“Wasn’t his father killed by a bull?” Monica asked.
“Yeah, he was.” Delaney shrugged “So go figure. C’mon in and make yourself at home.”
Monica followed Delaney inside, noting that she hadn’t even unlocked the front door. She thought back to her own place in Manhattan with its set of three locks and a security system.
“Would you like a drink?” Delaney asked. “I have some Dr. Pepper, a six-pack of Blue Moon, or I could open a bottle of pinot noir I’ve been saving for a special occasion.”
“What’s special?” Monica asked.
“Having female company out here. It’s been a while.”
“No thanks,” Monica said. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Well, I am.” Delaney disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Monica to wander the living room. Markedly more feminine than Tom’s place, with a mix of leather, chintz, and chenille, the room was an unusual meld of rustic ranch and French country. Finding no photographs, she lingered at a lithograph of a bull. “This is unusual,” she remarked as Delaney returned, popping the top of a Dr. Pepper. “Is it a Picasso?”
“You know your art,” Delaney said.
“I’ve spent most of my life in New York. Part of that was exploring art museums.”
“I have all eleven lithographs of his bull study,” Delaney said, “though I admit I prefer the first three in the series over the more abstract works.” She took the first swig of her drink. “Love this stuff. All Texans do. Sure you don’t want one?”
“No thanks. I’m fine.”
Delaney took another drink and then set the bottle down on a scarred coffee table. “I’d be happy to show you the rest of the place, if you like.”
“It’s a lovely old house,” Monica said as they mounted the narrow staircase. “Very homey. I’ve never lived in a place like this. I’ve pretty much spent all of my life in apartments.”
“Where did you grow up?” Delaney asked.
“Boarding schools mostly,” Monica said with a dry laugh, “but I also traveled a lot too, mostly in Europe.”
“I envy you that,” Delaney said. “My family took vacations every year, usually in Mexico or Hawaii, but I’ve never traveled anywhere on my own. I’ve always wanted to go to Europe, but Daddy always said we have everything worth seeing right here in the USA. Where is your family?” Delaney asked.
“My grandparents have a big home in Connecticut, but my mother lives in lower Manhattan. I settled there as well about five years ago.”
“These two are bedrooms,” Delaney pointed to the respective doors. “There was a third, but we converted it into two bathrooms as there weren’t originally any upstairs baths and there was only the one downstairs until I added a powder room.”
Monica shrugged. “I imagine that’s typical of a home this old.”
“I told Ty when we first moved in that we should just raze the place and build a brand-new house, but he wouldn’t hear of it,” Delaney said. “His family worked the land for three generations and even weathered the great Dust Bowl. I guess I respect that he has an attachment to the place even if he didn’t want to live in it.”
“Sounds like his family history means a lot to him,” Monica said. That surprised her at first, but then it made perfect sense. It explained why Ty held onto the place, even though Delaney had control of it.
“Over time the old place has grown on me too,” Delaney continued. “Let’s go back down to my room, and I’ll see if I can find those jeans.” Delaney disappeared into her closet and returned a few minutes later to toss Monica a pair of well-worn Wranglers. “Here. These were always my favorite.” She added with a grimace. “But I haven’t been able to get both cheeks into them in almost five years.”
“Then why do you keep them?” Monica asked.
Delaney laughed. “Wishful thinking, I guess. Don’t worry about the length. They’re about two inches too long for me, so they should fit you just about right.”
“Thanks.” Monica accepted the jeans. “Delaney, is this the only reason you invited me out here? I get the feeling it isn’t.”
Delaney cocked her head and considered Monica for a long moment. “All right, since you asked me, I’ll give it to you straight. I suspect we’re never going to be best friends, but I don’t want us to be enemies either.”
“What are you getting at?” Monica asked.
Ty’s not drinking like he used to, but based on his lifestyle, I don’t have any reason to think he’s changed. I’d hate to see you get hurt too.”
