Mandy's Homebound Cowboys

by Regale, Rhea

  Especially on the night he returned to Ryder in wake of his pa’s death.

  “It’s history, Ry. I’m not here to reopen wounds of the past. I’m here to soothe this new wound and return to Arizona so I can finish my degree and get my ass back to the farm.” He jabbed a finger at the windshield, pointing toward the faint light on top of the hill from a house as they drove in the opposite direction. “Momma needs me now, without Pa to bring in money.”

  “I’m certain Uncle Leroy wouldn’t leave your momma without a hefty helper. No Ryder leaves their family with nothin’.” Rylan flicked his hat off his forehead, slowed the car, and looked pointedly at Craig. “Not under any circumstances.”

  “Damn, man. What the hell’s happened to you?” Craig muttered.

  “Life, cuz. There ain’t much good outside these town lines. Only a few days ago did I arrest city hoodlums from Trav’s property. They tried to kill his latest gal.”

  Craig’s brow quirked. “That’s the most action this town’s had since those two ranch hands went at it with four-by-fours.”

  Ry chuckled. “I remember that night. They had a few too many longnecks.”

  The cruiser pulled along the curb outside a quaint two-story house. The porch light was on, a couple windows were glowing soft yellow, and the flash of a television show reflected off the living room wall. Craig climbed out of the car, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed to the door.

  “Want me to wait?” Ry called. Craig inhaled a deep breath of the clean Kansas air and shook his head.

  “No need. I’ll walk.” He lifted his hand in a short wave. “It’ll do my mind some good.”

  “I’ll be by tomorrow.” Rylan pulled the car back onto the road, and the taillights quickly faded in the stark night. Craig climbed the stairs, the wood planks creaking beneath his weight, and knocked the door.

  Mrs. Pearson answered. A sympathetic furrow wrinkled her brow, and her lips turned down before she stepped aside and led him into the house.

  “Craig, child. How’re you holdin’ up?” Mrs. Pearson asked. Craig dropped his bag on the floor beside the door and scanned the living room. Mrs. Pearson’s workload—a mound of clothing that needed mending—lay on one side of the sofa, her sewing box on the coffee table. She rested a hand on his shoulder. “Have you been home yet?”

  “Just got to town.” He cleared the thickness that welled in his throat. “Is Amanda home?”

  As if on cue, he heard a rush of footsteps barrel down the stairs. Not a second later, Amanda rounded the kitchen doorway and came up short. Craig drank in the sight of her dressed in a tank top and short shorts, a bottle of nail polish in her hand. Her dark-red curls were piled in a messy bun on top of her head, making her look lovelier than ever. Her dark-chocolate eyes filled with warmth and sympathy that lassoed his heart and drew taut, filling the empty void inside his soul.

  A frown tugged the corners of her pouty lips. A delicate crease wrinkled her forehead. She placed her bottle of polish on a small table and stepped up to him.

  “I hope I’m not imposin’,” Craig murmured. Amanda shook her head, curls brushing against the fine etch of her cheekbones. She grabbed his wrist and led him onto the porch where they took their usual seat on the top stair.

  The silence that swelled between them didn’t leave him on edge. In fact, it was a comforting silence, knowing she sat by his side ready to listen to him when he was ready to talk. Amanda had become an important beam in his life over the past three years, one that he kept his emotional distance from while every day he imagined the passion that would erupt between them if he allowed. She was passion and fervor and strength, everything he looked for in a woman.

  He tipped his head and looked at her watching him. She braced her elbow on her knee, her temple on her fist, and observed, the reflection of his pain swimming in her eyes. For twenty-four years, he somehow overlooked this woman like every other man in Ryder and the neighboring towns. She was always out of sight even if she stood right in front of them, the girl who didn’t fit her body, whose hair was so blazing red and wild, whose annoying tattles often got him and his cousins into a shitload of trouble at the end of the day.

  Until a few years ago when he stumbled, most literally, into a woman so beautiful she left him breathless. Since that night at Ride’em Cowboy, they built upon a friendship that no one saw coming.

  Craig needed her friendship tonight. God, he needed more than her friendship.

