It's All About That Cowboy
Page 2
“Don’t even think about it,” he said.
She was totally thinking about it.
“Ma’am, I’m late for a funeral. And I hate funerals almost as much as I hate weddings. I do, however, love a good car chase. So, you can damn well bet I’ll catch you. And then I’ll spend the rest of the morning doing the paperwork associated with your arrest, which will get me out of having to go to the funeral. If I’m lucky, I can drag it out and escape the reception as well.” He cracked his knuckles. “Your call.”
Jessica bit her bottom lip so she wouldn’t fuss at him for wanting to miss his own aunt’s funeral. Heartless. The bastard was still completely heartless.
His jaw jutted out stubbornly. She knew a pair of icy blue eyes glared at her from behind the shades. Eyes you could fall into. Eyes that were so hypnotic they could make you do just about anything.
She turned off the ignition. Unbuckled her seat belt.
“Nice and slow now,” Casey said, hand hovering near his gun.
She opened the door and stepped out, shrinking beneath the scrutiny of the growing crowd at the Pump ’n’ Go.
“Remove your sunglasses, please.”
The sound of his voice sent vibrations through her body; vibrations that were not entirely unpleasant. Some things might have changed, like Casey being a freaking cop, but the effect of his voice on her body hadn’t. She suspected her pupils were dilated.
She pursed her lips in annoyance, and glanced at the nightstick and holstered gun on his belt. Slowly, she took off her sunglasses and looked up. Way up, because Casey had added a couple of inches to his height since the last time she’d seen him. He was at least a foot taller than she was.
His stubborn jaw went slack with recognition.
She gave a little wave. “Hi, Casey.”
So much for the prepared speech.
Casey yanked his aviators off, and she had to blink once, twice, three times at those baby blues.
“Jess? Jessica Acosta?”
She sighed. At least he remembered her name.
“The one and only. Sorry I’m not the fabulous Carmen Follacio—”
“Pardon?”
Jesus! She’d said Follacio, which sounded dang close to fellatio.
“I’m not Carmen Foraccio,” Jessica tried again. “She’s loaned me her car.”
Casey, still looking stunned, ran a hand through his dark wavy hair. His face indicated he was drawing a blank. Was it possible he hadn’t heard of Carmen Foraccio, famous celebrity chef and star of the Food Channel’s hit show Funky Fusions?
But that hair. He still wore it longer than he should. It curled past his collar and showed no signs of thinning. It took everything Jessica had to keep her hands to herself. As usual, she ran her mouth as a distraction. “Are you really a cop, or did you steal that car?”
“Darlin’, I’m the sheriff of Verde County. If one of us is driving a stolen car, my bet is on you.”
Did he really just call her darlin’?
She crossed her arms over her chest, but then Casey grinned at her, and she felt it all the way to her angrily tapping toes. She couldn’t tell if he was grinning in a teasing way, or in an I can’t wait to put you in handcuffs way.
Both options made her tingle all over, so maybe she shouldn’t be thinking about handcuffs. But there they were. Hanging on Casey’s belt.
The grin finally reached his eyes, as if he found the idea of himself as a sheriff every bit as amusing as she did, and it set a herd of butterflies loose in her stomach.
Casey Long had been the town’s teenaged hooligan. Only he hadn’t ridden a motorcycle. He’d ridden bulls. And if the gigantic rodeo belt buckle was any indication, he still did.
Casey started writing in his little book. He ripped out a page and handed it to her. “This is for the stoplight.”
He ripped out another. “And this is for having no proof of insurance.”
And another. “And this is for not having a driver’s license on you.”
She looked at the three pieces of paper. Warnings. He’d given her warnings.
“Thank you, Casey. Seriously, I’m just trying—”
“Jess,” he said, cutting her off. “Why are you back?”
Suddenly, the fuller face and lower voice and broader shoulders disappeared, and she was looking into the emotional blue eyes of eighteen-year-old Casey Long. It made eighteen-year-old Jess pop to the surface of her consciousness like a cork.
And eighteen-year-old Jess had not been very smart.
* * *
What the hell was Jessica Acosta doing back in Big Verde? God. His hands were shaking.
Unacceptable.
She looked 100 percent the same. And that meant 100 percent hot. But lots of women were hot. They didn’t do to him whatever the hell it was that Jess was doing to him. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to handcuff her and throw her in the back of his cruiser and never let her out of his sight, because the last time he’d let her out of his sight, she’d run off and he’d never seen her again.
Until now.
He struggled to maintain control over his facial features. But it was hard. He’d fantasized about this encounter for years, and it typically played out in one of two scenarios.
Scenario One: He reads her the riot act. You think you can just waltz out of somebody’s life without so much as a good-bye and then just show up out of the blue like nothing happened? Then they attack each other and have sex.
Scenario Two: He falls to the ground in a heap and cries like a baby because he’s so damn glad to see her again. Then they attack each other and have sex.
She stood there with her arms crossed, her toes tapping, and her eyes flitting back and forth from him to her car, no doubt ready to jump right in and leave him standing in her dust. Maybe he should have thought of a third scenario involving a car chase.
