“If they’re calling you,” Brett went on, “it’s strictly because every Lone Ranger needs a Tonto. You’re second place, Tyler.”
“Maybe, but I’m not giving up without a fight. You’re on your way out, Brett. Just make it easy on yourself and call it a day. No one can stay on top forever. Better to go out at the height of your career than to slip up and lose your shit in front of thousands of fans. Besides, you’ve got enough to keep you busy at home. My momma said she talked to Dolly and Pappy’s not doing so good.”
“He’s fine,” Brett snapped. “He just needs a little time.”
“Is that so? ’Cause the last I heard, he had Alzheimer’s. You do know what that is, don’t you?”
“Is there a point to this call?”
“Just wanted to keep in touch and let you know that while you’re on pause, I just won first place in Tulsa. Point wise, that pushes me up the board. We’re almost dead even now. Another rodeo or two, and you’ll be eating my dust.”
“This conversation is done.”
“Bye, cuz,” Tyler’s irritating voice called out a split second before Brett hit the off button.
Brett hauled open the refrigerator and reached for a beer. Tyler was a jackass. A mouthy jackass. While the call didn’t come as a surprise—the man consistently rubbed every success in Brett’s face—the timing did.
What type of cowboy called another cowboy out while he was at home dealing with personal issues?
A cowboy who wanted to win, that’s who. Brett knew the game. He’d mouthed off a time or two himself, boasting and bragging to get in the other guy’s craw. Personal issues aside.
No, it wasn’t the call that bothered Brett so much as what Tyler had said—that Wrangler was starting to doubt Brett’s commitment to them.
Then again, he hadn’t sent in the contracts or so much as e-mailed to say they were on the way. It had been three weeks and he’d yet to do anything.
Hell, he should just sign them and be done with it.
He would. First thing tomorrow.
Right now, he needed to calm down and cool off.
He popped the top on the beer and took a long swig before heading down the hallway toward his room. On the way, he caught the sound of his sister’s voice as she sat by Pappy’s bedside and read from an old book from their childhood.
The Little Engine That Could.
Brett had loved that book so much that he’d begged Pappy to read it to him over and over, and the man had obliged every time. He’d never been too busy or too tired.
He’d given the little engine a voice, one that didn’t sound as soft, as soothing, as different from the familiar grumble that Brett remembered so well.
Everything was so damned different now.
The ranch.
His pappy.
His Callie.
He ditched the thought. She wasn’t his. She never had been and she never would be. Even if they did have sex. Because sex didn’t mean anything. It was one moment in a lifetime of many. Just a blissful escape from all of the problems that weighed them down. Just physical.
If only he could make Callie understand that.
While Brett Sawyer had never been one to shy away from a challenge, he started to wonder if maybe, just maybe he was in over his head this time.
With Callie. With the ranch. With Pappy.
Karen’s voice followed him, prompting him to never give up, to keep going and trying, the words feeding the anxiety that skimmed his nerves and wound him tight.
Taking another swig of his beer, he bypassed his bedroom and headed for the back door.
It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.
If only for a little while.
CHAPTER 20
She should text Arnie.
That was Callie’s first thought as she drove away from Bootleg Bayou. She should get in touch with him and request an emergency acupuncture session.
At the same time, Arnie called bingo at the VFW on Sunday nights after church, which meant she was out of luck. That, and the first session had failed miserably.
These things take time.
That’s what Arnie had told her, but she had the gut feeling that all the needles in the world couldn’t fix what ailed her. She wanted Brett Sawyer in the worst way.
She’d been this close to falling at his feet tonight and begging him to make love to her. To finish what he’d started so long ago.
But it wasn’t the sex act itself that posed the threat. It was the begging. The need. The last thing Callie wanted was to need Brett Sawyer—or any man for that matter—to crave more than a few moments of carnal bliss to the point that she stopped thinking of her priorities and needed only him. Callie Tucker didn’t need anyone.
She stood on her own two feet. She always had and she always would.
“You ate my pie.” Brandy’s voice drifted from the kitchen doorway and Callie turned to see her sister wearing a pink T-shirt, the Sweet Somethings logo spelled out in white frosting, and a pair of sweats. “I was this close to dissecting Miss Nona’s recipe. A few more bites and I would have had it.”
“I ran out of cupcakes. It was either Miss Nona’s or the apple pie that Little Jimmy dropped off the other night, and I really needed chocolate.”
“I figured. What I can’t figure out is why you still need the cupcakes. Unless the gossip floating around town is true.”
“Gossip?”
“My assistant Ellie said her cousin said that her aunt’s brother-in-law saw you talking to Brett Sawyer out in front of the feed store yesterday.” Brandy pinned her with a stare. “Since when do you talk to Brett Sawyer?”
“He came home a few weeks ago and I saw him in town the day of James’s funeral.” She shrugged. “He stopped me to tell me that he was sorry about what happened. So where’s Jenna?”
“Vaccinating horses out at the Bensons’. They’re so far out of town that she’s staying overnight since it’s a two-day job.”
“Horses, huh?”
