Texas Blaze

by Jean Brashear

  “I’m not used to feeling this much.”

  “Poor kid. You’ve had a rough day.”

  Her resistance crumbled then, and as her long, lean body nestled into his, she began to cry.

  Bridger held her, trying to be a friend, though they were strangers. Not focusing on how good she felt, only being compassionate. She was not at all his type, light years from his dream. This woman was troubled and complicated, not sweet and soft and sunny. Nothing like the perfect ivy-covered cottage material he was after.

  But damn, she felt good to him.

  Damn.

  Her nose was running. She pulled away from the warm, hard body holding her. Stepped back. Glanced around for—

  Crap. She never cried, so she never needed to be prepared.

  “Want this?” Amusement threaded through his voice as he proffered a rag from his pocket.

  It smelled like barbecue. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually…”

  “No problem.”

  “You don’t live here, right?”

  His head cocked. “No.”

  “Good. I won’t be here long either. We can forget this.” One more sniff and a straight spine. Good to go.

  The tawny eyes saw too much. “I won’t tell anybody.”

  “I appreciate it. I’d better—” She glanced across the square where the crowd was headed for Ruby’s. She so did not want to socialize.

  She wanted to find Jackson and…

  Fury took over. “That…ass.” Where had he gone with Ruby? Why hadn’t he stayed with her? Explained to her?

  And she should check on her father, though she wanted to yell at him, too.

  Her shoulders sagged. The war continued, apparently. One reason she’d been happy to go, because the ranch held too much heartache, too many painful memories. “I should just go back to Washington.”

  Except she couldn’t. She silently cursed faithless lovers and jealous, ambitious wives and indifferent brothers and angry fathers and—

  “Lot going on in that head,” Bridger observed. “Anything I can do?”

  She shook her head, too much in turmoil to formulate an answer.

  “Maybe a change of topic? Something else to think about?” He stepped in.

  Her head rose as she opened her mouth to argue—

  He kissed her.

  A brush of lips at first, quickly escalating to his big hand cradling her head as a powerful arm banded her waist and his tongue made…magic.

  Her ability to think vanished. Everything vanished but him. Hard body, big hands, a response she couldn’t help but feel against her belly and wonder…

  He tilted her head and…ravaged.

  She slid her palms up his arms, then gripped his shoulders for dear life as the night closed in around them and the stars wheeled overhead and—

  Some time later, he eased away slowly. Rested his forehead against hers and exhaled. Whistled. “Well, that might not have been the smartest move.”

  She was still trying to gather scrambled wits when he pulled back enough to see her, and there was rueful laughter in his eyes. “I was going for distraction, not nuclear meltdown. Damn, girl…you pack a punch.”

  The laugh burst from her. She fanned her face for effect. “Whew. I thought you put out fires, not started them.”

  He grinned. “You gotta understand how to make them to defeat them.”

  They stood there, arms still around each other, belly to belly, his body’s response not at all diminished.

  She wiggled her hips slowly across the front of him.

  He groaned. “Good thing you’re not my type. You are dangerous, woman.”

  She waggled her eyebrows at him, astonished that after everything, she could feel…playful. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  His expression turned considering. “Maybe not, but I’m damn sure I’d like to. How long will you be in town?”

  She wished she knew. “Not long. You?”

  “Supposed to leave tomorrow.” He considered. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “Well, let’s see…I could yell at my brother or go listen to my dad cuss or I could watch Rissa coo all over Mackey while Ian and Scarlett get sappy…” She cocked her head. “You wouldn’t happen to be up for a drive, would you?”

  “Where to?”

  “Austin is a little closer than San Antonio.”

  “Which is, what, an hour and a half? Two?”

  “Yes. I want to rent a car. I don’t want to be dependent on anyone.”

  “Bet that’s not just true at the moment, is it?” Golden eyes held no censure, though.

  “Pretty much.” And definitely not ever again. She should never have relented with Hugh. Look what had just happened with Jackson. He could hardly wait to peel her away from him. To get out of there.

