Rescue Me lt-3

by Rachel Gibson

  He still wasn’t real clear on how she’d come to work for Deeann Gunderson in the first place. Maybe if she wasn’t talking while she was half naked, her little pink panties barely covering the pink beneath, he’d be able to focus on what she was saying.

  “Those girls acted like they were at Vera Wang.” She glanced up and squirted lotion into her palm. “I blame Rachel Zoe.”

  “Who?” He looked up and attempted to pay attention.

  “Celebrity stylist Rachel Zoe? She has her own show on Bravo? Gets fabulous designer gowns and shoes? Just had a baby boy with her husband, Rodge? Any of this sound familiar?”

  He shook his head and scratched his bare chest. That’s what he got for trying to pay attention.

  “She’s like the Martha Stewart of clothes and accessories. She has great style and taste and makes the rest of us feel like inadequate slobs.” She’d looked up at him and sighed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Martha Stewart.”

  “The lady who spent time in federal prison? I heard of her.”

  She stared across the bathroom at him. “She’s more famous for her stunning cakes.”

  His gaze slid to her stunning breasts. At her little pink nipples that fit perfectly into his mouth. Sadie had a beautiful body. A woman’s body, and she wasn’t shy about walking around naked. He liked that about her. He liked that she was confident and open to sex on a desk in a destroyed office. He liked that she didn’t play games. And as hypocritical as it was coming from a guy who’d hooked up with his share of random women, he liked that she didn’t hang out in bars and hook up with random men. At least, not any that he knew about.

  He liked a lot of things about her. No matter her difficult relationship with her father, she’d stayed in town and visited him every day. He liked that she laughed easily. Sometimes at him. Most surprising, he liked that she talked to fill up the silence, even when he wasn’t paying all that much attention. Like now as she squirted lotion in her palms and rubbed it into the soft skin of her inner thighs. Holy hell. She smelled like lemon. He liked lemon. He liked inner thighs, too.

  “Vince?”

  “Yeah?” He returned his gaze to hers.

  “I asked you a question.”

  He’d been trained by the finest military in the world. He could pay attention to several things at once if he chose. “What?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you always yell ‘hooyah’ when you orgasm?”

  How had they gone from talking about cake to orgasms? “I yell ‘hooyah’?”

  “Well, more like a groan.”

  He didn’t know that. “That’s embarrassing.”

  “No one’s ever told you?”

  He shook his head and rose to his feet. “Maybe I only hooyah for you.” He walked across the tiled floor toward her. “Do you always ululate like an Arab woman when you orgasm?”

  She laughed and looked up at him. “That’s embarrassing. No one’s ever mentioned it before you.”

  He knelt between her knees and slid his hands up her bare, smooth thighs. The tips of his fingers touched the elastic legs of her panties. “Maybe no one else has what it takes.”

  She sucked in a breath and held it. “Apparently you ululate me.”

  “Hooyah.” His thumbs brushed her through the thin cotton and he took her breast into his mouth. He licked and sucked until her nipples were hard, and then he lowered his mouth and buried his face between her legs. He pushed aside the crotch of her underwear, and he’d licked and sucked her there, too.

  “Vince.” She hadn’t ululated. No yelling nor howling. Just a soft moan of his name in the still room. The sound of her pleasure as sweet as the taste of her in his mouth. When he’d entered her tight body, he’d held her face in his hands and watched the pleasure part her lips. He’d felt it grip his dick, contract and pulse and massage his own pleasure.

  He lightly bit her bare shoulder. “I’ll go and let you sleep.”

  Her yawn whispered in the darkness. “You can stay if you want.”

  He never stayed. Leaving in the morning was always more awkward than leaving the night before.

  “You can leave before the Parton sisters get here or stay and they’ll make you breakfast.”

  “Wouldn’t that be awkward?”

  She shrugged. “Your truck has been here two nights now. So I imagine everyone on the ranch knows about you. Heck, probably everyone in Potter County knows. Besides, I’m thirty-three, Vince. I’m an adult.”

  Even if staying weren’t awkward, waking up screaming like a girl and running into walls would be. When her soft, even breathing lifted her chest, he rose from her bed and dressed. He shut and locked her window, and glanced at her one last time before he walked from the room and down the stairs. He turned the lock on the knob of the front door and closed it behind him, making sure she was safe and secure inside. He would have felt better if she had an alarm system and a .357 in her nightstand.

  Billions of stars crammed the endless Texas night as he moved to his truck and fired it up, and as he drove down the dirt road toward the highway, he thought of the Gas and Go and everything he needed to get done before he was ready for the real renovations to begin. If not for Sadie, he would have finished the demolition in the office and half the front counter tonight. But the moment she’d stepped out of the car and the sunlight had shone in her hair, he’d known he wasn’t going to do anything but get naked.

  Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” played from the cell phone in his cup holder and he smiled. It was midnight in Texas. Ten in Seattle. He hit the answer button on his steering wheel. “Hey there.”

  “Hi, Vinny.” His sister’s voice filled the cab of his truck. She was the only person on the planet to call him Vinny. “Is it too late to call?”

  Obviously not. “What’s up?”

