Texas Fever

by Kimberly Raye

  “My new tractor. I spent the afternoon trying to tame the yard around this place. It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Particularly after paying so much for that blasted tractor.”

  “How long did you mow?”

  “About ten minutes, which ended with me hitting a small tree, flying from the seat and landing on a stump—that’s where the bruise came from. Most of the afternoon I spent trying to get the tractor started. Here.” She handed him a towel. He was too wet and too aroused and he seemed much too concerned for her peace of mind.

  “It’s really late.” She held the towel protectively under her arms and started for the door. “I really need to get to bed.”

  “So do I,” he murmured. From the hungry look in his eyes, she knew he wasn’t talking about his own. A vision of his strong, tanned body against her yellow sheets sent a burst of heat through her, followed by a rush of panic.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she blurted. “You can see yourself out, can’t you?” Without waiting for a reply, she hightailed it from the room and headed down the hall to her bedroom. She felt his gaze on her as she disappeared into the safety of her room and leaned back against the closed door.

  She drew a deep, steady breath and listened for his footsteps. It seemed like forever before she heard the thud of boots as he descended the stairs, the slam of her front door, the rev of his truck engine outside. She closed her eyes as the noise faded and she heard only the sound of her own breathing.

  Holly retrieved a nightgown from her drawer. Sliding the soft cotton over her head, she pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. The scent of cinnamon and sweet honey clung to her as she crawled beneath the sheets. Her sex ached and she had half a mind to slide her fingers down south and find her own relief. That, or she could use her favorite vibrator sitting in the top drawer of her nightstand.

  But the point was to wait. To want. To anticipate. Rose had offered a full, leisurely evening of fun because going slow and taking planned, measured steps heightened the pleasure.

  She wasn’t going for an orgasm tonight. She was going to close her eyes and go to sleep.

  That’s what she told herself, but she couldn’t manage to doze off. After two long, agonizing hours, she finally gave up and climbed from bed. Her gaze lingered on the nightstand for a few, desperate heartbeats before she reined in her lust and pushed to her feet. Pulling on an oversize T-shirt, she headed downstairs to her kitchen. If she couldn’t have a real orgasm, she was going to settle for the next best thing.

  She’d eaten half a bowl of cold chocolate batter before the tension in her body eased enough for her to actually breathe again. Breathe, mind you. Sleep was still out of the question. She ate a few more spoonfuls before she calmed down enough to actually turn her attention to the notebook she’d picked up at the Food-o-rama to record her research and make notes for her speech.

  Focusing on the process simplified the entire encounter and made her concentrate on the physical put-this-here and touch-this-just-so steps that led to a satisfying experience.

  Of course, not complete satisfaction. That would come later. In one week, to be exact. Next Saturday night.

  While she’d managed to slice and dice the experience and detach herself from it, the anticipation of what was to come pulled her back to the moment.

  To the trembling hands and the aching breasts and the swollen lips, and the fact that Holly wanted Josh McGraw inside of her more than she wanted her next breath.

  Understandable. She’d been pretty near celibate for over a year. Once she put her dry spell truly behind her, the fire would die down some.

  At least that’s what Holly told herself.

  7

  JOSH TUGGED the chain that hung overhead. The bare bulb fired to life and pushed back the shadows in the back area of the main barn. He eyed the tarp that took up most of the space. A layer of dust coated the beige covering. Silvery cobwebs filtered from the ceiling, trembling with the small breeze that filtered through the open barn door.

  Josh reached for the edge of the tarp. His hand trembled, his fingers tight and strained like every other inch of his body. Christ, he was worked up. More so than he’d anticipated. Despite the drive home, the air conditioner on high, and a pitcher of ice-cold tea, his body still burned. He wasn’t sure how he’d walked away from Holly when all he’d wanted to do was push her up against the bathroom wall and pump fast and furious into her hot little body. But he’d kept his control because he always kept his control. Now was no different.She was no different.