“I don’t understand why you’re concerned about it,” Monica replied. “Look, I’m only here to lay my father to rest. After that, Ty and I will probably never see each other again. Why are you interested? What do you want from him, Delaney?”
“I need something from him. So I need to ask you straight out if you’re staking your claim.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s between me and Ty is no one else’s business.”
“It’s not that I want Ty back,” Delaney said. “It was a mistake the first time around. We both know that. The whole thing was pure lust.” She hesitated, digging the carpet fringe with the toe of her boot. “Maybe I could have loved him if he’d only tried just a little bit. Even at his worst, Ty is impossible to hate, but he never invested anything in the relationship.”
“Then why did you marry him?” Monica asked, more curious than ever to reconcile Ty’s version of the story with Delaney’s.
Delaney plopped down on the edge of the queen four-poster bed with a sigh. “Because I was desperate to get out from under my controlling family when I met Ty. For as long as I can remember, someone was always telling me how to dress, how to act, and even what to think. I was raised to be the perfect little Houston debutante. I wasn’t free to make even the simplest decisions for myself. All that mattered was the outer package. No one really cared about me. Ty, on the other hand, didn’t give damn about any of those trappings.”
“No, I don’t suppose he would,” Monica said.
“Ty was everything my parents would hate—the perfect antidote to my horrible life,” Delaney continued. “He was also my first . . . but he didn’t know that until after the fact.”
“Really? And how did he take it when he found out?” Monica asked.
“He felt guilty as hell.”
“And you used it against him?” Monica asked.
“More or less. I talked him into eloping.”
“It was that easy?”
Delaney returned a wistful smile. “Yeah, it was. We couldn’t keep out hands off each other back then. That part was good, but it didn’t last very long.” She paused. “I don’t believe Ty ever intended to hurt me, but Ty likes women. A lot. And they’ve always liked him back.”
“Sounds an awful lot like you’re trying to warn me off.”
“Maybe so,” Delaney said.
“You think he cheated on you?”
“He was gone for weeks on end. His drinking got heavier, and his phone calls were fewer and farther between. What was I to think? Then I saw some very incriminating pictures posted on the Internet. He denied any wrongdoing, of course. I know he was pretty messed up back then, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, or that I could forgive him for it.”
“If that’s the case,” Monica said, “what do you want with him?”
Delaney returned a cool smile. “As you just so eloquently put it, what’s between me and Ty is no one else’s business.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Ty was looking forward to saddling up ol’ Beau. He hadn’t been on a horse in ages and desperately needed some time to think. He already had a good idea where Tom would have wanted his ashes to be scattered and hoped to figure some things out on the long ride down to the river. Horses were the best therapy he knew—aside from sex, that is. If he couldn’t have the one, he’d have to settle for the other.
He was leading Beau out of his corral when Monica appeared. “That’s a beautiful horse,” s
he remarked. “I bet he could clear some fences with those long legs.”
Ty grinned and patted the neck of the leggy, bald-faced sorrel. “Working cattle, leaping fences, scaling canyons, crossing rivers. You name it. Anything you can imagine doing on a horse, this ol’ boy’s done it.”
“Really? How old is he?” she asked, stroking the gelding’s nose.
Ty scratched his chin in thought. “Tom gave him to me as a yearling for my fifteenth birthday, so I guess he must be coming up on twenty, but don’t tell him that.”
“Where are you going with him?” Monica asked.
“Thought we’d ride down to a place where Tom and I used to fish for alligator gar.”
Her eyes widened. “There are alligators in that river?”
“Not gators. Alligator gar. It’s a butt-ugly sport fish with a mouth like a gator. They’re also just as big. Tom and I once reeled in a six-footer. The biggest ones on record have been caught in the Red River.”
“I didn’t realize Tom enjoyed sport fishing,” she said.
“Yup. Ranching, fishing, hunting, flying his plane. Tom was a real man’s man.”
