by LuAnn McLane
“Oh, whatever, Pop Princess.” She wiggled her fingers in the air.
“Kiss my grits, Kitchen Queen,” Dakota shot back with her hands on her hips.
Trace and Grady watched the sparring as if it were a tennis match.
“Kiss my grits?” Sierra sputtered with a shake of her head. “Dakota, you have to do better than that, for Pete’s sake! Day-um, my work is gonna be cut out for me.”
“And you think mine won’t be?” Dakota replied, but then put a hand to her mouth as if she were revealing some big secret.
Trace frowned. “What are y’all talkin’ about?”
“Nothing!” Dakota insisted, and gave Sierra a look of warning, making Trace wonder what the two of them were up to. But he refrained from asking. He needed to stay as far away from Dakota as his job would allow.
“Okay,” Trace said, “well, I think we’re done here.” He glanced at Grady. “You ready?”
Grady nodded. “Yeah, see you ladies around.”
Trace nodded to Dakota, but noticed that Grady stole a glance at Sierra before they walked out the door.
“Just what do you think those two are up to?” Grady asked before whistling for Gil, who was running around in the woods.
“Damned if I know,” Trace commented, “but it’s gonna involve trouble. You mark my words.”
Grady threaded his fingers through his hair and nodded slowly. “I do believe you’re right. Well, I’m headin’ out. Gonna crash for a while, since I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he admitted with a yawn, and opened the passenger’s door of his truck for Gil to hop in.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Trace agreed, knowing just how his young friend felt. “See ya tomorrow.”
Grady walked over to the driver ’s side, but paused before getting in. “Hey, I’ll most likely be goin’ in to Dewey’s to shoot some pool later on. You wanna come?”
Trace hesitated. For the first time in a long while, the idea held some appeal, but then he shook his head. “Got some paperwork to do tonight.”
“Okay,” Grady said, but gave Trace a lopsided grin. “But you hesitated this time. I think I’m finally wearin’ your sorry ass down. If you change your mind, give me a holler.”
“All right,” Trace agreed, wondering just what the hell was coming over him… . But then again, he knew it wasn’t what but who. After Grady drove away, Trace glanced back over toward Dakota’s cabin and sighed. She was making him wish for things he didn’t want to long for, and he didn’t like it one bit. With a little growl of frustration, he entered his cabin and was met with the same silence that always greeted him, but instead of the sense of peace that he usually found in the quiet, Trace felt empty. Lonely.
While fisting his hands at his sides, he inhaled sharply and shook his head. Keeping the marina and fishing camp in the black was difficult enough without dealing with Dakota on the side. If she kept poking around, she would realize the slim profit margin and perhaps consider selling. And then where would he go? What would he do?
The muscles in his bad leg tensed up, causing an intense ache that pulsed and throbbed. “Damn!” Trace limped over to the sofa and sat down. While staring blankly out the window, he absently attempted to massage the pain away.
The logical part of his brain whispered to him that this self-imposed loner lifestyle he had been leading was ridiculous and there was no reason not to slide back into the land of the living. He didn’t even fully understand where the anger in him was coming from, but then again he had been knocked from his pedestal at the top of the PBR circuit as if a sniper had taken aim and hit the bull’s-eye. He had wanted to retire the sport in a blaze of glory, waving to the adoring crowd like Justin McBride did at the PBR World Finals in Vegas.
Imagining that shining moment had gotten Trace through grueling and painful rehab. The doctors had warned him that he would never ride again, but Trace was a competitor, a champion, and never once doubted he would get back on the bull riding circuit or have the opportunity to best the bull who had done this to him. For Trace, this had been the ultimate failure that he still could not accept, even though he knew he should face the facts and move on. It was so much easier to hold on to his anger and hide from the world. He had been doing a good job of it until Dakota Dunn landed here at the marina, shaking up his life in more ways than one.
Trace uttered a dark oath when the image of Dakota in pink silk slipped back into his brain. He didn’t want to think, to feel, to want. To need. “Stay the hell away from her,” he warned himself. “Running the marina is a big enough challenge,” he added for good measure, while reminding himself that her well-being was not his responsibility.
