Texas Thunder

by Kimberly Raye

  Frustration rushed through him. He pushed to his feet and eyed the empty safe.

  “Where is everything?” The familiar voice sounded behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see his sister standing in the doorway.

  “I wish I knew. I got the combination from Pappy’s lawyer and when I opened it up, I found it empty.” He slid a glance toward his sister. “I’ve got ten cattle missing, too.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. Something’s going on.”

  “Is that why you were asking about the ranch hands? You think one of them has something to do with the missing cattle?”

  And the safe.

  “I think it’s more likely someone outside of the ranch sees us as an easy target, what with Pappy’s illness. Things are confusing right now and so it’s an opportune chance to make a fast buck. When was the last time you saw the contents of the safe?”

  She shrugged. “A year ago. Maybe two. Pappy never opened it up much.”

  “The last time I saw it was five years ago when Pappy put my first buckle inside with the savings bonds, the jewelry, the Bible.”

  “Grandma’s old Bible?” He nodded and she added, “I didn’t even know that was in the safe. The last time I saw that old thing, it was in one of those boxes in the attic. The ones filled with all of Grandma’s stuff.”

  Karen’s words sent a bolt of hope through him and he eyed his sister. “So you’re telling me it wasn’t in the safe?”

  She shook her head. “Not since two Christmases ago. Seeing all those mementos made Pappy upset so Dolly packed everything away and put it up in the attic. It calmed him down. For a little while, anyway.” She frowned. “So you really think someone is stealing from us?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s looking more and more likely. Unless Pappy cleaned it out himself.”

  “He can barely remember who we are, I seriously doubt he opened the safe and moved everything.”

  “Maybe it was one of his better days.” Brett held tight to the hope and glanced toward the open doorway and the whistling that came from down the hall. It was an old Willie Nelson song, his grandmother’s favorite as a matter of fact, and his gut tightened.

  “He’s in his bedroom getting dressed for his date.”

  “Come again?” Brett arched an eyebrow.

  “He told me he’s going to call on this really pretty girl he met last week and ask her to the cotillion. I’m pretty sure he’s talking about Grandma. He’s putting on a red shirt and you know how she liked red.”

  “When he’s feeling better, I’ll talk to him.”

  Karen leveled a stare at him. “You mean if he ever feels better.”

  “I mean when.” Brett closed the safe. “He’s strong, Karen. He’ll make it through this.” He gathered up the papers sitting atop the desk. “I need to get going. We’re finishing up with the cattle sale today.” He rounded the polished oak table and headed for the door. “Let me know when you’re heading back to school and we’ll do something. Lunch or dinner in town maybe.”

  He left the room, hanging a left toward the front door. The old Willie Nelson tune followed him, reminding him of the past and the Pappy he’d once known. One he intended to hold onto for as long as possible.

  Pappy was strong. He could fight this. He would. He just needed a little time.

  At least that’s what Brett had been telling himself for the past two weeks.

  He just wasn’t so sure he believed it anymore.

  * * *

  Karen Sawyer stood near the kitchen window and watched her brother mount the multicolored paint in the back corral.

  He tossed a leg over, kicked the animal into motion, and raced for the west pasture where Pepper and the others were loading several cattle trucks.

  Pappy’s whistling echoed in her ears and she blinked against the sudden burning behind her eyes.

  While Brett refused to see the truth—that the Pappy they once knew was gone—Karen had accepted it months ago. She’d seen him deteriorating every holiday when she was home from school. At this past year’s Christmas when he’d wrapped presents for her grandma, who’d been dead for years. At Easter when he’d hidden eggs for his only son, Berle. On the Fourth of July when he’d dressed in his Sunday best and waited for his beloved wife to come down the stairs so they could head to the annual Red, White & Blue picnic and eat banana pudding.

  Each “episode” lasted longer and made him all the more upset when reality set in and he learned that his son was gone and his wife had passed, and the years had turned him into a shadow of the man he’d once been.

  A man who was now old and frail and sick.

  Those valuable moments of realization were becoming too few and far between, which is why she wasn’t heading back to Texas A&M next weekend.

  She wasn’t just home for the break.

  No, Karen Sawyer was home for good.

  Pappy needed someone full-time, and while Dolly lived at Bootleg Bayou, she still had a life that existed outside of the ranch. She had a daughter and son-in-law in nearby Austin who’d given her a handful of grandkids to keep her busy during her weekends off. She had bingo on Monday nights and Bible study on Wednesdays. Both of which she’d given up to look after Pappy when Karen was in College Station.

  But as dedicated as the old woman was, she wasn’t family. It wasn’t fair that she should have to sacrifice her life for her employer. Even if she considered that employer a dear friend.

  Pappy needed someone who was all-in, every second of every day, and Karen intended to be that someone. Her grandfather had taken care of her ever since her mother had left. Before then, even, because her parents had been too busy fighting to pay much attention to their own kids.

  Not Pappy. He’d been the one constant in her life, and now it was Karen’s turn to repay the favor.