“There’s so much I still don’t know about him,” she said sadly. “And now I never will.”
“You knew enough to love him,” Ty reassured. “And he loved you back, Monica. He was damned proud of you too. Hell, he bragged about you all the time and even carried your picture in his wallet. He showed it to me the day he had his first stroke. I think he had some crazy matchmaking scheme in mind.”
“He wasn’t so subtle about it with me either,” she replied dryly.
“Oh yeah?” Ty cocked a brow. “What did he say?”
“Tom never kept it secret that he didn’t like Evan, but he thought a great deal of you. He wanted us to run the hotel together, but I think he had hopes of more. I set him straight that it was never going to happen between you and me.”
He eyed her levelly. “Never’s an awful long time.”
“This is a pointless conversation.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “I only came down here to ask if you knew Tom’s favorite spot on the ranch.”
“Yeah. I know it. It’s a grassy knoll that overlooks the river. You can see Tom’s entire spread stretching out for miles from there. He loved that spot. Matter-o-fact, it’s where me and Beau were headed.”
“Can I go with you?” she asked. “Delaney loaned me some jeans and boots.”
She stuck out a foot to show off a pair of dusty ropers. His gaze tracked from the boots slowly upward. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed sooner the boots and faded denim encasing her mile-long legs. Monica Brandt was hot as hell in her skirt and heels, but looking at her now, he was filled with the urge to back her up to a wall and peel those jeans slowly off her hips.
“Please, Ty,” she said.
Ty hesitated. The biggest reason for the ride was for some alone time. He had so much to figure out. Monica’s presence would only muddle his head. “It’s a long ride,” he warned her.
“How long?”
“Couple hours. Probably four to get there and back. Five if we hang around a bit. That won’t put us back ’til about supper time.”
“I don’t have anything else to do except for going through Tom’s effects, and I need you for that.”
“Fine,” he grunted. “I’ll take you. Just don’t complain to me later ’bout your sore ass. I s’pose we can find an ol’ ranch horse ’round here that’ll suit you . . . unless you jus’ wanna climb up here on ol’ Beau with me.”
She eyed the horse dubiously. “Can he carry us both?”
The horse snorted in protest.
Ty replied with a chuckle, “He might not like it much, but it won’t hurt him any. He’s big enough, and it’s about time he earned his groceries.”
***
Monica questioned her judgment the moment she mounted the horse behind Ty and wrapped her arms around his big, hard body. After last night, she’d sworn to keep her distance, but now that distance could be measured in millimeters. She shut her eyes, inhaling the tantalizing scents of mingled leather, horse, and male musk. It wasn’t just his smell, a unique blend of old-time Marlboro man with a hint of urban cowboy, that turned her on, but his easygoing nature, quick wit, and natural, unaffected swagger. Most of all was how he wore his masculinity without apology.
Ty was just as much a man’s man as Tom had been, but Ty also liked women, and as Delaney had painfully pointed out, maybe too much. Could she ever trust a man like that? Though her heart wanted to say yes, his history told her emphatically no.
“So what were you and Delaney so chummy about?” His sudden question broke the silence.
“Are you growing paranoid in your old age, Ty? I told you, she offered me some jeans and boots.”
“Her place is only fifteen minutes away. You were gone for almost two hours.”
“You timed me?”
“Course not, I simply noticed. I was talking to Bob when I saw you leave. My ears were burning the whole while you were gone.”
“That’s a tad egotistical, don’t you think?”
“Is it?” he asked. “Gotta wonder how you filled that time.”
“You really just want to know if we talked about you,” she said.
“I already know that much,” he replied. “What did she want from you?”
“Why do you think she wanted anything?”
“Because that’s Delaney. She doesn’t do anything without an ulterior motive.”
“Do you despise her that much?” Monica asked. Although Delaney had been just as snarky toward Ty, Monica had no doubt she still had feelings for him. She wondered if Ty’s outward animosity was also just a ruse.
