Texas Wide Open

by KC Klein

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured in her ear, glad he could hide behind her soft tresses, suddenly afraid to look her in the eye. He held her close, wanting to let his body tell her what he couldn’t. He wasn’t just sorry about James, or what happened with Sweet Thing, or about forcing her to run away. He was sorry about not running after her. That most of all.

  She nodded again.

  Were her fingers in his hair? He was afraid to hope.

  “I know,” she said, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Cole. I didn’t mean what I said. I was angry. I just . . .” Her voice trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.

  They stood locked in an embrace in the middle of the cheery kitchen, and the moments slipped them past two friends comforting each other and into something else altogether. He could feel her breath deepen and was afraid it mirrored his own.

  Thoughts of how he’d worked all day in the stables, was dirty, probably smelled even worse flashed across his mind. And thoughts of how he shouldn’t be holding her. Really shouldn’t have his hands wrapped around her lower back like a lover instead of a friend.

  He went to move, he did, but . . . he wasn’t indebted to her father anymore, and she wasn’t seventeen. And he needed her to know she belonged here with him—always had, always would. But every time he imagined telling Katie, he saw her walking away. Shutting him down.

  In the end it was Katie who moved. She pulled back slightly and tilted her face up toward his. Her lips were so close. Perfect, soft, wide—and he watched as they parted with an invitation plainer than any spoken declaration. He searched her eyes. Whiskey eyes, heavy with tears, and he bent his head. His lips brushed hers, just a touch because he wanted to remember this. Before, their heat had burned fast and furious, and years later the lesser moments had been lost in the fire. But not now, this time he’d imprint every second in his memory. Never take for granted again.

  He could feel her body shift, ease against his as her mouth pressed for more. He tasted her with the tip of his tongue. She made a soft murmur in the back of her throat. God, her little noises, her whimpers and moans had tortured his nights, and when he’d been weaker, had him chasing the tequila just to forget. He could feel the passion rise between them, and knew it wouldn’t take much for things to go further. But he wanted to show her he could be gentle, soft, her safe place to land—that there was a place for them between the fire and the ice.

  So he nipped her bottom lip to keep from tasting her fully and pulled back. Her eyes shone clear as tears slipped from the corners. It took everything he had not to capture them with his tongue. Instead, her hand came up, fingers brushed at the wetness.

  And there, two inches from his face, glistening with more facets than any compressed rock had a right to, was a diamond.

  He counted which finger—third. Which hand—left. And still the pieces didn’t come together. But the caveman inside him already understood.

  His hands gripped her arms. And her face paled.

  No. Mine.

  Then betrayal so deep he could hear the ripping of his heart. “What the hell is that?”

  “Rise and shine, Texas,” Jett said, taking a childish delight in kicking Nikki’s booted feet. He hated those boots anyway. What self-respecting Texan wore combat boots instead of cowboy boots?

  She woke with a snort, her azure eyes wide as she took in her surroundings. (Yeah, he knew what color azure was also, though he’d never admit it, even under torture.)

  Nikki’s newly dyed hair obscured half her face as she peered out and looked from Jett to Suzy and then back again. With the back of her hand she wiped the drool off her cheek and then yawned. “Wow, I really passed out.”

  She stood and stretched, making her black tank top inch up to expose a strip of smooth tan skin at her waist. “Gosh, took you awhile. Were you far?”

  It was hard to process that anyone could be this self-centered, but then again this was Nikki. Jett turned to Suzy. “She’s beyond redemption. I’ve created a monster.”

  “What?” Nikki looked him up and down as if seeing him for the first time. “Damn, you look hot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tux. Let me guess—one of Daddy’s special dinners. How many old women did you convince to give you a check?” She wiggled her dark brows up and down like a Marx brother.

  Jett seriously thought about killing her. Not highly recommended in a police station . . . and with a witness. Instead, he grabbed her by the arm and began hauling her down the hall. His stride was long, but in typical Nikki fashion, she matched him step for step—for some reason annoying him even more.