  “You’re doing no such thing,” Dolly had told her when she’d spilled the news to the woman just yesterday. “You’re too young to be taking care of a sick old man. You should be out having fun, living life, falling in love.”

  Love?

  Seriously?

  She’d been there and done that, and it had hurt like hell. She’d discovered that firsthand when certified SOB Layton Daniels had two-timed her with some random slut he’d met on Tinder. She’d caught him red-handed a few months ago at a fraternity graffiti party and she’d called it quits that very night.

  Men sucked.

  The only man she’d ever been able to depend on was her pappy. Sure, her brother was great. She knew she could call him anytime with any problem, but he wasn’t there. He’d spent the past ten years on the road. Even now, he’d made it perfectly clear that his presence at Bootleg Bayou was just temporary. He had a career. A life.

  Karen had neither. School wasn’t all she’d hoped it would be, her biology class was kicking her ass, and Layton and his slut seemed to be lurking around every corner, studying in the Student Center, or chowing down in the dining hall, or sucking down beers at the Dixie Chicken.

  She needed a break and Pappy needed her, and so she was staying right here where she belonged.

  * * *

  When Callie pulled up in front of the house she shared with her two sisters on Saturday night, the sun had finally set and shadows clustered on the front porch. The light was off, which meant that Jenna was still at the veterinary clinic and Brandy was working late at the bakery.

  Like they did most nights.

  They were living out their dreams, working hard for the future they’d planned for themselves.

  Meanwhile Callie’s life was stuck in neutral while she tried to figure out her current mess.

  She remembered the burst of hope when Brett had agreed to look for his half of the recipe. For a moment, she’d pictured finding the recipe, calling Mark, walking into the bank to pay off the taxes, and finally sending off the armload of tear sheets that were ready and waiting on the corner of her desk. As if anything in her life had eve
r been that easy.

  A symphony of barking dogs met her when she opened the front door. She spent the next half hour feeding the animals and letting them out to do their business, all the while doing her damnedest to forget Brett and the way he’d tasted.

  Better than the past.

  Hotter.

  Sweeter.

  Ugh.

  Herding a yapping Jez into the den, she left the dog watching a rerun of Keeping Up with the Kardashians while she headed back to the kitchen to drown her own troubles.

  Opening the fridge, she pulled out what was left of Nona Munson’s prize-winning chocolate meringue pie. The old woman had dropped off two of the rare delicacies after the funeral, the first of which had been devoured in a record five minutes in the church rec hall. Brandy—bless her heart—had managed to hide the second and bring it home so that she could attempt to dissect Miss Nona’s recipe and create her own version for the bakery.

  That had involved eating nearly half the pie, which left the other half for Callie.

  Thankfully.

  She fished a fork out of the drawer, sat down at the table, and took her first bite. The decadent taste exploded on her tongue and sent a rush of ahh that temporarily distracted her from the all-important fact that Brett Sawyer had kissed her.

  Slow and deep and …

  She shoveled another bite and focused on the sweet meringue and rich chocolate and flaky crust—anything besides the way his lips had slanted over hers and the way his large hand had pressed just so at the base of her spine. There. That was better. No way could Brett hold a candle to Miss Nona’s pie.

  No matter how tall.

  Or sexy.

  Or downright yummy.

  She ate a few more bites and tried to forget the past half hour and the way he’d looked at her and the way he’d held her and the way his strong, purposeful mouth had devoured hers.

  She kept eating, until she reached the last bite and the only thing she could think of was how much Miss Nona deserved that blue ribbon she’d won last year.

  Okay, so that wasn’t the only thing she was thinking. Right up there? She was sure to regret pigging out. A girl didn’t down half a pie and not pay the price when it came time to get dressed the next morning.

  To offset the massive food baby and ease her own guilt, she went on another cleaning binge. She dusted and vacuumed and hauled out the trash. She even grabbed the doggy brush and spent fifteen minutes working through Jez’s soft fur.

  Not that she liked Jez all that much, or had any intention of getting her own pet once she packed up and left Rebel.

  Callie was through being responsible for someone else. Once she had the city limits in her rearview mirror, her only responsibility would be to herself.

  Her career.

  It was a dream that had gotten her through the tough times in her past, all those long endless nights when she’d worried over James, wondering if he would open his eyes the next morning or if he’d finally drank himself past the point of no return.

  A dream that did nothing for her tonight.

  Because it wasn’t visions of a career in journalism that crawled into bed with her later that night. It was the vivid memory of the hottest kiss of her life and the man who’d given it to her.

  And damn if she didn’t want another.

  CHAPTER 16

  It was way too early in the morning.

  That was Callie’s first thought as she stood on the east side of Bootleg Bayou and stared through a break in the trees at the man who stood near the creek just a few yards away from her, his back to her.

  He wore nothing but a pair of snug, faded jeans that molded to the shape of his buttocks, his lean hips, and strong thighs. A rip in the denim bisected his upper left thigh, giving her a peek at silky dark hair and tanned skin.

  The first light of day spilled through the trees and sculpted his bare torso. The surrounding foliage cast just the right amount of shadow to accent the corded muscles of his shoulders and arms, the hard planes of his back.