He cleared his throat. “Coming home for a visit?”
“Funeral,” she stammered.
There was only one funeral in Big Verde today. “Aunt Mavis’s?”
Jess nodded.
Why on earth would she be going to Aunt Mavis’s funeral? Of all the reasons to come home, why would it be for that? A million questions were piling up in his throat. He swallowed, so they wouldn’t fly out of his mouth, but they got stuck halfway down.
“Jess…”
Why did you leave? Where did you go? Didn’t you know it would crush me?
She’d left the day after high school graduation. They’d shared their hopes and dreams for the future—he’d wanted to be a professional bull rider and Jess wanted to open a restaurant—and promised to be together forever, just the night before.
Forever hadn’t even lasted twenty-four hours. She and her mom had skipped town without a trace.
Jess stared at the ground. Offered no explanation.
Casey found his voice. “Well, we’re both going to be late if we don’t get a move on. We might have to use the lights.”
“What? Wait, no—”
“Let’s go, Ms. Acosta.” A horrible thought smacked him in the face. “It is still Ms. Acosta, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but—”
“Let’s go then.”
She wasn’t married. He tried not to feel giddy about it and failed.
Jessica got back in her car, and Casey jogged to his cruiser. Then he pulled out onto the road and passed Jess, turned on the lights, and waited for her to follow.
He didn’t know why he’d turned the damn lights on. The funeral home was two blocks up. But Jessica Acosta was back in town, and that made him feel excited and happy and uncomfortable all at the same time. The occasion seemed to call for lights and sirens.
Chapter Three
Jessica’s stomach clenched at the sight of so many cars lining the street. Small-town funerals were big deals, and everyone in Big Verde would be at this one. People often sat around looking for who hadn’t come instead of who had.
For a town matriarch like Ma
vis Long, the place would be packed. In fact, people had gathered on the lawn, where chairs were set up and speakers were mounted on tripods. The little chapel was probably out of seating already.
Jessica drove slowly past all the pickups, SUVs, and cars, trying to ignore the flashing lights in front of her.
What had possessed Casey to turn on the dang lights? Was he out of his mind?
A few folks were still getting out of their vehicles, chatting with each other and attempting to tame unruly cowlicks on little boys. Most were in their Sunday best. This meant western leisure suits for the older men, and clean jeans with shirts tucked in for the younger men and boys. Most ladies and girls wore conservative dresses. Very conservative dresses.
Jessica’s sweaty palms stuck to the steering wheel as she looked for a place to park. She wiped them, one at a time, on her black skirt. Her short black skirt. When she’d picked it out, she hadn’t been thinking about Big Verde’s fashion trends or how appropriate it might be for a small-town funeral.
There was literally no place to park. Good grief. She was not going to drag out this freak show by circling the block.
Two piercing blasts from a siren cut through the air, causing her to jump and bite her lip, which she’d apparently been chewing in nervous angst. What had she done wrong now?
Casey had pulled into a spot farther up the block. He got out and started waving his arms. At her.
Everyone watched as she slowly drove toward Casey, who was now making motions one might use when guiding a jet liner to a terminal or signaling marine mammals to do tricks. Was he afraid there might be one lone holdout who wasn’t already looking at her? What was next? People gathered in the splash zone to watch her park?
Sweat dripped down her back as Casey proceeded to direct her, inch by inch, into the parking space directly behind him.
Once parked, she sat back with a sigh. She just needed a moment to—
The door magically opened and a big hand extended inside.
So much for taking a moment.
“The funeral’s about to start,” Casey said.
She took his hand. It was warm. Strong. Both foreign and familiar. How many times had she held it at the movies or while walking down the halls of Big Verde High? She blushed, remembering how Casey’s fingers had roamed her body like curious explorers of unknown lands.
He’d been the first to trace her lips with his thumb. The first to brush her nipples with his fingers. The first to cup her ass while pulling her close…
“You okay, Jess?”
She swallowed. Collected herself. And stood up on shaky legs.
He offered his arm, which would seem dramatic in Houston, but in Big Verde it just meant he was a gentleman.
Casey Long. A gentleman.
They started down the sidewalk. People smiled politely, but most were older, and she didn’t see any recognition in their faces. Just interest.
Maybe she’d survive this day after all.
* * *
Casey nodded at everybody who said Howdy, Sheriff, as he and Jessica headed for the door. It would be nice if they’d stop their gawking. Jessica would stop traffic in any town, but in Big Verde, she was damn near paralyzing.
She was nervous. The little things she did with her hair, the fluffing and tossing. She’d been doing it since high school. It was still cute as hell.
“I’m really sorry about your great-aunt, Casey,” she said.
Lots of people had said that to him over the past few days. Some of them had meant it casually. Some had meant it deeply. Some hadn’t meant it at all. What he heard in Jess’s voice was heart-wrenching sincerity. As if she were not only sorry, but also somehow deeply saddened.
Mavis had been well known in the small town. But as far as he knew—and he knew damn near everything—Jessica hadn’t kept up with anyone in Big Verde. How did she even know Mavis had died?
He cleared his throat. “So where are you living now?”
“Houston,” she said.
