by Stacy Gail
“Why did you read about Quakers?” she asked before she could stop herself, then immediately wished she hadn’t. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know…
“I read up on Quakers because I thought you were one.” His voice lowered to a deeper octave, and it did such weird things to her nerves she had to fight not to shiver. “I wanted to know what I was dealing with.”
Dealing with?
Oh.
Of course.
If he had his eye set on the homestead, it only made sense that he’d want to arm himself with as much information as possible.
Like Granny had told her over and over again, the man wanted to make a deal.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m no Quaker. Or anything else, for that matter. I don’t even know why I was given a Quaker virtue name, since my father seemed to revel in breaking every tenet of that religion. But apparently the penchant for tagging children with embarrassing monikers was the one thing he seemed to appreciate.”
“I guess I’m not surprised old Able got his ass thrown out of his church, or whatever you call it,” he muttered, reaching across her to turn the menu. When he just grazed the curvy jut of her breasts she very nearly fainted. “I could’ve told you that sonofabitch was no pacifist. When Fin and I were around ten or so, your old man caught us sneaking through the fence late one night because we wanted to go swimming. That guy had a fucking machete on him. He chased us all the way back to our property line, screaming that he was going to carve us up and feed us to his pigs. To this day, I firmly believe that psycho would’ve done just that if he’d managed to catch us.”
“I wouldn’t have put it past him.” Talk of her father was more than enough to send her fluttery, almost painful awareness of Des into eclipse, so she firmly handed him her menu. “I remember he used to love hunting snakes with that machete. Actually, I think he just liked killing things that were smaller than him, so it’s a good thing you and Fin managed to get away with your skin intact.”
“No two ways about it, your old man was an acid-spitting bastard.”
“Yes, he was.”
“Funny thing, though.” He kept his attention on her even when the waitress approached their table. “He always seemed protective of you. Enough to meet you every day at the bus stop, anyway, no matter how old you were.”
Her skin prickled as memories she’d locked away tried their best to seep through the cracks. “I guess that was pretty weird.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” came the drawling reply. “So? Was he protective? Or was it that he was controlling?”
“He was something that I want to forget.” Delicately she cleared her throat and kept her expression blank as she gave the waitress her food order, then waited for him to do the same. “The only thing I really remember thinking whenever he met me at the bus stop was that if he hadn’t been there, I would’ve tried to walk home with you and Fin. There were times when I was tempted to do that.”
His brows shot up. “Why? I thought the Smileys hated the Brodys.”
“I hated going home more. And I never hated you,” she added in a rush. Suddenly it was imperative he understood that hatred was the last thing she felt when it came to him. Confusion, exhilaration, and a tingly hyper-awareness perhaps, but never hatred. “I was taught to never trust a Brody. That still stands, mainly because I’m not big on trusting anyone. But I don’t hate you, Des. Far from it.”
“Yeah?” The waitress popped back with chips and salsa and a lingering look Des’s way, but he didn’t seem to notice as he reached out to brush the fall of her untamable hair back behind her shoulder. “I’m not convinced. In all the years we rode that rattletrap bus, you never spoke one fucking word to me.”
“Did you want me to?” The moment the question popped out of her mouth her heart bounced up into her throat. Oh God, if he hadn’t wanted her to talk to him all those years ago, this was going to get very awkward very quickly…
“I sat right by you every damn day for a reason, Winsome.” He ducked his head just a bit so he could look her dead in the eye. “But in all that time, you didn’t even say hello to me. Tell me that’s not hatred.”
“It’s not.”
“Then why didn’t you say hello?”
“Because I thought you and Fin were taunting me—sitting right by me and then going out of your way to ignore my existence,” she muttered, her cheeks burning when his eyes widened in a surprise so genuine it couldn’t have been faked. “I thought you were trying to put me in my place, so I did the only thing I could think of and ignored you back.”
“What the fuck, Winsome,” he breathed, clearly stunned, but it wouldn’t have surprised her if steam began pouring out of his ears. “You always think the worst of people, or is it just me?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, because there was nothing else she could say. And he was right. When put under pressure, she fully expected to be attacked. “What I thought about you and Fin was totally off the mark, and unfair to boot. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst of you.”
“Hell, no, you shouldn’t have.”
“You never said hello to me, either,” she couldn’t help but point out. “Just one hello from you would have gone a long way in getting me to open up.”
“I told you, my brother and I were forbidden to talk to the Smiley family. And besides,” he added with a shrug, “a Brody man doesn’t have to work at getting a woman’s attention. That’s just science.”
Oh my God. “Only a Brody man would say something like that.”
“Probably. But I’m not wrong.”
No, he wasn’t. “Maybe it’s a good thing I never spoke to you back then.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because every other female on the planet would have talked to you. I mean, look around you,” she added, following her own advice by casting a discreet glance around the dining area. Most of their fellow diners quickly looked away, but a few bold souls didn’t back down in the slightest, gawking openly at Des, and to a lesser extent, her. “There’s a blonde over by the bar who switched seats just so she could ogle you without having to crane her neck around. I think I see the ever-so-slight glistening of drool at the corner of her mouth.”
