Something Sweeter

by Candis Terry

  Judging by the less-­than-­conspicuous stares, she wasn’t the only female in the bar who found his tall, muscular body a bit on the tasty side. In well-­worn cowboy boots, a snug pair of jeans, and a baby blue Henley shirt that hugged some impressive pecs and biceps, he also possessed a roller coaster of six-­pack abs.

  She, for one, had always been a thrill-­seeker.

  The glitter in his deep blue eyes was mesmerizing. His dark blond hair was on the long side and pulled back into a ponytail. She imagined that if he let it go, he’d resemble some mythological deity like Thor.

  Okay, so maybe he didn’t look like Marvin the Masher, and maybe several ­people in the place seemed to acknowledge their friendly acquaintance by the tip of a cowboy hat or bottle of beer. But he was far from what she’d deem as safe.

  Yet that wasn’t what tipped her uh-­oh meter.

  Jesse—­as he called himself—­was one hundred percent the kind of guy she’d always been attracted to and equally the kind who always wound up breaking her heart. Not that she ever planned to look for a forever guy. She just wanted any temporary one to quietly go away instead of ripping out her favorite organ and taking it with him when he left.

  Jesse looked like a bona fide heart ripper.

  Several seconds ticked off the clock before her pulsating girl parts won the coin toss, and she put her hand in his. His smile was not quite wolfish and not quite Boy Scout as he led her onto the dance floor. But when he took her into his arms and drew her up against that super yummy chest, any question of his intent took a leave of absence.

  The warm male scent of him filled her head as he held her close. And the heat from his hard, strong body radiated through layers of cotton. The lyrics of the song they danced to asked “Who are you when I’m not looking?” She was just looking for her bones—­which seemed to have gone missing.

  With their height difference and his leg moving between her thighs, some really interesting friction started going on in all the right places. Dangerously so.

  Get a grip, girl.

  Grasping for control, she briefly closed her eyes as he led her across the dance floor in smooth, seductive steps. As a distraction from what was going on in the rest of her body, she worked really hard to recite something other than “I want him” inside her head.

  A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, and she looked up.

  Big mistake.

  The look he’d angled her way suggested he knew exactly what was going on in her twisted noggin.

  “Something funny?” she asked.

  Slowly, he shook his head, and his hand slipped down to the small of her back to pull her in closer. “Just thinking that those high heels must be pretty uncomfortable to dance in.”

  She cocked her head. “You’re thinking about my shoes?”

  “I’m thinking about you taking off your shoes.”

  The rest he left unsaid. But she could guarantee the remainder of that sentence included her blouse, pants, and underwear. And because she started thinking along the same lines, she gave him a friendly pat on the chest and eased from his arms.

  “Thanks for the dance. Time for me to head on down the road.” If her shoes had been made of rubber, she would have left a burn mark heading for the door. But as she reached for the iron handle, his big hand was already there. She glanced up and found him smiling.

  “Wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to let you walk to your car alone.”

  “Like there might be lions, and tigers, and bears out there ready to eat me?”

  He flashed a smile. “Or something.” He pushed open the door and held it while she ducked beneath his arm and headed out into the dirt and gravel parking lot.

  She could put her legs in gear and run like hell, but that would seem too desperate. Somehow, she managed a controlled pace that didn’t scream “Get me out of here before I jump this guy.”

  “Where are you parked?”

  A spring storm crackled across the sky, and the wind lifted the ends of her hair as she pointed to the silver economy car she’d rented at a lunch-­box-­sized place near the San Antonio airport. The pebbles embedded in the dirt made a serious attempt to twist her ankles as she hurried across the lot.

  “You know,” he said, following at a leisurely pace behind, “I can’t help but wonder why a woman like you would choose to come to a less-­than-­reputable honky-­tonk all by herself.”

  “Beats sitting in a motel room.”

  “True. But since Sweet doesn’t have any motel rooms . . .”