  He ignored the small voice that whispered otherwise and pulled the tarp. The cover slid to the ground, revealing the shell of a car beneath.

  He forced his thoughts from the image of pale skin and skimpy black underwear and focused on the 1969 Pontiac GTO. It had been the fastest car to purr down Main Street until the dark night of his mother’s death when it had collided with the statue of Romeo McGraw, the town’s founder, that had sat in the square in front of city hall. The car had taken out its intended target, and the target had taken out the front end, from the frame to the engine, as well as his father who’d been driving.

  The wrecker had hauled it back here all those years ago. Josh’s grandfather had parked it in the barn and covered it with the tarp. He’d covered up the truth of his son’s death just as easily with a nice, touching story that had painted Walter McGraw a poor, grief-stricken widower who’d driven into the statue and killed himself rather than face the future without his wife who’d died after a difficult miscarriage.

  The truth, of course, hadn’t been nearly as touching. Guilt had been the driving force behind his father’s death. And hatred.

  Josh hadn’t wanted to look at the damned GTO all those years ago. At the same time, he’d had a deep affection for cars and so he’d eventually pulled back the tarp and started tinkering with it as a teenager. It had been a way to bide his time until his high school graduation and keep his distance from his grandfather. The old man had made it a point to steer clear of the vivid reminder of his only son’s stupidity.

  Josh had repaired most of the bodywork and had been about to start on the engine when graduation had rolled around. He’d accepted his diploma, said goodbye to his brothers and climbed into his old Chevy and left forever.

  Forever had turned out to be a lot shorter than he’d anticipated.

  He was back now. Temporarily, of course. Once Mason finished his project and came home, Josh would leave again. He wasn’t foolish enough to think it would be forever. As long as his brothers were alive, he would always have ties to Romeo. But it wasn’t home. It would never be home.

  Never again.

  He ran his hand along the primed fender and felt the smooth surface. He’d been young, a novice when it came to bodywork, but he’d still done a halfway decent job. Very few grooves. Only an occasional dip. Of course, he could do a hell of a lot better now. Cars and planes were his specialty. His job. His life.

  Yep, he could work wonders with the old GTO if he’d had half a mind. He didn’t. He was too busy running the ranch and fulfilling his grandfather’s chamber of commerce commitments to have time to tinker with his father’s old car.

  He glanced inside at the chain-link steering wheel and a memory rushed at him. Of him sitting on his father’s lap, his hands gripped around the steering wheel as his dad gunned the engine. A smile tugged at his lips for a long moment before guilt rushed through him and he frowned.

  He pulled the tarp back over the frame, killed the light and walked from the barn. It was better to forget the old jalopy. To forget the past.

  It was the future that mattered now. Five weeks at the most and his brother would be back. Josh could return to his life then. No more riding fence or branding cattle or birthing calves. Not that he hated those things. They just didn’t fill him with the same sense of accomplishment that he felt working on an engine. They didn’t offer the same distraction.

  He ignored the last thought and walked back i
nto the large ranch house.

  “Dangit, Eustace! I was watching that.” Great-aunt Lurline’s voice carried from the den. “You know I never miss David Letterman.”

  “They’re elk hunting on the Outdoor Channel.”

  “That’s a rerun, you old coot.”

  “Is not. They hunted exotics last night.” Lurline and Eustace were in their eighties and as cranky as all get out. Lurline was Josh’s grandfather’s sister and she and her husband had been living at the Iron Horse since his grandfather had been diagnosed with prostate cancer. But Josh knew from the holidays and family picnics during his childhood that they’d been arguing a helluva lot longer.

  “But Dave’s doing his ‘Top Ten Reasons to Vote Republican,’” Lurline said.

  “You’re a Democrat,” Eustace pointed out.

  “I was a Republican at one time.”

  “So then you already know the dad-blame reasons and I can watch my elk hunting….”