“No,” he confessed, “I don’t despise her. She just annoys the hell out of me.”
“But weren’t you the one who did her wrong?” Monica shot back.
His back stiffened. “I told you it wasn’t like that. Who are you gonna believe, Monica, a bitter ex-wife or me?”
She replied slowly, “As Tom used to say, there’s two sides to every story, and then there’s the truth that lies somewhere in the middle. I think I’ll stick to that middle ground on this.”
“Fair enough,” he grunted, his body relaxing under her hands.
“I don’t know what she wanted from me, Ty, but I got a strong feeling that she wants something from you.”
He tensed again and shifted in the saddle. “Why do you say that?”
“Because she asked flat out if I was after you.”
“Did she now?” He turned his head to catch her eye. “And what did you say?”
“I told her it was none of her business. But I also told her I’m leaving, so I’m sure she’ll draw the right conclusion. Does she want you back? She swore she doesn’t, but her actions make no sense otherwise.”
Ty snorted. “Delaney may be a walking contradiction, but she knows we’re done.”
“Then what does she want?”
Ty’s chest rose and fell with a sigh. “A baby.”
“A what?” Monica repeated, dumbfounded.
“Delaney wants a kid and thinks she can persuade me to be the daddy. Course, she’s delusional on that account.”
“But why you?”
“She doesn’t want to go to a sperm bank.”
“She’s young. Why not just remarry?”
He shrugged. “Seems I ruined all her notions of matrimony.”
Monica digested his words. Delaney’s actions might seem desperate but made a certain amount of sense. She’d been burned before, but Ty was at least the devil she knew. It was also clear now why she was concerned about Monica’s involvement with Ty.
“You said she tried to persuade you. How, Ty?”
“Money . . . lotsa money.”
“She tried to bribe you into sleeping with her?” It was Monica’s turn to stiffen in the saddle. “How much, Ty? What are you worth as a breeding stud?”
“Twelve million, interest-free.”
“That must be flattering,” Monica replied dryly.
He smirked. “If you don’t think I’m worth it, maybe I need to refresh your memory.”
“Don’t even go there, cowboy.” She let out a derisive laugh. “You had your chance just last night. Don’t think for a minute you’ll get another one. What did you do after you sent me away? Jack off in the shower?”
“Sure did,” he said, ignoring the taunt. “What about you? Were you thinking about me pounding my big cock into you while you writhed in your cold and lonely bed?”
It was far too close to the truth. She squirmed. The horse shifted, making her all too aware of the moist heat invading her core. “Just stop it,” she hissed with a slap that bounced off his broad back.
He turned around with a chuckle. “Best hang on tight.” With that warning, she tightened her hold as he spurred the horse into a smooth, rocking lope.
***
Loping along the riverbank with Monica holding his hips in a vicelike grip, Ty swore under his breath. Nothing was worse than riding with a hard-on, but stupid shit that he was, he’d done it to himself. Self-restraint and patience were two of his talents, but Monica was a supreme test of both. Last night was an exercise in self-control that he had no wish to repeat. Mumbling a few more curses, he reminded himself once more about that long game, but it was mighty hard to stay focused when her eyes had screamed, “Fuck me hard, Ty.” He consoled himself that the torture would end the minute they dismounted.
They didn’t speak again until he pulled up at the stand of willows that Tom’s granddaddy had planted two generations back to mark the most prime fishing spot on the Little River. They stood for silent minutes gazing out at the swiftly rolling tributary that stretched, wound, and undulated through Tom’s land.
“So this was his favorite place?” She grimaced. “Not at all what I expected. It’s so . . . murky.”
“All the better for gar fishing,” Ty replied with a grin. “But there’s also a great view. It’s up there.” He pointed to a grass-covered slope. “C’mon, lean into me and hang on tight.”
Sin City Cowboy Page 21