“Her favorite. It’s a wonder she hasn’t brought one home along with the stray dogs. So the whole condolence thing explains the meeting in town,” Brandy went on, obviously not about to be distracted, “but it doesn’t explain why you went out to Brett’s place tonight.” Callie’s head snapped up and Brandy gave her a pointed stare. “Yeah, I know about that, too.”
Callie shrugged and averted her gaze. “He’s selling off some of his property and Les is getting the listing. I just went out to take a few pictures.” Not quite the whole truth, but then Brandy didn’t have to know about the recipe. Or the taxes. Or the fact that Callie had forgotten both while she’d been grinding on Brett’s lap. “So how do you know about tonight?”
“Jimmy Eubanks saw you pass him on the interstate. He saw you turn off on County Road 1450. Everybody knows the only house off that road is the Sawyer spread.”
Callie braced herself for the inquisition that was sure to follow.
Did you see Brett?
Do you still like Brett?
Did you get naked with Brett?
“I heard at the bakery today that Karen’s home. Haven’t seen her myself, but folks in town have. She’s got this new haircut and everything. How’s she doing?”
O-kay. Callie slid a glance toward her sister, but Brandy had turned away to retrieve a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator and Callie sent up a silent thank you. While her sister didn’t know the details of that one disastrous night, she knew that Callie had liked Brett and that, for whatever reason, he’d dumped her.
“Karen, huh? I had no idea she was back. I didn’t see her. Then again, I wasn’t at Bootleg Bayou for a visit. I was busy taking pictures.” And busy getting busy. “You say she cut her hair?”
Brandy nodded. “Myrtle Sullivan came in for brownies. She said her daughter saw Karen at the Quick Pack and she has this really short bob now. What a shame, right? I mean, she had the prettiest hair back in high school. I can’t believe she would cut it…” Brandy pour
ed herself a glass of tea and sank down at the table to debate a bob versus a shag while Callie focused all of her energy on making a peanut butter sandwich.
It did little to sate the hunger gnawing inside her. She even chased it with a glass of milk, but no luck. She still felt empty. Needy.
“Here,” Brandy said as she pulled out a pink bakery box from the back of the fridge. “After I found the half of a pie missing this morning and Ellie told me about you meeting up with Brett, I figured you could use this.” She opened up the box to reveal a jumbo-sized cupcake. “It’s my newest s’mores cake with homemade marshmallow frosting.” When Callie smiled, Brandy added, “Not that I’m advising you to feed your troubles with a zillion calories, but if you’re going to gain a few pounds, it might as well be because of the good stuff instead of that store-bought crap. That, and I took Little Jimmy’s apple pie to the bakery. Ellie makes a mean apple pie and I wanted her to taste it. To see if she can figure out what makes Jimmy’s mama’s pies so darn good.”
“Thanks, Brandy.”
“I know there’s more that you’re not telling me, but I’m here if you want to talk.” Callie nodded and watched her sister yawn. “I guess I better hit the sack. I’m on bread duty in the morning. That means I’m out of here before sunup.”
“I thought you were closed on Mondays?”
“I am, but the chamber of commerce is having a dessert reception after its monthly meeting and I’m providing the goodies. That includes loaves of cinnamon bread for everyone to take home after the event. It’s not a huge gig, but I’ll take anything I can get right now.”
Callie watched her sister head to bed and summoned her courage. If Brandy could stay focused on what was really important, so could Callie.
That meant no more fooling around with Brett. She needed to find that recipe.
And if she couldn’t?
Then it was on to plan B.
* * *
“Do I look like I’m made of money?” Les Haverty’s voice carried from the open doorway of his office on Monday morning and stalled Callie at her desk. “You might be able to pull the wool over everyone else’s eyes, but I keep track of my money. I ordered three boxes of Thin Mints. Three. That’s it.”
“But I’ve got you down for a box of Tagalongs,” came the soft female voice.
“That spiel might work on some other bozo, but I keep track of my money. Now here’s my twelve dollars and not a penny more.”
A few seconds later, eight-year-old Savannah Sawyer and her ten-year-old sister, Saylor, filed out of the office wearing Girl Scout uniforms and matching frowns.
“What a cheapskate,” Savannah huffed.
“A serious tightwad,” her sister agreed as they headed for the door.
“Can you believe those girls?” Les demanded a few seconds later when he stormed out of his office. “Why, they tried to scam me. They tried to sneak in an extra box of cookies on my order. As if I would ever willingly buy a box of Tagalongs. Selma hates them. If I brought those cookies home, she would think I ordered them just because I got distracted by Saylor and Savannah’s mom, who wears those tight yoga pants to the chamber of commerce meetings. Not that I do get distracted. Even if they are mighty flattering. So?” Les nailed Callie with a stare. “You left a voice mail last night saying you wanted to talk to me about something?”
She wasn’t going to ask. Les had gone off on a pair of Girl Scouts. He would rip her a new one for sure.
At the same time, nothing ventured, nothing gained. “I, um, am having a little financial trouble what with all the funeral expenses and I was thinking that maybe you could give me a loan. I mean, I might not need it. I’m working on a few other things. But if those don’t pan out, I was hoping that you might be able to give me a loan.”
“How much are we talking?”
