Texas Blaze

by Jean Brashear

  Oh, he was going to be hard to say goodbye to. Charm and valor and bone-deep kindness…to say nothing of a body to die for. “I wouldn’t look good in the uniform.”

  He chuckled. “Well, you look damn good in my shirt, Legs.”

  And there it was again, the slow burn that never left her skin when she was with him. “Come back to bed with me, Bridger.” He wouldn’t accept her sympathy and would abhor pity…but she could soothe him with her body and give him that much comfort.

  “Nowhere I’d rather be.” He lifted her as though she weighed nothing and fastened his mouth to hers as he carried her to the bed and laid her down, sliding those magic hands beneath his shirt and putting those amazing lips to work.

  “Me, either,” she breathed.

  “We could stop in Dallas for a day or two,” she said as they left the next morning. “Maybe stay and see if we could get tickets for the Cowboys or Mavs.”

  They both knew they could make it back to Sweetgrass before nightfall if they didn’t dawdle. “You don’t need to get back to D.C.?”

  She glanced out the window. She hadn’t explained to anyone yet. Didn’t really want to, but the last few days had only reinforced that Bridger was not the type to cast stones.

  And he’d confided in her last night. “I’m not sure I still have a job,” she admitted. Then she voiced her deepest fear. “Or anywhere else to go in that world.” She pressed her lips together. “Word travels, and in my case…” She didn’t continue.

  “You can tell me anything, Penelope,” he said gently. “I don’t pass judgment. I’ve seen too much to ever assume things are black and white.”

  “I know I can.” Beyond his potent sex appeal, Bridger also felt like a good friend. It was clear he had all the necessary qualities for one. She couldn’t meet his gaze, though. “I got myself caught in…a situation. If word gets out, I’ll be ruined.” If the press ever figures out who you are, you will have a difficult time getting a job as a waitress.

  “You’ll never convince me you’d do something illegal or unethical.”

  Her eyes stung at the simple profession of faith in her. “Not illegal or any conflict of interest, only stupid. Foolish.”

  His hand covered hers, and suddenly she wanted to crawl up in his lap and let those broad shoulders shield her. Rest her head and weep.

  But Lawyer Pen would never do that.

  Penelope wanted to, desperately.

  She cleared her throat. “I had an affair with a senator.” As his eyes widened, she rushed to explain. “He was married, but he said—” That her voice broke made her sick. “It’s the oldest line in the book, and I am not a naive woman, but—” She shook her head. “I fell for it. He said he loved me, that he was getting a divorce, that it wouldn’t be long…”

  Bridger said nothing, but he squeezed her hand. She cast him a grateful, rueful glance. Smiled at the absurdity. “Who does that? What grown, intelligent, capable woman believes that drivel? But I did. We were going to be a power couple. We would have Washington in the palms of our hands.” She had to swallow. “Then one day he shows up at a press conference holding his newly pregnant wife’s hand while they declared their love. They were out to forestall the rumors that had begun to circulate because someone got wind that he was meeting me. Thank God no one’s figured out my name, or I’d be washed up for sure.” She withdrew her hand and wrapped her midriff with her arms. “If I want my life back there, I have to go back and fight for it. I just…don’t quite know how. His wife warned me that I’d better never darken the door of that town again or she’d see me destroyed. Her first stop would be my firm, and I can’t lose my career. I’ve worked too hard. I’ve given up everything to—”

  He pulled onto the side of the road. “Come here,” he said, shoving his seat back and lifting her over the console and onto his lap.

  Then he cuddled her. Pressed her head against his shoulder and smoothed her hair with one big hand.

  He said nothing, only…breathed. Kept his cheek against her hair as one strong arm encircled her and the other hand stroked her back.

  And she wept her confusion and hurt and shame into his shirt.

  Once her tears slowed, she tried to sit up and scramble away, but he restrained her, if gently. “Look at me.”

  Wet blue eyes lifted to his, the set of her jaw daring him to pity her.