  “I’m staying at a bed-­and-­breakfast,” she said quickly, unwilling to reveal anything about herself. Though Jesse had good time guaranteed written all over him, she hadn’t come to Sweet looking for romance. Or to get laid.

  Unfortunately.

  It was time she refocused on her purpose for flying in all the way from Washington State.

  “Paige and Aiden’s place?”

  As she reached the little silver car, she turned and looked up at him. “Who?”

  “The Honey Hill B&B?”

  “You don’t expect me to give out that information, do you? We just met. You could be Ted Bundy Jr. for all I know.”

  “I’m harmless.”

  She doubted that.

  She pulled the key from her front pocket and thumbed the fob to unlock the door. To his credit, he didn’t try to corral her against the car or lean in for a kiss. With the storm flashing at his back, he just stood there as if waiting for her to make a move.

  She did.

  It just wasn’t the one he was probably hoping for.

  “Oh, darn,” she said with a dramatic look back at the glowing neon lights of the saloon. “I forgot my purse. The bartender put it behind the bar for me.”

  “No problem.” His bordering-­on-­cocky smile turned Good Samaritan. “I’ll get it for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. And then she made mondo mistake numero uno as her fingers spontaneously curled into the front of that warm, snug shirt, and she pulled him down to kiss his sexy, beard-­shadowed cheek. “You’re such a gentleman.”

  Mondo mistake number two came when, caught up in his warm masculine scent that oozed with sexual promise, she allowed her lips to linger on that cheek.

  Lightning flashed in his sexy eyes, and before she could say “Holy hot stuff, Batman,” his big hand covered hers and he lowered his head.

  In her experience, kisses could easily be judged on a sliding scale from “meh” to “za-­zing.” When Jesse’s mouth met hers, she struggled to hang on to the tail of the skyrocket he ignited.

  Smooth masculine lips. Firm yet soft. Possessive but not aggressive. Sexy and . . . yeah. Really sexy.

  And dangerous.

  Really dangerous.

  And because she certainly didn’t have the power to back away, she was oddly disappointed and yet relieved when he raised his head and looked up at the tempestuous sky.

  “Better get in the car and out of this storm.” That deep “Come here, baby” voice rumbled against her chest. “I’ll be right back with your purse.” He let go of her hand and turned. The neon red of the overhead sign shone down on his hair and gave him a devilish allure as those long, muscular legs jogged toward the bar.

  With an appreciative “Mmm mmmm mmmmm,” Allison watched until his ultra-­fine backside disappeared inside the bar.

  Jesse pulled open the saloon door and went inside just as another bolt of lightning streaked across the sky and thunder rolled overhead. He was glad he’d told her to get inside her car. No sense taking any chances. Though brief, that kiss she’d given him had definitely been an invitation. He’d had no choice but to respond.

  Well, his head had given him a choice.

  His body?

  Uh-­uh.

  Even now, as the taste of her lingered on his lips, he made plans
for her that included his hot tub and the bottle of Malbec he’d bought on a tour down the Texas Wine Trail a few weeks ago.

  With a rowdy outlaw song raising the roof, the sound level inside the bar had become unbearable. Dodging folks bent on having a good time, he made his way across the room to find Smitty Johnson, not Rory, tending bar.

  “You got a purse back there?” he shouted over the music.

  “When did you start batting for the other team?”

  “Ha-­ha.” Everybody had to be a comedian. “Just look will you?”

  Smitty wiped his hands on a towel and bent at his beer belly to do a quick search. He came up with a shake of his head. “Got a carton of Marlboros and a box of Trojans but no purse.”

  “You sure?”

  He checked again. “Yep.”

  Shit.

  Suspicion dropped over him like a net as he crossed the bar, pushed open the door, and stepped back out onto the old-­fashioned boardwalk crossing the front of the building.

  A bolt of lightning lit up the sky, revealing the now-­vacant parking space where Allie’s little silver car had sat just moments ago.

  Empty.

  Gone.

  Message received.

  Invitation revoked.

