who’d love him. To
ugh and resilient. Beautiful wouldn’t hurt, either. Nor would sexy-as-hell.
Closing his eyes, he sighed into the darkness as the vision of his dream woman appeared in his mind.
Funny. She looked a lot like Scarlet Ballew.
Chapter Three
Scarlet groaned when the morning sun filtered faintly through a crease in her white plantation shutters. Opening her eyes to the familiar sight of her neat little bedroom in her neat little house, she thought back to last night’s humiliation and groaned once more for good measure.
A nightmare.
Well, almost a nightmare. Cole’s actions had been reprehensible. The only thing that had saved her evening had been meeting the hottest, best dancin’, best kissing, cowboy this side of heaven. But then he’d gone and ruined everything by blowing her off.
Tossing off the covers, she padded toward the bathroom and turned on the water. She should count herself lucky she’d escaped when she had, because sure as shooting that man would’ve been in her britches before she could blink and this morning she’d be busy kicking her own butt instead of just wishing things could be different.
Scarlet took care of her teeth and ran a brush quickly through her hair before heading into the kitchen for that first cup of coffee. The scent of caffeine teased her and she’d just sat down at the kitchen table with a cup when there was a knock on the door.
Squinting at the clock on the microwave, noting the time, she realized she’d really slept late this morning. It was already after ten.
She opened the front door to see her mom, Della, standing there bold as brass, carrying a Tupperware cake container which she thrust into her arms.
“Morning, Mom.”
Della kissed her cheek and blasted through the front door like a Texas tornado. She headed straight for the kitchen. “Hey, honey. Don’t tell me you just got up. God. Is that coffee I smell? I’m gonna fix me a cup.”
Scarlet had learned long ago that her mom had a unique talent for answering her own questions quite nicely. “I’m on vacation. I’m well within my rights to be a slug while on vacation. In fact, I think it’s a law. What do you have here?”
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