  He wasn’t going to insult her that way. He didn’t know her well enough, however perfectly their bodies communicated, to have a clue what was best for her.

  But he did have a challenge. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave Sweetgrass? Hell, if I could, I’d stay there forever. It’s a great place.”

  She looked gobsmacked. “You’d stay…there? It’s a podunk little nothing of a town.”

  “It’s your home, Penelope. Can’t you feel that? Can’t you sense the love waiting for you to accept it?”

  She glanced away. “It’s filled with bad memories.”

  “All of them? Nothing good to remember? Not one?”

  “Of course there are good ones, but everything changed when Mama died, and then Jackson left and Daddy hated everyone except me and I was…drowning. I was scared and alone and afraid—”

  “So you ran off to be alone some more?” God, what he wouldn’t have given not to have to spend so many years alone. Without his squad, he’d have had nothing. No one.

  Her lips firmed. “It was better.”

  “Better, seriously? Or only safer? Legs, you’re not a coward, and that is no way to live.”

  She did shove off his lap then. “You don’t know anything about me. Anyway, you’re one to talk about family.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You could look for them, and you should. Instead you’re acting like Jackson.”

  Anger shot past his previous sympathy. “I told you I have my reasons.”

  “Jackson thinks he did, too.”

  Touché, honey. But he didn’t say any more.

  Instead he drove.

  It was late when they got to Sweetgrass. The miles had passed very differently than the rest of the trip. No more laughing and talking and commenting on the sights, only a silence so full of repressed emotion and growing resentment that he finally turned on the radio.

  But there, too, no playful arguments over musical selections.

  Pen knew she was responsible for the looming, uncomfortable distance between them, but she couldn’t figure out how to find her way back to the ease.

  She’d been a total bitch, she knew that.

  But she was so good at it.

  Better, seriously? Or only safer?

  That stung. And made her mad. She didn’t need him making her question even more about herself than she already did. It wasn’t like Mr. White Picket Fence had any answers. Or hadn’t deserted his own family.

  Hell, if I could, I’d stay there forever.

  Well, you can have it. Be my guest.

  Yet who was she to lecture about family obligations? She’d been too busy to come back even when Ris had been so badly injured. She’d called, sure, but that was a poor substitute for being there for those you loved.

  Eventually the heightened emotions faded, but they never regained their former ease. Yet as they drew closer to the ranch, she was reminded of the mission Mackey had given her. Bridger was hurting and in trouble.

  So what had she done? Proven how completely ill-suited she was to soothing anyone.

  She blew out a breath. Pen, you really are better off alone, aren’t you? She could handle business and distance and legalities with ease, but put her anywhere near honest human emotion…?

  “Looks like everyone’s in bed,” Bridger observed.

  Then it hit her. “Where did you stay before? When you were here?” She couldn’t recall knowing that.

  “It was only for a couple of days, so we brought sleeping bags and bunked in the courthouse.”

  Mackey hadn’t discussed that with her. Jackson was staying at Aunt Ruby’
s, so that was out. “You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. Tomorrow we can see if Mackey has something else in mind. I never thought to ask.”

  Lazy king-of-the-jungle eyes turned to hers. “Can’t share a bed with your family nearby?”

  She laughed softly, surprised that he’d even want to after their earlier argument. “Wow. I’m in my thirties, and I’m acting like I’m fifteen and gonna get caught.”

  “You were sneaking in boys at fifteen, Penelope?” The teasing was back, and she was ridiculously relieved.

  “Are you kidding? No way. I was making them beg for a smile.”

  He laughed out loud. “Now that I can absolutely picture. Poor suckers. They never stood a chance.” He arched one eyebrow, every bit the male surveying his prize. “But you’re right. Maybe your daddy can’t ground you anymore, but even if we started out in separate beds, we wouldn’t stay that way long.” Golden eyes glowed in the moonlight.

  “So just to be safe, I’m going to sleep in my truck and you, Penelope, are going to lock your doors.”

