Jake laughed. “Right. I’ve got to go up on the western fence line and make some repairs. Billy radioed it in when he was heading to the cistern. Looks like someone sliced through a few of the wires up there.”
“Near the lake?”
“Yeah. The section that butts up against Miles Cochran’s property. Should only take me a couple of hours to fix.”
“Kids then.”
“Yep. So, what are you going to do with your day?”
Tension crept over Hudson’s shoulders, and he shrugged again as he tried to loosen the muscles. He was stiff as a corpse from lying in bed for ten days straight. His back, legs, and neck hurt like fire. What he needed was a good deep-tissue massage. Or he could use a hard romp in the hay with a hot, busty blonde.
Too bad he couldn’t find anything like that in Freedom.
“Hud?”
He looked at Jake. “I guess I’ll look at what we can make for dinner. Make up a shopping list. You know, do the girly shit since I’m stuck in here.”
Jake grinned and grabbed his hat from the rack by the back door. “Don’t forget to watch your soaps and catch up on all the gossip shows.”
“Hey, some of those shows are very interesting.”
Jake’s snort echoed in the room as he left. The door slammed shut behind him.
Hudson sighed and sat down at the table. He pulled The Beacon of Freedom close to him. He wondered what fascinating tidbits the decades-long editor and owner Earl Banes included in this week’s edition. Earl Banes was known for cherry-picking topics and pretty much avoiding anything that would be considered real news.
Hud spent the next hour reading about Sadie Rose’s fundraising efforts for the library, a discourse on why Minerva Binswain’s generous bequest to the library could not be used for the fundraising, and all about Arte Kushing’s newest idea. Hudson wasn’t a fan of hot dogs in the first place, but Shot Dogs—sliced hot dogs with buns and fixings in a shot glass—sounded like it fell on the wrong side of disgusting to him.
On the other hand, a cheeseburger slider sounded delicious.
He could go for one—or twelve—at the moment.
In addition to his ten days of being knocked out on his ass from the flu, he’d been unable to eat more than broth and peanut-butter sandwiches. Everything else was immediately rejected by his body in one way or the other.
Hudson checked the freezer and found plenty of fixings for chili, gumbo, and chicken-fried steak. He pulled out a package of cubed steak and popped it in the microwave to defrost.
He gathered the rest of the ingredients and set out dipping pans for the buttermilk, egg wash, and flour dredge.
The microwave beeped and he pulled the beef out and pressed the middle. Still frozen. “Damn,” he swore and shoved it back in. Stupid microwave was always fritzing.
His stomach growled, and he punched the defrost button again.
Just as the microwave started whirring, he caught the rumble of a car engine climbing the dirt road leading to the ranch.
Hudson peeked out the window and watched a sleek black SUV crest the hill and glide to a stop next to the house. The plates touted a rental car company—something the small town of Freedom didn’t have.
The microwave shrilled at him, and he pressed the end button without taking his eyes off the car.
The door opened, and he caught sight of a camouflaged leg, a combat boot, and the top of a cap. The driver slammed the SUV door, and his breath whooshed out.
She was gorgeous. Tall, tanned, and pushing the buttons on her white dress shirt to the busting point with her well-endowed breasts. She had lush hips that twitched just the way he liked them, and beneath the hem of her black pencil skirt was a pair of toned, trim legs that evoked immediate fantasies.
Who is she?
Strangers were pretty common in Freedom, Texas. The town’s name was no mistake—the founding fathers built the small city on an open-arms and no-questions-asked policy which had been in effect since 1873. They also flocked to The Hitching Post to get married. Ever since the swank old building had been featured in a state travel magazine, their tourism business had boomed.
But how had she come through the locked gate?
The woman approached the house with a wary look. Her eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but he saw the clean, sharp line of her jaw clench as she stepped onto the porch where she stood at stiff attention.
Hud caught his breath. He knew that stance. Military. Was she here for Jake?
She pulled off the glasses and took a deep breath. The screen in the kitchen window distorted the color of her eyes, but he knew they had to be brown. Like pools of luxury chocolate on a hot day.
Hudson swallowed again and waited for her next move. She had not looked into the window to her left, so he knew she hadn’t seen him.
Her fist lifted, but she hesitated. She heaved again then straightened her shoulders and rapped three times on the door.
Hudson raked a hand through his hair and cursed softly that he had not thought to put on something more presentable than tattered cut-off jeans and a holey Notre Dame T-shirt. Hell, he hadn’t even put on any shoes.
The knock sounded again. This time she pounded with more demand.
He took his time getting to the front door. He didn’t want to appear too eager, after all.
Hudson pulled open the door. He met a cool stare set in a face that would have made the painters of old weep. Along with the slice of her jaw, she had high, chiseled cheekbones. He’d been right about her eyes, too. They were dark and offset by black brows that matched the ebony hair twisted into a knot and fastened at her nape. Faint white lines fanned along her left eye toward her hairline. A larger, more puckered one sat below her lower lashes. Hud tipped his head and stared at the left side of her face. Something was off, but he couldn’t quite figure out what.