She didn’t follow it up with what she did or who she lived with or how long she’d been there. Just Houston.
Why had she driven all the way here for the funeral? Other folks in Big Verde had died since Jess had left. Folks she’d probably known better. There’d been no trips home for their funerals. There had to be more to this story.
“Aunt Mavis’s death is a terrible loss for our family,” he said. “But it wasn’t exactly unexpected.”
Jessica stopped walking and looked at him. “She wasn’t even sick. It was totally unexpected.”
How would she know if his great-aunt had been sick?
“Well, she was ninety years old, Jess. That’s what I meant by it not being unexpected. Nobody lives forever.”
Jessica shook her head, as if his response disappointed her, and started walking again.
“Howdy, Sheriff!” Casey looked up to see Matt Hurley loping cheerfully their way. “Beautiful day!”
The only thing about Matt that said “undertaker” was his dark suit. Other than that, he was all smiles and grins.
“Hey, pretty lady. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
And inappropriate comments.
Matt had started going bald in junior high, but the process had stunted somewhere around eleventh grade, leaving him with a few stragglers he grew out and combed across his forehead. The back of his head was left completely unattended, probably because Matt couldn’t see it in the mirror and therefore assumed it didn’t exist.
He didn’t let his appearance dampen his enthusiasm for the ladies, though.
Jessica removed her sunglasses. “Hi, Matt.”
Matt’s skinny face suddenly became animated. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he searched for words. What he finally came up with—loudly and right outside the building where Casey’s aunt lay in a coffin—was, “Goddam, girl! Look at you! Jess is back in town!”
Jess seemed to melt, as if willing herself to disappear.
Matt threw the door open. The small chapel was filled to capacity, and Jessica shrank back against Casey. His entire body lit up like someone had poked him with a cattle prod. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, pull her even closer, but he couldn’t. He needed to get control of himself. This wasn’t the same girl who’d left him twelve years before. She was a grown woman, and he hardly knew her.
He couldn’t quite accept the truth of that.
She was probably nervous, and Matt wasn’t doing anything to help matters, so Casey put his hand at the small of her back. He hoped it would reassure her that she was among friends.
Miss Mills, the organist for the First Baptist Church, sat at the front of the chapel playing “How Great Thou Art” on the funeral home’s electric keyboard. The fact that she did this at a Methodist funeral said something about the importance and station of Aunt Mavis in the community.
Matt hollered, “Look, everybody! It’s Big Verde High’s homecoming queen of the class of…” He looked at Casey. “What year was it, Casey? Let’s see, you were two years ahead of me—”
Miss Mills stopped playing.
Everyone looked at them.
“Matt, I think I’ll have a seat up there with my family. I was running a little late due to increased criminal activity in the town.” He winked at Jess.
Miss Mills picked up where she left off, and slowly everybody went back to looking mournful. They were accustomed to Matt’s outbursts.
Matt, as if suddenly remembering where they were, made a rousing attempt at appearing solemn.
“The Hurley family is honored to be here for you during your time of need. Please accept our sincere condolences.”
“Why thank you—”
Matt turned back to Jess. “Where did you get that kick-ass car?”
Casey patted Matt on the back, a little harder than necessary, because that’s what it typically took to shut him up, and then led Jessica by her elbow to the pews set off to the side of the casket where the family was seated.
“Casey, no. I’m not family. I’ll sit somewhere else.”
“There is nowhere else,” he said. “And you came all this way. Everyone will be pleased to see you.”
That might be a stretch. They would be surprised, though. Because Jess being here for Aunt Mavis’s funeral made absolutely zero sense. To lessen the tension, he decided to do the polite thing and inquire about her mother.
“How’s your mama? Doing okay, I hope.”
Jessica stiffened even more. “She passed away two years ago. Heart attack.”
Jesus. He had shit timing. “I’m very sorry to hear it.”
And he was too. Even though Jessica’s mom had hated his guts. In all fairness, most girls’ moms had hated his guts.
Gerome Kowalski, owner of the infamous Rancho Cañada Verde and a man Casey had known his entire life, came forward with his hand extended. He’d be delivering the eulogy. “Casey, Mavis will be very much missed by this community.”
“Thank you, Gerome. This is such a nice turnout for her. In fact, Jessica came all the way—”
Jessica was headed to the coffin. And she appeared to be sniffing and weeping.
“Is that little Jessica Acosta?” Gerome asked.
“Yes, sir. She’s come back for Aunt Mavis’s funeral.”
Gerome nodded. “That’s right nice of her. I’d expect as much.”
So, there was a reason Jessica was back. But what was it?
There were currents that flowed beneath Main Street in every small town, and the secrets they carried were hidden from most.
Gerome was one of the few who always knew. And like Aunt Mavis, he kept those secrets to himself.
It was infuriating.
Chapter Four
God. She felt like such an idiot. She hadn’t intended to bawl her eyes out at Mavis’s funeral. But dang it, Gerome Kowalski knew Mavis. He got Mavis. And the eulogy had captured her perfectly. Hard and unyielding. Demanding and critical. Almost impossible to please. And yet, also kind and loyal. Generous and sympathetic. Even fun.