Trace inhaled a deep breath and blew it out. If only she weren’t Charley and Rita Mae’s daughter, he could probably buy into his reasoning. But she was, and dammit, he couldn’t allow any harm to come to her, even if it was something as silly as a doggone mouse. While rubbing his thigh, he told himself to be polite but distant, and for God’s sake never to invite her for another soak in his hot tub.
“You can damn well do this, Coleman,” he mumbled under his breath. How hard could it be?
9
Cowgirl Up
“That’s good enough, already,” Sierra whined from her perch on the toilet seat.
“You said you wanted me to make you pretty,” Dakota responded, and plucked another hair from Sierra’s eyebrow.
“At this rate, I’m not gonna have any eyebrows left!”
“Hold still!” Dakota grabbed her chin, tilted it up, and examined her work. “You’re supposed to be the tough one, remember? Ever had a bikini wax?”
Sierra narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”
Dakota laughed. “Okay, fine. Hey, much improved! Turn around and look into the mirror. Sexy, huh?”
Sierra’s perfectly arched eyebrows rose when she gazed at her reflection. “Wow,” she said, and blinked in amazement.
“I know.” Dakota felt a sense of accomplishment and smiled. “Are we still going to Dewey’s Pub tonight?”
Sierra frowned at Dakota in the mirror. “It can be a little on the rough side. You think you’re ready for this?”
“I’ve got wing-tipped cowboy boots, sugar-glazed Wranglers, a racerback white tank, and a very cool concho belt.” She tapped her thumb to her chest. “I’m rip-roarin’ and ready to go.”
Sierra rolled her eyes.
“Overkill?”
Sierra nodded.
“Okay, I’ll tone it down a notch.”
“Seriously, Dakota, you can’t be so perky at Dew ey’s. You’ll get our butts kicked. Just play it cool, okay?”
Dakota nodded eagerly, but then made an effort to appear subdued. “Right. Play it cool. I can do that.”
“There are some sketchy characters who hang out there, so be careful who you flirt with.”
“Gotcha.”
“Just follow my lead, okay?”
“Okay,” Dakota agreed, and then clapped her hands lightly. “This is going to give me some material to start songwriting,” she announced in an excited, high-pitched voice.
Sierra shot her a look.
“Right.” She put her hands out, palms facing the floor. “Play it cool.”
“Okay, that gesture you just did? If I do that to you tonight, you know to back it down.” Sierra demonstrated.
Dakota nodded seriously and then brightened. “Can we have a special handshake too?”
Sierra gave Dakota a deadpan stare and pointed to her own face. “Hurry up and make me pretty. I need me some hot wings and cold beer.”
Dakota turned to her wide array of cosmetics purchased for Sierra. She rubbed her palms together and said, “I feel like Carmindy.”
“Who?”
Dakota picked up an eyeliner pencil and said, “The makeup artist on What Not to Wear. You should watch. Okay, tilt your head up. And don’t look in the mirror. I want you to be dazzled by your reveal.”
“Whatever that means, but
okay.”
Dakota played up Sierra’s green eyes with smoky eye shadow, chocolate eyeliner, and a generous coat of mascara. She used a sheer mineral foundation, since Sierra’s skin was amazing, and added just a touch of dusky pink blush to the apples of her cheeks. “Wow,” Dakota commented, but held Sierra’s chin firmly when she attempted to turn around for a peek in the mirror. “Not yet. I have to do your lips and then tame that hair.”
“You know I’ll never be able to do this on my own,” Sierra complained.
“Yes, you will,” Dakota promised. “You just need some practice,” she reassured her as she dabbed on rose-tinted lip gloss. “Now, I’m going to sweep your hair back in a looser ponytail, a little sloppy, but in a sexy way. This look will tame the curls, but we’ll let some hair escape to give it more of a feminine appeal. Sound good?”
