Prairie Passion (Cowboys of The Flint Hills #2)

by Tessa Layne

  He wanted her to see him like that.

  In his element.

  Shaking himself before he did something stupid like ask her on a date, he quietly placed his dishes and her chili on the island and went to the office, shutting the door behind him. Leaning back against the door, he surveyed the mess. Where to even begin?

  Calendar.

  There was a calendar in here somewhere. He started shuffling papers, moving most of them to the chair. He grimaced when he found the calendar at the bottom of a pile of envelopes. A topless beauty stared back at him. Jamey would have a few tart words to say about that. He tossed it in the trashcan, making a note to grab something with horses and flowers the next time he was at the five and dime.

  He grabbed the stack of mail lying unopened. Flipping through it quickly, he kept anything that looked like a bill and trashed the rest. See? He could do this business stuff just fine.

  Who you foolin’, man?

  You’re an idiot.

  Shaking his head and blowing out a breath, he opened the laptop and turned it on, opening a few envelopes while he waited for it to boot up. He clicked on the bookkeeping icon, and drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk while the file opened. The spreadsheet opened before him, a bunch of boxes and columns.

  Squinting, he hunted on the keyboard for the button to make the text bigger. He ground his teeth in frustration. God, he hated computers. As far as he was concerned, the only thing they were good for was as a doorstopper.

  Giving up, he refocused on the boxes and columns. After several minutes in which anxiety built and roiled in his belly, he slammed the laptop shut and pushed it across the desk.

  Fine.

  He didn’t do computers.

  But he could do it the old fashioned way.

  He stared at the envelope in front of him, willing his eyes to focus. Grabbing it and ripping it open he pulled out an invoice. He placed it on his left, and grabbed the next envelope in the stack.

  Letter. On the right.

  Fighting the anxiety that had morphed into dread, he grabbed the next envelope and ripped it open.

  What in the hell was this? He had no fucking clue.

  He crumpled the paper and beat it against his forehead, squeezing shut his eyes, and momentarily giving into the waves of panic assaulting him. Tossing the paper against the wall, he picked up another set of envelopes, skimming through them. What was this shit?

  It was all too much. He threw the envelopes and swept the papers off the desk, letting out a grunt of despair. Flinging open the door so hard it bounced against the wall, he stalked down the hall to his bed.

  He was a fucking failure.

  And the whole world would know it in less than six weeks.

  CHAPTER 12

  The men finished clearing the cedar a day early. Brodie waited until they’d all finished breakfast before handing them their final checks, including the bonus he’d promised them for wrapping up early.

  Paying them, especially the bonus, felt… good. Really good. Like he’d accomplished something significant. He was good at running things. He knew it. He just needed to figure out the office. Maybe now that the men would be out of his hair he could figure it out.

  Johnny Benoit and his twin brother, Jimmy, were the last to leave. “So you ropin’ at the fair?” Johnny asked as he took the envelope Brodie handed him.

  The county fair was ten days away, and while he and Ben hadn’t practiced much this summer, the two of them worked intuitively, and had won team roping three years running. He wasn’t about to give up his title this year. Not if there was a chance Jamey would be there to watch him.

  He flashed a cocky grin. “Hell, yeah. Prepare to get your ass whupped again this year.”

  “Case of beer says Jimmy and I take you two down.”

  “Make it two and you’re on. Winner picks the beer.”

  “Fair enough.” Johnny stuck out his hand. “You ever need us again, you know where to find us.”

  Turning, Brodie paused in the office only long enough to grab the four-pack of Guinness he’d picked up yesterday at the liquor store.

  At the kitchen door, he stopped to admire Jamey from behind. She’d stripped out of her chef’s coat again, and was busy running dishes through the washer, singing along with the new radio to ACDC. It fascinated him, watching her move through the kitchen. Like every movement was made for maximum efficiency.

  “Did you dance as a little kid?”

  She spiraled around, surprise in her eyes.

  Shit.

  Why in the hell had he gone and blurted that out?

  She laughed, shaking her head. God, his teeth could rot from the sweetness of her laugh. His belly warmed at the sound. She’d laughed for him. Not at him, or at someone else’s joke, but for him.

  “Ah. No. In fact, I ended up in the kitchen because I was too awkward for dance class.”

  “There’s nothing awkward about you.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “In the kitchen,” he backpedaled. “I mean there’s nothing awkward about you in the kitchen. You move like you own it.”

  She cocked her head at him, smiling slowly. “I do.”

  Oh God. He was digging the hole of a verbal idiot. He lifted up the box of Guinness and stepped toward the island.

  “Uh. Here.” He didn’t know what to say next. “Thanks for your help… And… I’m sorry I was a jerk the other day.” The last bit came out in a rush.

  Jamey’s eyes widened, and her mouth quirked. “I’ve been thinking…”

  That you’d like to go to bed with me? Desire settled in his balls as his eyes raked over her.

  Shit.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  He could see her nipples protruding through the fabric of her tank top. Damn if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d seen. Ever. He wanted to throw her on the island and devour her head to toe.

  She looked at him quizzically. Had he given something away?