  Chapter 2

  With all the hustle and bustle going on at Wilder Ranch, one would think a huge event was about to take place. But as Jesse pulled down the gravel road and parked in the shade of the barn, he knew that Reno and Charli’s wedding was still a few weeks off, Jackson and Abby were waiting to get married until they finished building their new house, and his mother and her new beau hadn’t yet set a date. So the reason for all the hoopla in the courtyard that had everyone scrambling left him scratching his head.

  True, his mother and her usual last-­minute hectic flair were no surprise. The woman had been known to throw together a carnival-­sized event in only a few hours. She also couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. Yet somehow she’d managed to keep the purpose for this little shindig hush-­hush. No doubt she had another bombshell up her sleeve like the one she’d sprung on them a few months ago when she’d announced she was marrying a man she barely knew.

  In the past few years, their family had been to hell and back. First, his oldest brother had been killed in Afghanistan. Less than a year later, their father unexpectedly died. And when Reno’s former fiancée was killed in a head-­on collision just days before their wedding, it seemed the rest of them would never survive their heart-­crushing grief. With the worry of his littlest brother Jake—­or maybe since the subject stood close to six-­foot-­four he should say youngest brother—­still fighting with the Marines in the sandpit, maybe they all deserved a little fun.

  Whatever the reason.

  As Jesse sat in his truck for a moment, watching the flurry of activity just beyond his windshield, he realized life had recently begun to turn around. Reno had met the beautiful and vivacious Charli and was about to be married. Jackson and Abby, the girl he’d loved nearly his whole life, had finally found their way back to each other. And now his mother had seemed to find someone. Thankfully, it seemed as though things were settling down.

  He switched off the ignition and swiped a hand over his eyes, fighting the exhaustion that had settled deep in his bones.

  After he’d shaken off the encounter with the gorgeous yet quick-­footed brunette named Allie, he’d gone straight home from Seven Devils. He’d barely crawled into bed when he’d received the call from a frantic Francine Meyers about her favorite mare. Seemed the onetime champion cutting horse was about to foal, and Ms. Meyers didn’t believe all was going well. As the only veterinarian within a thirty-­mile radius, he’d ended up sitting on a bed of hay all night. Though he believed the mare would do fine, he’d stayed because he couldn’t bear to know Ms. Meyers would wring those arthritic hands all alone as she watched over her beloved pet.

  She’d kept him company all those long hours, bringing him hot cups of tea and amusing him with stories of the days she’d competed in the circuit. His father had also competed, and Reno still rode the man’s champion cutter.

  After the mare delivered a pretty buckskin filly just fine, Jesse made it home just as the sun came up. He’d barely had time to shower before heading straight to the clinic for his Saturday appointments. Luckily, his vet assistant and future sister-­in-­law, Abby, had only scheduled him for a few well-­pet visits and vaccinations, and they’d made it out of there in time for his mother’s . . . mysterious celebration.

  “All y’all quit your dillydallying,” his mother shouted with a swipe of an arm across her forehead to sweep back the bangs of her big blond Texas-­sized hairdo. “The surprise will be here soon.”

  Message received, Jesse slid from his truck to jump in and help. He made it as far as the picnic tables where Charli, Abby, and Annie—­Abby’s younger sister who was pregnant and had been abandoned by the baby’s jackass father—­spread out calico-­print tablecloths. Fiona, Jackson’s ex-­wife, kept busy popping fresh-­cut daisies into galvanized watering cans and arranging the colorful Fiesta Ware. His brothers were setting out bowls of side dishes, including Jesse’s favorite fried green tomatoes and fried okra. Jackson and Fiona’s three-­year-­old daughter, Izzy, made a running leap for Jesse. He caught her, swung her up into his arms, and was rewarded with a sticky kiss on the cheek.

  “Hi, Unca Jethe.”

  “Hey, little darlin’.” He gave her a loud smooch on the forehead. “What have you been eating?”