  Josh headed down the opposite hallway, flipped on the TV in his old room and stretched out on the bed. Eustace and Lurline kept going at it and Josh hit the volume button on the remote until their voices faded.

  Just as he closed his eyes, his cell phone chirped from the nightstand.

  “You have rotten timing,” he told his brother when he pressed the on button. “I was actually falling asleep.”

  “It’s not working.”

  “What’s not working?”

  “I wore my I Brake for Big Hooters T-shirt and showed up with a six-pack of beer instead of a bottle of wine, and it didn’t work.”

  “What happened?”

  “Have you ever seen the movie Species?”

  “Which one?”

  “Any of them. All of them. I’m talking major transformation. She went from uptight and proper to loose and damned improper before I could blink much less run the other way.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She asked if she could borrow my shirt sometime and then she drank my beer. The whole six-pack.”

  “Lots of women like beer.”

  “Triple B women. She’s a kindergarten teacher.”

  “There’s no rule that says kindergarten teachers can’t drink beer, too.”

  “She didn’t just drink the beer. She guzzled it. And then she tried to kiss me. I mean, I was ready for more baby talk, but the kissing…I couldn’t let her kiss me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’d want to kiss her back. You wouldn’t believe how hot she looked drinking that beer. Anyhow, if I kissed her back she would think I liked her and, well, I like her, but not enough to trade Junior for Jason. So much for your brilliant idea.”

  “Maybe she’s calling your bluff.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe she knows you’re trying to turn her off, so she’s playing along.”

  “Maybe. She did cough a few times when she first started drinking. And she didn’t get specific on when she wanted to borrow the shirt. I guess I could try again tomorrow night when she makes chili.”

  “You agreed to another dinner?”

  “I had to. I mean, she looked really hot drinking that beer. You know I can’t turn down a hot woman any more than I can say no to a crying one. Besides, I’ve been here for damn near a year and the closest I’ve come to home cooking is when one of the ranch hands fired up some pork and beans and opened a can of biscuits. Speaking of which, I hope Aunt Lurline makes me a batch of her homemade biscuits when I get home.”

  “Which will be?”

  “I’ve stepped things up a little for obvious reasons and I think I can squeeze five weeks worth of work into three. Three and a half at the most. I’ll talk to you later. Get some rest, bro. You sound exhausted.”

  Not half as exhausted as he was turned on.

  Instead of sleeping, he tossed and turned and dreamed of Holly’s sweet hands roaming over his body and her honey-covered nipple in his mouth.

  When the sun finally crept over the horizon, Josh felt even more tired than when he’d climbed into bed, and just as unsatisfied. As anxious.

  Not that he was going to break the rules of their agreement and rush right over to Holly’s house to finish what they’d started. He was going to bide his time until their next encounter.

  Or at least until he’d finished his morning chores.

  IT WAS half past noon on Monday when Holly finally came up for air after a very hectic morning. She’d found her shipment sitting on her doorstep at 5:00 a.m., and had spent every minute since filling her overdue orders. A task that would have taken all day if not for Sue who’d shown up early for work. The woman had given it her all and they’d finished by eleven o’clock. To show her gratitude, Holly had given the woman an extra half hour for lunch.

  Sue had left to run errands in lieu of lunch—she was dieting—and Holly had started on today’s orders.Feeding the desserts into the oven, she set the timer and turned to take a break of her own. She’d just popped the tab on a diet soda when she heard a motor rev to life outside. She walked to the kitchen window and peered past the cherry-print curtains in time to see Josh McGraw shift her brand new John Deere tractor into gear and pick up where she’d left off yesterday afternoon. He wore only jeans, boots, brown work gloves and a cowboy hat. The sun was high and perspiration clung to his shoulders and arms. He toed the clutch with the tip of his worn brown boot and swung the steering wheel to the right. She waited for the possessed piece of machinery to swing the opposite direction and do its own thing as it had done yesterday. Instead, it followed Josh’s direction like an obedient puppy and Holly frowned.