  They pushed out through the double metal doors of the jail and into the night air. The slight breeze from the sudden cold front chilled his skin as he dragged her over to his truck. He pressed his key fob. Years of Southern training had him reaching to open the passenger door for her. Halfway he stopped. It was time to turn a new leaf, no more Mister Nice Guy. Instead, he walked back around and hopped in his truck, letting Nikki fend for herself.

  She fended for herself all right by leaning against the passenger-side door and waiting for him.

  He shook his head.

  She knocked on the window.

  Seriously? He should just leave her as . . . He watched her rub her arms against the night air.

  Where was her jacket? She never did seem prepared for what life threw at her.

  No, he wouldn’t ask. Not his problem.

  He cast his eyes over her again, sighed, then reached over and popped the door open. He’d start the tough guy routine soon enough.

  Nikki hopped in, turned the heater on, and pointed both vents toward her. “Don’t you want to at least hear my side of the story?”

  “No.” Jett stared straight ahead as he pulled his truck out of the parking lot and started on the road home. From the corner of his eye he saw her shiver. He reached over and threw his tux jacket in her lap.

  “It wasn’t my fault this time.”

  “It never is.”

  “I promise. I shouldn’t get arrested just for throwing a drink in some jerk’s face.”

  “The charge was disorderly conduct. Suzy said you started a bar fight.”

  “The charge will never stick. He and his friends were drinking and you know how bikers can get. Besides, we both know Bert has always had it out for me.”

  “And you have had nothing to do with why Deputy Porter has it out for you.”

  “He takes things too personally. It’s his job to keep the peace. I mean, what else is he supposed to do on a Saturday night?”

  “A comment I hope you were smart enough to keep to yourself?”

  Nikki sighed. “I seem to have a problem keeping things to myself lately.”

  “Hence the thousand-dollar fee.” Jett shook his head. He had said all of this before, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “You have a chip on your shoulder as big as they come, and a mouth that needs to be washed out. After a while people are going to stop putting up with it. You’re gonna get yourself beat up or worse—killed.”

  “Already happened. Well, not the getting killed part, obviously.” She turned and pushed back her hair, showing him the side of her face that had been hidden from him. Even in the darkness of the cab he could see the shadowed color of her swollen cheek.

  “Son of a—” but he stopped himself. He wasn’t going to feel sorry for her. She’d brought this on herself, except that didn’t help the calling in his blood to hunt down whoever had done this to her. “This has gotta stop, Nik. Hustling pool is dangerous. The money can’t be worth your life.”

  Nikki rummaged through his glove compartment and found a nail file she’d stuck in there years ago. “It’s easy for you, Jett. Everyone loves you. You’ve never had to go to school in Goodwill clothes. You’ve never had to Dumpster dive for a pair of sneakers just so you could try out for the track team. I know what they say about me behind my back—trailer-trash, half-breed. But you know what, Jett?” She looked at him, flicked her hair out of her face
, and gave him a dangerous smile. “I don’t give a f—”

  He cut her off. “Spare me your foul mouth pity-party. Prove you’re not white-trash and have a little class, Texas.”

  “I hate that nickname.”

  “I know.”

  “And I was going to say flip.” She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, but he caught the wounded expression in her eyes.

  “You might not care, but I do. You’re better than this.”

  This time when she smiled, it was a genuine-real-Nikki smile. And damn if his breath didn’t hitch.

  “The problem with that, Jett, is you’re the only one who’s ever thought so.”

  The words went straight to his heart, but he couldn’t deny it. No matter what a pain in the ass she was, she had a way of being brutally honest even when the truth didn’t paint the prettiest picture.

  There was something different about Jett tonight. Nikki had known him for the whole twenty-three years of her life. He’d been Cole’s best friend, well, his only friend. But Jett had been her friend also. Just about every good memory in her life was somehow, some way connected with Jett—building the fort in the tree out back, riding up to the corner store on their bikes, getting sick on cherry slushies and Jolly Ranchers. Jett had been the one to teach her how to drive, since by then her father had died, her mom was sick, and Cole had been working two jobs just to keep the lights on.

