by Becky McGraw
He could have his damned buckle bunnies and barflies, and he could have the rodeo. She was going to find something else to do. She’d been barrel racing since she was sixteen too, and she still wasn’t winning like she wanted to. Twyla was going to find something she was good at, other than chasing Ryan Easter, other than watching his back to make sure he didn’t get roped in by one of those buckle bunnies. He’d called her his wingman before, and it hacked her off every time she heard it. Let her damned brother be his wingman.
Twyla was a woman, and a good one. She was going to find a man who realized that, right after she figured out who she was as a woman. Last night she called her only female friend, Heather, a woman she’d ridden barrels with for a year on the circuit. Heather had invited her to come to stay with her in Dallas. She’d also given Twyla several ideas of things she could try out to see if they fit. Since Heather left the circuit, her friend had gotten involved in a lot of stuff that sounded pretty damned interesting.
And she sounded happy.
That was the feeling that had escaped Twyla for years. It was a feeling she was determined to recapture. With a sigh, she turned away from the trailer, and bumped into a broad chest. Twyla stumbled back, ready to blast whoever was blocking her way. But it was Ryan, and her heart did a fricking somersault in her chest like it always did around him. Damned heart.
Gritting her teeth, she asked, “What do you want?”
“Where are you going?” he asked with his hands on his hips. “We don’t pull out until tonight.” The damned morning sunlight made the auburn highlights in his beard growth sparkle, and his blue eyes look almost translucent. Twyla was determined not to notice, and she was more than determined not to let the scent of his piney cologne affect her this time.
“You don’t pull out until tonight. I am pulling out now,” she ground out, before turning her back to walk around the rear of the truck. Ryan followed closely behind her.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going? You have to ride tonight. You’re in second place, and can win this time!”
Twyla grabbed the door handle on the truck, but looked back over her shoulder. “I’m always in second place, and I’m tired of it.” With you and in the standings, she added mentally and fought the damned feminine emotion that tried to choke her. “I told the admin this morning that I’m out. Now, I’m telling you. Pass it on to Zack.”
Twyla jerked the handle, but Ryan leaned over her to push the door closed again. “What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t just leave! If this is about last night—”
“This is about every fricking night!” she shouted, shouldering him away from her. “Now move! I’ve got to get to Dallas.”
Twyla swung open the door and managed to hop into the driver’s seat, but Ryan blocked the door with his big body so she couldn’t shut it. “What the fuck is in Dallas?”
“The life that you told me to get last night,” she replied snottily.
His brows furrowed, and his voice became softer, coercing almost. “I’m sorry, Sissy. You can’t just leave. Mama will be—”
Anger shot up to her head and it felt like it might explode. It came out of her with a rush of words. “The first thing you need to realize, Ryan Easter, is that I am not your sister. And my mother knows I’m leaving. I called her last night.”
“Zack is gonna be pissed,” Ryan said.
It figured that’s who Ryan would be worried about. “Zack can get glad the same way he got mad. I’m a grown woman, and it’s time both of you recognize that. Now move!” She jerked the door, and he backed up, but didn’t leave.
She slammed the door, then rolled down the window to get some air. The air conditioning in her old truck had given up the ghost a couple of years ago, and she hadn’t had the money to fix it.
“He’s going to blame me,” Ryan said, tipping his hat back on his head.
“He should blame you, asshole,” she replied, angry that her hand shook as she put the keys into the ignition. “But he should blame himself more. I’m done with both of you.” Twyla cranked the truck, and put it in drive.
Ryan had no choice but to back up, or have his foot run over by the trailer, as Twyla pulled off. In the side mirror of the truck, she saw him throw up his hands and kick up dust with his boot, before he turned and stomped off toward the arena. She wanted to laugh. If that man felt half of the frustration she was dealing with, had dealt with far too long, he should be good and frustrated. It was about damned time he got some of what he’d been dishing out for ten years.