  No pain he suffered from wrecking after a bad bronc ride matched the pain of losing his pa. Rides brought the sting of tears to his eyes, but never did those tears fall like they did tonight. Ryders didn’t cry, but tonight he did, and the one woman he dared to let see him in this state drew him into her arms, held him in a fierce embrace, and shared his grief.

  Chapter Three

  Mandy Pearson groaned under her breath as she shoved the laminated menus into the box at the end of the counter. She tucked the annoying chunk of red curl behind her ear and turned a bitter smile to the man who made no attempt to hide his god-awful perusal from her. He winked, flashing her a yellow-toothed smile, and tapped his half-full coffee cup.

  “Heya, doll. Need a bit more here,” he said.

  “Here ya go, pal.” Heidi Sumter, Mandy’s saving grace in a frilly pink waitress getup that hid her steel nails, reached over the jerk’s shoulder and haphazardly splashed coffee into his cup and over the saucer. Mandy winced when the man jumped off the stool and cussed, coffee spilling over the counter and onto his jeans. “Get your filthy whistlin’ mouth outta here before I spit you with the pig in the back.”

  “Damn bitch,” the man huffed. He spun to Mandy and whipped his balled-up napkin at her. She knocked the ball away, grabbed a specials menu, and heaved it at the man.

  “You’d be smart to listen to her,” she said. Martin poked his head out through the expo window and smacked the handle of his butcher knife on the tile.

  “You be messin’ with my gals, you’ll be the top menu item for dinner,” he threatened. Mandy blew another rebel curl from her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, sitting her weight on her right foot, hip jutting out. The customer scowled, eyed Martin and the knife, and left. The bell over the glass door jingled despite the creak from the stressing hinges after the man threw it open with enough force to rip it off the doorframe. Martin shook his head. “Damn truckers thinkin’ they can slip in here and treat my gals like a prostitute they’d pick up at a stop. You two good?”

  Heidi had already turned back to her customers, most of who didn’t even pay attention to the incident. Mandy nodded, snatching up a clean rag, and started to sop up the mess.

  “Why if it ain’t Brody Ryder. Just gettin’ in?”

  Mandy’s spine stiffened, her fingers curling in the hot rag. Martin was already heading out of the kitchen. For a stocky man, he sure moved fast when he wanted to.

  “Hey, Martin. See nothin’ here’s changed much. Still scarin’ customers away.”

  She closed her eyes as the true, rich, deep voice she hadn’t heard in years filled her ears. Ain’t nobody heard Brody Ryder like she did. Everyone had been so taken by his incredible singing voice they missed the real gift in his natural voice.

  Licking her lips, desperately shoveling ice on the fire that had stirred to life low in her belly, Mandy jolted herself back to work, cleaning up the coffee with a vigor that hid the sudden tremble in her hands. She lowered to the floor and mopped up the small circle of coffee, watching from the corner of her eye as Brody met Martin with a loud clap to the shoulder before stepping back. His cowboy boots were impeccably polished, his dark-blue jeans fitting sinfully well around strong thighs and a tight ass. Her heart tripped. Oh, baby. She remembered watching that ass, and quite a bit more, coming out of the swimming hole during the summers.

  Wiping up the last line of coffee, she stood, her legs weak and her body swaying. The back of her head smacked the edge of the counter, rattling the condiments and silverware. A sharp
spear of pain launched through her head and she groaned, pressing her fingers to the small indentation that she was certain would become a pretty little bump in no time.

  “Ouch,” she murmured, cheeks seething.

  “You okay?”

  She turned her gaze up and met green-brown eyes etched with concern. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, let alone think. She stared up at Brody Allen because he asked her if she was okay. Oh hell no. Brody Ryder. Her longtime crush was finally taking notice of her for all the wrong reasons.

  Brody tossed a half glance over his shoulder. “Grab me a bag of ice, Martin. She banged her head somethin’ good.”

  Mandy shook free of the paralysis, despite the yearning desire to continue staring at his beautiful face. The slightest hint of whiskers shadowed his strong jaw and chin, leading her gaze straight to full lips she had dreamed of kissing for years. She trekked upward, remembering how his nose flared when Ryder Ranch had their annual barbecue to celebrate the town’s birthday because the grilling smelled so damn good. Those dark brows of his sloped enough to give him a wild air, and the messy spikes of dark-brown hair simply made him look mysterious rather than lazy.