A hand lifted to her face, and she wiggled her fingers. He blinked a couple of times as he realized she’d said something.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
She sighed, her impatience clear. “I asked if Jake Logan was here.”
Hudson resisted the urge to curse again. “Figures,” he muttered.
She lifted one of those dark, winged brows, and the corner of her full mouth quirked. “What figures?”
He felt himself go red. “Nothing. He’s not here right now. Can I help you?”
“No. I must speak with Jake. Will he be back soon?” She did an about-face and studied the rolling pasture land that led up to the fence line Jake was working on. “Is he up there?”
Hud leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. He didn’t speak.
She finally turned back to him. “Well?”
“What do the marines want with Jake?”
She looked a bit surprised. “You’re very observant.”
“Yep.”
“When will he be back? He does live here, doesn’t he?”
Hudson had the feeling the woman already knew the answer. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you want with him?”
“It’s personal.”
The words hung between them, and she started to blush. Her olive skin burned an enchanting crimson. Hudson chuckled with relief and stepped back. “He’ll be home in a little while. Want to come in and wait?”
She hesitated for a second then nodded tightly. As she moved inward, he inhaled deeply.
“You’re not wearing any perfume,” he blurted.
She stopped in the hallway and looked into the kitchen then living room before meeting his eyes again. “No. I don’t.”
Feeling like sixteen kinds of stupid, Hudson shut the door and headed for the kitchen. “Come on in,” he said. “I was just about to make some breakfast. Are you hungry?”
He didn’t hear her enter the room, but he felt her presence behind him. He turned around and stepped forward with his hand held out. “I’m Hudson Walker, by the way. Half owner of the Hellfire Ranch.”
Her lips comp
ressed before popping into a small smile. He saw humor dancing in her eyes. So there was more to this military robot.
“Lieutenant Olivia Martinez,” she said and slid her hand into his.
Her palm and fingers were etched with work-roughened spots. Her grip was solid and sure.
Hud held on to her for longer than was necessary. Her eyes widened, and she met his gaze as she tugged.
He let go and winked. “So, breakfast?”
She shook her head just as her stomach rumbled.
Hud laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He pulled down a mug from the cabinet and set it on the counter. “Coffee’s here. Help yourself.”
He opened the microwave and pulled out the steak. He was completely aware of her presence beside him. The way her hands moved with grace and elegance as she filled her cup and stirred in a teaspoon of sugar.
Olivia Martinez. He rolled her name on his tongue and liked the way it sounded. The way it felt. Something tugged at his brain, but he shooed it away. Right now, he had to concentrate on fixing breakfast without burning it and looking like an idiot in front of the delectable woman.
She propped her hip against the counter and eyed him over the rim of her steaming cup. “What are you making?”
“Chicken-fried steak.”
“For breakfast?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. This is Texas, you know.”
“Uh, yeah, I figured that out when I flew in.”
He tested the steak and found it perfect. Hudson grabbed a plate and sharp knife as he moved to the sink and split the package open. “You fly into San Antonio?”
“Yes.” The raspy voice grew tight and guarded.
Okay, so she didn’t want to give up any information.
He flipped on the faucet and rinsed the juices down the sink before taking out the cubed steaks and gingerly putting them on a plate. He washed his hands and dried them off.
“Where you from?”
“Why?”
Hudson paused in the act of dipping a steak into the flour. He gave her a half smile, half frown. “Just making conversation.”
She blushed again. Damn, he liked the way her skin turned all rosy and sweet. Made him wonder just how far down that shade went. He also wanted to know if her nipples were the same color as her blush.
He dropped the beef into the egg wash and splattered the front of his shirt.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered and swiped at the mess.
She chuckled. “Less flirting, more paying attention seems to be in order.”
Hudson fished out the steak. “Are you kidding? There should never be less flirting. There should be more.”
“Ah, you’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“A player. One of those guys who has a different lady in every port.”
Discomfort slid across his chest, and he cleared his throat. “The ports are farther south. Down in Corpus Christi.”
She gave him a wide, white smile. “Uh-huh, I’m right.”
She was, but he wasn’t going to confirm or deny. He knew better than that.
Hud plated all the steak then turned to the stove. He lit the gas pilot and eased a skillet onto the flame and added enough oil to coat the bottom.
“How long have you known Jake?”
The way she said his friend’s name raised all sorts of interesting questions. Her voice held a wealth of knowledge and tension. “Since second grade. We were on a Little League baseball team together.”
“He played baseball?” she asked in obvious surprise.
Hudson flipped the steak and reached over her head to drag another plate from the cabinet. He could not contain his curiosity any longer. “You know him, then?”
“Yeah.”
She’d gone back to being tight as a virgin’s ass. Hud backed off. “We were both in the outfield and more interested in the dandelions and snails than the game.”
He sneaked a peek and found her expression had relaxed somewhat. “He was Player of the Game, once.”
“What did he do?”
