The Cowboy Upstairs

by Tanya Michaels

  “Been a long time.” Gabe winced in mock sympathy. “Sorry to see you’ve gotten even uglier since I saw you last.”

  “You haven’t—but then it’s hard to go down when you were already at rock bottom.”

  Gabe cackled at that. “Did Lewis talk to you about tonight? A bunch of us are going to The Catfish Shack. Knock back a few cervezas, charm some pretty senoritas... You in?”

  “Absolutely.” For the beer, anyway. Sawyer’s interest in flirting with attractive women was as halfhearted as his lamentable ride. Not true. He recalled the way Becca had looked this morning, when she’d grinned at him and sassed that he needed to get out of her house before rush hour. As tired and dusty as he was, he knew that if she were at the restaurant tonight, where scheduled bands performed everything from zydeco music to Czech polkas, his interest would be boundless. He’d want to take her out on the dance floor...and back to his hotel room.

  With the festival kicking off this weekend, there would be numerous events where he could indulge his first wish; maybe she would agree to dance with him. As for his second wish? Ha. Yet it felt as if the magnetic pull between them had been steadily growing. Was there a chance Becca had changed her mind?

  Sawyer grinned, already looking forward to seeing her tomorrow. The thrill of rodeo riding might be starting to fade, but there were plenty of other challenges that could keep his life exciting.

  * * *

  GOOD TO BE back home. The uncensored thought jolted Sawyer worse than the potholes that had threatened his tire rims and shocks just outside the county line. He turned off the truck, staring through the windshield at Becca’s place. This was no more “home” than any of the circuit hotels he’d stayed in or bunkhouses he’d shared with other ranch hands when he picked up seasonal work. And yet it felt more welcoming than the tiny apartment he rented as his base of operations, probably because he was never there long enough to settle in or decorate beyond the essentials—a bed and a TV.

  Never mind the “home” part, he told himself as he rounded the house to the back stairs and his private entrance. It’s just nice to be back where there’s a generous-sized tub. He’d awakened this morning with some predictably sore muscles and a few new bruises. Some mineral salt and a soak in that claw-foot tub sounded like heaven. After the nonstop activity of the rodeo yesterday and last night’s rollicking good time at the noisy club, he was looking forward to the peace and quiet, too. He doubted anyone would be home midmorning on a Thursday. Marc should be in school, Becca was probably at work and Molly... No telling, but he was sure Becca had her somewhere—applying for a receptionist job, volunteering at the local food bank, taking an aptitude test.

  He didn’t doubt that Becca’s intentions were good, but did she realize that her manic efforts could backfire? Molly might resent being pressed into service 24/7 and rebel. What if she got herself fired from the theater or tanked a community college application just to give herself a break?

  None of my business, though. He’d interfered once and regretted it. From here on out, the Baker sisters would have to work out their own differences of opinion.

  Still...seeing their sibling relationship with the clarity of an outsider’s perspective was making him think more about his own brother. They’d been so close once; part of him missed that. Maybe he’d give Charlie a call some night soon. He still hadn’t congratulated him in person about the baby—not that over the phone was in person, exactly, but it was better than a text.

  As expected, the house was empty.

  But not entirely quiet. He’d just removed his shirt and pulled the mineral salt from the cabinet under the bathroom sink when he heard Trouble barking furiously. Obviously, she’d heard him moving around upstairs. She’d probably been in her crate for hours; taking her outside before he indulged in his bath was the humane thing to do.

  He had to pass through Becca’s room to reach the master bath where the kennel was, and being in her private sanctuary felt odd. The room was so intensely female...from faint lingering perfume in the air to the pale pink curtains and the jewelry box on her dresser. Her bed almost made him laugh; it was made with military precision. Although he’d never do it, his fingers itched to scoot one of the decorative throw pillows a millimeter to the side, as an experiment to see whether Becca would notice. Of course she would. Then she’d rightfully toss you out into the street for touching her personal things.

