by Cat Johnson
Really, who needed a woman? Certainly not Mark. As the comfortable silence between him and Logan stretched out, Mark tried to convince himself of that.
“I can sit here all night.” Logan eyed him over the rim of the glass as he took a sip.
“All right. You’re welcome to do that.” Mark shrugged. “I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.”
“I meant that I’m waiting for you to tell me what’s up with you this week.” Logan raised a brow and indeed looked as if he’d wait all night for Mark’s answer if need be.
Maybe Mark didn’t need a wife to get nagged. Logan seemed to be doing a fine job of it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing is up with me.”
“You haven’t been yourself. Not since a day or two after the camping trip.” Logan’s eyes narrowed a bit, as if he’d started to put the pieces of a puzzle together, and the picture had begun to take shape. “Is that what this is about? Exactly what happened on that trip, Mark?”
“Nothing.” Except that he’d had an amazing night with Carla and she’d blown him off afterward. That’s all.
Mark had waited all the next day for her to call him, then had decided that was foolish. He went ahead and called her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. If she’d wanted him to call her, she would have given him her number. She hadn’t, but that didn’t stop Mark in his headlong plunge into embarrassment. The OSU staff directory made it all too easy for him to look up her number, confident that she’d had as great a time last weekend as he had.
What a mistake that had been. Oh, she’d been polite. Too polite. And extremely busy, apparently, since every one of his suggestions for them to get together again had been met with excuses.
“Mark, we’re friends. I’m here for you to talk to if you need. And I promise, no jokes. No judgment. Just a sounding board.”
Mark let out a snort of a laugh. “I can picture you saying that to your cadets.”
“Yeah, but it works on them. They spill right away. Apparently, I don’t intimidate you the way I do them.” A crooked grin lifted one corner of Logan’s mouth. “What I said is still all true, though.”
God, it would be nice to have someone to talk to. Confide in. Get a damn opinion from, because Mark could not believe he’d been so wrong in his interpretation of Carla’s feelings for him.
Maybe she did have a boyfriend. He’d asked that night and she’d said no, and it’s not that he thought she was the type to cheat or lie, but it’s possible an ex had come back into her life since then. Maybe one night with Mark had convinced her to run back to a former lover. Lovely. That thought depressed him further.
Logan was still waiting and watching. Mark let out a sigh. It wasn’t in Mark to tell tales about his sexual conquests, as limited as they were. Maybe it was because he’d been on the chess team with the nerds while in school, rather than the football team with the jocks, but that kind of locker room talk, bragging about what he’d shared with Carla, seemed wrong. Even with Logan.
“There’s nothing I want to talk about right now, but thanks.” Mark stood. “So, you interested in that cup of coffee? I’ve even got decaf if you’re not man enough for the real stuff this late at night.”
“Your fresh ground, gourmet-bean coffee?” Logan laughed. “Yeah, I can handle your ‘real stuff.’ You forget, I’m in the army. The crap they call coffee is questionable on a good day. Don’t you worry about me. Bring it on.”
“You’ve got it.” Mark nodded with a smile.
Subject changed and crisis averted . . . at least until later when he was alone with nothing to do except think. And remember.
Mark poured another two fingers of whiskey into the glass in his hand and then went to grind the coffee beans.
Spurring the horse to maximum speed, Carla raced out of the arena, reining him in to a sharp stop at the end of the alley. She turned them in a tight circle and trotted back to confirm her suspicions; she’d knocked every single one of the three barrels down.
“Perfect run, darlin’. You got every one.” With a grin he was lucky she didn’t kick off, Tuck looked up at her and patted the horse’s flank. “Too bad the object of the sport is to leave all the barrels standing upright.”
“Smart-ass.” Carla blew out a breath and surveyed once more the damage she’d inflicted on the barrel-racing course.
In competition, every one of those three fifty-gallon drums lying on its side in the arena dirt would have cost her a five-second penalty. In a sport where the fastest time took home the prize money, the kind of run she’d just made was totally unacceptable. Particularly for a champion who rode at the level she did. Even the students she was there to coach managed to get through the course cleaner than Carla had today.
“What’s on your mind?” Tuck continued to stroke the horse’s heaving sides.
“Nothing. I gotta cool him off.” She moved to turn the horse toward the exit again when Tuck grabbed the bridle.
“Nope. We’re gonna talk.” He turned toward the stands, where a few members of the rodeo team were hanging out, waiting for their turn. “Val! Would you mind walking Carla’s horse to cool him down?”
The girl stepped off the bleachers. “No problem.”
Tuck’s gaze focused on Carla. “Get on down here.”
Crap. She sighed and gave in. There was no arguing with Tuck when his mind was set. Stubborn as a bulldog with a bone, this man was. Hell, most men were. That thought should make her happy she was without one in her life at the moment.
It didn’t.
“What’s up with you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Playing dumb was always the best course of action when there were no other options.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“The barrels? I just had the blacksmith put new shoes on Liberty. I’m wondering if he trimmed him too short.”
Tuck laughed. “Blaming the horse? Nuh-uh. Not gonna work. You trained that gelding so well, he could run that cloverleaf without any rider at all. Probably better and faster than you did today, too. You steered Liberty right into that last barrel.”