“Caught the game-winning out.” Hud deftly removed the chicken-fried steak from the skillet then pushed it toward the back and placed a small pot in its place. He slid butter, pepper, and flour into the pan and started stirring. “You have to understand, that was a huge surprise. All of the outfielders were out there because we, uh, sucked.”
She laughed, and he grinned in response. He liked the way she sounded. Her voice was low and husky like she’d just woken up from a night of sex-filled debauchery. Her laugh was just as sultry. It hit him in every erogenous zone he had. He’d bumped his erection on the stove knobs more than once since he’d been cooking.
He sure as hell hoped she hadn’t noticed.
“How did he catch it then?”
The gravy bubbled gently, and he added some more pepper, took a taste, and set the spoon down. He flipped off the burner and ladled the gravy into a serving bowl.
“We were in the outfield talking and chasing bugs like normal.” He set the chicken-fried steak and bowl on the table then plunked two plates and silverware down. He grabbed two glasses and filled them with soda.
“I was yakking at the right fielder while Jake was running back and forth in left field. It was hot as hell that day, too. We were ahead by one run and it was the bottom of the seventh inning. The game was almost over, and we were going to go to his house and swim in his pool. I loved that pool. His folks kept it up all summer long for us kids.”
He held out her chair before taking his own. “Jake stopped galloping around long enough to take his hat off and wipe his brow. As he was putting the cap back on, the baseball plopped into it. Legally, it was a catch, and we won the game.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “And they named him Player of the Game for that?”
“Well, yeah. It was the only game we won all year, and it was because of him. Want some?”
At Olivia’s nod, Hudson speared a filet and set it on her plate then grabbed two for himself. He waited until she drizzled some of the white cream gravy over her plate before drowning his steak.
“Did he lord it over you?”
“Jake? Nah, he’s not that kind of guy.”
Her face softened. “No, he’s not.”
They ate in silence for a few moments until she looked up and smiled. “This is really good.”
He winked. “You sound like you had doubts.”
“Not many guys actually know how to cook. Did your mom teach you?”
His heart contracted, and his appetite disappeared. He pushed his steak around on his plate. “No. Jake’s mom did.”
“I’m sorry,” she said and reached across to touch his hand. “I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”
Hud shrugged and flipped his hand over under hers. He curled his fingers into her palm and stroked lightly. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened on a short gasp. “You couldn’t have known.”
Her heartbeat thrummed beneath his touch. He stroked a little more. “Nervous?”
“No,” she said, but her reply was raspy. “Should I be?”
“Nope.”
“Hudson?” Jake’s voice echoed from the front door. “Whose SUV is that?” He appeared in the doorway, wiping his brow and scowling.
Olivia’s pulse jackrabbited into high gear beneath Hud’s fingers. She jerked her hand away and rose, her entire body coming to swift attention. Hudson thought she was about to salute.
He leaned back and hooked one arm over his chair. His gaze bounced between the two silent people. They snapped at each other with their eyes, and even a dead man would pick up on the electric current running between them.
“Jake, this is—”
“I know who she is.” He cut him off. “The question is why the hell are you here?”
Olivia swiped her tongue along her bottom lip, and the small action tightened Hudson’s shorts again.
“I’m here for you, Jake.”
Chapter Three
Olivia Martinez.
Just seeing her sent Jake’s every sense reeling. He clenched his hat and tried to get himself under control.
The last time he’d seen her—three years ago—she’d been swathed in a mound of white gauze bandages. What small part of her face he could see had been yellow, black, and purple with bruising. Her bottom lip had been sliced open.
His gaze dropped to her mouth then moved back up to her eyes. He winced inwardly at the scarring around her left eye. Despite the faint puckering, it looked like she’d healed just fine. More than fine, if he were honest with himself. She was still as beautiful today as she had been three years ago.
As beautiful as the night they’d crossed the line.
“Glad to see you’re okay,” he said gruffly.
She nodded once, and he saw the hurt in her eyes. She wanted him to say something more, but he couldn’t.
One mistake with her had been enough. That mistake had cost the lives of good men. He’d lost his head and wasn’t in the game when they needed him the most.
“What are you doing here, Martinez?”
She jerked as if he’d shot her.
Hudson’s chair skittered backward as he launched to his feet. “Her name is Olivia,” he said.
Jake was shocked to see the irritation on his friend’s face. Nothing bothered the go-lucky cowboy.
“I know her name,” Jake said. “Why are you here?”
She looked between the two of them. “We need to talk.” She flicked another glance at Hudson. “Privately.”
“Nothing doing,” Jake snapped. “What you have to say, do it in front of him.”
Her lips tightened as her gaze narrowed. Jake was caught off-guard by the slight droop of her left eye but also amazed at the control she had over it. Looking at her, the casual observer would never know she wore a prosthetic.
He slapped his hat against his leg then sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Olivia, your being here surprised me, that’s all.” He walked past them and hung his hat on the peg then turned around again. “I’m starving. How about I eat and you guys finish? Then you can tell me what’s going on.”
Two Cowboys in Her Crosshairs [Hellfire Ranch] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 4
