Only in Texas

by Christie Craig

  Smiling, he headed to the master bath. This just might work in his favor.

  He stopped by the king-size bed and a memory from way back in the beginning tickled his mind. He and LeAnn had just started dating and he’d brought her to his new home to have dinner with some friends. He hadn’t slept with her yet, because she insisted they hadn’t waited long enough, and he’d caught her spraying his bed with her perfume.

  “Just a little something to remember me by,” she’d said, blushing.

  “So you want me to lay here tonight and get hard thinking about you?” he teased her.

  She laughed and confessed, “Yeah. That’s sort of what I’d hoped.”

  It had worked, too. From the moment he’d gotten into his bed that night, all he could think about was her. That next morning, he’d gone to her apartment and convinced her he’d waited long enough.

  Grinning, he took out the aftershave, splashed some on his hands and then ran his hands under her pillow.

  Then he went to get ready, eager to start seducing his way back into LeAnn’s arms, back into her bed, and back into her life. He’d waited long enough.

  As soon as Dallas got off the phone with a very pissed-off Austin, he turned the car around and headed to the gallery. Then he called Mrs. Littlemore. “She’s fine. She’s at the gallery. Yes, I’ll take care of her door. I promise.”

  “I still don’t get it,” his dad said when he hung up. “Who sprayed Austin with Mace?”

  Dallas ran a hand through his hair. He’d tried to fill his dad in on what was going on, but it wasn’t easy. “Nikki did.”

  “Nikki, the girl who killed her husband.”

  “Nikki didn’t kill her husband. It was her ex-husband who was killed.”

  “So she killed her ex-husband.”

  “No, Dad.” Dallas tried not to lose it. “Nikki didn’t kill anyone.”

  “So who killed her ex?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  His dad nodded. “So why did she Mace Austin?”

  Dallas pulled up in front of the gallery. “It’s complicated. Can I explain it later?”

  His dad nodded again. “Is your job always this complicated?”

  Being a retired plumber, his dad never had understood the whole law enforcement-PI appeal, and questioned how he could have raised two boys who did. “Not always,” Dallas said, and realized his life hadn’t felt this complicated until Nikki.

  They got out of the car. “But just so I’m clear,” his dad said right before Dallas grabbed the doorknob, “someone got the Mace away from her, right?”

  “I don’t think she’ll Mace you, Dad.” Dallas wondered if he should worry about himself. While he’d been on the phone with Austin, he’d heard her in the background muttering about this being his fault.

  They walked into the gallery and Dallas looked at Austin, shirtless, sitting in a chair, holding a fan up to his face, and a dozen or more piles of wet paper towels at his feet.

  “What? You bring your dad because you’re scared I’m gonna whip your ass?” Austin asked.

  There was humor in his partner’s voice but, knowing how much Mace hurt, Dallas decided not to get too close. When he’d asked Austin to call Roxie, owner of CSCU, Crime Scene Clean Up, Austin hadn’t been happy. Sure, Dallas knew Roxie was sweet on Austin. Which was why Austin hadn’t wanted to do it. But that was exactly why Austin had to be the one to call her. She wouldn’t have been nearly as prompt to do the job if Dallas had called her.

  “Scared of you?” his dad piped up, teasing Austin. “You let a girl beat you up.”

  Austin turned his bloodred eyes back on Dallas, only all the tease was gone. “I almost shot her. I had my finger on the trigger.”

  Dallas remembered how he’d almost shot her last night. “Where’s she at?” he asked, worried she’d already taken off.

  “Getting more wet paper towels. She feels bad. But she blames you.”

  Right then Nikki walked out from the back of the gallery. Her gaze slapped against Dallas. “This is your fault.” She walked over to Austin and plopped a handful of wet paper towels over his eyes and then turned her angry blue eyes full force on Dallas.

  Austin snatched off the towels, wanting to see Dallas get his comeuppance.

  “What’s his fault?” a familiar voice boomed at the door.