  “Why don’t we sit you down?” Brody asked. His strong hand cupped her elbow and slowly eased her to an empty booth away from the customers. Martin came over to him with a rag filled with ice. He rubbed Mandy’s shoulder.

  “Can I getchya a drink, Brode? Some grub?”

  “Coffee, eggs over easy, your awesome home fries, and wheat toast.”

  “Your usual hasn’t changed since boyhood.”

  Brody smiled up at him. “And probably never will.”

  Mandy wasn’t expecting Brody to sit with her, let alone squeeze on the three inches of vinyl between her and falling onto the floor. Heat slid over her from where his jeaned leg rested against her bare leg. He lowered her hand from her head and pressed the ice pack to her newly acquired bump.

  “You look vaguely familiar. What’s your name?” Brody asked. She lynched her disappointment from those few words and swallowed down the urge to sigh. Did she really expect him, a Casanova, to notice her?

  “Mandy.”

  “Do you have a last name?”

  She snuck a short glance at him. All that powerful male muscle sat way too close to her, making her body go into a fritz. “Mandy Pearson.”

  “Mandy Pearson?” Brody leaned away, gauging her with a narrowed look. His booted foot stamped onto the tile floor, keeping him from falling out of the booth. A flicker lit his eyes, the smallest of grins curling the corners of his mouth. “Little Mandy May? Scarlet’s Mandy?”

  “One and the same.” Maybe he did know her. For that, she scooted deeper into the booth so he wouldn’t fall onto the floor.

  “Thanks.” He settled entirely on the seat. His leg still leaned against hers. He draped his arm over the table around her folded hands. His body encased her, if at a distance, but he succeeded in blocking out the entire diner. She wasn’t going to complain about the view.

  “Mandy May. You’re all grown up now.” The way his voice dipped and rolled like sap down the side of a tree left her tingling between her legs. Boy was her pussy in need of more than a vibrator. The package beside her would be a great option.

  “I sure hope I am.” She crunched her nose. “I never wanted to stay young. Bad years. And I’ve sworn to hog-tie and fry anyone who called me Mandy May.”

  “Well, ma’am, if I might say, time has taken a likin’ to you.”

  “Casanova, I know your lines,” Mandy teased. Brody’s grin melted into a full smile. A dimple showed in his left cheek, a Ryder trademark, and he looked so damn fine with it.

  “I’ll make you a deal, sweetheart.” He removed the ice pack, tightened the rag, and replaced it. “I won’t call you Mandy May if you don’t call me Casanova. Sound good?”

  As much as she wanted to melt into his words, and his arms, she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and winked. “You ain’t gonna be in town long enough to call me Mandy May again. Chances are we won’t cross paths again. Barely did when you lived here.”

  Brody punched his fist against his chest. A sharp breath left his lips. “That was deadly.”

  “Just some truth, cowboy. We ain’t all stage lights and rowdy crowds here. You’ll be headin’ out soon enough.” Mandy fought to keep her smile in place, but it dropped, as did her gaze from his. “Like them rodeo cowboys. You can never stay away from the pull of the thrill long.”

  Mandy reached up to the ice pack and lowered it away from her head. She hadn’t realized her own playful words would strike such a tender cord in her soul. Brody Ryder was everything a fantasy was made up of, and he would remain nothing more than a fantasy. He was big stage. She was small town. He was famous. She was a nobody. He could have any woman he chose. She, well, hadn’t had a boyfriend in over a year.

  Like his cousin Colt, Brody would be nothing more than a fleeting whisper of a person in Ryder, aside from the big-time headlines and talk among families.

  “I should get back to work,” she murmured, keeping her face lowered as she edged closer to him. Brody climbed out of the booth and helped her to her feet. She flipped the ice pack in her hand and shrugged, her cheeks heating up again, but the tingling in her pussy died out like a pathetic flame. “Thanks for the first aid.”

  “Can I buy you a coffee? Maybe a bit more time to chat?” Brody asked. Mandy reached up to his face and cupped his cheek. The bristles of his unshaven jaw scraped the flesh of her palm. Her fingers traced along the sharp curve of his cheekbone before she lowered her arm to her side.