  “Not a lot. How’s life at the Gas and Go?”

  “So far so good.” They talked about his business plan and when he expected to reopen. “Luraleen is still in Vegas,” he said. “I wonder if she’ll get married by an Elvis impersonator.”

  “Funny. Ha ha.”

  Yeah, it was funny now. Six years ago when Autumn had married her ex in Vegas, not so funny. “How’s Conner?”

  “Good. School’s out in a little over a month.” Vince turned onto the highway and she added, “He misses you.”

  His heart felt like it caved in. He’d helped raise his nephew. Seen him almost every day of his life until a few months ago, but he wasn’t Conner’s dad. As much as he hated Sam Leclaire, he loved Conner more. He’d left so Sam could more easily step in and be the father his nephew needed. If he’d stayed, the two would have thrown a few punches by now.

  “Conner asks when you’re coming home.”

  Home? He didn’t know where that was anymore. “I don’t know. I have a lot going on.”

  “With the store?”

  She was fishing. “Yep.”

  “Friend?”

  He laughed. His sister thought he was great and didn’t understand why he wasn’t good relationship material. Oh, she knew he didn’t have long-term relationships. She just didn’t understand why. “You know I always find friends.” Although, at the moment, he had only one friend and he was fine with that. There was nothing boring about Sadie Hollowell. “Any big events coming up?”

  “My wedding.”

  Oh yeah.

  “It’s in a few months, Vin.”

  He knew. He was just choosing to forget. “Still getting married in Maui?”

  “And you’re still going to be there.”

  Shit. He’d rather get kicked in the nuts. “Do I need to rent a tux?”

  “No. I’ll take care of everything. Just bring yourself. And Vin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I want you to give me away.”

  He looked out the window. Give his sister away? To the unworthy son of a bitch? God, he hated that guy. Perhaps with a passion that wasn’t all that healthy.

  “Dad hasn’t been in my lif
e for over twenty years. I want my big brother.” He didn’t want to. God, he hated the idea. “Please, Vin.”

  He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Of course,” he said, and looked at the road in front of his headlights. “Anything you want, Autumn.” Which meant he was going to have to make peace with the son of a bitch before the wedding.

  Shit.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sadie found some nonskid socks with horseshoes on them at a Target in Amarillo. Her daddy still groused and grumped about not needing anything, but she noticed that he always wore the cozy socks she brought him.

  She’d also stopped at the Victoria’s Secret in the mall and bought a black lace bra and matching panties. Last night Vince hadn’t seemed bored—yet. And she . . . she was walking a thin line between liking him and liking him too much. Between liking sex with him and mistaking it for something more. More than warm skin pressed together in all the right places. More than him knowing where to touch without asking. More than just wanting and craving his touch until neither wanted more.

  Last night when she’d looked at him across the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the tub, watching her, she’d almost thought about more. His eyes, hot and interested in her hands rubbing lotion on her body. They’d already had sex twice and he’d wanted more. She hadn’t meant to mention that he groaned “hooyah.” She’d been talking about something else entirely. She couldn’t even recall what she’d been going on about, but the way he’d looked at her had made her brain go all mushy and made her want more, too. Made her go out and buy new underwear. Not that she’d get to wear the new underwear for four days. She’d started her period that morning, something that was always met with either relief or irritation, depending on her sex life, no matter how condom conscientious she was.

  She wasn’t positive that Vince would see her new underwear. She hoped so. She liked him, but there were no guarantees in life. Especially when her life was so up in the air. Living long-term in Lovett wasn’t in her future, at least not any time soon. As far as she knew, it wasn’t in his, either. They were just two people enjoying each other for as long as it lasted.

  When she walked into the rehab hospital late that morning, her father was asleep. It was only eleven A.M. and she retraced her steps to the nurse’s station. She was told he had a slight fever. They were watching him but didn’t seem worried. Since the accident, he’d had some fluid in his lungs, which was a concern. She asked about it and was told that there was no change in the sound of his lungs.

  She sat in a chair by his bed and kicked back to watch some daytime television. Until her father’s accident, she’d been fairly unaware of daytime programming, but all the court television shows pulled her in, and she vicariously watched other people’s crappy lives. Lives even crappier than hers.

  The cell phone in her purse chimed, and it had been so long since it rang at all, she pulled it out and stared at it for a few moments. She didn’t recognize the phone number, and she hit the inbox button with her thumb. There was one text with two words: Bored yet?

  Her brows drew together. Vince. It had to be. Who else would ask if she was bored, but how had he gotten her cell number? She hadn’t given it to him and he’d certainly never asked. Who is this? she texted back, then set the cell on the nightstand next to the yellow daisies. She looked at her daddy. He didn’t appear different, but he was usually up and grouchy by now. She thought about touching his forehead but didn’t want to wake him up and have him yell at her.

  She turned her attention back to Divorce Court and shook her head at the stupidity of some women. If the first time you meet a man, his “rig” is sitting on blocks in his front yard, he probably isn’t going to be great husband material. There were just certain bona fides a man had to have. Tires on his rig was below baseline in the bona fides department.