  No more fixating on her bed. Or the idea of her in it. Or the pleasant fantasy of sharing it with her. He groaned. At this rate, he should skip the muscle-healing bath and take a cold shower instead.

  From the bathroom came a yip of impatience, and he gave himself an inner shake. Right. Dog, bath, move on with his day. As he unlatched the kennel, Trouble tripped over her own feet, scrabbling to reach him and lick his face.

  “Could we turn the adoration down to, like, a nine?” he asked, holding her at arm’s length. “I like you, but no doggy kisses.”

  Growing up, he’d talked to the pintos and Arabian horses in the barn, so he didn’t feel self-conscious about his one-sided conversation with Trouble. At least, he didn’t until he heard Becca advise from the bedroom beyond, “Maybe you should start with holding paws and work your way up to kisses.”

  A dozen reactions hit at once—from being embarrassed to hoping she wasn’t angry at his intrusion to being plain old happy to hear her voice—and he lost his grip on the puppy. Trouble bounded over to meet her mistress. Sawyer rose slowly, following at a more dignified speed. “Hope I wasn’t overstepping in here,” he called. “I just got in and thought Trouble could use...” He caught sight of her for the first time and her expression robbed him of words. She was gaping at him with raw appreciation that made his pulse quicken. He didn’t know what he’d been about to say; he only knew that if she kept looking at him like that, his jeans were going to get seriously uncomfortable.

  She swallowed. “You, ah... Your shirt.”

  He’d forgotten he was only half-dressed; it hadn’t seemed important when he’d had the house to himself. “Sorry?” He couldn’t commit to the word. While he hoped he hadn’t offended her, he couldn’t regret the way her gaze greedily traveled over him. “I thought you were at work.”

  She nodded, her voice huskier than usual. “I was. The school called—Marc forgot his lunch, so I was going to grab it and drop it off. But I figured I should let Trouble out while I was here...”

  “Great minds think alike,” he teased, stopping in front of her. But neither of them was actually moving to let the dog outside. Instead, they stood still, only inches apart, and Sawyer wondered if kissing her would be the smartest or dumbest thing he’d ever done. Damn, he wanted it, to feel her mouth beneath his, but she’d warned him off and he wasn’t going to push without a clear signal from her that she wanted it, too. So he balled his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her, and willed her to do something crazy—like pull him down on that perfectly made bed and have her wicked way with him.

  When Trouble barked, breaking the moment and stealing Becca’s attention, he felt a flare of irrational resentment toward the dog. I snagged you a home, and this is how you repay me? Thanks a lot, mutt.

  Becca scooped up the puppy. “I better get her outside before there are consequences.”

  “Probably a wise choice.” To his own ears, his voice sounded thick with disappointment. Did she notice? It was difficult to tell, since she was speed-walking in the opposite direction.

  Sawyer followed her to the kitchen, where she was hooking the leash to Trouble’s collar. “I’ll take her out. You have to get back to work and swing by the school, so...”

  “And you have writing to do?” she asked, as he opened the door.

  Right. Travel articles about the great state of Texas and places where the cowboy way of life still persisted. He’d only ever written nonfiction, yet he suddenly felt inspired
to try his hand at erotic short stories.

  “They’re good,” Becca said sincerely.

  Blinking, he whirled around to face her. She enjoyed erotic short stories?

  “Your pieces, I mean.”

  “Oh.” Reason belatedly caught up to his brain. But then he felt confused again. “You’ve read them?”

  Her smile bordered on shy. “A few. They made me realize that even though I’ve lived in Texas all my life, there are a lot of places I’ve never visited, landmarks I’d love to see. New experiences I’d like to try.”

  Be glad to help with that, sweetheart. “I’m glad they had an effect on you. That’s gratifying to hear.”

  Marc’s lunch box in hand, she followed him outside, choosing to go around the house to her minivan instead of through the front door. “Then I’m glad I told you. I was...a little embarrassed to admit it.”

  “Embarrassed you read a couple of nonfiction articles written in the specific hopes people would read them? Why?”