But Ryan Easter’s state-of-mind was the last thing on hers when she pulled out onto the highway. Excitement for the new adventures that waited for her in Dallas built inside of her, as she took the ramp to the interstate heading to Dallas.
Freedom called. Freedom from the oppressive control of her older brother, and freedom from the crush on Ryan Easter that she had nursed for ten years too long.
CHAPTER TWO
“Twyla get up, we’re gonna be late!” Heather yelled from the kitchen.
Twyla sniffed, smelled bacon frying mixed with the aroma of rich coffee, and her eyes popped open. God, she could use that coffee. A gallon of it. She hadn’t gotten to Heather’s apartment yesterday evening until nearly seven o’clock, because she had to meet with the owners at Tango’s new barn and get him settled in a stall. She’d been sleeping since then, but still didn’t feel fully rested. The bed in Heather’s spare bedroom was too soft, a far cry from the pullout in Zack’s travel trailer. This whole situation was just strange to her, but Twyla knew she would eventually get used to it. She had to get used to it. This would be her new life.
During the five-hour drive to Dallas, she and Heather talked on the phone nearly the whole time. Her friend had helped her come up with a plan to get her life on a different track. One that didn’t include the rodeo, barrel racing, or Ryan Easter.
Rolling over on her side, Twyla covered her head with her pillow. She did not want to go to that salon today with Heather, or shopping. Twyla was not a shopper, and she sure as hell never worried about doing her hair or makeup. But if she wanted the job which was open at the Crazy Cowgirl, she was going to have to suck it up and go along with Heather’s plan.
According to her friend, she made nearly a thousand dollars a week working as a waitress there, and Twyla could sure use that money. It would allow her to get the equipment and start training to do what she really wanted to do, enter the Cowboy Mounted Shooting events. Twyla was a good rider and a good shot. She thought maybe she could do better at that than she had at barrel racing. She was at least going to try it. There were a lot of things she was going to try, things that being stuck in the barrel racing circuit for so long had prevented. Twyla felt sure she would eventually hit on something she was good at.
Hopefully she’d get the job at the bar, and be good at waitressing, because the paltry money she had saved from her winnings from barrel racing was going to run out swiftly. All Heather told her about the job was that she would be serving drinks, and maybe doing some dancing. Twyla was as uncoordinated as they came, a tomboy, and Heather knew that. They’d been out together before, and while Heather twirled around the dance floor with a string of men, Twyla managed to step on one cowboy’s toes badly enough that word must’ve gotten around and nobody else asked her to dance.
But Heather was going to teach her. She told Twyla if she could shake her hips, she’d make tips. Twyla thought maybe she could manage that, although she feared her version of hip-shaking might result in someone thinking she was having a seizure and calling 911.
Heather was the performer, a singer and dancer all her life, and she was good. Making it as a singer was Heather’s dream, and Twyla knew she’d eventually make it, because even though Heather was a failure as a barrel racer like Twyla, she had the talent. She’d seen her friend perform and her voice was just amazing.
Twyla knew she had to have some kind of hidden talent too. It was just going to take time and effort to find
out what that was. One thing she knew for sure was her talents would never include singing and dancing. She’d leave that to Heather.
Lying in bed wasn’t going to help her discover her talents, though. This was the first day of her new start, and she was wasting it. Throwing back the covers, Twyla sat on the side of the bed and got her bearings. With a heavy sigh, she padded across the floor and walked into the small kitchen. “Coffee,” she croaked, after unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth.
Heather glanced at her, pulled a mug down off the hook below the cabinet then handed it to her. She smiled, as she picked up the spatula again. “You better get a move on, sunshine. We’ve got dragons to slay today.”
“I feel like a damned dragon, so watch out,” Twyla grumped as she filled the mug. Primping, shopping and dancing, their to-do list for the day, wasn’t going to improve her mood. But if she wanted to be successful at her five-o’clock interview with the manager of the bar, she did need to get a move on. Heather had a miracle to perform in just a few hours.