  Her little Cupid’s bow of a mouth curled up in a red-­stained grin. “Gwanma’s jam.”

  “Ah.” He kissed her again, avoiding the sticky spots, then turned to the remainder of the crew. “What the . . . heck’s going on?” he asked everyone.

  Reno looked up with a shake of his head. “Mom won’t even tell me this time.”

  “Oooh. And you’re the favorite,” Jesse joked, knowing it would set off Jackson. His little brother didn’t disappoint.

  “He is not. I’m Mom’s favorite.”

  “Nuh-­uh, Daddy.” Izzy, having learned somewhere in her infancy that everything in the Wilder household was a competition, jumped in with her two cents. “I’m Gwanma’s favwit.”

  Jesse laughed and gave her another kiss on the cheek. When she squirmed, he set her down to go visit Miss Giddy, their mother’s pet goat. Today, the fashion-­conscious farm animal sported a flashy neon pink satin ribbon around her long brown neck.

  “So how’d it go with your girl last night?” Reno asked.

  “His girl?” the four adult females within hearing range echoed.

  “Not open for discussion.” Jesse shook his head and turned to go help his mother.

  Jackson hooted. “Guess that means no additional notches on the bedpost.”

  Jesse raised his middle finger and left his brothers cackling like old hens. In the distance, the big grill he and those same pain-­in-­the-­ass siblings had constructed several years back, awaited his arrival.

  When they’d all still been together, Jared, the oldest and by far the wisest, had come up with the idea to build the barbecue monstrosity. Together, he and Reno came up with the design. The five of them had then donned welding masks and gloves to make it happen. The creation ended up much larger than the original design, and some jokingly called it a military tank. But with the blowout community barbecue the Wilder family hosted once a year, not to mention their ever-­growing brood, the structure grilled some amazing meals.

  The memory of creating that steel contraption sent a bone-­deep ache through his chest. Jared had loved to sit in the nearby shade of the oak trees with a cold bottle of beer, tending the brisket or ribs or whatever he’d thrown on the fire. The day of Jared’s funeral, the grill had sat cold and empty.

  Jake, the baby of the family, had a scar down his right arm from tearing it on the sheet metal they�
��d used. His remedy had been to cover it up with a tribal tattoo the Marine Corp didn’t much appreciate. Jake was currently deployed to Afghanistan, and it had been over a year since any of them had seen him. Jesse missed him like hell, and he spent many sleepless nights worrying about Jake’s safety.

  He smiled, thinking of the bundle of trouble their mom and dad had brought home almost thirty years ago.

  Being the youngest hadn’t slowed Jake down. He gave as good as he got when it came to whatever his big brothers were up to. Which usually meant trouble in the form of two or more weeks of restriction. When it came to the military, no one had any doubt Jake was a lifer. He’d quickly moved up in the ranks and still gave the rest of them shit for bailing out when their contracts expired. They’d all made excuses, but after Jared’s death, most of them just didn’t have the heart to fight anymore.

  Jake? He had a score to settle with the enemy. But like a true, dedicated soldier, he pushed his personal beliefs aside to do his job, and he did it extremely well. Jesse figured that one of these days, all that pent-­up emotion would blow like Mount St. Helens.

  Providing his little brother came home at all.

  “Hey, Mom.” Smoke billowed out of the grill in a tangy-­sweet aroma that made his mouth water. “How about you sit over there in the shade while the rest of us finish putting things together?”

  “Oh.” She looked up at him with blue eyes that matched his own and patted his cheek. “Y’all are just so thoughtful. Sometimes it makes my heart want to leap clean out of my chest.”

  Whatever the reason for the party, his mother had been in a tizzy since her new beau, Martin Lane, had asked for her hand in marriage. And though Jesse and his brothers weren’t quite yet sold on the man their mother planned to marry, it was only because they didn’t know him well enough. Then there was the issue that all of them were still, and maybe always would be, mourning the loss of their father. While no one would replace the man who’d taught them the ways of the world, they all wanted to see their mother happy.