  The Logans had grown up hard. That was just the way of things. But when she was with Jett, life seemed different. Good things had always come easy to Jett, and the craziness was he expected life to continue to provide him with lemonade instead of lemons. It was strange being around someone so optimistic, and in a weird way his outlook gave her hope, not that she’d ever let Jett know. He was too full of himself as it was.

  Yeah, but tonight Jett was definitely different. Was it in the way he gripped the steering wheel, took a corner a bit too fast? The rigid hunch of his shoulders or the charged silence in the air? There was an edge to him that Nikki rarely saw. An edge and a . . . carelessness? No, she must’ve misread the signs. Jett was never careless. He was a charmer and rarely left things to chance. From his clothes, to his truck, to his house, he was meticulous in everything he did.

  Maybe his mood had something to do with her interrupting his party tonight? Had he been with a girl? Probably. He was always with one girl or another. Nikki shrugged and snuggled deeper into Jett’s suit jacket. She turned her nose into the collar. The fabric smelled like him. He was the only man she knew who wore aftershave. Most men smelled like sweat, road, and horse. Not Jett. He smelled like spice, like the night. He smelled of confidence and power—that’s what a person had when he was rich. There was more to being wealthy than buying fancy clothes and expensive cars. There was a scent of pride, the aroma of prerogative. Or maybe it was the lack of something. Maybe there was just no stench of desperation.

  Nikki would’ve bet that a house in the Hamptons and a stack of a million dollar bills smelled exactly the same—like an Avery.

  Nikki and Jett drove in silence until they finally pulled into Jett’s driveway. For the life of her, Nikki would never understand why Jett chose to live in Grove Oaks. Sometime during Jett’s high school years his daddy’s investments had paid off, and the whole family had moved to a town where the front yards turned into estates and the houses into mansions. Yet, when Jett had gotten his own home, he’d bought a modest ranch house in Grove Oaks. Nikki didn’t get it. She’d asked him once why he hadn’t left, but he’d just shaken his head and said that this was where his family was.

  Not to Nikki. She might’ve grown up here, but this would not be the place where she’d be buried. The desperate need to leave this town kept her up at night. Kept her practicing her trick shots for hours a day. Kept her driving to pool halls towns away looking for that easy mark. And yet, Jett never wanted to leave. He had the means to travel the world, but had made Grove Oaks his home. She’d never understand the wealthy.

  She was surprised when Jett got out of the truck and then came around and opened her door. “You’re not taking me home?”

  “I’m not in the mood to be driving all that way. Call Cole and let him know you’ll be crashing on my couch until morning.”

  But she knew she wouldn’t have to. Cole was preoccupied with Mr. Harris. When Cole had called her and told her what had happened, she’d felt terrible. But not even for Mr. Harris could she make herself enter a hospital.

  Nikki walked toward Jett’s house still snuggled in his jacket. She needed to get the old Jett back. The one who teased her, laughed at her jokes, made her feel safe enough to relax. She needed to catch him off guard. “And I thought when a lady stayed over she always got the bed?”

  Jett had started opening the front door, but then slammed it shut. His one hand braced against the wall behind her, his bitter gaze doing its best to stare her down. “I don’t bring women home, and the only way you’re getting into my bed is if I’m in it.”

  Usually she would laugh. Charming Jett loved to throw innuendos around as a way to tease her. But this time there was no humor in his eyes. Nikki broke first, not at all sure where she stood with this harder Jett.

  He opened the door again, and she quickly brushed by him, getting more and more uncomfortable with how this night was going.

  Jett reached behind her and flipped on the switch. The man must’ve spent a fortune in lighting alone. Maybe from the outside Jett’s real estate wasn’t much, but the inside showed his taste ran toward the expensive. Dark wood floors had been laid throughout the house, showing off modern cream and white furnishings with crisp lines and simple silhouettes. A gray steel paint colored the walls, a perfect backdrop for the large pieces of modern black-and-white art. Each picture displayed perfectly with its own separate lighting. A huge flat-screen television hung opposite the couch, a column of electronic black boxes below. Expensive. Anal retentive. Bachelor.