  She wasn’t going to let it hurt anymore. That’s all this place was good for: misery.

  It wasn’t, once upon a time.

  Maybe not, but a lot of water had flowed past that bridge.

  “It’s no problem.” She didn’t need this man, either.

  “I didn’t say no.”

  “Look, no big deal. You’re leaving tomorrow. You should get a good night’s sleep before you hit the road.”

  “And you—” He gripped her elbow. Half-dragged her. “Should shut up now and again.”

  “Excuse me?”

  An enormous grin. “There she is. Hey, Princess. How is it up in your ivory tower?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  She burst out laughing. “Women adore you, right? You get away with that behavior?”

  “Maybe.”

  She shook her head, heart lightening. “Let’s go, Hotshot.”

  He peered over one broad shoulder. “Smile when you say that, pilgrim.” The inflection was dead-on John Wayne.

  She set off on long legs and quickly passed him.

  Then realized she had no idea which truck was his.

  He chuckled. “You should let the man lead sometimes, sweet cheeks.” He lightly smacked her behind.

  Her head whipped around, a retort on her lips.

  He was grinning widely.

  “You baboon.”

  “Oh, darlin’, darlin’, darlin…Ms. Harvard Law reduced to muttered curses.” He patted his heart. “Now I’m smitten.”

  She simply gestured rudely over her shoulder.

  Bridger laughed.

  And the whole way over to his truck, she could feel him checking out her ass.

  With more than a little glee, she texted her sister. Bridger is taking me to rent a car. Don’t wait up.

  Better, he thought. She wasn’t broken now. Spitting mad was much better than weepy. He could hold a woman when she cried and had, more than once.

  But watching Penelope bereft and lonely was an abomination. She wasn’t a princess, she was a queen. A warrior goddess. She should be in a breastplate leading legions into battle, a kickass sword in her hand, swinging.

  Not diminished. Not defeated.

  Rissa was a breath of fresh air, and Mackey was a brother, but the rest of her family, that cold, bitter old man and that icy excuse for a twin? Neither should be allowed within a mile of this valiant, spirited woman who, for whatever reason—not that what he’d witnessed tonight wasn’t plenty—had been hurt and hurt badly even before the two sorry men in her life wounded her again.

  He didn’t like it. If he lived here…

  But you don’t, do you?

  She’s not yours to take care of. To defend and protect.

  She lived in D.C. Soon she’d be back in her high-powered life, and he’d be in Tennessee, being a firefighter.

  She wasn’t his type anyway.

  But he sensed she wouldn’t be easy to forget.

  Those long legs ate up the ground, then she vaulted into his truck before he could offer help she clearly didn’t need.

  But just before she sat down, she patted that very fine behind of hers and winked.

 
Man, she was a piece of work.

  He rounded to the driver’s side, grinning.

  They talked the entire way into Austin.

  Hardly a word of it pertained to their real lives.

  He skirted carefully around his past and his family, enthralled to discover she loved football, even if she had the poor taste to be a Jets fan. “What the hell, Legs? You couldn’t pick a real team? Why not Washington or—heaven help me—Dallas?”

  “I grew up a diehard Cowboys fan, but I have taken a vow of abstinence until they get rid of Jerry Jones.”

  “Little hard to do when he’s the owner, you know?”

  She sniffed. Arched one Princess brow. “They need to find a way.”

  “The mysterious, ambiguous they,” he murmured.

  “I’m just sayin’.” She shrugged elaborately.

  “The Jets.” He snorted. “You probably like sushi and crap, right?”

  “Smile when you say that, podner.”

  “And yogurt. Organic.”

  “I am not Granola Girl. That’s my cousin Maddie—well, until she hooked up with Boone.”

  “Father of Lilah Rose, my one true love.”

  “Oh, Bwidge…” she sighed, falsetto.

  He laughed.

  “You want children?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. Six, minimum.”

  “Six?” Her eyebrows flew to her scalp. “And who is this broodmare you plan to marry?”