“I’m probably going to make a fool out of myself in front of your manager.”
“Nah, we’ll get you whipped into shape,” Heather replied with a laugh as she flipped the egg in the bacon grease to cook the other side.
“I’d rather the whipping over trying to dance. You know I’m as clumsy as a stump.”
“Stop it!” Heather shouted. “You are going to do fine. Leon isn’t looking for professional dancers, he’s looking for good-looking women.”
“Well, I’m not that either,” Twyla said, leaning against the counter to blow the steam from her cup.
Heather looked at her and grinned. “You will be when I get done with you. ”
Twyla groaned and took a long hot sip of her coffee which scalded all the way down her throat to her stomach. She welcomed the pain. It couldn’t be any worse than the torture she knew was waiting for her at the beauty salon, and then the mall.
Heather elbowed her. “Come on Twy –change your attitude or you won’t get the job. You have to feel sexy to be sexy.”
“I haven’t ever felt sexy, and I doubt I ever will. I’m a tomboy. I haven’t worn a dress since I was four. Drove my mother crazy.”
“Oh, you won’t be wearing dresses, darlin’. We’re going to find some shorts that will show off those long legs I’d die to have.”
“I have bird legs.” Long yeah, but skinny as hell. They were toned from all the riding she did, but they weren’t something she was proud of. Because she was so tall, Twyla always felt gangly and out of place.
“You have legs up to your chin,” Heather countered. “Be proud of them. Own them.”
Twyla snorted. “I do own them unfortunately,” she replied looking down at the top of her shorter friend’s dark head.
Heather tsked, then flipped the egg out of the skillet onto a plate and shoved it at her. “Eat, and for God’s sake finish that coffee. You need an attitude adjustment.”
“It’s gonna take a lot more than a cup of coffee to do that. I’m in a little bit of a funk if you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed. Now if you want my help, eat your damned breakfast and work on your mood. I’m going to get ready.”
Two hours later, Heather shoved her arm through the dressing room door and a silky tank top and a pair of miniscule blue jean shorts dangled from her fingers. Twyla grabbed them, and inspected them. “Holy shit, girl, get the other piece of these shorts off the rack for me will you?”
Twyla held them up and saw they were only about three inches long from the waistband to the ragged hem. And there were wear holes in them that looked like a rat had chewed through the denim. The bottom of the pockets hung past the bottom of the legs.
“Put ‘em on Twyla,” Heather said firmly. “We’re running out of time!”
Huffing out a breath, Twyla stepped into the shorts, and sucked in to snap them. She jumped from foot to foot and fought the zipper until she finally got it to the top of the track. “Fifteen pounds of feed in a ten pound sack,” she grumbled as she turned to look over her shoulder in the mirror. The crease at the bottom of her ass cheeks was on prime display. “I’m not wearing these. Get me a bigger size.”
Heather’s pretty face appeared through the curtain. Her eyes tracked down Twyla’s legs to her toes then flew back up. She grinned. “Those fit you perfect! Turn around!”
All Twyla could figure was her friend must be blind if she thought these shorts fit her. Surely when she saw the back, she’d realize her mistake. Twyla turned her back to the door and folded her arms over her chest waiting for her friend’s gasp. Nothing.
“I love the rhinestones on the pockets. That’ll sparkle in the lights. Try on the shirt, and I’ll get you a few more. There’s a pair of boots you need too.”
“I can’t afford all this, and I don’t need a new pair of boots. Mine are perfectly fine.”
“Your boots are old, dusty and worn out. They’re square-toed men’s boots. Riding boots. You need girly boots, and you need this job, remember?”
Twyla’s shoulders sank and she unfolded her arms. “I do need this job.”
“Then you better start cooperating. Get the shirt on, and I’ll get the other stuff. Our appointment at the salon is in fifteen minutes.”
