Tempting Texas

by Kimberly Raye

  “Not to worry, Sheriff. I been shooting since I was knee-high. This is all just to make some noise.”

  “I’d watch that, too, if I were you. Otherwise I’ll have to haul you in for disturbing the peace.”

  “Why you’d just let him go?” Bobby asked when Gerald muttered a curse, grabbed his ammo, and walked out. “You know good and well he’s out to scare more than just a few birds.”

  “Maybe, but at this point, it’s just speculation. We can’t arrest a man for something he might do and it certainly isn’t against the law to buy ammunition in the state of Texas.” He stared through the window, through the creeping dusk as the man hobbled around his pickup parked at the curb. A few seconds later, the engine grumbled to life and the lights flicked on. Tires squealed, a tailpipe sputtered, and Gerald disappeared down the street.

  “He wanted two cases,” Petey James Walker offered. The clerk shook his head. “But Arlo Gentry came in earlier today and wiped me out of everything save those nine boxes. He’s got himself a coon problem.”

  “Coons?” Bobby arched an eyebrow. “I hate those little buggers.”

  “Nasty sons-a-bitches,” Petey agreed. “Why, I had one kept getting into my rabbit pen—”

  “If Gerald comes back for more,” Hunter cut in, eager to kill the coon talk and get back to business, “give me a call, would you?”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff. You really think he’s going after Haywood?”

  Hunter shrugged, but deep in his gut he already knew the answer. If this had been a minor disagreement between anyone else, he would have said hell no. Folks were smarter than that. Forgiving. But this was the Tuckers and the Sawyers. The last squabble between the warring factions had ended with a glass eye for Monty Tucker because Brewster Sawyer had inadvertently shot it out while aiming for a hog, or so he claimed, and a prosthetic testicle for Brewster because Monty had fired back at his enemy’s most cherished body part while aiming for that same hog—or so he’d said. Luckily, all the blood had made Monty’s aim a fraction off and he’d merely taken off one of the twins instead of the man’s penis, and all because of an argument that had started out innocently enough when Brewster’s girlfriend had called Monty’s wife a know-it-all at Wednesday night bingo.

  When it came to the two warring families, things had a way of escalating. Fast.

  The thought struck and Hunter found himself thinking about Jenna. And the kiss. And the way his libido had gone from zero to sixty in two seconds flat.

  He hadn’t meant to kiss her. In fact, he’d been damned intent on not kissing her. Or touching her. Or doing anything because, well, Hunter kept things strictly business whether he was on the clock or not.

  But then she’d been close and he’d been horny and, well, the two had made for a deadly combination.

  “You’d better head home,” Hunter told Bobby.

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve got a few things to wrap up at the station.”

  “You want to come by the house for dinner?”

  He arched an eyebrow at his deputy. “Lori’s cousin wouldn’t happen to be at this dinner, now, would she?” Bobby’s wife had been trying to fix Hunter up with her cousin for the past six months. He’d effectively dodged each and every fix, but it was getting harder and harder because he was the sheriff and he didn’t want to be rude.

  “There’s always a chance Kaitlyn might stop by. She and Lori are attached at the hip.”

  Which was the main reason Bobby was all for finding Kaitlyn her own man. He wanted his new bride of only nine short months all to himself and while her best friend was still single, that was next to impossible. He still had to deal with girls’ night out. And pedicure Saturdays. And Game of Thrones watch parties.

  “Kaitlyn’s a great girl,” Bobby added. “You really ought to give her a chance. She’s a great cook. And she teaches Sunday school.”

  “I don’t really have time tonight. Maybe next time.”

  Kaitlyn was perfect, and maybe it was high time he started dating. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so all-fired anxious to kiss a woman he hardly knew.

  “Definitely next time,” he added.

  Bobby nodded and headed out to his cruiser while Hunter climbed into the beige SUV parked nearby.

  He needed to spend some of the sexual energy boiling inside of him and if that meant settling down with someone in town in order to do it, then so be it. He’d have dinner with Kaitlyn.

  Later.

  Right now, he still had work to do.

  CHAPTER 11

  Bud’s Beer Garden was little more than a run-down shack off of Route 416. Tucked away behind a cluster of oak trees, the place had poor visibility from the main road and worse, it wasn’t even on a Google map.

  Mostly because the folks that hung out at Bud’s were looking to stay off the grid. From hard-core bikers wanting to avoid the weekend warriors who filled the interstate bars, to a certain trio of moonshine runners eager to keep a low profile during their downtime, Bud’s provided a safe haven to suck down beer, hustle pool, and pick up women.

  Hunter knew that firsthand because it had been his go-to spot when he’d first started walking the straight and narrow. A place to escape from prying eyes for a few precious moments before duty called. But then Bud’s had become more a reminder of what he’d left behind than a reprieve and so he’d stopped cutting loose altogether and gone cold turkey.

  He shook off a niggle of regret and pulled into the gravel parking lot. He swerved into a spot off to the left of the building near a beat-up red Chevy pickup and a dusty black Harley, and killed the engine.