  He refused to take offense. “She’s small and curvy and sweet. Loves to cook. Wants to be a stay-at-home mom.”

  “Probably blonde, right?”

  “Doesn’t have to be.”

  “What?” She frowned. “What’s her name?”

  “Don’t know. Yet.”

  “So you haven’t met her yet, is that what you’re saying? Exactly where do you plan to find this paragon?”

  His mouth tightened. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Maybe Hayley would change, oh…everything? She’s small and curvy. Probably bottle blonde, though—does that rule her out?”

  “Hayley’s a Barbie doll. A Baywatch babe.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. She probably can’t make a pie crust either. Pity.” She brightened. “I know—you could raise Aunt Ruby’s waitress Brenda to become your perfect wife! She’s young, she’s malleable…”

  He frowned. Refused to rise to the bait. “I just want a home.” And he was deathly afraid that he’d just laid his soul out there for her to mock.

  Her face softened. “I understand. Did you have one…before?”

  “Not hardly. The opposite.”

  Silence while she waited for him to elaborate, he was sure.

  So not happening.

  Finally she spoke. “I did. Until Mama died, my life was storybook perfect.” She looked out the window into the darkness. “I didn’t understand that then, but…it was.” Defeat rounded her shoulders again.

  He couldn’t have that. He flipped on his blinkers and turned right, threading his way into the far end of a parking lot.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  “Because you need a hug.”

  “What?” But stark anguish was in her eyes, in the set of her shoulders.

  She hurt, and she used bravado to cover it.

  He put the truck in Park and shoved his seat back, glad his truck was a dual cab. Then he popped the latch of her seat belt and plucked her out of her seat and onto his lap.

  “I guess you think that’s sexy, all that muscle power.”

  “It is sexy, Legs. Your heart is pounding.” He placed his palm over her chest and pressed against her heart, trying to ignore the sweet curve of her breast.

  “Because I’m annoyed. I hate he-man tactics.” Her voice failed to convey her conviction.

  “Liar.” He tipped up her chin. Pressed his lips to hers. Slid his tongue over the seam.

  “You have such a mouth on you,” she whispered, opening for him. Sliding her hand up his shoulder and around his nape.

  “Ditto.” He licked his way inside, catching her moan with his kiss. He yanked her close, closer. Pressed her breasts against his chest.

  And groaned.

  “What if the cops catch us?” she whispered, her mouth eating at his, her hands skating over his shoulders, dragging him nearer.

  “I’ll make bail.” His voice was rough. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

  “I don’t like bossy men. You shouldn’t be so—oof!”

  Bossy, my ass. Her picture was in the dictionary beside the word, he’d bet money on it.

  He hitched her up. Started working the snap of her jeans, the zipper.

  “Put out the fire, Hotshot.” Her nails scraped down his shirt front, her hands yanking at the fabric, pulling it from his jeans. “It hurts…so…good.”

  So…damn….good, he echoed.

  And dug his fingers into her hips.

  Tried his damnedest to stop.

  I have to leave in the morning.

  “But it’s not morning yet,” she said.

  Wait—he’d said it out loud?

  Abruptly she lifted herself up, parted her legs and straddled his lap. Dragged at his shirt, her fingers, her palms, her nails all raking over his chest.

  He thunked his head back against the headrest. “Hellfire. You’re killing me, Legs.”

  Her head rose, and her lips were curved but her eyes weren’t. “But it isn’t tomorrow. You don’t have to leave yet.”

  “I should get some sleep.”

  “Your friends can drive.” She glanced around them. “Austin is full of hotels. Motels.” Her eyes were too bright, a faint tinge of desperation in her voice.

  He’d had his share of flings. He grabbed her wrists. She wasn’t gonna be one of them, especially not when she was motivated by escaping pain. He couldn’t live with himself if he took advantage of that, however desperately he wanted her. “You don’t want to do this, Legs.”

  “You have no idea what I want.” Her head bent, her fingers sliding from his to scrabble at his belt buckle.

