The Guardian Groom: Texas Titans Romance

by McConnell, Lucy

  She reveled in the knowledge that she’d done that to him; she’d created a need inside this giant of a man—for her. “Actually …”

  He set her down lightly, waiting for her toes to touch the pavement before standing tall.

  “I’d like to ride your motorcycle.”

  “Really?” His smile widened.

  “It’s almost dark. I want to take a night ride.” When they were on the bike, on the open road, they were in a world all their own. One where she could hold on to him as much as she wanted, could feel his chest expand with each breath.

  “Done.” He motioned for her to go first.

  She patted her pockets for her keys and the money from the bake sale. The cookies and brownies would keep. Heck, she didn’t care if they were snatched. She’d made more than she’d anticipated, and she was going to ride off into the sunset with Owen.

  She climbed on the bike, and the strict, by-the-book librarian giggled as she laced her fingers around his middle. “Where are we going?”

  He turned in the seat so he could look at her. “Do we have to have a destination in mind to enjoy the ride?”

  There was a hidden question there: Did they have to know where they were headed as a couple to start out on a romantic adventure? With all her heart, she answered, “Nope. I think we can follow the road and see where it takes us.”

  He kissed her forehead and then started up the motorcycle. She donned her helmet, not even caring that she didn’t have an elastic to pull her hair back. She wanted Owen, and fate had smiled upon her.

  The engine was loud at first. The farther they drove, the more the noise fell behind them. Bree hung on to Owen and watched the stars appear in the big sky above. There were billions of lights up there, all shining down on the two of them. Bree hugged him tighter, the sense of a new adventure tickling her skin.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Rain pelted the windows relentlessly and bounced off the roof. Dark clouds forced Owen to turn on the house lights at three in the afternoon. This was the first bad storm Schulenburg had had since he’d moved in, and he was anxious to see how his home held up; at the same time, he was grateful for the walls and ceiling protecting him and Bree from Mother Nature’s wrath.

  His anxiousness had driven him to the stationary bike in his home gym. After the whole master shower plumbing issue, he’d dropped the pretense that a new home was a worry-free home.

  Unaffected by the howling wind, Bree was curled up on the sofa he’d had delivered just for her to have a place to read while he worked out. They found, much to his satisfaction, that they preferred to be close to one another even if they were doing two different tasks. Like now: Bree was going through this month’s book club selection, taking notes and adding Post-its to her copy, while he pedaled his worry away.

  The last couple of weeks were the most un-lonely weeks of his life as they became more comfortable with one another. He cooked dinner for them during the week. Bree wasn’t a picky eater and he stayed on his post-season diet. On the weekends, he took her out. A couple of times a week, they rode the bike. He’d thought about buying her one of her own, but decided against it. He liked her close to him.

  Bree’s phone, perched on the arm of the sofa, trilled sharply, cutting through the storm’s noise. She checked the screen and dropped a pen in the book to hold her place. “Hi, Mom.”

  Owen’s back arched like a startled cat’s. So far, he’d been able to avoid the mother. Bree talked about her now and then, but he managed to change the subject or kiss her into forgetting the topic of conversation. They were coming up on their three-week mark, and he knew, just knew, that the mom would insert herself soon.

  “I’m not home. You can leave it on the counter in the kitchen.” Pause. “I’m …” She turned away from Owen. “With a friend.”

  He put in a burst of speed. Sweat dripped into his eyes and stung. He swiped a towel across his forehead and pumped on.

  “Okay. I’ll see you later on. Love you.” She set her phone facedown on the sofa and settled back into the cushion.

  Owen was out of air. He puffed and slowed his legs back to a manageable speed. After five more minutes, he’d cooled down enough, in both muscles and mom issues, to get off the bike.

  “Hey.” She smiled at him, her expression guarded.

  He wiped down as best he could with a dry towel and then took the cushion next to her. She didn’t snuggle into him; how could she when his clothes were wet? Still, he always felt grounded when they were close. “That was your mom?”