  “You okay, Brodie?” Her voice came out a little breathless, and she licked her lips.

  He swallowed hard. “Uh. Yeah.”

  “So I was thinking… I could take over some of the office duties. You’d still have to pay the bills, but I’ll go ahead and set up all the vendor accounts. And help you balance your sheets. That should take some pressure off you. You’ll still have to schedule and handle guests, and all I ask is at least three days notice so I can prep properly.”

  “Uh. Yeah. That sounds great.” He made himself look her in the eye. He really wanted to stare at her tits. Touch them. Work them into hard pebbles and cover them with his tongue. But he didn’t want to get slapped… She would undoubtedly slap him. Maybe that’s what he needed to get his dick under control.

  Or not.

  Tendrils of lust snaked through his belly.

  She waved her hand in front of his face, snapping her fingers. “Brodie. What’s going on?”

  “I… nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

  “This is serious and you look like you’re on another planet.”

  He shuddered out a deep breath, allowing himself to drown in her irate gaze. “I’m here.”

  “You better be. You’re not the only one who can’t fail. I have a lot riding on this, too.”

  “So are you suggesting we start over as a team?”

  She crossed her hands over her chest, assessing him coolly. After a moment where he found himself heating under her direct gaze, she answered. “Yeah. I am.”

  “For the record, didn’t I suggest that a few days ago?”

  She rolled her lips together, but they pulled up at the corners. Her chin dipped ever so slightly.

  He pounced, not bothering to keep the glee out of his voice. “A-ha. Admit it. I was right.”

  She shook her head, still trying to keep the smile from her face, and losing the battle. He placed the Guinness on the island and leaned across, grinning openly. “C’mon, Jamey, let me hear you say it.”

 
A breathy giggle escaped and she tried to glare at him. But there was too much laughter in her eyes. Her cheeks turned the sweetest shade of pink, and she rolled her eyes. “Fine. You’re right. We’re better off working as a team.” She covered her smile with her hand and shook her head again.

  He should gloat. He should remind her that he won. But he only wanted to celebrate this tiny victory. He tore into the cardboard packaging and pulled out two cans. “Then we should drink to that.”

  “At seven in the morning?”

  He shrugged. “Why not? Don’t you Irish have a reputation for starting early?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Don’t you cowboys have a reputation for being wildly misinformed?”

  “Aww, come on, Jamey. This at least deserves a toast.”

  The smile she gave looked anguished, and she shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t drink Guinness.”

  He stepped back, deflated.

  Damn.

  He should have asked. He’d just assumed after all her talk at Blake and Maddie’s wedding. Flames prickled at the back of his neck. He’d never come off looking anything like an ass in front of her.

  “But, thank you for the thought. It’s… ah… just bad for my girlish figure.”

  He snorted, half laughing at her, half embarrassed at himself.

  Her eyes softened. “But we could toast with a little magic of the leprechauns.” She moved to the cupboard and grabbed two glasses.

  “What the hell is that?”

  She grinned at him. “Irish whiskey, silly. Made with magic of the leprechauns.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you you’re full of shit?”

  “Magic leprechaun shit, that’s me.”

  He laughed out loud. God, he wanted to kiss her. She was funny when she was relaxed. And fun.

  Then he opened his mouth before he could stop himself. “You’re beautiful.”

  She snorted back, half-laughing, as she poured amber liquid into each glass. Pink tinted her cheeks, highlighting some of her freckles. “Riiiiight. You called me scrawny.” She gave the glass a push and sent it flying across the island to him.

  “You need to eat more. Not watch your weight.” It wasn’t his business. He knew that. But he couldn’t help himself. He worried about how skinny she was. “You look like you’re… not well.”

  Her eyes softened a fraction. “You sure know how to lay on the charm.”

  He waggled his eyebrows at her. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, darlin’.”

  Silence fell between them… and grew heavy. He cleared his throat and raised his glass. “To teamwork.”

  “New beginnings,” she added, tossing back her shot. Then she spun back to the dishes in the sink, dismissing him.

  But he didn’t want to be dismissed. Not yet, at least. He remained at the island, fixating on her arms as they moved the pans from one sink to another. Then to her ass. The baggy chef’s pants she lived in pulled tight every time she bent, revealing round, shapely muscle. Muscle he imagined sinking his fingers into. He shifted his weight as the familiar tightness in his balls surged to life. God he’d love to bend her over the counter…

  “I’m sure you have work to do?” Her voice jolted him out of his very pleasant fantasy involving the two of them pantsless.

  “Ever been to a rodeo?”

  She snorted and kept washing dishes.

  “County fair’s in ten days. Ranch’ll have a crew.”

  She placed the pans in the washer. “We better have a crew of visitors or we’ll be out on our asses before you know it.”

  Damn, she was a tough nut to crack. “Say you’ll go, Jamey.”

  She finally swung around and leaned back on the counter, eyes teasing. “Why? Don’t have enough skirts to ogle you while you rodeo?”

  He winked at her and grinned. “Never hurts to have one more.”

  Her sweet mouth flattened grimly. “Let’s get one thing straight, cowboy. I have never been, nor will I ever be, a skirt.” She leaned forward, placing her hands on the island.

