If You Can't Take the Heat

by Melissa Brown

  Somehow, Whitney mustered up the strength to move away from the handsome restaurateur. Slowly, she retrieved her keys and slipped into the car. Wes didn’t move, waving as she drove away from the lights of the restaurant. He was still standing watching her as she turned onto the main highway. She took one last look into her rearview mirror, eager to see that gorgeous man in just twelve short hours.

  Swagger.

  The man had a ridiculously hot and sexy swagger. Perhaps it was the lighting of his restaurant that caused her to miss it the night before, but as he walked through the lobby of her hotel, it was all she could notice. His hips moved deliciously as the boots under his dark jeans hit the marble. His plaid button-down was tucked beneath the jeans and a thick leather belt wrapped around his waist. Whitney was relieved she’d dressed casual in a pair of jeans, a peasant-style tunic, and flats. She was eager to see what he’d planned for their day together.

  “Morning,” he said, leaning in to kiss her gently on the cheek. “You look beautiful.”

  “You don’t look so bad yourself. So what are we doing today?”

  “I have a few things planned.” He took her hand in his and led her to the parking lot, guiding her toward a black Mercedes SUV. “I’ll drive.”

  Whitney climbed into the black-leather passenger seat, savoring Wes’s woodsy scent that permeated his car. When Wes started the engine, she asked, “So where to?”

  “Our first stop is Pictograph Cave. Have you heard of it?”

  Whitney shook her head. “No, but it sounds . . . interesting.”

  “Then I thought we’d grab a bite to eat.”

  “At your place?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Somewhere else. Don’t worry, it’s delicious.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Whitney looked out the window as the city of Billings breezed past them. Canyons, hills, and mountains could be seen in the distance. Summer dust tickled her nose as the wind played with her hair. Leaning her elbow against the side of the door, she pulled her hair into a soft ponytail, keeping it from being ravaged by the wind. She wanted to look just as put together when they arrived at Pictograph Cave as she did when she first made eye contact with her date in the hotel lobby.

  “And after lunch?”

  “Well, that’s a surprise.”

  “I do love surprises. Bring it on, Cowboy.”

  Wes and Whitney spent their morning walking through the three different caves at Pictograph Cave State Park, stopping to admire and analyze the various paintings left by prehistoric hunters. Whitney was especially fascinated by the painting of a turtle. Wes passed her his set of binoculars to help her analyze the painting more thoroughly.

  “Supposedly it’s over two thousand years old. Kind of mind-blowing, don’t you think?”

  Whitney nodded behind the binoculars. “Totally.”

  After studying the turtle for several minutes, she lowered the binoculars, handing them to Wes. “This whole place is incredible. So much history, so much to learn.”

  “Don’t you have pictograph caves in Los Angeles?” Wes teased, nudging her gently with his elbow.

  “Right next to Rodeo Drive, only instead of prehistoric hunters and animals, they’re depictions of cavewomen holding shopping bags, wearing sunglasses—”

  “And carrying little animals in their purses,” Wes added.

  “Exactly.”

  They continued walking through the grassy area on their way back to the entrance. “I love this place,” Whitney said. “It’s nice to know places like this exist.”

  “I’ll bring you here whenever you want.”

  Whitney sighed, pursing her lips. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  Wes stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close to him. “You can come back, ya know.”

  Her breath caught. She’d like nothing more than to spend more time with Wes. Secretly, she wondered if she could change her plane ticket. Chris would be furious with her, but it might be worth it . . .

  “Or you could consider my offer and come to L.A.”

  His playful smile disappeared and he pushed Whitney’s hair from her face. “I may have to.”

  They were silent for a moment as tourists walked around them. They stood, facing one another on the path just below the welcome sign. Wes’s chest heaved as he locked eyes with Whitney. This was it. Her torture would finally be over. He was going to kiss her.

  Just as he leaned down, and his lips were just millimeters from her own, she pulled back, having decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.

  “Not yet.”

  Wes hung his head, laughing. “I guess I had that coming, huh?”