Sierra nodded, then nibbled on the inside of her cheek as if she were nervous. She looked so hopeful, but with a vulnerable edge, that Dakota wanted to lean in and hug her, but she didn’t. Sierra needed to slide her way into this friendship, and the last thing Dakota wanted to do was frighten her away with too much touchy-feely affection.
“All right, turn around.” Dakota’s heart thumped in anticipation as she stepped back and watched Sierra’s reaction.
“Oh.” She breathed, swallowed hard and then blinked as if holding back tears.
“Don’t you dare make your mascara run,” Dakota said, but her own voice was husky.
“I’m not gonna cry,” Sierra protested, but her badass tone was busted when she gingerly put her fingertips to her cheeks and gazed at her reflection with a sense of wonder. She blinked up at Dakota and whispered, “Do you think I’m pretty?”
“No, Sierra.” Dakota shook her head. “You’re not just pretty, you are gorgeous.”
“Oh, shut up! I was bein’ serious!”
“So was I,” Dakota shot back, but then sniffed hard. “Course this all happened because I’m a makeup artist genius. It’s got nothing to do with your bone structure, thick mane of glossy hair, or pouty mouth.” Dakota put her hands on Sierra’s shoulders and said, “Or the inner beauty that radiates from within.”
“You are so full of it,” Sierra said, but her bottom lip trembled.
“Grady is going to melt into a puddle at your feet.”
“Good, and I’m gonna give him the cold shoulder and flirt with every cowboy in the place.”
“Two little redneck girls out on the town.” Dakota squeezed Sierra’s shoulders.
“Listen,” Sierra advised, and then spun around on the toilet seat. “None of this sugar-and-spice stuff, you hear me?” She reached up and tapped her on the chest. “I wanna see some gunpowder and lead!” Sierra angled her head. “Give it a don’t-mess-with-me attitude. You know, a pointed stare. An arch of one eyebrow. None of that perky, pop-princess crap.”
“Gotcha.” Dakota nodded, but then changed the direction of her head. “I’ll never pull it off. I might as well call my manager now and tell him to forget this nonsense.”
Sierra stood up and put her hands on her hips. “The hell you say! Dakota, you might look like a little powder puff, but there’s a hidden strength that you don’t let anybody see. It took some balls to get up there onstage and do the stuff you did. Am I right?”
“I guess.”
Sierra shoved Dakota hard. “The answer is: damned straight! Now, cowgirl up!”
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s the chick version of cowboy up. In bull riding terms, it means ‘get ready, have the courage to climb on, and give it your all.’ ”
“All righty, then,” Dakota said, and tapped her knuckles to Sierra’s. “Cowgirl up!”
Sierra nodded. “Listen, I’ll drive my truck, but if we get to drinkin’ too much, we’ll have to get us a ride home.”
Several minutes later, they were out the door. As they were walking down the driveway to Sierra’s truck, Trace happened to be walking toward his cabin. He stopped in his tracks when he saw them, and Dakota wasn’t sure if he was more surprised at her attire or Sierra’s makeover, but his eyes widened before he could stop himself. When he waved but didn’t comment or ask where they were going, she felt a stab of disappointment and turned away. But just when she was reaching for the passenger’s door handle, she heard the crunch of gravel behind her.
“Where you ladies off to?” Trace asked while trying to keep his voice casual. In truth, he was stunned by Sierra’s sudden transformation from grunge to gorgeous and Dakota’s sexy cowgirl attire.
“Dewey’s Pub for a bite to eat,” Dakota answered, and turned around, giving him an up-close view of her in a little white tank top and hip-hugging Wranglers.
“Dewey’s?” Trace finally asked when he found his voice, but couldn’t help but frown.
“Yes, why?” Dakota asked with a defiant lift of one eyebrow.
Trace leaned around her so he could look inside the truck where Sierra sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel as if anxious to leave. “You’re taking Dakota to Dewey’s?”
“You got a problem with that?” Sierra asked with her usual bluntness, even though her appearance was nothing but feminine. It was then that it occurred to Trace that both women were going to be out of their element. While Dewey’s drew a mixed crowd and wasn’t exactly dangerous, the later the night wore on, the more likely there would be a bar fight or young cowboys hitting on the girls. He didn’t relish either Sierra or Dakota in that atmosphere, and so he had to ask even though he really didn’t want to, “So, you plannin’ on bein’ out late?”