  The way her tank top stretched across her nipples made his throat go dry. “You have to stop doing that,” he croaked hoarsely.

  “Doing what?”

  “Standing there, looking so Goddamned delectable.”

  Her breath hitched, and the air sparked with electricity. Standing there, with the island between them, not even touching her, his knees nearly buckled from the wave of hot desire that crashed over him. Her eyes darkened as she held his gaze. Her nipples hardened to peaks underneath the cotton, further stretching the fabric.

  “I dream of you at night, Jamey. Of fucking you.”

  Her pupils dilated, and he could see her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The fingers splayed across the island clenched.

  “I dream of tasting you. Of pushing into you, and hearing you cry my name underneath me. I dream of holding your sweet, tight ass in my hands.” The knot of need that remained a constant reminder of her presence, clenched deep inside him. His cock throbbed against his denim. He’d never been so turned on just looking at someone. Just talking.

  Her tongue flicked out to wet her bottom lip. He wanted to suck on that lip. Nibble it, devour it in little bites until he she moaned for him.

  “You have to stop talking.” Her voice sounded breathy and high. Why wouldn’t she just give into this electricity that constantly thrummed between them?

  “Why? I know you feel it, too.” His own voice came out rough with need. He didn’t care. At this moment, he was beyond caring.

  She seemed to shake herself and the light went flat in her eyes. “We work together. This. Can’t. Happen.”

  Her words acted like ice water.

  He clenched his hand, forcing his blood back up to his brain. Away from his cock.

  She was right.

  He needed to put her out of his mind and focus on not getting his ass kicked off the ranch.

  But still… something niggled at him deep inside. This was… different. He’d regret not finding out what was between them.

  He nodded his assent. “Fine. You’re right.” He could have sworn he saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes.

  He stepped back, breaking their connection. “I’ve got errands to run in town. Need anything?” He wasn’t sure his voice sounded quite right.

  Averting her eyes, she shook her head and returned to her dishes.

  Motherfucking shitballs.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jamey leaned into the oven and pulled out her latest batch of scones. The sound of hammering drifted through the open window. Brodie and his young half-brother, Simon, had been working on a project out back for the better part of the week. It looked like it could be a fancy chicken coop, but they refused to tell her. Even after bribes of her kitchen sink cookies.

  She pulled apart one of the steaming scones, trying not to burn her fingers, too impatient to wait until they’d cooled. The last batch, and several before, had been abject failures. She’d tried them out on Brodie, who’d been very polite, but she could see in his eyes that he was swallowing his thoughts along with the dried out, crumbly dough.

  She popped a piece in her mouth. The flavor was right, but it was a little on the gummy side. She’d have to check it when it cooled. She set the timer for ten minutes and went about straightening the kitchen.

  The last week had been… tense.

  She and Brodie had slipped into a pattern of careful avoidance peppered with accidental skin grazes and stolen glances. Their chemistry was undeniable. She’d paused at the back door on more than one occasion this week, just to admire him sawing and hammering without a shirt. The man had serious muscles, honed from hard labor, not sculpted in a gym like Jean Luc and the rest of the chefs she knew.

  And oh my, was there a difference.

  Imagining those muscles corded under her soaked her panties through in a heartbeat, and set her internal temperature to broil.

  He knew the effect he had on her, too, damn his arrogant ass. The knowi
ng smile he’d thrown her way when he’d caught her staring the day before, had been half conceit, half invitation. Invitation that was becoming harder and harder to deny.

  Especially when he was so damned cute with Simon. He wasn’t just playful with the boy, he was gentle. More like a parent than an older brother. Brodie treated Simon like an equal, letting him do all but the most challenging work at the lodge. When she’d asked about it, he’d brushed it off. “I was driving a tractor and wrestling steers when I was his age. The sooner he learns, the better he’ll be at all of it.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to ranch?”

  “They’re life skills, Jamey, just like what you do.” He’d narrowed his gaze on her. “Not everyone who’s smart is good at school. If he’s good at school, great. But he’ll always have work if he knows how to ranch.”

  The timer sounded, pulling her back to the present. Grabbing some glasses, and the fresh lemonade she’d made, she took the scones out to where Brodie and Simon were working. She paused in the yard to watch as Brodie threw down a stack of two-by-fours like they were toothpicks. Shooting her a grin, he called out. “Break time, Simon. Chef’s got some more experiments.”

  She crossed over to the two, setting the lemonade pitcher on an upended log. She handed Brodie the dishtowel she’d tucked into the waist of her chef’s pants. “Here. You’re covered in sweat.”

  He grabbed the towel, slowly raking his eyes over her. Her skin, already on fire from her thoughts, flushed and prickled. Her nipples tightened as the ache at her clit grew. She should leave now. Head back to the safety of the kitchen and bury herself in work.

  She spun away, but his hand snaked out and caught her arm. “Wait.”

  She met his heated gaze, her breath catching in her throat. His hand scorched her skin like a hot poker. And his sky blue eyes held a light that made her pulse go all thready. Like he was undressing her in his mind.