  Jett’s display of wealth didn’t intimidate . . . or impress her at all. She wasn’t one of his dates looking for a rich husband or, better yet, a baby with the Avery DNA and eighteen years of child support. She plopped down on the butter-soft leather couch, kicked off her boots, and propped her feet on the glass table. She rearranged the small decorative pillows behind her head and sighed. She liked Jett’s house. Sure, it was a bit over the top, but when one considered his family, a person had to cut him some slack.

  Jett picked up her discarded boots and righted them in a neat row beside the couch. She watched as he made his way into the kitchen, and hearing cupboards open and close, she smiled quietly to herself. “Hey, make mine with milk, please. Oh, and sugar.”

  He simply had the best Earl Grey tea. He had it imported from England by the case, and nothing at the Sac and Save came even close. She grabbed the remote and started turning on the neat row of black boxes below the television. “You feel up to playing a little Mortal Kombat before bed? I gotta warn you I’ve been doing some hand stretches, and I’m ready to crush you.”

  The clinking of glasses was her only answer.

  She sighed. Jett didn’t usually give her the silent treatment, that was Cole’s specialty, but maybe she’d pushed him a bit much tonight. She’d have to apologize, not her forte, but lately she seemed to be getting a lot of practice.

  She gently palpated her swollen cheek. There hadn’t been any opportunity to apply ice, so she was sure her cheek was twice its normal size by now. After she’d thrown her drink and made a run for it, bandanna guy had somehow caught up from behind. He’d turned her around, and pow—right across the face. She’d gone flying. Bandanna guy had been a little quicker than she’d expected from one so old, but then, thank goodness, so had Mike. He had “Billy” out and was nose to barrel with the biker before she’d even picked herself up off the floor.

  That’s when the biker’s friends started trashing the place, and Mike finally called the cops.

  The scary part was . . . she hadn’t been scared at all. Sure
, she’d felt guilty over making trouble at the Pitt, but as she lay there on the floor she’d remembered thinking that if death was coming for her, then she’d accept it with nothing more than a nod and a sigh.

  She wasn’t sure what that made her—brave for being able to look death in the eye or a coward because at twenty-two she was ready to give up on life.

  She closed her eyes, suddenly tired, and was mid-yawn when something cold and plasticky fell into her lap. But it wasn’t the surprise of the bag of frozen peas that had her sitting straight up, all tiredness suddenly gone.

  It was Jett. Damn, the man was hot tonight. It really wasn’t fair . . . not to any woman walking the earth. And it sure wasn’t fair to her to have to compare every other man to him. Nikki didn’t know much about designer clothes, could’ve cared less actually. But on Jett the clothes looked as if they were made to fit the man, not off the rack or worse . . . in shrink-wrapped packages. His crisp white shirt was undone partway, showing a glimpse of tanned skin and smooth chest. His cuffs were unbuttoned and rolled up, displaying strong forearms corded with muscle. She’d never given much thought as to what Jett did to maintain his sexy bod, but now, noticing how he filled out his shirt, she was wondering what exactly his workouts were.

  In each hand he held a shot glass, one with a saltshaker in it and the other filled with cut-up lime pieces. A bottle of tequila was tucked under his arm. Nikki’s gaze rose to his face. This couldn’t be good.

  Jett sat down next to her and unloaded his offerings onto the coffee table.

  “I don’t drink,” Nikki said. Jett should know that. He knew her family history almost as well as she did.

  He opened the tequila and poured a generous amount of amber liquid into each glass.

  She smoothed her hair behind her ear. “Especially not tequila. It doesn’t sit right with me.” Not that she’d actually tried tequila, but she’d never tried jumping off a bridge either. Some things were just instinctual.