“If anyone’s getting stared at, it’s you, woman.” Again he lifted a hand to her hair, this time smoothing it slowly over the wild fall of curls before twining a lock of it around his fingers. “This is the craziest head of hair I’ve ever seen. It’s like it’s got a life of its own.”
If he thought that was a compliment, he clearly had rocks in his head. “When it gets blazing hot like it has been this summer, especially when I’m up in that microwave I optimistically call my apartment, all I can think about is chopping my mane off and going for a pixie cut.”
“Don’t you even joke about that.” All at once his brows slanted down and the fingers holding her hair tightened enough to make her scalp tingle. “Put it up. Stay indoors where it’s air-conditioned. If you don’t have A/C, I’ll get the best damn unit installed and turn your place into a fucking ice rink. But do not cut off one damn curl, you hear me? I forbid it.”
“Never in my life have I wanted to get a haircut like I do right at this moment,” she remarked, staring at him. “Look, I know you’re a Brody man, which means you think you own the world—”
“Baby girl, I’m not gonna lie. In these parts, that’s a pretty damn accurate statement.”
Ugh. “But you can’t go around forbidding people to get haircuts. It’s weird.”
“I don’t give a shit if it’s weird. And I’m not forbidding people, for crying out loud. Just you.”
“That’s not better. And we’re not going to do the whole hand-in-my-hair thing,” she added, glancing nervously around the room once more before removing her hair from his grasp. “Oh my God, Des. The drooling lady and the hostess who seated us both look like they might want to murder me. They have no idea that you simply have strong feelings about haircuts. They’re probab
ly thinking you’re making some kind of pass.”
“If they’re thinking that, Winsome, they’re absolutely right. This is some kind of pass.”
Her head snapped back around to him while the whole world screeched to a halt. “What?”
“Damn, look at how shocked you are.” He chuckled, leaning back in his seat as if thoroughly enjoying her reaction. “You know, when your eyes get that big, they change color from blue to gray. Think I might have to shock you more often, just to watch for that effect.”
“My eyes are blue-gray, because they’re stupid and can’t settle on just one color.” She continued to stare at him, looking for any sign that he was cruelly teasing her, but couldn’t find any.
Do you always believe the worst in people…
“Okay.” She deep-breathed for a few seconds, not even bothering to hide it. How could she? Her entire body was alight with a fever that filled her with giddy delirium. There was no hope of hiding that. “Okay. I just need to know one thing, and I need you to answer truthfully.”
“Shoot.”
“Are you serious? Are you, uh… are you truly making a pass? I mean, at me?” Really, she needed that clarification.
Another chuckle escaped him, his expression alive with humor. “Either I’m real rusty at this, or you’re fucking sleepwalking through life as an unawakened innocent. News flash, Winsome,” he went on when she huffed indignantly. “A man sits close to you and starts playing with your hair, it’s because he wants to play with a helluva lot more of you. You let him do it, and it’s like you’re giving him all the green lights.”
“I didn’t know,” she blurted while her heart tried to beat her to death. For the life of her, she had no idea if it was from alarm or the weird, electrifying excitement flooding through her. The only thing she knew for sure was that she’d never felt more alive. “It’s not like you come with instructions. How am I supposed to know hair-touching signals…something else?”
“Haven’t you ever fucked a man?”
Everything inside her closed up like a flower touched by frost. “That’s… I don’t…”
“I lost track of you over the years, what with trying to make a name for myself on the pro rodeo circuit,” he went on, watching her as if there was nothing else in the room. “But I do remember you were kind of a loner when you were a kid. Tell me, did you ever get out from under your batshit crazy father’s thumb long enough to get yourself a man?”
The way he said it made her want to growl. “For your information, I hadn’t talked to my father for years before he died. I got out of that house when I was seventeen and never even thought about going back there until last night. I haven’t been under anyone’s control for a long damn time, and I fully intend to keep it that way.”
His brows shot up, and she thought she caught a glimpse of curiosity in his eyes. “No need to bring the heat, slugger. It was just a question.”
“It was an invasive question.”
“All my questions are like that. You’ll get used to it.”
Grimly she tried again. “Whether or not I ever got myself a man, as you put it, is none of your frigging business.”
“I’ll give you that,” he decided, ridiculously magnanimous as their waitress headed their way, platters in hand. “Your past is just that—the past, so I’m good with leaving it there. What is my business is your present, because that belongs to me. So tell me, is there a man in your life right now?”
She gaped at him, ignoring the aromatic plate of spicy enchiladas ranchero, borracho beans and Mexican rice sitting in front of her. “Wow.”
“Wow what?”
“There’s so much going on in your statement that I’m not even sure what I should address first.”
“Answer me, Winsome.” His tone was as relentless as his expression. “You got a man?”
“No, though that’s not any of your business. And my present, along with my future, is all mine, not yours.”
“Eat.” To her surprise, he picked up her fork and put it in her hand, then took her napkin and draped it across her lap. It took all her concentration not to jump like an idiot when the backs of his fingers brushed her thighs. “Here in the present, you’re sharing your time with me, just like I’m sharing my time with you. That means my time is yours, and yours is all mine. Call it co-ownership.”