  Whitney winked before taking him by the hand and leading him back to his Mercedes. “I’m famished. Where should we eat?”

  “Forgive me,” Whitney said, holding her chopsticks up in the air as she and Wes dined at a local sushi bar. She’d had two cups of sake and her fingers were tingling. “But I have to ask . . . how old are you?”

  Wes popped a piece of caterpillar roll into his mouth, and held up a hand while he chewed. After a sip of water, and a wipe of his napkin, he answered. Kind of.

  “How old do you think I am?”

  “That’s not fair, don’t make me guess.”

  He scrunched his lips, took a deep breath, and deadpanned. “Forty-six.”

  Whitney, eyes wide, tapped her chopsticks to the ceramic plate in front of her. “That was my guess.”

  “Liar,” he teased, popping another piece of sushi into his mouth.

  “I swear,” she insisted, dipping a piece of yellowtail tuna into her soy sauce. “Damn, I should’ve written it on my napkin.”

  He leaned his elbows on the table, his eyes soft and kind. “And how old are you?”

  “A lady never tells her age.” She smiled, dabbing her napkin to each corner of her mouth, then offering him a wicked grin. She wasn’t at all self-conscious about her age. She was proud of her years. “Okay, fine, you twisted my arm. I’m thirty-four.”

  “Works for me.” He smiled, reaching his hand across the table, opening his palm in invitation. Whitney grasped his hand and squeezed. She felt so at ease with this handsome man, and the thought of leaving him in less than twenty-four hours made her stomach churn. She wasn’t ready to say good-bye, especially since they hadn’t even kissed yet! She was determined to fix that as soon as their lunch was finished.

  They’d devoured four different maki rolls and discussed Whitney’s trip across the country. Wes had only visited a few of the cities and seemed fascinated by Whitney’s travels. She chose to edit herself, leaving out any information on Nolan or Charlie. She was enjoying herself way too much to purposefully make things awkward between them. After ordering another round of drinks, Wes changed the subject.

  “Tell me about California. Were you born there?”

  Whitney nodded, taking another sip of sake. “Yes, in Oakland. My mom raised me and my little sister, Roslyn. I didn’t really know my dad.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  She shrugged, dismissing the emotion attached to his words. “Mama was enough for me.”

  Wes cleared his throat and leaned in closer. “Tell me about her.”

  Whitney smiled. “She’s one of the hardest workers I’ve ever known. She busted her ass to provide for Rozzie and me, working two jobs, and still never missed a school play or volleyball game.”

  “She sounds wonderful.”

  “She is.” Whitney would forever be grateful for the sacrifices her mother had made for her, but as she rattled off the details of her mother’s life, it reinforced Whitney’s opposition to leading one like it. She didn’t want to follow her mother’s path—she wanted to forge her own, wherever it led.

  “Are you still close?” he asked. Whitney loved Wes’s attentive nature. He wasn’t satisfied with merely scratching the surface. He meant what he said the night before at her car. He wanted to know her . . . reall
y know her. And that had to be the biggest turn-on she could imagine.

  “Very. I haven’t called her nearly enough on this trip, but we usually talk a few times a week. She’s still in Oakland and she still works two jobs, so we’re not able to see each other often. She won’t let me buy her anything—she’s too proud.”

  “Sounds like we were both raised by strong women. That’s good to hear.”

  Whitney stared down at her empty plate, enveloped by guilt. When was the last time she called Mama? She couldn’t remember . . .

  “Are you all right, Whitney?”

  “Sure, I—I should call her is all. I haven’t been the best daughter.”

  “You’ve been all over the country, I’m sure she’s excited for you. And so proud.” He squeezed her hand, giving her a reassuring nod. “Besides, you can call her tonight. Tell her you met the man of your dreams.”

  Whitney let out a laugh, throwing her head back. “Such a confident cowboy.”

  He raised both eyebrows and sipped his Japanese beer, saying nothing. He didn’t need to—his body language did it for him. He was confident, with good reason. And she would certainly have much to tell Mama after the day she was spending with him.