Dakota shrugged. “We might.”
“Trace, if we get to drinkin’, we won’t drive.”
“Oh.” He liked this scenario less and less. “Well, just how will you get home, then?”
“I’m sure we can get a cab or something,” Dakota assured him as she climbed up in the truck, giving him a mouthwatering view of her butt.
“They’re hard to come by in Tall Rock,” Trace warned them.
Sierra sighed. “Trace, I will know half the people in Dewey’s. We’ll work it out.”
“Yeah, and they will all be drinkin’. Not a very good plan,” he grumbled. “Call me and I’ll come and get you,” Trace offered, even though he didn’t want to. But if anything happened …
Dakota looked out the open window at him in surprise. “You don’t have to do that, Trace.”
“I realize that,” he answered a bit sharply. “But I offered, so take me up on it, okay?”
“We can take care of ourselves, you know,” Dakota shot back.
Sierra leaned forward so Trace could see her. “Trace, I’m a regular there, playin’ pool with the boys. We’ll be fine.”
Yeah, but not looking like that, he thought, but nodded and stepped back from the truck. “Call me, okay? Don’t take any chances. And don’t let anyone mess with you.”
“Trace, nobody messes with me,” Sierra reminded him with a low chuckle and a thumb poked at her chest. “Just a little girl’s night out is all we’re havin’. See ya around.” She wiggled her fingers and drove away with gravel crunching and a cloud of dust left behind.
Trace stood there for a minute with his hands jammed in his pockets and watched the truck fade into the distance. For some reason, his gut warned him they were going to get into some sort of trouble, and his gut rarely lied. It didn’t help matters that Sierra was looking anything like one of the boys, and Dakota was totally out of her element in a honky-tonk bar. With an oath, he sent a rock flying with the toe of his boot.
“It’s not your problem, Coleman,” he growled, but it hit him hard that he cared about both of them. Lifting his gaze to the deep blue sky, he inhaled a deep breath and then made his decision.
He was heading into town.
10
I Love This Bar
“I’m so excited,” Dakota declared as they pulled into the parking lot of Dewey’s Pub. While the outskirts of Tall Rock had their fair share of devel
opment and strip malls, Main Street downtown looked much the same as it did when Dakota had left for California, and she found the quaint old buildings charming. “I’ve never been in Dewey’s, but I’ve heard stories!”
“Squash the perkiness,” Sierra reminded her, but then laughed. Her smile faded, however, when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror. She gulped and then looked over at Dakota. “I can’t go in there lookin’ like this.”
“You mean looking amazing?” Dakota angled her head at Sierra in confusion.
She shook her head and put a trembling hand to her chest. “This isn’t me.”
Dakota thought about saying something kind or profound but then shook her head and slapped the cracked leather seat so hard that it hurt. But she refrained from yelping in pain, because she was supposed to be a badass. “Bullshit!”
“Say what?” Sierra raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows in surprise.
“You heard me.” Dakota twisted on the bench seat to face Sierra. “We need to break out of our routine and go after …” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged.
“What?”
“I’m not quite sure, but I think we’ll know when we find it.” Dakota put her fists forward for a knuckle tap. “Come on. Cowgirl up.”
Sierra looked down at Dakota’s fists and then nodded firmly and tapped knuckles. “Cowgirl up! Okay, now let’s go before I lose my nerve.”
They slid from their seats in the truck and approached the door. Music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses filtered out to entice them, but it was the aroma of bar food that drew them in. “Something smells good.”
“Bar food. Everything is deep-fried. Even the pickles.”
“Pickles?”
“And deep-fried mac and cheese.”
“Holy cow.” Dakota put a hand to her stomach and hoped it was up for the challenge.
“Come on—I’m starvin’. Let’s quit standing here like a couple of dorks.” Sierra put her hand on the door, and Dakota grabbed her arm.