  “Not today. I’m on the clock, and you’ve got a schedule to keep.”

  She slipped away before he somehow convinced her to “chat” with him about nothing and pump up her hopes of having a chance with Nashville’s up-and-coming star. Keeping busy with her customers kept her mind off the hot cowboy sitting alone in the booth a few feet away. She could feel his scorching gaze on her, leaving her burning from head to toe and every place in between.

  Heidi knocked into her shoulder a while later and leaned close to her ear. “That one’s got his tongue danglin’ out of his mouth for you.”

  “Give me a break. You know who that is,” Mandy whispered, stabbing a ticket and grabbing the two plates for her customers. She flashed her friend a smile. “A Casanova cowboy. They break hearts and burn rubber like we turn tables.”

  “You don’t go sayin’ that about Craig. He’s a Casanova, too, and you’re always with him when he’s in town.”

  “The two are night and day, Heidi.” Mandy poked her in the ribs. “Craig ain’t got that type of eye on me anyhow.” Even if I wish he did.

  As she turned away, Heidi muttered, “Blind girl, you are.”

  Mandy brushed off her friend’s comment and delivered food to a table before taking another order. Brody was standing at the counter, exchanging quiet words with Martin when she turned around. They clapped hands, and Brody turned to leave. Mandy’s heart sank as he walked out the door without as much as a glance. What did she expect? She didn’t give him any reason to say good-bye.

  Heidi grabbed a Styrofoam box off the counter and hurried to her. “It’s his. He left it. Go give it to him.”

  “No. You do it.”

  Heidi shoved the box against her chest and opened her eyes wide, a signature expression that screamed I ain’t fucking with you. Do as you’re told.

  “Amanda May Pearson, you better get that cute ass of yours outside in that cowboy’s boot treads before I pitch you out by your apron.”

  Mandy scowled then smiled and rolled her eyes. She saw Brody crossing the parking lot toward a rental Chevy compact car that definitely didn’t fit him. The man needed a beast of a pickup, something with a powerful engine and a smooth ride.

  Heidi grabbed her shoulder and pushed her to the door. She growled, “Go!”

  Mandy opened the door and hurried after Brody. The dust from the drive kicked up in swirl
s around her sneakers. The blazing sun beat down on her, and she threw up an arm to protect her eyes.

  “Brody, you forgot your food,” she called.

  Brody stopped and looked back at her through the dark tint of his sunglasses. She slowed down as she came within a few feet of him. God, she had forgotten how tall he was, how sinfully imposing. She tilted her head up to look into his face, a whole head above her own. Right about now, she hated being a short redhead. Brody probably loved willowy blondes with big boobs and long legs.

  Holding out the container, she smiled. “Martin would be offended, the big baby.”

  Brody lifted his sunglasses from the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the container, then up at her, a smile creeping across that beautiful mouth of his. He reached for the box, but didn’t take it. “Thanks, ma’am.”

  “Don’t be ma’amin’ me, Brody Ryder. I’m younger than you.” She pushed the box into his awaiting fingers. There was a long moment of silence that brought a strange current to the air between them. Something familiar, yet very unusual. She cleared her throat and threw a quick glance around them. “Hey, I’m sorry to hear about your pa.”

  Brody’s smile dimmed. He lowered the box to his side and nodded. “Thank you.”

  “We all loved him here.”

  “He was a great man, wasn’t he?”

  He stepped up to Mandy, took her wrist, and lowered her arm away from her face. His face dipped, and his lips brushed over hers. Every muscle froze, but every hormone sparked to life. His fingers grabbed her chin, tilting her head back. The tip of his tongue slid against the seam of her mouth, and in her stunned mind frame, her lips fell open.

  His tongue slipped against hers once. Twice. She held back the moan that tried to squeeze by the lump in her throat. The subtle flavors of coffee and home fries filled her mouth. The tenderness in his kiss left her breathless.

  Brody leaned back. Mandy blinked open her eyes and stared at him, half-unsure what to say, half-unsure if what just happened warranted words. Her damn pussy sure wanted more.