“I was trying to make up some time and cut too close. That’s all.” She shrugged.
“You can lie to yourself, Carla, but you can’t lie to me. What’s happening? Something wrong at home? Your ma and pa all right? Is the farm not doing well? I know with this economy—”
“No. Stop, Tuck. The family is fine. Everything is fine.”
Tuck leaned back against the rail and folded his burly forearms across his chest. She’d seen this stance before. It was Tuck digging in his heels for a long wait, and wait he would until Carla gave him what he wanted.
She let out a sigh and blurted, “Mark called me the other day.”
The only indication of his surprise was a lifting of his brow, which for a man like Tuck, who tended to keep things close to the vest, was pretty big. “And?”
“He asked me out.”
“And?” The intensity in Tuck’s tone increased along with his obvious impatience at her vague answers.
“I danced around the issue, but basically I let him know I didn’t want to see him again.” It had been one of the hardest things she’d done in recent memory.
“So what’s the problem? Has he kept bothering you?”
Carla watched Tuck switch into overprotective mode. She had to nip it in the bud before he strode over to Mark’s house and beat him up for bothering her, or something. She already had two brothers who acted like cavemen. She didn’t need another one.
“No. Nothing like that. He hasn’t called back or made contact with me at all.” In a clear case of be careful what you wish for, Mark had accepted her blowing him off. That he didn’t even make an effort to come after her hurt.
Go figure. She’d obviously turned into one of those fickle girls who couldn’t make up their mind. She’d always hated that kind of female. One night with Mark and now she’d become one. Maybe she should be a nun. Avoid men altogether since she was obvio
usly no good at this stuff.
Tuck still watched her too close for her liking. “If you don’t want to see him again, and he’s leaving you alone, what’s the problem?”
Maybe a full confession would help her psyche . . . and her barrel racing. It couldn’t hurt. “I do want to see him, but I can’t.”
“All right. Why can’t you?” Tuck’s patience was pretty amazing. No wonder he was good with the students.
“I googled him.”
Nostrils flaring, Tuck drew in a deep breath. “And?” Maybe Tuck’s patience was growing short after all.
“And, he’s got so many degrees I don’t even know what half of them are for. And he wrote a book.” Carla was lucky she could write a check without messing it up. Forget about write an entire book.
A deep frown creased the brow beneath Tuck’s cowboy hat. “That’s what this is about? You’re afraid you’re not good enough for Ross? Did he say something to make you feel like that?”
The alpha male was back, ready to defend her honor. “No. Stop, Tuck. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. I know the deal. He’s got a PhD. I have a GED.”
“So what?”
“So what? How can you say that? I dropped out of high school. He has a doctorate.”
“And? What’s your point? Becca has a doctorate, too.” Tuck sighed and reached out to lay his hand on Carla’s arm. “Listen. I’m not dismissing your concern. I’m trying to remind you that you’re worth more than a diploma hanging on a wall in a dusty frame. Are you forgetting you have a thriving business as well as how many championship buckles?”
“It’s not the same.”
“No, not the same, but equal. You can’t compare apples with oranges, Carla. You and Ross are both successful in your own fields.”
“Are you telling me you never feel insecure against Becca’s accomplishments?”
He bobbed his head. “I did once. Way back before we started officially dating.”
“And?”
“And it turned out we both had misconceptions because we never bothered to talk it out. But all that resolved itself once we took the time and talked to each other.”
“You really don’t mind she’s got the fancy diploma and you don’t?”
“Nope.” Tuck swiveled his head. “When Becca and I are together, I couldn’t care less if the bedroom walls were plastered with her degrees. Don’t make one damn bit of difference.”
Carla snorted a laugh. “Sex—the great equalizer?”
“Well, yeah, but it’s more than that. There’s gotta be respect for each other. Good sex don’t hurt, though. So . . . was it good?” He waggled his brows.
“Tucker Jenkins!” She delivered a well-aimed punch straight to his shoulder. Carla knew she could pack a good wallop. There’d been plenty of opportunity to practice on her brothers while growing up.
“Ow.” Wincing, Tuck rubbed the spot. “Sorry. Just wondering, is all.”
The problem was, it had been good. Really good. Her cheeks heated at the thought.
“Never mind. You don’t need to answer. It must have been pretty great to make even you blush.” He laughed.
“Tucker—” She reared back for another hit, but Tuck backed out of her reach.
He held up his hands in surrender. “All right. All right. No more about that subject. Just one more thing.”
Carla sighed. “What?”
“He’d be lucky to have you. Remember that.” Tuck leveled his gaze with hers and she realized how serious he was by the tone of his voice. No joking now. Tuck meant it.
“Thanks.”
“So what are you going to do about Ross?”
“I thought we were done talking about this?”
He shrugged. “Man has a right to change his mind. You gonna call him?”
She debated a snappy comeback. Something clever to put Tuck in his place, but Carla found she didn’t have any fight left in her, so she opted for the truth. “I have no idea.”