Heather disappeared, and Twyla slid the shirt over her head. It swished over her skin feeling like wet silk. When it settled, the material was cold and her nipples hardened. Heather’s head poked through the curtain again. “That’s too loose. You need something stretchy. Lace maybe. And you need a strapless pushup bra. Take these, and see if they fit better. I’ll be right back.”
Heather’s tone sounded like what Twyla imagined a drill sergeant’s would sound like. Authoritative, take no prisoners, your opinion doesn’t mean shit. You don’t have an opinion if you know what’s good for you. So Twyla stifled hers, and changed again. The two shirts fit her just the same, and she knew they weren’t going to meet up to Sergeant Heather’s expectations either. Twyla was starting to think nothing would, unless she went to that audition naked. Hell, wearing this stuff, she was already halfway there. This whole thing was so not her usual self. Twyla did not wear Daisy Duke shorts, or silky shirts, she never had. Her wardrobe consisted of tank tops, jeans and cotton shirts to cover them.
But look where your usual mode has gotten you. This is a new start for you. You can be anyone you want to be. Nobody here except Heather knows you’re a clumsy, dowdy tomboy.
Heather’s arm shot through the curtain again and there were two short shirts in her hand. One was a pink checked cotton and the other was sky blue lace. She took them, and Heather handed her a half-bra too. “Hell, I’m flat-chested. I can go without a bra for all that matter,” Twyla said looking down in horror at the twenty dollar price tag dangling from the side.
“Make the most of what you have, Twy—that bra will give you the breasts you’ve always wanted. It has gel inserts.”
Holy shit, she was going to have fake boobs. “I don’t know, Heather…”
“Just put the damned thing on!” Heather said with frustration.
Her friend really was getting aggravated with her, she could hear it in her tone. Twyla needed her friend’s help, so she better get with the program. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied with a laugh, sliding the straps of her bra down her shoulders. Reaching behind her, Twyla unfastened the clasp, and dropped her bra to the floor. Quickly, she positioned the new bra and fastened it. When she turned toward the mirror, she gasped. Boobs! She actually had cleavage .
“Holy shit,” she whispered in awe.
Heather stuck her head through the curtain, and Twyla saw her broad grin in the mirror. “It’s a miracle bra,” she said with a laugh.
Twyla’s eyes fixed on the mounds of flesh pushing over the top of the cups. “Damn straight it is.”
“Try the shirts on and let’s get out of here. If we’re late to the salon, Sophie will be pissed.” Twyla tried on the shirts, and got an appr
oving nod from Heather. They checked out and Twyla thought she might need a second job to pay for the clothes and new boots she’d just bought for her first job. A job she hadn’t even gotten yet.
After the trip to the salon for a sixty dollar haircut that didn’t amount to much hair being cut at all, a hundred-dollars-worth of makeup, and several cans of hair goop, her debit card was almost melted, and Twyla felt like her face would crack if she smiled. She was definitely going to need a second job, if this one didn’t pay off right away, she thought as she got up into the truck with Heather.
“Are we done yet?’ she asked plopping the bags down on the floorboard by her feet.
“With shopping yes, but we need to go to Jolie’s dance studio for your crash course in the Crazy Cowgirl dance routines. She’s our dance coach, and a waitress there too. She owns a dance studio on the side. Between us, I know we can get you up to speed.”
Things were already going so fast Twyla’s head was spinning. Add any more speed and it might fly off of her shoulders. “Can we reschedule the interview for tomorrow? I’m about worn out from all that!”
Heather laughed. “Girl, you don’t know what worn out is. But you’re about to find out. You need to work on your stamina, because this job pays well but you have to be able to keep up. When I go home at night, I’m whooped, but my pocketbook is full.”
Twyla was starting to have her doubts about how well she was going to fit in at that bar. The job sounded like great money, but she also wondered why she was expected to wear shorts up the crack of her ass, and enough makeup for a clown. Her mother and brother would have a coronary if they saw her. Her daddy would just kill her. She wondered what Ryan would think of how she looked now. She looked a lot like the buckle bunnies she always saw him with.