“Three thousand dollars. If everything else falls through.”
Les shook his head. “I’m afraid there’s no way I can do that.”
“I know it’s a lot of money. You probably don’t have that kind of cash.”
“I don’t. I hand over all the profits to Selma except for a forty-dollar-a-week allowance. She has her dad invest it for us. Last I heard, we own interest in four different RV properties down near Corpus Christi.”
“Corpus, huh?”
“I suppose I could ask her,” Les went on. “But I don’t know if that would be such a good idea. You’re not really on Selma’s radar—you don’t even own a pair of yoga pants—but if she finds out that I want to give you money, she’s liable to think there’s some ulterior motive. Selma is big on ulterior motives.”
“It’s fine.” Callie shrugged. “I’ll come up with something else.”
“Have you talked to the bank?”
“They’re next on my list.”
“I’ll put in a good word for you with Howard Toombs. He’s the president. Maybe he can work something out.”
But the bank had already worked things out. They’d given Callie the extra thirty days when they’d legally been able to foreclose last month. That, coupled with the fact that Callie had no collateral and only a minimum amount of credit, meant that there was probably little Howard could do.
Little amounted to an extra fifteen days.
“I’m afraid that’s the best I can do under the current situation,” Howard told her later that afternoon when she stopped by the bank on her lunch hour. “I’m really sorry about your grandfather, but we’ve already floated this as long as possible, Miss Tucker. An extra two weeks is all I can do, and that’s stretching it.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate everything.”
Two extra weeks.
It wasn’t much, but it would give her a little more time to find the recipe which, judging by last night, wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d originally thought.
If not impossible.
She ignored the doubt and focused on the all-important fact that they’d barely started to look. She’d burned only four days of the six weeks she now had to come up with the money. She could do this.
She would do this.
It was just a matter of staying hopeful and focused and not begging Brett Sawyer to have sex with her.
If only that weren’t easier said than done.
Not that he pressed her lust buttons. If anything, he went out of his way not to touch her when she showed up at Bootleg Bayou later that evening to continue the search.
No brushing up against her or hauling her close, or kissing the common sense right out of her. He barely even glanced her way as they riffled through boxes and went through drawers.
A pattern that repeated itself over the next week as they continued to dig their way through the massive attic.
Even so, she still felt him right there on the fringes, so close all she had to do was reach out.
She wouldn’t.
She was already worried and desperate. She wasn’t adding stupid to the list. And that’s what she would be if she slept with a man she still wanted as much as she wanted her next breath, a man determined to walk away at the earliest possible moment.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
CHAPTER 21
“It’s a smart deal,” said the man sitting across the massive desk from Brett.
It was Friday afternoon and Brett had come into the house after a long day herding cattle to find the real estate broker waiting for him, along with the stack of pictures that Callie had taken and a leasing agreement.
“I’m willing to take two percent less than the usual commission if you’ll sign the papers right now and give me the listing.” Les Haverty pulled a pen from his pocket and slid it across the desktop. “You won’t get a better deal with anyone else.”
Anyone being Tanner Sawyer.
But Brett and Tanner had never really gotten along. Tanner was too greedy. Too self-centered. Too much a typical Sawyer.
That, and Les knew his business. The sales sheet he’d put together looked great, primarily due to Callie’s
beautiful pictures. Brett couldn’t imagine Tanner doing a better job. Even more, Les already had a buyer in mind and time was crucial.
Brett took the pen and scribbled his signature on various sections before handing the agreement back over to the Realtor. “Here you go.”
“You won’t regret this. I’ll move that acreage just like that.” Les snapped his fingers before diving into his briefcase to pull out a custom-printed drawstring sack with the Haverty’s logo. “Here’s your customer appreciation gift. There’s a T-shirt and a koozie, as well as a key chain and a gift card for a free lunch at the diner. Just our way of saying welcome to the Haverty family!”
Brett took the sack while Les gathered up his briefcase. “I’ll start showing as soon as possible. If you’ll let your people know so that they won’t think you’ve got trespassers.” Brett nodded and caught the hand Les extended for a shake. “And again, I really appreciate this.”
“Just get me my asking price and I’ll be the appreciative one.”
“Done.” Les headed for the door while Brett sank down to file away his copy of the agreement.
“Was that Les Haverty?” The voice sounded and Brett glanced up to see his pappy standing in the doorway.
“Yes, sir, it was.” Brett eyed his grandfather. “You know Les?” Last night the man had been convinced he was thirty-five and about to attend his first cattlemen’s ball.
“Of course I know Les. He sells real estate.” Pappy’s gaze met Brett’s and for the first time in a long time, Brett saw the familiar glimmer in the man’s eyes that said the Alzheimer’s hadn’t gotten the best of him just yet. “You’re selling, aren’t you?”
Brett nodded. “Just one hundred acres on the west side. To catch us up on the bills and get us back on our feet.”
“That’ll help.” The old man hobbled into the room and sank down on a nearby sofa. He wore a red-and-white-checkered shirt stuffed into a pair of starched Wranglers and his work boots. “What about the cattle sale? Did you take care of that?”
Brett nodded. “A few days ago, but we were short. Ten head. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
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