  After Wes paid the check, they walked back to his car.

  “Ready for our final destination?”

  “Absolutely.” Whitney smiled. “Are you going to tell me what this surprise is?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Whitney’s heart raced as Wes pulled his SUV into Three Sights Indoor Shooting Range, a large but unassuming building with a tall American flag waving in the breeze.

  Shooting? Oh Lord, help me.

  Not only had she never fired a gun before, she’d never even held one. And if she was being honest, it wasn’t something she’d ever planned to do. The idea had her anxious and slightly shaky, but she was never one to shy away from a new adventure, and was determined to push through the butterflies swarming her belly. She watched as Wes retrieved two gun cases from his trunk and handed one to Whitney.

  She wrapped her hand around its handle. “You have your own?”

  Wrinkles formed above the bridge of his nose. “Yep. Is that a problem?”

  Whitney hesitated, not wanting to judge. “No, I just . . . this is all new to me.”

  “Stick with me, city girl.” He placed one arm around her waist and they entered the building.

  They walked to the front counter, where Wes was greeted with a hearty hello from a woman with short, curly gray hair.

  “Nice to see you, Mr. Rancourt. It’s been a few days.”

  A few days? How often does this cowboy shoot his gun?

  “Barb, great to see you. I’d like you to meet Whitney. This is her first time.”

  “Ah, well, welcome, dear. You certainly have a good teacher.” Barb winked before passing Wes a stack of paper targets. “The usual, Mr. Rancourt?”

  “Let’s double it.” He offered her a warm smile. “And Whitney will need eye and ear protection, as well.”

  “You got it.”

  Barb returned with another stack of paper targets, a pair of “earmuffs” that looked a lot like headphones, and a clear set of goggles for Whitney.

  “These were just sanitized.” She winked again. “Lane number four is open, Mr. Rancourt. You two have fun now.”

  “Thanks.”

  Wes led her to the small bay with a tall yellow countertop and glass wall dividers, separating them from the other shooters. She placed her earmuffs and eyewear on as she took in her surroundings. Just ahead was a large paper target hanging down from a clip. A button just to their left, she guessed, would send the target downrange.

  “Want to go first?”

  “Uh.” Whitney hesitated, clearing her throat. “What the hell? Why not?”

  “Always make sure the muzzle of your gun is pointed downrange.” He placed both gun cases on the counter. “Whenever you’re not using your gun it should be laying down, unloaded, and pointed downrange.”

  “Got it.” Whitney listened intently, wanting to know everything she could before attempting to handle a gun. She appreciated Wes’s attention to detail when giving instructions. She was confident, too, that he’d be just as thorough when giving instructions on a new hit cooking competition series . . . .

  “This here is the fire line.” He rapped his knuckles against the small countertop separating them from the open range. “Don’t cross it without calling for a cease-fire or you could get seriously hurt. Even killed.”

  Whitney’s jaw tightened as the gravity of the situation pulsed through her veins. This was nothing to take lightly.

  “I understand.”

  Wes loaded the paper target and sent it downrange. Whitney watched as the target grew smaller and smaller.

  “Okay, let me show you how to load the gun.” Wes showed her the empty magazine before handing the gun to her and standing behind her, his arms wrapped around her chest. She could feel the warmth of his pecs pressed against her back, and loved the circle of protection he provided.

  God, I could get used to this.

  Wes showed Whitney how to properly load the gun, then unloaded it and handed it to her so she could demonstrate what she’d learned. She was getting the hang of it, becoming more comfortable with the compact, yet heavy weapon in her feminine hands.

  “Okay, how are you feeling so far? Ready to go on?”

  She nodded. “Ready.”

  He ran a hand down her back, grazing her ass and landing at her thigh. “Place this foot back a step.” Whitney did as she was told. He brought his attention back to the gun. “You want to grip it like this. It’s called a high tang grip.” He wrapped her hand over the pistol, showing her where to place each finger, and guiding her other hand onto the gun as well. Both thumbs were aimed at her target and her pulse was racing in anticipation of actually shooting a weapon for the very first time. “It’ll keep the recoil in check.”