  Dallas looked back at Mrs. Littlemore and two of her Annie Oakley crew—the sheriff and the saloon girl. They were in costume again.

  “It’s his fault I sprayed Austin with Mace,” answered Nikki.

  “Who are they?” his dad leaned in and asked.

  “Who is Austin?” Helen, the saloon girl, asked.

  “Who are you?” his dad asked Helen when Dallas didn’t answer soon enough.

  Dallas ignored Helen and his dad and looked back at Nikki. “I was only trying to help. But I probably should have told you what I was doing.”

  “What were you doing?” his dad asked.

  “Why did you spray him with Mace?” Mrs. Littlemore asked Nikki.

  Nikki looked at her grandmother. “Because…” Nikki’s words faltered.

  Dallas felt compelled to explain. “I had Austin call a friend of his who does crime scene cleanup to come here. Nikki didn’t know anyone was here and she got spooked.”

  “You took my keys,” Nikki accused.

  “You took her keys?” Benny, the sheriff of the group, asked in his gruff voice—no doubt the one he’d practiced to use in the play.

  “Oh, hell, just shoot him, Annie Oakley.” Helen elbowed Nikki’s grandmother and chuckled.

  “I didn’t take your keys.” He looked from Helen and the rest of the Oakley group to Nikki and pulled her keys out of his pocket. “You left without telling me. I was going to drive you back to the gallery and get the keys I loaned Austin and then give them back to you. I was trying to help. I didn’t want you having to clean up all that blood.”

  “What blood?” his dad asked.

  “You should have told me,” Nikki snapped.

  “You should have told me you were leaving,” Dallas countered.

  “What blood?” his dad asked again.

  “You bet twenty dollars I was guilty.” Her words hit hard against Dallas’s conscience. He’d hurt her and, damn, he hated it.

  “He did what?” his dad and Austin asked at the same time.

  “Okay, now I’m gonna shoot him,” Mrs. Littlemore said.

  “I’m sorry, I screwed up,” Dallas said to Nikki, trying not to listen to the craziness going on around him. “Really sorry.”

  “You don’t do that,” Nikki said. “You don’t make bets—”

  “I made a mistake,” he insisted. Everyone started chattering around him, making Dallas crazy. “You don’t puke on people, either, but you don’t see me holding it against you. And I said I was sorry. What do you want me to do?”

  “She puked on him?” Benny asked.

  “I’d give fifty bucks to have seen it.” Austin laughed and then lifted the fan to his eyes.

  “Fifty’s too steep but I’d pay twenty.” His dad chuckled. “Do you know how many times he puked on me when he was a boy?”

  “I’m told she got him twice,” Austin said. “When he came back to the office, he didn’t have a shirt on.” He paused for a second. “Can someone get me some more wet paper towels? My eyes are on fire.”

  “You don’t have a shirt on,” Helen said to Austin.

  “She was poisoned when she puked on him,” Mrs. Littlemore defended Nikki.

  “And I was Maced,” Austin said. “I could use some more wet paper towels.”

  Dallas stared at Nikki who stared back him. I’m sorry, he mouthed.

  “Who poisoned her?” Dallas’s dad asked and then looked back at Dallas. “You were right, son. This is very complicated.”

  “So you’re Dallas’s dad,” Helen said. “I was wondering who you were. Now, if I could just figure out who the shirtless Austin is.”

&n
bsp; “He works with Dallas at the PI agency,” his dad explained, laughing. “He normally wears a shirt.”

  “Some wet paper towels would be nice,” Austin said.

  Nikki kept looking at Dallas, but he didn’t know if the look meant forgiveness or not. “It happened so fast,” Dallas said to Nikki. “I didn’t mean it. I swear.”

  “What did he not mean?” Helen asked.

  “I think he meant he didn’t mean to make the bet,” his dad answered.

  “How does someone not mean to make a bet?” Benny asked.

  “I made a bet I didn’t mean to make at the horse races once,” his dad said.