  The place was a single-story metal building with a wooden porch that wrapped around the front. Old-fashioned swinging doors filled the doorway. A blue neon Bud’s sign hung a few feet above. Dozens of beer posters filled the grime-covered windows and left little room for light to stream from the inside. Forget anything from this century as far as music went. The sound of Conway Twitty crooning about Linda drifted from inside. It was an oldie but goodie, like all the other throwback tunes that filled the ancient jukebox inside. Even more proof that things didn’t change much in a small town. Bud, himself, had started the place a long, long time ago when his wife Edna had picked up and left him for an encyclopedia salesman. He’d needed a distraction from an empty house and so he’d sold the place and turned to tequila and crying country songs to fill his spare time. Bud’s had been in business ever since.

  His gaze shifted to the silver Dodge Challenger sitting a few spaces away. The car was an older model that had certainly seen better days. There was a small dent in the front fender, a tiny crack in the left corner of the window, and a dozen other scratches here and there. Nothing special to look at, but then that was the point. It wasn’t the exterior that mattered. Hunter knew there was a brand-spanking-new Challenger Hellcat engine under that hood. The fastest of its kind that could go zero to sixty in 3.5 seconds.

  He knew because he’d chased the sonofabitch a time or two, not that he’d ever caught up to it. Or the man who sat behind the wheel.

  If he wanted to catch up to legendary moonshine runner Gator Hallsey, a third-generation hauler who delivered shine all across the Lone Star state just like his dad and granddad before him, he had to do it here at Bud’s. During the man’s off time.

  “A little out of your element, aren’t you, Sheriff?” came the deep voice when he stepped up onto the wraparound.

  He peered into the darkness just to his right and made out the familiar shape of a man, a cigarette in his hand and a woman leaning against his side. He was tall with broad shoulders and blond hair that touched the collar of his blue button-down, the shirttails hanging loose. The butt of his Marlboro glowed like a laser beam in the shadowy darkness. A click sounded and the woman lit her own cigarette, her red lips drawing on the tip.

  “Actually, this is exactly my element,” Hunter told the man after tipping his hat to the woman. “I’ve sucked down my fair share of beers right here.�
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  “I forget you used to be a bad ass way back when.” Ryder Jax grinned, the expression splitting the darkness before he drew on the cigarette. The butt glowed even brighter. Smoke filled the air, along with the woman’s laughter.

  Ryder was also a moonshine runner. The second member of the infamous trio, and more importantly, Gator’s right hand.

  And damn near just as fast.

  Fast enough to keep his ass out of jail and his record all but clean. The only thing that had ever been pinned on him were a few misdemeanors. Some minor traffic violations. And a restraining order filed by an ex-wife who claimed he’d broken into her house and threatened her.

  In actuality, he’d broken into the house to claim his blue heeler, which she’d refused to hand over when she’d kicked his ass out for cheating. But the judge had been female and a cat lover, and so she’d ruled against him and signed the order.

  Now Ryder couldn’t go within one hundred feet of the ex or the dog.

  “A shame you turned over a new leaf,” Ryder added. “You were a lot more fun back in the day.”

  And a helluva lot more dangerous.

  He’d tossed down too much booze and slept with too many women and thrown way too many punches.

  The notion sent a burst of adrenaline through him and he stiffened. “Is Gator inside?”

  Ryder shrugged. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Why you’re here. If you’re here on official business, then I’d have to say no. I ain’t seen him all week. Maybe even all month.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “Then he might be inside counting the five hundred bucks he just won off me in a game of pool.” The grin split the darkness again and the butt beamed a fiery red as he took another drag.

  Hunter stepped toward the swinging doors. “Stay out of trouble.”

  “Always.” Ryder grinned and dropped what was left of the Marlboro. The scuffed toe of his boot ground the butt into the gravel. “Let’s get out of here,” he told the woman standing next to him.

  “It’s about time.” She pushed away from the wall and dropped her own cigarette. “Let’s head back to my place.”

  “Lead the way, darlin’. Lead the way.”

  Hunter watched the couple cross the parking lot, headed for the jacked-up pickup truck that sat off to the far left before turning toward the doorway.

  The stench of stale beer and cigarette smoke swallowed him up as he walked inside. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the bright neon that cut through the darkness.

  A dozen or so bodies filled the interior. A few leather-clad men sat at the bar, sucking down shots of Jack Daniel’s. There were more scattered among the tables, some playing cards, some eyeing the women who filled the perimeter. Hunter recognized a handful of faces from town. Most of them divorcées out looking for a second shot at excitement. There were a few single women, but they weren’t the type that vied for his company at the weekly church picnic.

  Those good, wholesome types wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.

  Another quick visual of the interior and his attention settled on the pool table in the far corner and the man leaning over, lining up his next shot.

  He wore a black V-neck T-shirt that stretched tight over his broad shoulders and revealed some heavily ripped biceps and a pair of worn jeans. He had dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and a few days’ worth of beard covering his face. A half-empty bottle of Fireball whiskey sat on the edge of the table, next to a wad of cash.

  He leaned over, aimed, and took his shot. The ball shot forward, clashing into a red solid and sending it straight into a nearby pocket with a swift whoosh.