  Bridger damned his sense of fair play the second the words left his lips.

  It was the right thing to do, though. They’d had fun, but their earlier accusations highlighted how much stood between them, how different their worlds were. Everything was different now that they’d returned to Sweetgrass.

  He loved it here but couldn’t stay.

  She could choose to stay but she wanted nothing to do with the place.

  There was no way for this to work. Even if he could figure out what this was.

  Great sex, definitely.

  Fun fooling around? Oh, yeah.

  But that was on the road. Sweetgrass was serious. It was real.

  And in the stark light of reality, they had no common ground.

  “It’s going to be chilly,” she protested as he walked her to her door and opened it. “I said you could have the bed.”

  He peered past her to see the furniture in question. “Your legs are damn near as long as mine. That couch was built for a midget.”

  “I can go over to the house. The furniture is built for big people there.”

  He didn’t want her that far away, no matter that they didn’t suit. “Look—” He heaved a breath. “This doesn’t have to be hard.”

  “It doesn’t?” Her brow arched.

  He shook his head ruefully. “Everything with you is complicated, isn’t it?”

  “I won’t be here long.”

  Did she sound a little regretful? “When will you leave?”

  “I—I’m not sure.”

  They hadn’t touched in hours. Maybe that was the problem. “I know you’ll leave. I have to go back, too. But while we’re both here?” He caught her ocean-blue gaze with his. Then realized all the expectations they would set in place with the others if they slept together in Sweetgrass. “Forget it. You’re right—everyone would notice. I’m going to sleep in my truck. I have my sleeping bag. I’ve slept in far worse conditions. I’ll be fine.”

  “But—” She subsided. “You’re right. No one would understand. They’d think—”

  That you’re gorgeous and lonely? That you need this place? Need…connections?

  She’d run at the very idea, though, he knew her well enough for that. She was too brittle, too scared, too…alone. And why her family didn’t see that—

  What do you plan to do to fix it? You’re a healer, but you can’t heal this if she won’t let you.

  And she wouldn’t. She’d been perfectly clear. All of this was temporary.

  He could talk to Mackey about her, though… but she wouldn’t like it.

  “’Night, Penelope. Sweet dreams.”

  She stood with the door open, every line of her frame displaying indecision. He could be in her bed in ten seconds, he could tell.

  But the trip was over, the time out of mind. Real life had reared its ugly head.

  And didn’t she have problems enough already? Hell, didn’t he have a lot to think about himself? “Lock the door, honey.”

  She chewed at her lower lip, and he barely kept himself from mounting the steps again.

  So he could mount her. Claim her.

  “Help me out here, darlin’.”

  Lawyer Pen straightened and visibly donned her armor.

  But even when she closed the door and he heard the lock, he wasn’t comforted.

  The lock he couldn’t pick hadn’t been invented.

  His principles would have to keep him away.

  Damn it.

  Chapter Ten

  In the morning, Pen stretched and rolled over to nuzzle Bridger—

  Her eyes popped open. He wasn’t there.

  Which was smart and exactly what she wanted.

  Except…she missed him. Wanted to see that smile, watch those lion eyes twinkle with mischief. Wanted the battle of wits.

  Wanted to apologize for making him feel bad about his missing siblings.

  Her phone rang.

  “Are you home?” Rissa demanded. “I saw Bridger’s truck leave at the crack of dawn. Took your mission seriously, didn’t you?”

  “We didn’t—”

  “Sleep together?” Rissa snickered. “Then you’ve lost your touch, Princess.”

  They had slept together, but—“Rissa…”

  “All right, all right. I’ll stop teasing—but you know Bridger’s the best, right? If you did sleep with him, I’ll only say you go, girl. I’m not too in love to see how hot the man is.”

  “Rissa, I’m not—he isn’t—”

  “Wow. My Sissy squirming. I like it.”

  “Clary…”

  “Whoa. That’s the big sister tone. Okay, I’m done.”