  She picked up her phone, absently running her fingers up and down the sides. “Yeah.”

  “Bad news?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” She palmed her phone.

  “Something’s bothering you.”

  Outside, the lightning flashed and the clouds crashed together.

  She nodded, her eyes unfocused but the wheels in her head spinning faster and faster. She dug her elbow into the back of the sofa and hiked her legs up underneath her. “I’m just going to lay this out there and you’re going to think I’m a dork.”

  He brushed a stray piece of hair off her cheek. “Sweetheart. We already know you’re a dork.”

  She laughed and shoved his arm. “Fine. My mom and I have a rule that we introduce each other to the men we, uh, kiss.” Her cheeks dusted pink. “I know it’s silly, but it works for us.”

  Warning lights flashed, blinding Owen to anything but the past he’d endured. To have love ripped away was brutal. He needed to protect what he and Bree had—even if it meant protecting them from her family. Meeting every person Bree kissed seemed overbearing. His parents didn’t even know what state he was in half the time, because he was a grown-up and could take care of himself—and because they were the epitome of out-of-sight-out-of-mind. “Can we just be us for a while longer? I kind of like the privacy.” He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm.

  She melted deeper into the sofa. “I like it too.” She tipped her head to the side and her glasses lifted an eighth of an inch off her nose. “There’s not a time limit on the rule. It’s kind of loose that way.”

  “So, no rush?”

  “No rush.” She stood up, gathering her book and phone in the process. “I’m headed to book club.”

  He kissed her hand again. “Be safe in the storm.”

  She plopped her free hand on her hip. “Owen Mattox, I am a Texas woman—I can handle a summer rainstorm.”

  He smiled. One strong gust of wind could carry her off to Arizona.

  “Don’t look at me like I’m cute.”

  He laughed. “Stop reading my mind.”

  “Your mind is written all over your face.”

  “You wish.” He pinched her sides and she danced and giggled away from him. He watched her leave, enjoying every last second of her around.

  Kyle poked his head in the side door. “Is she gone?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  He came in, wearing a sleeveless workout shirt and shorts. “I’m going to lift and I didn’t want to show you up in front of your girl.”

  Owen snorted. Whatever. “You’d need a tractor to out-lift me.”

  “More like I’d need a tractor to lift you—you’re going soft.” Kyle put his fist under his chin and batted his eyelashes. “Oh, Bree, you’re so beautiful.”

  Owen tore up the cushion Bree had been sitting on and launched it at Kyle. He ducked, but was cuffed in the shoulder.

  “Your aim is off too.”

  “I’ve got more cushions,” he threatened halfheartedly.

  “How about you spot me instead?” Kyle adjusted the weights, removing several, before lying on the bench.

  Owen stood behind his head, his hands at the ready.

  “So, how is it in Love Land?” Kyle’s face splotched with color as he benched.

  “Great—except she wants me to meet her mom.”

  Grunt. “You met my mom.”

  “Your mom likes me.”

>   “Because she met you.”

  “I need more time.”

  “What you mean is you want her to be far enough in love with you that if she had to pick between you and her mom, she’d pick you.”

  Owen contemplated adding weight to the bar and seeing if Kyle was so smart when he had an extra fifty pounds to lift.

  “You’re going to have to meet her sooner or later.”

  “Later, then.” Definitely later. How long could he put Bree off for? Hopefully long enough that they could build a solid foundation. He didn’t know her mother. She could be a wonderful lady, but he did know there was no more destructive force than a family bent on keeping two people apart.

  Chapter Twenty

  “What do you think of this one?” Bree held up the blue floral-print dress and examined it with a critical eye. Normally she stuck to solid colors and avoided prints. Life was just easier that way. And boring. Women who rode motorcycles with pro football players were not boring.