Through narrowed eyes, Tuck watched her for what felt like a long time before he nodded once. “So, I wanted to see if we could shave some time off Val’s runs today. Think you could work with her on that?”
“Oh, uh, sure.” Shock at the change in subject from her love life back to the practice was enough to have Carla stuttering over her answer. Though the look in Tuck’s eyes as he turned toward the arena told her this was only a temporary reprieve.
Chapter Seven
Mark scrubbed his hands over his face. His frustrated sigh reached no one’s ears except his own since he was alone in his office. Hell, he was probably alone in the building, save for a janitor or two working the night shift. Leaving work to go home alone held no appeal.
Funny, he’d worked so hard to make his condo into a home, but it didn’t feel very homey lately. It just felt empty.
The phone ringing on his desk had Mark frowning at the unfamiliar number on the caller ID. He reached for the receiver. “Hello?”
“Ross?”
“Uh, yes.” Who the hell was calling him at work this late?
“Jeez, man, you’re putting in the hours. And during summer break, no less. I tried your house number first but when I got no answer, and saw your cell number isn’t listed, I figured I’d take a shot at the office. Listen, don’t you get any ideas about making Becca work this late because I’m not putting up with it. Especially after she and I are married.”
Pieces started to fall into place and Mark recognized Tucker’s voice.
“Don’t worry about that.” The answer of who was calling raised another question for Mark. Why was he calling? “So, Tucker, what can I do for you?”
There was a pause, then a sigh, which had Mark more intrigued. Tucker Jenkins, stern soldier and big and tough bull rider, wasn’t usually one to mince words, yet he seemed to be at a loss now. What in the world could this call be about?
“Look, Ross. I’m going against my better judgment here, and I’m breaking one of my own rules by interfering where I have no business, but I can’t stand seeing her like this. I just want you to know, I don’t do shit like this. You know, going behind somebody’s back.”
The more Tuck spoke, the more confused Mark became. “Okay. Is Becca upset about something happening here at work? I would certainly understand if she felt more comfortable talking to you rather than me—”
“Becca? No, this isn’t about her. I’m talking about Carla.”
Just the name had Mark’s heart rate speeding. “What about Carla?”
Had Tuck tracked him down to defend her honor? Just what Mark needed, a broken nose to go with his bruised ego.
“You need to call her.”
Huh. Not what he’d expected Tucker to say at all, but at least Mark could honestly say his not calling Carla after they’d been together was not the issue. “I did call.”
“Call her again.” Tuck’s order came through loud and clear.
Mark would gladly concede the point that perhaps Tucker had tougher skin than he when it came to women, but a man could take only so much rejection. Mark wasn’t sure he had it in him to go back for more. “Tucker, I don’t know what she told you—”
“Enough.”
Tuck was obviously a man of few words, but that didn’t change the fact that Carla had blown Mark off. “Look, based on our last phone conversation, it was apparent to me she doesn’t want me to call her.”
“Ross, listen to me. I’m not gonna betray her confidence any more than I already have by repeating what we talked about. Just trust me on this. Call. Her. Again.”
The pounding of his pulse echoed in his ears as a small spark of hope began to grow inside Mark. “You really think I should?”
“Yes!” Tuck’s booming answer left no room for further question.
The idea of talking to Carla again had him feeling nauseated and excited at the same time, but he’d do it. He had to. He’d never be able to face Tucker again if he chickened out. “All right. I will.”
“Good
. Do it now. She’s alone in the truck driving home from practice, so she’ll be able to talk to you without a house full of nosy family members listening in.” Tuck had thought of everything, and Mark couldn’t be more grateful for the unexpected ally.
“I’ll call right now. And, Tuck? Thanks.”
“Yeah, well, just don’t screw it up.”
Mark laughed, though his nervousness over the impending call had it sounding more manic than humorous. “I’ll try my best not to. Believe me.”
He hung up and, with shaking hands, opened the faculty directory online and scrolled to Carla’s cell number. He pulled his own cell out of his pants pocket and punched in the numbers.
“Hi.” Her informal greeting told him she recognized his number, though her hesitation ramped up his anxiety a bit.
“Hi. I was wondering . . . can we talk?”
She blew out a breath. “Yeah. I think I’d like that. Do you want to meet somewhere tonight?”
God, yes. More than anything. Heart pounding, he glanced at her home address. “If you’d like, I can be at your place in fifteen minutes.”
“No! Sorry, just anywhere but my house.”
Mark pulled back from the phone at the force of her reaction, until he remembered what Tuck had said about her nosy family. She must still live at home. If she did want to talk so she could let him down gently, he’d prefer not to have an audience of her relatives in attendance. “Do you want to meet somewhere in the middle? Like a coffee shop?”
“I’d rather talk in private.”
Hmm. That could be a good sign, or a bad sign. He wasn’t sure which yet. “Okay. Where?”
“Can I come to your place?” she asked.
“Yes. Of course you can. Not a problem at all.” Had he remembered to put his dirty laundry in the hamper? It didn’t matter. He’d beat her there and make things right before she came inside. Did he have any beer left in the fridge from the last poker game? Mark stood as his mind reeled. “Let me give you the address. The directions are pretty simple.”