  “Embarrassed to be looking you up on the computer when I was supposed to be working. Or after I crawled into bed at night. It was a surreal experience, reading the words of a man who happened to be sleeping one floor above me.”

  She’d been in bed thinking about him. Without the tail of a shirt to help camouflage his growing erection, he turned away, letting Trouble explore some bushes in the opposite direction.

  After a moment, Becca said, “I’d better scoot. Have a good afternoon.”

  “You, too.” He tried to sound casual and not like a man choking on his own lust. “I’ll see you tonight.” And no doubt be thinking of her in all the hours in between.

  * * *

  BECCA STIRRED THE peppered white gravy that had once won a Cupid’s Bow cook-off; it was funny to think about how hard she’d worked to impress the judges when she first moved here and realize that next week she would be one of the judges. Also, now that she thought about it, it might be a little funny that they even had a gravy cook-off. Did other places do that? Maybe it was a small-town Texas thing; the quality of one’s chicken-fried steak was determined largely by the gravy that went over it.

  And tonight she was making her from-scratch chicken-fried steak, gravy and mashed potatoes. Normally, she coached soccer practice Thursday evenings, but since they were under a storm warning and the kids had just played two nights ago, she’d exercised her coach’s prerogative and canceled. For the first time since Sawyer had moved in, she was demonstrating her real cooking skills. Hopefully, it would impress him—because she was psyching herself up to ask him out.

  She could no longer deny what she wanted. Those few moments when he’d been shirtless in her bedroom today? Hotter than the last few times she’d actually been in bed with her ex-husband.

  Only a few days ago, she’d told Molly that she was someone who seized opportunity. And, with soccer practice out of the way, tonight was a unique opportunity. Molly and Vicki had headed into town for an evening at the local dance hall, and once Marc went to take his shower, Becca and Sawyer would have a few minutes of privacy. She could ask him to the concert Sunday. Or they could make reservations for the nice restaurant over in Turtle. Even the idea of opening some wine and watching the storm after Marc went to bed sounded like a promising date. Since Vicki would be bringing Molly home after their girls’ night, Becca had nowhere she had to be.

  Last night, when Sawyer had been away, she’d spent a lot of time thinking about him, thinking about how he’d be gone for real soon. And she’d come to realize that if they didn’t have at least one date before he left, she’d regret it. It had been a lonely two years since her divorce, and she might be in for quite a few more. Meanwhile, fate had delivered to her doorstep a funny, articulate, dead-sexy cowboy whose abs could have been sculpted from marble. Who was she to ignore that gift?

  The fact that he was so good with her kid was also heart melting. He was outside with Marc now, helping him pick flowers to press for science class.

  When the door banged shut and the two of them came in, Trouble on their heels, Becca admonished her son to wash his hands extra carefully before dinner.

  “Good idea,” Sawyer said. “I’m going to my room to wash up, too.” He was back a few minutes later in a fresh T-shirt, holding his hands out toward Becca. “I used soap and everything,” he teased. His playful expression faded as he inhaled deeply. “Lord, it smells good in here. Amazing, actually.”

  “Let’s hope the food tastes that way, too,” she said lightly. She wasn’t worried. Well, not about the dinner, anyway. Thinking ahead to later gave her butterflies. Get a grip. You are not afraid to make the first move.

  But maybe the butterflies weren’t a sign of fear. Maybe the fluttering was just giddy expectation. Now that she’d stopped trying to fight her attraction to him, it was stronger than ever. Each glance in his direction left her a little breathless, quivery with awareness and suppressed need. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she dropped a plate while trying to set the table.

  Marc returned, and once he’d presented his hands for inspection, they all sat down to eat. After his first bite of food, Sawyer gave a low moan, his expression one of rapture.

  “You can cook like this, yet you still order pizzas?” he demanded.