  A blanket lay nearby, a pair of worn boots sitting on top next to a pillow.

  She sighted through the lens, moved a fraction of an inch this way, a scant distance that way. Zooming in, she searched for just the right angle … There. She had him framed perfectly, his shoulders filling up her view. A drop of perspiration slid down his neck, winding a path between his shoulder blades, and her throat went dry.

  Her finger stalled just shy of the shutter, her hand tightened on the camera.

  Landscape shots, she reminded herself. She was here to knock off a few shots of the rippling creek, the lush trees, the local wildlife.

  Sliding her attention past the perfect specimen of man, she fixed her gaze on a whitetail deer that dipped his head and drank from the creek. She zoomed in on the shot, framing the animal perfectly before she snapped off first one picture, then another.

  The animal went on about his business, and she did the same. She’d dragged herself out of bed before sunrise on purpose, to capture the first morning light and portray the quiet serenity of a Texas sunrise at Bootleg Bayou. The less she had to use flashes or strobes, the more real the pictures.

  She didn’t have the fanciest equipment, but a good photographer didn’t need the latest bells and whistles. She’d learned that from her yearbook advisor back in high school. Mrs. Brenner had been the best photographer in Rebel at the time. She’d shot every local wedding, captured every major event, and been featured regularly in the local newspaper. She’d graduated from the University of Texas School of Journalism—the school Callie had planned to attend—and she’d been a valuable mentor. Mrs. Brenner had given her her first camera—an old castoff the woman had stopped using in favor of a newer, flashier model—and taught Callie the value of taking care of a camera and treating it as if it were the most expensive piece of equipment available.

  “It’s not about the camera itself. It’s about what you do with it.”

  She’d taught Callie to do plenty. To play with light and focus. To look deeper into a scene and capture that one element that represented the whole.

  That told a story.

  One that said she was desperately, undeniably horny.

  The truth hit her as she focused on Brett framed in the morning light and tapped the shutter before she could stop herself.

  Hello? This is about showing the natural charm of a winding creek lined with cypress and cedar trees, the breathtaking quality of the hills, the strength of the land. You’re not here to document the beefcake owner with his broad shoulders and his ripped jeans …

  The thought stalled as Brett turned, giving her his profile. Muscles rippled. Shadows chased sunlight across his bare torso and the air lodged in her throat.

  If a picture told a story, Brett was an award-winning porn star. From the way he lifted his arms in what should have been a casual stretch, to the ever-so-slight thrust of his hips, to the peekaboo rip in his jeans.

  She stared at his image in her viewfinder and tried with all of her might not to look.

  Come on, Callie. Get it together. Just turn. Walk away. Go back to the truck and get your tripod.

  She could march up the nearest hill and take a few panoramic shots. The creek could wait until later, until after Brett was gone and she wasn’t so fresh from a night spent tossing and turning and thinking about that kiss.

  About him.

  Because he was still that pie-in-the-sky fantasy. The unanswered question. The what if?

  No way would it be as good as she imagined. She knew that firsthand. She’d had a few sexual encounters over the years and they’d all fallen terribly short of her fantasies.

  Brett would be the same disappointment.

  Or would he?

  The question stuck in her brain as he turned toward her. His gaze powered through the viewfinder and just like that, he was staring straight at her.

  The camera slipped from her hands and stalled at her waist thanks to the strap that fastened around her ne
ck. And suddenly there was nothing to hide behind. No barrier between her and the real world.

  Sure enough, Brett stared in her direction. A heartbeat later, he wasn’t just staring. He stepped toward her and she knew that it was too late to turn tail and run.

  “You’re up early,” he murmured as his legs ate up the distance between them and he came up to her.

  “It’s the best time for nature shots. The lighting is amazing. Listen, I’m sorry if I bothered you…”

  “No bother.” He touched a hand to his neck and moved his head from side to side. “I was already awake.”

  “You’re sleeping out here?”

  “Trying to, and failing miserably.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. “There’s someone making moonshine farther down the creek.”

  “I thought I recognized the smell.” One she’d caught a whiff of too many times back at home thanks to James and his cooking. “Do you know who it is?”

  “No, but when I find out I intend to put a stop to it. I’ve got enough problems.” He shoved a hand through his hair and her gaze hooked on his strong, tanned fingers.

  She had the sudden image of those fingers pressed against her skin, trailing down her neck, between her breasts …

  “We should talk,” she blurted before her courage could falter. “About what happened yesterday.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have kissed you back. It’s just that you caught me off guard and I’ve been working so much and, well, it was a weak moment.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “So you didn’t want to kiss me?”

  “I’m not saying that.”

  “So you didn’t like kissing me?”

  “I’m not saying that, either. It was nice.”

  “Nice, huh?”

  “Okay, it was better than nice. But that’s beside the point. I don’t have time for kissing.” Or anything else.

  Especially the anything else, she added silently.

  “I’ve got a lot on my plate right now and I think it’s better if we just stay focused on business.”