  Her cell chimed again and she opened the text and read: How many men do you have making sure you’re not bored at night?

  She laughed and glanced at her dad to make sure he didn’t wake up. She ignored the squishy little feeling in her stomach at the thought of Vince and his green eyes watching her. At the moment . . . one. She pushed send and he texted her back. If the guy has what it takes, you only need one.

  She smiled. She really did like him, and wrote, Hooyah. Her father moved in his sleep and she looked up at him. He scratched the fine gray whiskers on his cheeks as her phone beeped.

  Bored right now? she read.

  Sorry. Out of commission for the next few days. She hoped he got her meaning and she didn’t have to go into details.

  A few minutes later he texted back, Are your jaws out of commission?

  She sucked in a breath and her thumbs flew across the tiny keyboard in a texting fury. Seriously? she wrote. What a jerk. I’m not going to blow you just because I started my period. What a horse’s ass. And she’d liked him, too. Thought he might actually be an adult.

  After several minutes he wrote back. I was going to ask if you wanted to grab some lunch. What kind of men have you been hanging out with?

  Oh. Now she felt bad and texted back, Sorry. I’m crabby and crampy. Which wasn’t true. She’d always been fortunate to have light periods with few symptoms. Her father moved again and she wrote one last time before she put her phone away. Lunch isn’t good. I’ll text later.

  She reached for her father’s hand on the side of the bed. It felt warmer and dry to the touch. Well, drier than normal for a man who’d lived his life in the Texas panhandle. His eyes opened. “Hey, Daddy. How’re you feelin’?”

  “Right as rain,” he answered like always. If the man had arterial blood spurting from his throat, he’d say he was all right. “You’re here,” he said.

  “Like every day.” And like every day she asked, “Where else would I be?”

  “Living your life,” he answered like always. But unlike always, he added, “I never wanted this to be your life, Sadie Jo. You aren’t cut out for it.”

  He’d finally said it. He didn’t think she could cut it. Her heart pinched and she looked down at the swirly patterns on the floor tiles.

  “You always wanted to do something else. Anything but herd cattle.”

  That was true. Maybe still was. She’d been in town for a month and a half and hadn’t stepped up anywhere near her father’s shoes and taken any responsibility for the JH.

  “You’re like me.”

  She looked up. “You love the JH.”

  “I’m a Hollowell.” He coughed and it sounded a bit rattly as he grabbed his side, and she wondered if she should hit his call button. “But I hate goddamn cattle.”

  She forgot about the sound of his cough and calling a nurse. Everything in her stilled like he’d just told her that the Earth was flat and you fell off into nothingness somewhere around China. Like he hated Texas. Like he’d lost his mind. She gasped and clutched her chest. “What?”

  “Stupid smelly animals. Not like horses. Cattle are only good for T-bones.” He cleared his throat and sighed. “I do love a T-bone.”

  “And shoes,” she managed. He looked like her daddy. Same gray hair, long nose, and blue eyes. But he was talking crazy. “And really nice handbags.”

  “And boots.”

  She held up the socks. “I got you something,” she said through her fog.

  “I don’t need anything.”

  “I know.” She handed him the socks.

  He frowned and touched the nonskid bottoms. “I guess I can use these.”

  “Daddy?” She looked at him and it was as if the world was indeed suddenly flat and she was falling off. “If you hate cattle, why are you a rancher?”

  “I’m a Hollowell. Like my daddy and granddaddy and great-granddaddy. Hollowell men have always been cattlemen since John Hays Hollowell bought his first Hereford.”

  She knew all that, and she supposed she knew the answer to her next question. She asked it anyway, “Have you ever thought of doing anything else?”

  His frown turned to a de
ep scowl and she wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t answer or changed the subject as he always did when she tried to talk to him about anything that might make him uncomfortable. Instead he asked, “Like what, girl?”

  She shrugged and pushed her hair behind her ears. “I don’t know. If you hadn’t been born a Hollowell, what would you have done?”

  His gruff, scratchy voice turned kind of wistful. “I always dreamed of driving truck.”

  Her hands fell to her lap. She hadn’t known what she’d expected him to answer but not that. “A truck driver?”

  “King of the road,” he corrected as if living out the dream in his head. “I would have traveled the country. Seen a lot of different things. Lived different lives.” He turned his head and looked at her. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was making a connection with the man who’d given her life and raised her. It was just the briefest glance and then it was gone.

  “I would have wandered back here though.” His voice turned to his usual gruff. “I’m a Texan. This is where my roots are. And if I’d traveled the country, I wouldn’t have bred so many fine paints.”

  And the good Lord knew he loved his horses.

  “You’ll understand someday.”

  She thought she knew what he meant, but he’d just been full of surprises today. “What?”

  “That it’s easy to roam if you have an anchor.”

  Sometimes that anchor was a heavy burden, weighing a person down.

  He hit a button on his bed and raised the head a bit more. “It’s the breeding season for horses and cattle and I’m stuck in here.”

  “Have the doctors said when you might be able to come home?” When that happened, she’d hire a home health care worker to look after him.

  “They don’t say. My old bones aren’t healing like they would if I was younger.”