  She grinned, pleased by the compliment. “Well, this is pretty time-consuming. If it weren’t for practice being rained out...” She cast a guilty look at the sunshine streaming through the kitchen window. The weather front that had originally been forecast for this evening had veered south of them. “Anyway, I love to do it when I get the rare opportunity, but life doesn’t always cooperate. So eat up. Tomorrow we’re probably back to hot dogs or frozen lasagna.”

  Marc scrunched his nose. “Why would anyone eat lasagna that’s frozen? Blecch.”

  “No, I’d cook it in the oven first.”

  “Then it wouldn’t be frozen,” he pointed out with exaggerated patience. “You’re weird, Mama.”

  Sawyer winked at her from across the table. “But good weird.”

  * * *

  MOST DAYS, BECCA would give just about anything to slow down time—so that she could have more hours to spend with her son, more hours to research the feasibility of plans for the town, more hours to exercise and work off all that key lime pie. Yet tonight was moving so slowly that she wanted to scream in frustration. Dinner had been wonderful; if the way to a man’s heart was really through his stomach, Sawyer would be proposing any minute now.

  But as soon as they were done eating, while Becca struggled to find a reason to send Marc up to shower an hour early, her son tugged Sawyer into the other room so they could finish watching an eighties’ sci-fi movie they’d started before Sawyer had gone on his overnight trip. Marc had been waiting days to see the end. So while the guys laughed through a movie with terrible special effects and no discernible plot line, she cleaned the kitchen. Thoroughly. She had a lot of excess energy tonight, and while scrubbing counters and appliances wasn’t her first choice for burning through it, chicken-fried steak was a messy meal to prepare. Might as well put her vigor to good use.

  When she heard the music of the end credits, excitement tingled through her. There was a definite spring in her step as she moved to the doorway of the living room. “Marc, honey, why don’t you head up and take your shower now? Or...”

  Inspiration struck. “Would you rather take a bath? You still have that art kit Ms. Hadley gave you for your birthday.” It included colored bubbles and special crayons that could be used on the tile and generally made a mess—which Marc loved but she did not. Tonight, she would be willing for him to linger a bit longer in the tub while he colored and played. I am a very selfish mom.

  He grinned eagerly. “Cool! Can I get my toy boats and my water gun, too?”

  She was going to be mopping up puddles from the floor afterward. “Su
re.”

  Sawyer chuckled as he rose from the sofa. “I think I’ve been doing baths wrong. I had one earlier today, but it lacked art supplies and a fleet of ships.”

  Becca smiled over her son’s head and almost joked that now she knew what to get Sawyer as a parting gift, but the idea of saying goodbye to him made something inside her clench. Instead she told Sawyer, “I’m going to run upstairs and help Marc start his bath.” If she didn’t supervise the pouring of bubbles, the entire second floor would be suds city. “But after that, I, uh, I was hoping you and I could talk.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Did I forget to write something on the grocery pad?”

  “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Well, you have my interest piqued. How about I take Trouble for a quick walk, you take care of Marc and we’ll meet back here in about ten minutes?”

  Her heart raced. “Deal.”

  Chapter Ten

  Don’t jump to conclusions, don’t jump to conclusions. It had been Sawyer’s mantra all the way up the street. Just because Becca wanted some time alone with him didn’t guarantee that she wanted to further explore the chemistry that had sizzled between them earlier today. Still, with that impressive homemade dinner and the way she’d smiled when they agreed to meet back in a few minutes, it was difficult not to get his hopes up.

  “Hello, Sawyer!” Elderly Mrs. Spiegel was playing chess with her husband on the front porch, and they both waved in his direction. Earlier in the week, Sawyer had helped Mrs. Spiegel get her car started after her battery died. He’d heard from Brody—who’d heard from his aunt Marie—that Mrs. Spiegel was telling everyone in town that Sawyer was a hero.

  He waved back at the Spiegels, trying to look like a respectable citizen and not a pervert who wanted to get naked with his landlady at the soonest opportunity. You may have misread the signals. But just in case, he quickened his steps, urging Trouble back to the house. When he took the leash into the kitchen to hang on its appropriate hook, he found Becca pouring two glasses of wine.