  “It’s a little dressy for work,” replied her mom. She sorted through the dresses on the other side of the rack. They’d made a day trip out of shopping and a movie. The romantic comedy was fun, and something she’d never get Owen to watch. He preferred action flicks, so they compromised and watched Marvel movies together. Watching muscle-packed superheroes was waaaaay more fun when cuddled up to a muscle-packed man.

  Bree laid the dress across her front, looking down as she swished the hem side to side. “It’s not for work; it’s for a date.” They’d have to take Owen’s SUV if she was in this dress. Strike one. But his eyes would pop out if she showed up in this. She tucked it over her arm and kept looking.

  “A date? With whom?”

  Bree’s head came up and she panicked. She was in violation of the kiss pact, had been for almost a month. Geez, had it been that long? Time flew by. “His name’s Owen. He’s, uh, new in town.” Anything under a year was considered new, right?

  Mom’s hand went to her rounded hip. “The football player?”

  “Yeah, that’s him.” Bree ripped through the clothing on that rack and hopped to the next.

  “He’s the guy who bit off Michelle’s head at the grocery store.”

  Bree paused, her hand gripping a plastic hanger. Michelle was a standing member in Mom’s Bunko group. If anything happened in Schulenburg, she knew about it, and she made a point of making sure the Bunko club knew about it too.

  Bree thought back to that day she’d invited herself on Owen’s church tour. Michelle hadn’t said much to her in line—had she said something to Owen?

  “I didn’t hear about that.” Bree released the hanger and grabbed her glasses off her face so she could clean them. Not that they needed cleaning, but she needed to look like she wasn’t worried. Because she was very worried. Owen wasn’t exactly Mr. Social. She didn’t mind his Lone Ranger ways—preferred them, actually. Others didn’t understand, though, and he came across as surly or even rude.

  “She broke down in tears and he didn’t even look back.”

  “Maybe it was someone else?” One could only hope there were several football players lurking about Schulenburg.

  Mom’s lips thinned into a straight line.

  Bree returned her glasses to her face. She picked up another dress, feigning lack of interest in her mother’s concerns. That was always a good idea. Moms love it when their kids pretend they didn’t just say something completely profound. She lifted a black shirt with a soft lace overlay into the air. This is what she wanted to wear. The shirt had an edge while still being feminine and soft. The edge was the best part, though. She added it to her growing pile.

  “When’s the date?” asked Mom with a sigh. She picked up Bree’s avoidance tactic and stared much too long at a shirt that was much too ugly to consider.

  “Friday.”

  Mom lifted her chin and looked down her nose at the shirt. “Think he’ll kiss you?”

  Bree’s stomach twisted. “Probably.” She hated lying to her mother, hated it as much as she would have hated eating one of the plastic hangers. What option did she have? She could tell the truth and earn the wrath of a broken kiss pact, or she could ease her mother into Owen’s acquaintance—and vice versa—and pray that they got along like long-lost besties.

  “Well, then.” Mom shook out a shirt as if it were covered in wrinkles. “I guess this means dinner at my house on Sunday.”

  “What about Michelle?” She lived on their street and had a penchant for looking out her front window—with binoculars. Bree groaned inside. No wonder Michelle told Mom about Owen at the grocery store. Mom probably knew about the motorcycle dates too.

  Mom shrugged. “Everyone has a bad day now and then. Besides, if I judged everyone off of Michelle’s stories, I wouldn’t be on speaking terms with half of Schulenburg.”

  The heaviness that had followed Bree into the conversation lifted. What did she have to worry about, really? Her mom was the best person she knew: kind, loving, responsible. It wouldn’t take longer than a snap for her to see how wonderful Owen was on the inside. He was protective and soft and contemplative and deep. He was a hard worker. And he kissed her like she was the last woman he ever wanted to kiss.

  “Thanks, Mom. I’ll ask him to come.” Bree hesitated. Owen wanted to keep their relationship between them and them alone for as long as possible. “Mom, don’t be offended if he doesn’t come, okay? He’s … private.”