  He was hard enough to pound nails, and heaven knew he was tempted, pretty much past bearing.

  “No.” Was he insane? “I’m not going to be your make-me-forget guy.”

  “Because?” Her smile was cruel. “You already told me—more than once, I might add—that I’m not your type. So why shouldn’t we make each other feel good? It’s only one night.”

  They could. Sweet hell, he wanted to take her up on it so bad he was grinding his teeth to the roots trying to resist her.

  “You’re hurting, Penelope. This won’t make you feel better.”

  That stubborn princess chin rose. “You don’t know what I want or what I need.”

  “Right now, sweetheart, you don’t either.” He grabbed her hands again and this time wouldn’t let go. “You deserve better than a one-night stand.” When her mouth opened to argue, he brought out the big guns. “And so do I.” Not true, but…it worked.

  Her hands went lax. Her body sagged.

  She climbed off him and returned to her seat, straightening her clothes with a dignity that made his heart ache.

  “Don’t you for one second assume I don’t want you so bad my teeth ache.”

  Her head whipped around, and her eyes could melt lead. “Well, too bad. I don’t want you anymore. It was a one-time offer, made in a moment of insanity, and it’s expired.”

  He wanted to cuddle her right now. To shield her.

  But he sensed that she desperately needed not to feel weak. He reached for her hand, and she snatched it away. Patiently, he snagged it. Lifted it to his lips. “And that, sweetheart, is very much my loss.”

  “Whatever.” But her shoulders relaxed an inch or so. “Take me to get my car, then goodbye and good riddance.” Haughty and high, her head rose now.

  Oh, he was in so much trouble. She tugged at his emotions. He couldn’t get out of here soon enough.

  But he kept her hand in his lap all the way to the rental car l
ot.

  She gripped the door handle and turned slightly. “Thanks for the ride. Have a nice life.” She found a smile. “I mostly mean that, Bridger.” She shrugged. “You’re a good guy.” A roll of her eyes. “So not my type.”

  She dragged a chuckle from him. He came within a heartbeat of grabbing her and hitting the gas.

  But they didn’t fit, and he was tired of one-night stands.

  While she wanted nothing else.

  “Bye, Legs. I’m gonna follow you back to Sweetgrass, you know. Just to be sure you make it okay.”

  An elaborate who cares shrug topped eyes that said too much. “Whatever floats your boat, big guy.” Then she was off, those long legs eating up the ground as that astonishing ass of her swayed an invitation that would rouse a dead man.

  He’d better get somebody to lock him in a room until they left in the morning.

  Maybe tie him to the bed for insurance.

  Bridger rested his head on one fist propped on the window frame as he watched her reduce the rental agent to a slobbering pool of mush.

  Then once more he salivated over those legs, that long, prowling, siren’s stride.

  He let his head fall backward while his hands gripped the steering wheel tight enough to crack it.

  But he didn’t get out of his truck and once in Sweetgrass, he followed her back to the Star Bar G Ranch then somehow managed to keep driving back toward town, instead of running her to ground the way any self-respecting male would take down his female.

  Morning could not come too soon.

  He and the guys had been sleeping upstairs in the courthouse in the bedrolls they’d brought. Bridger planned to let the others drive tomorrow while he caught up on tonight’s lost sleep, so he wouldn’t risk waking them tonight. He’d bunk in the back of his truck—sure wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept outside. And this time he didn’t have to keep one ear open for tangoes sneaking down a mountain or shiver in bitter Afghani winds. The weather was cool, yes, but nothing he couldn’t tolerate.

  And he didn’t want to talk to anyone tonight.

  He unrolled the sleeping bag and stretched out under the cool white stars, propping his head on his hands and simply taking one breath, then another, hoping to clear his mind.

  But one face didn’t want to go anywhere. Caribbean blue eyes wet with tears lingered, and he wondered if Penelope had any clue who she really was. There was a lot more to her than the dominatrix lawyer she pretended to be.