  The man across the table let loose a string of cussing before grumbling, “I need another beer if I’m going to get my ass handed to me again.” And then he turned and headed for the bar.

  “So what do you want?” Gator asked when Hunter reached him.

  “What makes you think I want anything?”

  “You always want something.” Gator’s bright blue eyes swept Hunter from head to toe. “Though you’re usually in uniform. What’s with the civilian clothes?”

  “I didn’t want to spook anyone.” That, and he’d tried to go home first. To settle in for the night and forget all about Jenna and the kiss and the damning fact that he hadn’t given one single thought to what he’d been doing. He’d been acting on instinct. Feeling.

  Just like way back when.

  “The uniform is dirty,” Hunter said. “Listen, we picked up Cole and Monty Mayweather yesterday for illegal hunting.” When Gator arched an eyebrow, he added, “They fired off some rounds and hit a civilian’s house. Said it was an accident. That they were chasing a hog.”

  “Who just happened to run inside somebody’s house?”

  “That’s the story.”

  “But you’re not buying it.”

  “Hell, no. They were chasing someone they thought was trespassing on their still site.”

  “Those boys don’t have a still,” Gator said with way too much conviction. But then that’s why Hunter had sought him out. The man knew everything that went on in the county and beyond when it came to moonshine. “Hell, they can barely wipe their own asses without help. They’re not smart enough to run their own operation.”

  “That’s what I thought, but I have an eyewitness who puts them at the site.”

  “This eyewitness wouldn’t happen to be the hog they were chasing, now would it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And you wouldn’t happen to be this hog, now would you?”

  “I plead the fifth.”

  “I see.” Gator nodded. “So when do you think those morons started operating a still?”

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  “Don’t look at me. I have a set clientele with a much higher IQ.”

  “You also have eyes in the back of your head. Nothing moves around here without you knowing it. If they’re producing, they’re selling, or they soon will be. I need to know if you’ve heard anything about anyone new trying to move some product.”

  “There are only a select few guys producing right now and I know for a fact that none of them would hire Cole or Monty, let alone both.” His pool partner walked up and Gator motioned to his next shot. Leaning over, he jabbed the stick forward. Balls clacked and a solid slid into the right pocket.

  His partner downed half his beer and looked as if he was trying not to cry.

  “They’re not smart enough to be doing this on their own,” Hunter said, his voice a notch lower as he focused on Gator who stepped back to let the other man take a shot. “And if none of the usuals will hire them, there must be a new guy in town.”

  “You really think so?”

  “An experienced new guy. The setup is top notch. It’s definitely somebody who’s been in the game for a while.”

  “And you want me to ask around and see if I can find out a name?”

  “You’re smarter than you look.”

  Gator grinned before the expression flatlined. “I can get into serious trouble with my supplier if they know I’m feeding you information. They don’t like snitches.”

  “You’ll be snitching on the competition. I doubt they’d have a problem with that.”

  “You don’t know these guys.”

  “Maybe they’re not the ones with the problem. Maybe you are.” His gaze narrowed ever so slightly as he eyed the other man. “Maybe you know exactly who I’m talking about but you’re protecting them because you’re working for them. If there’s a new seller in town, they’re going to need a channel of distribution. That means you.”

  But Gator wouldn’t do that. He kept his operation beyond the county limits. Even more, he kept his word. A promise that he’d given a long time ago when they’d been running buddies instead of on opposite sides of the law. Hunter had done him a favor, and Gator had never forgotten it.

  He owed Hunter and that meant he wouldn’t screw him
over. Even more, Gator Hallsey didn’t want to end up behind bars and he knew if he crossed the line into Hunter’s county, he would find himself in just such a situation.

  Old friendships aside, Hunter had a job to do and Gator damn well knew that.

  The bootlegger grabbed the bottle of Fireball and took a long pull. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” he said when he finally came up for air. He held out the bottle to Hunter.

  “That’s all I’m asking.” The wild, wicked scent teased his nostrils, tempting and luring him the way the scent of Jenna’s perfume had done earlier that evening. This time, however, he managed to resist.

  Those days were long gone, he reminded himself. Even if he had fallen off the wagon for those few seconds earlier tonight.

  It was understandable.

  We’re talking Jenna Tucker.

  Hot, sexy, irresistible. She was the most potent temptation and he’d been playing the good guy far too long. It made sense he’d slip up and lose his common sense. Once.

  But not twice.

  He didn’t chase after women like Jenna anymore. He stuck to the mild-mannered types like Bobby’s Kaitlyn. She was perfect for him now. He could keep company with her. Go on a few dates. Steal a few kisses. And maybe later they could move on to more. He was through with one-night stands with hot women who didn’t make a lasting imprint on his brain.

  Women with long blond hair and luscious breasts and bright green eyes. Women who tasted like sweet sorbet and decadent excitement.

  His heart kicked up a notch and his throat went dry as he remembered.

  And that was the trouble in a nutshell.

  He couldn’t forget.

  Not tonight.

  Not his own past.

  Deep in his gut, in the dead of night, he remembered what it felt like to live for the moment, to feel the rush of excitement, to walk on the wild side. It felt good—so fucking good—and he couldn’t help but want to feel that way again.