  “I’m nervous about that part.”

  “It takes a little time to get used to, but I think you’ll be just fine.” He pressed her right elbow in tight. The pads of his fingers sent goose bumps down her arm. “Lock this arm, but bend your left. That’s good.”

  Whitney was ready, the pistol comfortable in her hands. Her stance was just as she’d observed in the movies. Wes’s hands wrapped around her own, and the worn feel of his rugged fingers pressed to her own made her heart pound. “I’m going to let go. Are you ready?”

  No! I’m just a California girl, you silly cowboy!

  Abort, abort, abort!

  “Yes,” she lied, swallowing hard, determined to see this through.

  “Focus on your target. Take a deep breath, and keep your stance strong. Even, slow pressure to the trigger.”

  Get it together, Bartolina. You’re no coward!

  “Okay.” Whitney inhaled deeply through her nose and out through her mouth. She was as ready as she was ever going to be. Ever so slowly, gritting her teeth and holding her breath, she pressed on the metal of the trigger. The gun fired and the sheer force of it was euphoric. There was a slight recoil, sending her neck jerking back, but she recovered quickly and remained as calm as possible. Inside she was exhilarated!

  “Wow,” she said after emptying her clip. “Holy shit, that was incredible. I didn’t know it would feel like that.”

  “It’s a rush, isn’t it?”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  She placed the gun on the counter, feeling the adrenaline pumping through her body. Her brain was buzzing with excitement as he pushed the button, bringing the paper target back toward them.

  “Not too bad,” Wes said, taking it off the hook. Whitney had hit the body outline of the target three times. Pride swept through her. He wrapped his arms around her. “Not bad at all.”

  “I wanna do it again.” She smiled wide.

  “Go for it.” He reattached the target, pressed the button to send it downrange, and stepped behind her again. She loaded
her ammunition, but needed assistance with the grip.

  “Like this?”

  “Yes, just a little more like this.” He moved her left hand slightly so that her thumb was once again pointed at her target. “That’s better.”

  Round after round, Whitney continued to shoot, jumping up and down when her final target revealed she’d pierced the heart of the paper outline.

  “I knew it, you’re a natural,” Wes said as he placed the pistol back in the bag.

  “Wait, are . . . are we done?”

  “If you’re ready to go.”

  “You didn’t get a turn.”

  Wes shrugged. “I come here all the time. It’s okay.”

  “I want to see you, though.”

  “See me shoot?”

  “Mmm hmm.” Whitney ran her hand down Wes’s bicep. “Show me what you got, Cowboy.”

  His fingers grazed her cheek. “I can’t say no to that face.”

  Whitney stood to the side and observed as Wes shot round after round with his other pistol. When he pulled back the targets, they were covered in bullet holes, all in the exact center target.

  “Holy crap, you’re good,” she said as they walked back to his car.

  “Lots of practice.” A humble smile crossed his lips as he opened the trunk and placed the gun cases inside.

  “What else are you good at?” she asked, unable to deny the chemistry between them. They still hadn’t kissed and it was driving her mad. She wanted him. Desperately.

  “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.” He smirked, approaching the passenger door.

  “You, Mr. Rancourt, are a tease.”

  He opened her door slightly, then closed it again. With a devilish grin, he pressed her into the harsh metal. Her body tingled as his fingers traced a line from her ear to her chin and he stepped closer, leaning down to graze her lips with his own. Taken slightly by surprise, since she’d expected him to tease her as he had the night before, Whitney was slow to react, but soon found herself wrapping her arms around the broad muscles of his back. She opened her mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. With a new sense of urgency, his tongue stroked hers, sending shots of electricity and desire to the tips of her toes. His hands moved to cup her cheeks and she dug her fingertips into his firm shoulders. With each stroke of Wes’s strong tongue, her ass pushed gently into the black finish until finally they came up for air.