  Where had he gone? She wouldn’t ask, though. “So, um, what’s up?”

  “I’m coming over. Get the coffee started. You can help me today.”

  Pen’s eyebrows rose. “Good morning to you, too, Bossy. Did I give you the mistaken impression that I want to work with your horses? I don’t do animals, Rissa.”

  “But Bonanza has taken a shine to you, and it’s high time you learned to ride.”

  “I can ride.”

  Her sister snorted. “Like a three-year-old.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “How many times in your life do you think you’ve actually been on horseback? Three? Four?”

  So she’d liked the indoors better, growing up. So sue her. “More times than that.”

  “The fact remains that you suck as a rider, and you’re bad for my business.”

  “What?”

  “Mackey’s telling half of the known world that I’m the best horse trainer ever, yet my own sister can’t ride. It looks bad, Penny.”

  “And you’ve always cared so deeply about your image.” The sister who wore dusty jeans and t-shirts and thought a clean plaid shirt with snaps was a fashion statement.

  “Get your coffee and meet me in the pen in fifteen.” Rissa hung up.

  Excuse me? When did our roles get reversed? I’m the big sister.

  But she hadn’t been a good one. She’d left Rissa to the mercies of their miserable father and flown away as fast as she could. She heaved a sigh. “Oh, all right,” she muttered. What else did she have to do?

  Besides go back and fight for the life she’d had.

  I promise I will ruin you.

  It’s your home, Penelope. Can’t you feel that? Can’t you feel the love waiting for you to accept it?

  She dragged the covers over her head to shut out all the voices.

  And, completely out of character, tumbled back into sleep.

  Bridger wasn’t sure why he lit out at dawn instead of talking to Penelope or checking in with Mackey. He’d do all that…later. Right now, he was going to have breakfast at Ruby’s. He was on vacation, right? He didn’t have to account for his time.

  But damn, he’d like to be in bed with Penelope, her endless legs wrapped around his hips, her soft, breathy sighs in his ear as he—


  Stop it. They couldn’t sleep together without generating interest, and the nearest motel was at least fifty miles away—plus, she was leaving. She would return to D.C., of course, because even if she was scared and uncertain right now, she wasn’t a coward.

  She would fight her battles as she appeared to do everything else: alone. He wanted to help, but realistically, what did he have to offer her?

  Jackson, with his endless resources, could help her, though, if he knew what she was facing. No one but Bridger did, though.

  Coffee. Food. Things would look clearer then, surely. He got out of his truck and walked into Ruby’s.

  And had to laugh. The waitress Jeanette, a tall, skinny blonde, was arguing with a customer—not that this was any big surprise. The woman’s saucy tongue had an edge to it, and she plied it like a switchblade.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Her pen poised over her ordering pad. “You actually think the Longhorns have a snowball’s chance in hell this year? They’ll be lucky to finish with eight wins.”

  Bridger realized it was country music’s Entertainer of the Year Walker Roundtree she was arguing with. He was surprised Roundtree had returned after singing at the double wedding as a favor to Mackey.

  But then, Sweetgrass had a pull…

  Roundtree was grinning. “You don’t understand football if you’d say that.”

  Bridger could see steam practically escaping her ears. “And you’ve been spending too much time wearing tight blue jeans if you think—”

  Just then, Scarlett entered the dining room. “Jeanette,” she warned, “Bridger’s here and needs his order taken.”

  The waitress’s head whipped around. A smile broke out. “Thank heavens. Someone who doesn’t wear makeup for a living.”

  The collective gasp in the room nearly created a vacuum.

  Bridger glanced at Roundtree, whose grin, if anything, had widened.

  He looked back at the approaching waitress. “Hey, Jeanette. You having a good morning, I see?”

  She snorted. “I was until the riffraff showed up.”

  Bridger couldn’t help his chuckle. He saw Scarlett move over to Roundtree’s booth to smooth over the situation, if need be.