  “Is it the fame thing? He thinks I’ll sell his secrets to a gossip columnist?”

  Bree laughed unsteadily. Maybe. “I don’t know. I just know he’s cautious about meeting people.”

  “He met you.”

  “I’m as threatening as a church mouse.” Bree held up her hands to stem the you’re-strong-and-beautiful lecture. “I’m only telling you because I don’t want you to get your hopes up and then be disappointed.”

  Mom hooked her arm around Bree’s side. “The only way he could disappoint me was if he hurt you. If he makes you happy, then I am happy.”

  Bree smiled. “Thanks.”

  That might be all fine and good for Mom, but Bree wouldn’t be truly happy until the two people in her life got along swimmingly. She needed her mom and wanted her to be a part of her life—all parts. And she liked Owen—a lot. So putting the two of them together made the most sense. Then she wouldn’t have to choose between lying to her mother and spending time with her boyfriend any longer.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Moonlight filled the private garden, casting the red roses into an inky black shade and the white ones blue. A large fountain bubbled happily, tinkling water over the copper wishes lying at the bottom. If Owen had just one wish, he would wish for a night exactly like tonight.

  Bree held on to his arm and leaned against him as they walked along the soft pathway. She’d removed her wedges, complaining that her feet were killing her, and now walked barefoot. He quite liked her tiny feet; they were pretty and delicate and the exact opposite of his big clunkers. Her black lace shirt scooped low over her neckline and teased him by defying the law of gravity and staying on her shoulder when it so obviously wanted to slip right off. She didn’t have to adjust it or anything. It just stayed there, perfectly tantalizing.

  They’d had dinner at a quiet place in the next town over. Italian food. Gourmet. Delicious. Bree was animated all through the meal, telling him about a boy, Brax, who had come in for a book a couple weeks ago and just brought it back, asking for another by the same author. She was thrilled that he’d finished the on-grade reading, and the fact that he asked for more had her over the moon. She had every right to be pleased—she was making a difference in this boy’s life. Owen was so proud of her, proud to be her man.

  And he was falling for her. Harder and faster than he’d ever thought possible. He’d heard other guys say things like, “When you know she’s the one, you just know,” and “There’s no time limit on falling for someone. It just happens.” He’d thought they were full of it. Twitterpated
fools, the lot of them.

  He was the fool.

  “Owen?” Bree’s voice was soft, like the velvet rose petals around them. “My mom invited us to Sunday dinner.”

  He prickled. “I thought we were going to wait to do the whole family thing.”

  “You can say no.” Her words said one thing, but her stiff posture said another.

  Owen’s whole person wanted to protect Bree from sadness and disappointment. He especially didn’t want to be the cause for either of those feelings. “Okay.” He ran his hand down his beard, wishing he could smooth out the troubled waters in his soul as easily as he could smooth his facial hair.

  “Really?”

  He swallowed the shards of glass that had appeared in his throat. “Really.”

  She hugged his side and then jumped, throwing her arms around his neck. He grinned, holding her up with one arm so he could trace her lips with is free hand. Her soft brown eyes brimmed with happiness, and he struggled with the regret already building inside.

  He was in this too far to pull out, and that was scary, because it meant that he was in far enough to be hurt—badly. Bree was such a small thing, but she packed a powerful punch right to his heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Bree’s nerves tingled like a live fuse as she showed Owen into her mother’s house. “So this is where I grew up.” She waved at what her mother had always called the formal greeting room. Really, it was supposed to be a piano room, but neither of them had musical talent. The matching gray sofa and recliner were for reading. Young Bree could have read anywhere in the house and have silence, but she would camp out on that lumpy sofa while she waited for Mom to come home from work.

  “It’s nice.” Owen shed his light jacket and hung it over the arm of the recliner. The room shrank with him inside.

  “Bree?” Mom called from the kitchen.

  “We’re here.” Bree pressed her fingertips together.

  “Come on back.”