  “Stop it!” Dallas yelled and held up his arms. “Would everyone shut up? Nikki and I are trying to have our first argument here.”

  He looked at Nikki. She laughed.

  And then everyone in the room started laughing. Dallas stood there and stared at Nikki, her eyes filled with humor, and he prayed this meant she’d forgiven him.

  An hour later, Nikki stepped out of the Ribs R Us restaurant bathroom, and found Dallas waiting for her. She still hadn’t talked to him. Dallas’s dad said something about going to eat ribs and invited everyone along and, before Nikki could say no, Nana and her group had agreed.

  Nikki had purposely sat on the other side of the table away from Dallas. Not that she was still mad at him—well, maybe a little—but being close to the man was like being close to a live wire.

  “You speaking to me yet?” Dallas asked her.

  “Yes,” she said, but she still needed distance.

  He reached out to touch her and, before she could stop herself, she pulled back.

  His blue eyes tightened with disappointment. “We need to talk.”

  “No, it’s fine.” He’d apologized, even done it in front of a crowd. Not many men would have done that. And she forgave him, or almost had. It still hurt. But she believed he was sorry. “Thanks for having the gallery cleaned. You should have told me, but I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Just add it to what I owe you, and we’ll figure it out when this is over.”

  “You’re not big on letting people help you, are you?”

  “It’s not that,” she said. “I just… like taking care of myself.”

  He smiled. “Which translates to, you’re not big on letting people help you.”

  Laughter exploded in the restaurant. Dallas turned his head and looked out the door leading back to their table. “Damn.”

  “What?”

  He looked back at her. “My dad. I haven’t heard him laugh like that in a while.”

  “He’s seems like a nice guy. I see a big resemblance in you two.”

  “He’s difficult to take at times, but he’s okay.”

  She grinned. “Like I said, I see a big resemblance.”

  He touched his chest. “Ouch.”

  Dallas’s dad walked into the hall. “There you are. Look, I’m gonna go watch those crazy folks practice a few hours and Benny said he’d give me a lift back home.”

  “Sure.” Dallas shrugged. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Nikki watched his dad leave then looked back at Dallas. “I should say good-bye.”

  He caught her. His touch sent a warm current up her arm and into her chest. “I’m going to follow you home.”

  “No, I…”

  “Your grandmother said your lock wasn’t fixed when she went by your place.”

  “I’m sure it is now.”

  “Just to be sure,” he said.

  “He’s right.” Nana had snuck up beside them. “It’s either that, or you’re coming home with me. I wouldn’t sleep a wink if I thought you couldn’t lock your door after all that’s happened.”

  Nikki rolled her eyes and glanced back at Dallas. “Fine, follow me back to my place.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DALLAS WALKED UP to Nikki’s apartment door, studying her as she moved. More than ever she seemed nervous. He suspected it was because she hadn’t forgiven him. And that made him nervous.

  “See I told you it would be fixed,” she said. “Now you can go.”

  He tried to open the door. It was locked. “So how do you plan to get in?”

  “He locked it?” She tried the knob and moaned. Then, snapping her fingers, she knelt and pulled up the runner in front of her door. Rising, she held out the key, and practically waved him away.

  “That’s really safe.” Dallas hadn’t realized how much he’d hoped the door wasn’t fixed. He couldn’t stop thinking about the coincidence that she and Ellen looked so much alike. The media had already gotten hold of the story, so if Nikki had been the intended victim, the attacker would know he’d missed his mark.

  “We still need to talk.” In the dark he couldn’t read her expression, but he was guessing it wasn’t happy. Looking up at the dark porch light, he asked, “Blown bulb?”

  “Electrical problem.”

  “You need to find another apartment,” he said. “This isn’t the best neighborhood.”

  “Can’t this talk wait for a few days?”

  “No.” He took the key from her hand and unlocked the door. Nudging the door open, he waited for her to enter.

  “You’re pushy.” She moved in and hit the light switch.

  “You’re stubborn,” he countered, but smiled as he followed her inside. “I have a weakness for stubborn blondes.”