  Okay, so maybe the frown had more to do with the half-naked man than the traitorous tractor. While she’d effectively managed to push him to the far edge of her mind and concentrate on her production schedule, the sight of him bare-chested made her heart do a double thump. Damp dark hair pushed from under his hat and clung to his neck. Sweat slid down his sinewy torso. Desire rushed through her full-force and her nipples tingled. Muscles rippled as he gripped the steering wheel and angled the green beast around a patch of bluebonnets contained by a small rock border.

  She stared a few more minutes and the tingling spread from her nipples to her thighs. She’d never met a man who inspired such an overwhelming combination of lust and longing. So intense, in fact, that she actually considered joining him in the yard and asking for a ride.

  Her imagination sparked and she pictured herself stripping off her shorts and tank top and climbing in front of him. His arms came around, touching her breasts, playing with her nipples before sweeping down between her legs. Fingertips sliding inside of her. Spreading her, working her, driving her completely cra—

  “Sorry, I’m late!” Sue’s voice rang out, saving Holly from her decadent thoughts. “I had to run a few errands. If I’m going to get Bert Wayne back by being a sex kitten, I figured I should look like one.” She deposited several bags on Holly’s massive kitchen table. “I went shopping.”

  Holly eyed the barely there, flaming orange spandex dress that Sue wore. Platform shoes with clear heels and orange glitter toe straps completed the outfit.

  “I don’t recall seeing a Frederick’s of Hollywood the last time I was in town.”

  “Betty Rinecheck’s House of Ho. And it’s not exactly in town. Betty’s is over in Barton Springs, which is twice the size of Romeo, with two tanning salons and three Piggly Wigglys.”

  “Definitely an urban metropolis.”

  “Exactly. Anyhow, I got this…” she motioned to her outfit “…off the spring bargain rack. It was marked down over half off.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  “Not that it wasn’t one of Betty’s hottest outfits. Everyone fell in love with it and a ton of customers tried it on, but they just couldn’t pull off this color. I’m a sunrise, which means I look great in vivid colors.” She wiggled her fingers. “And I got nail polish to match.”

  “It’s bright.”

  She smiled.
“That’s the point. Bright says hot, which is the message I’m hoping to send to Bert Wayne.” Her gaze went from confident to worried. “I do look hot, don’t I? This outfit is guaranteed to make me look hot.”

  It wasn’t the outfit that made her look hot, but rather the lack of outfit. There was very little to it and what was there, was so tight that it molded to Sue’s body and created an illusion of curves. Lots of them. “You look great.”

  Her frown eased and she smiled. “Good because I’m putting my win-Bert-back plan into motion next week. I thought I would wear this for spaghetti night at the Elk’s Lodge—Bert loves spaghetti.” She pulled two slips of paper from her purse and set one on Holly’s table. “I picked up two tickets while I was in town. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to meet most everyone.”

  “That many people like spaghetti?”

  “It’s not just the spaghetti. Warren Parker always shows up with his band—they play over at the Silver Spur every Saturday night. Anyhow, Warren’s brother has been an Elk since they first hung up their antlers over at the community center. He has Warren show up to guarantee a big turnout. The folks in this county like to two-step and so the place is usually packed. You should get there early, otherwise you won’t get any bread sticks. The folks around here like to eat almost as much as they like to dance.” Sue walked past Holly and peered past the cherry-print curtains. “Why is Josh McGraw cutting your grass?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s his way of welcoming me to the neighborhood.”

  “Josh isn’t usually the welcoming sort. I mean, he used to be—nice and all—before his folks died. Then he started to keep to himself. He was still a hell-raiser and every bit the ladies’ man, but there was nothing nice about it. He wanted one thing and he made no bones about it. Why, the whole time we were in high school he never once ordered a spirit flower for any of the girls. Even the ones he kept company with. He wouldn’t go out of his way like this unless…” Her words trailed off as she seemed to think about what she’d said. “Nah. Not Josh.”