“Co-ownership.” She shook her head and decided digging into her meal was the better part of valor. Maybe with their mouths full, he wouldn’t say things that kept knocking her off-balance. “At least that sounds fair.”
“I have zero tolerance for unfairness,” came the surprising reply as he dug into his own food, a chimichanga drenched in a creamy, pale orange chipotle sauce, and topped with sour cream, diced tomatoes and green onions. “That’s why the next time you go skinny-dipping, I promise to get bare-ass naked before I join you. Last night I fucked things up by jumping in with all my clothes on and making you feel like you were at a disadvantage. You have my word that won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn right it won’t happen again.” Her face was on fire, and it had nothing to do with the spicy ranchero goodness zinging along her taste buds. “As of now, my skinny-dipping days are over.”
“Oh, no, they’re not. They’re just beginning, because I know something no one else knows about you.”
She wasn’t going to ask. She wasn’t going to ask…
“What?”
Damn it.
He made her wait while he took a swig from his longneck beer. “I know you love being naked, Winsome Smiley.”
When she realized her mouth had dropped open and she was gaping at him like a fish, she snapped it shut with an audible click. “I don’t even know how to respond to that. Though you should know, my instincts are telling me to take my tea and throw it in your face.”
“That’d be a waste of good sweet tea, and I’m not wrong. I know you love being naked because it was obvious last night,” he went on while she continued to struggle with how to respond to his outrageousness. “The way I heard you splashing around before I actually got to where you were tells me you loved the feel of nothing between you and the water. And when I saw you floating looking up at the night sky, I realize now that you were as relaxed as I’ve ever seen you. Content. Happy. That’s why I know your skinny-dipping days are far from over. The next time you do it, though, you’re going to be doing it with me. Safety first, yeah? It’s not safe swimming alone.”
“If you think I’m ever going to go skinny-dipping with you—” she began hotly, then stopped when she realized her voice had risen until even the cooks in the back probably heard her. Perfect. “My point is, that’s not going to happen,” she went on in a lower tone, again glancing around the dining area. “There aren’t going to be any more late-night swims. Like I said, I don’t even live at the homestead. I haven’t for years.”
“I know you moved into town. Where exactly do you live?”
“I’m in a stifling hot, teeny little apartment over Cleone’s Closet. That’s where I work as a part-time salesclerk, and I design clothes full-time.”
“You’re a fashion designer?”
“That’s way too New York posh for what I am,” she drawled. “Basically I dream up designs, spend countless sleepless nights running them up on my overburdened sewing machine all by myself in my apartment or in the backroom, then wait on pins and needles to see which of my designs sell. I also have an online store—Passion for Fashion—that does even better than what I sell out of the shop. But I love seeing and hearing customers’ reactions in real time, so I’m grateful Cleone carries some of my creations.”
“Sounds like you’ve found the place where you belong in the world.”
“When it comes to what I want to do with my life, I have.” Sewing had been a literal survival skill while growing up, so it was no wonder she got good at it.
“Not everyone’s so lucky.” Polishing off the last of his meal, he pushed his plate away and settled back in his
chair. “Most people don’t find their place straight out of the chute. I’m glad you have that.”
“What about you? I mean,” she winced, suddenly realizing she’d just stumbled into a potential minefield, “I know you were heavily into the whole death-defying bull-riding thing, but you’re not doing that terrifying stuff anymore, right?”
“It’s not that terrifying.”
“But you did almost die, didn’t you?” Arrrrgh. She had no idea she had such a talent for stumbling. Her idiocy was almost painful.
He lifted a careless shoulder, as if he didn’t care one way or the other. “A murder-minded bull appropriately named Hell’s Breath sent me into early retirement when he gored me nine ways to Sunday.”
“Ow.” She couldn’t help but cringe. “I can’t imagine how that must’ve hurt.”
“It didn’t tickle.” Absently he rubbed a hand along the right side of his torso, as if trying to rub away the memory of the pain he’d endured. “Between you and me, it was a tough pill to swallow, realizing my time in the chute was over. I’d been rodeoing from the time I was ten or so, from barrel racing, to saddle bronc riding, to bull-riding. In fact, I was feeling pretty damn sorry for myself until I finally got my head out of my ass and realized a few things.”
“Like what?”
“For starters, I’m actually one lucky sonofabitch to still be alive. I shouldn’t be, but here I sit, king of all I survey, with a woman who likes to go skinny-dipping in the moonlight.”
“It was private freaking property,” she muttered, also pushing her plate away. “I can do whatever the hell I want on my own stupid property.”
“And,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “Green Rock Ranch needs me now more than ever, now that it’s trying to juggle two very different facets of ranching. I’m lucky I’ve got a shit-ton of work to keep me busy.”
Her brows went up. “Two? I thought Green Rock Ranch was solely a stud farm.”
“We were. Then a few years ago my brother Ry got a wild hair up his ass about making Green Rock a true cattle ranch once more. Apparently he thought we weren’t busy enough.”