  She frowned. “Okay, make it fast. Start talking.”

  “Can we sit down?” He motioned toward the sofa.

  She nodded. He moved around, careful not to step on the items still on the floor. When he sat on the sofa, he expected her to join him. But she took the chair across from him instead. He frowned. “You’re still mad.”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Then why won’t you sit beside me?”

  “Because… because I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

  “What wrong idea?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “I’m not going to… Oh hell, I’m not having sex with you. I’m not messing up the bedsheets, doing the tango, swapping bodily fluids. Not happening, got it?” She slapped her hands on her knees.

  He leaned back on the sofa and laughed. “You missed one. I think your grandmother called it doing a goat jig.”

  Her eyes grew big. “You talked about sex with Nana?”

  He laughed again. “No, she was… talking about your ex.”

  “Oh.” She blinked and Dallas was sorry he’d mentioned it.

  “Okay. Would you tell me why you’re not going to have sex with me?”

  She thought about it for a minute. Long enough for him to start thinking about messing up the bedsheets with her and about how they had come close to doing the tango this morning.

  “Do I have to justify it?”

  He saw that hurt in her eyes again. “It’s because you’re mad at me.”

  “No.”

  “Then why? We know you’re attracted to me.”

  “We know that?” She leaned forward. “What makes you so certain?”

  “Because you want to talk about sex. And because you’re scared to sit next to me.”

  “I didn’t want to talk about sex. You’re the one who wanted to talk. And I’m not afraid to sit next to you.”

  “I wanted to talk, but I wasn’t going to talk about sex. Not that I don’t like talking about sex. I just prefer having sex to talking about it.” He grinned. “But talking about it isn’t bad.”

  “Okay, stop.” She blushed.

  “Stop what?”

  “Talking about sex!”

  “I didn’t start the conversation.”

  “Well, I’m ending it.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and made them even more noticeable. And damn, if he didn’t feel something else becoming noticeable in his jeans.

  They stared at each other. The tension between them was sweet and hot. But he could still see it, that touch of something in her eyes that said he’d hu
rt her. “Can I get myself something to drink?”

  “I don’t have much,” she said.

  “Water is fine.” Rising, he walked to the kitchen.

  She followed him. “Let me.” She pulled two glasses out of the cabinet. “Ice?”

  “Please.” He leaned against the counter and watched her move. He shouldn’t be watching, noticing how snug the pink top fit across her breasts, but not noticing was impossible.

  She opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water. His gaze shot to the fridge’s contents. It contained less than his at home.

  She filled the glasses and handed him one. “So what do you want to talk about?” Her eyes still contained the hurt.

  “As soon as I made the bet, I wanted to kick myself.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do.” He paused. “Of all people, I should know better.”

  “Because you were a cop?”

  “No.” He looked at her. “There’s something you need to know.”

  “About?”

  “Me.” The glass was cold against his palm. He took a sip.

  “Is this about sex again?” She cut him a sharp look.

  He smiled. “No.” He waited for the humor to fade before getting serious. “I should have told you. I don’t usually hide it.”

  Her eyes widened. “You aren’t gay. I felt… I mean, you were interested when…”

  He burst out laughing and had to set his glass down for fear of spilling it. “Oh, hell no. And yes, I was very interested. Uncomfortably interested.”

  She tilted her head to the side and studied him. “Oh God, you lied to me? You’re married.” She came closer and stared up at him as if trying to see the truth.

  “No.”

  “Engaged?” She studied him closer.

  “No.”

  “Involved?”

  “No.” Unable to resist, he caught her by the shoulders and pulled her against him.

  “Then how is this about sex?” Her brow pinched with curiosity.

  He started laughing again. “I told you it’s not about sex.”

  She put her hands on his chest and pushed away a few inches. God, he wanted to kiss her again. She was so damn refreshing, so honest, so sexy. And so not the type of woman he needed in his life. Because she was the type a man didn’t want to push away. And he’d vowed to always push.