For all she knew, this was the calm before the storm. Winnie had seen Lord of the Flies. She knew the score. The kids could turn on her, little Tiffany could morph back into The Exorcist child and Winnie would be right back to thanking the Powers That Be that she was free and single and completely childless.
At least that’s what she told herself.
“I KNEW YOU’D DO IT, boy. So when’s the wedding?”
Trace’s head snapped up from the horse he’d been walking around the corral to see Ezra sitting on the fence, a piece of straw wedged between his teeth. “What wedding?”
“You and Winnie.” Ezra chuckled. “I knew it was just a matter of time before you two got together.”
“We’re not together.”
“Not as of this morning, but I have it on good authority that your truck never left her house last night though you made a great big show of stomping out.”
“How do you know this stuff?”
“I’m what you call omniscient, son. All-seeing. All-knowing.”
“That’s God, Ezra, and I happen to know firsthand you’ve got way too many sins to qualify.”
“True enough, but I’ve also got connections.”
“Did you set up a surveillance camera at Winnie’s? I swear, if you went that far—”
“Hold on to your britches. I know you were there, but I don’t know what wickedness you were getting yourself into with that little gal.” He chuckled again. “I can only hope that wickedness results in a little bugger in about nine months.”
“No buggers.”
“Damn, boy, didn’t you learn how to shoot straight?”
“I shoot straight enough, not that it’s any of your business. Winnie and I aren’t thinking long term. She doesn’t want marriage, and neither do I.”
“But—”
“I’m not getting married, Ezra. You know firsthand what being on the circuit is like. I need total concentration. No distractions.” And Winnie was much too distracting. When he let his guard down, her image slipped into his mind, her eyes so bright and green, her full lips parted in a smile that made his heart pound faster at just the thought—
His grip loosened, the horse danced and he cursed.
This thing with Winnie was sweet, damned sweet, but it couldn’t last. Trace was leaving for Colorado in three days, and he wasn’t looking back.
“Don’t you have something to do?” he growled at Ezra as he gripped the horse’s reins and fought to regain his control. “Because I’ve got work.”
Ezra chuckled as he climbed down off the fence. “I’m going, but I ain’t giving up. I want greatgrand-kids while I’m still young enough to enjoy them.”
“Wear your glasses.”
“Don’t need ’em.”
“Ezra,” Trace started, but the old man winked.
“Got me a pair of them fancy contact lenses. Blue tint. Doreen’s favorite.”
“Doreen, the bingo caller?”
“Yep. Nice little thing. Bright red hair. Might bring her down to meet you sometime… Oops, I forgot. You ain’t gonna be here. Guess you’ll just have to miss out on the future Mrs. Ezra Honeycutt.”
“Nice try, but I’m still leaving. I’ll get on over to the Rest Easy when I’m in Houston and you can introduce me. So what are you up to today?”
“Spunk’s showing me the rest of the spread, then I’m meeting Jasper in town. We’ve got plans.”
“As in?”
“You’ll see.”
“Ezra,” Trace said, his tone warning.
“Don’t go getting your Fruit of the Looms in a wad, boy. It’s just old men stuff.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
THE SWEET SMELL of something warm and sugary and spicy hit Winnie the minute she stepped onto the porch.
It couldn’t be… Pie? And her day had been going so well. The kids had been good, she’d stayed on her diet.
Her gaze swiveled to the side to see Birdie perched dangerously close to the redwood zap trap.
“You’re not giving up, are you?” she asked the bird.
Beady eyes stared back at her. Her day was definitely going downhill. That thought was quickly confirmed when she walked inside the house.
The dining room table sat draped in a white checkered cloth and set for two. Candles flickered, bathing the lavish display of food in a soft, warm glow. A platter of fried chicken. A bowl of mashed potatoes. A plate of biscuits. A boat full of steaming cream gravy. And apple pie.
“I came as soon as I—” Trace’s words caught as he stumbled through the door behind her, looking fresh from a shower, his dark hair still damp, curling down around his ears. He wore a T-shirt beneath a blue-jean jacket, jeans and worn brown boots, and the sight of him nearly stopped her heart.
Her first instinct was to rush for the bathroom. After a day with the kids, her makeup had melted away. Her hair was a mess. And she smelled like glue.
His gaze lit on her and a smile touched his lips. “You look great.”
The urge to bolt vanished and she smiled. “You, too.”
“I didn’t think you were here. I mean, Ezra called and said he was sick, that you weren’t home and he needed to go to the hospital.”
“He and Grandpa Jasper passed me in the truck. They both looked very healthy.”
“But I don’t understand…” His gaze swung to the table. “What’s all this?”
“Either the devil is related to Colonel Sanders and out to ruin my diet, or our grandfathers have been hard at work.”
“They set us up,” he said.
She forced her gaze away from Trace and eyed the table, which proved just as tempting. Her stomach grumbled. “And how. Not that we’re going to fall for it.”
“No way.”
“They can matchmake till the cows come home and we’re not giving in.”
“Not us.”
“I’m not falling for you.”
“No.”
“And you’re not falling for me.”
“Hell, no.”
“We’re just satisfying mutual urges.”
“You said it.”
Silence twined around them for several long moments. The candles flickered. The air grew heavy with the mouthwatering smell of home cooking.
“As long as we’re clear on where we stand,” Trace finally said, “it seems a shame to let this food go to waste.”
“The kids and I did act out two Barney videos today. I’m sure I burned at least a chicken leg’s worth of calories and a maybe a few spoonfuls of mashed potatoes.” Her gaze caught his. “And it’s not like it’s a date or anything.”
“Just two people breaking bread.”
“Satisfying mutual hunger.”
“Yeah.” He licked his lips.
“Yeah.” She licked her lips.
And then they both turned and reached for a piece of fried chicken.
“Ezra sure can cook,” Winnie said a few minutes later in between bites.
“Ezra can’t cook.” Trace waved his fork. “I thought Jasper did all this.”
“Jasper can’t cook.”
“Well, somebody cooked.”
“Just like somebody’s been reporting every move we make back to them.” He winked and her heart stopped beating. “And what moves we make.”
She busied herself straightening her napkin, trying to calm the effect that one wink was having on her. “I think we should keep our minds on dinner.” She took a bite of chicken. “This is really good.”
“If you think this is something, you would have loved my mom’s chicken. Best in the west, that’s what my dad always told her.”
“How old were you when they died?”
“Thirteen going on thirty.”
“That must have been hard.”
“It was, but I had Ezra and my Grandma Ginny, at least for a few years. The hardest years. Then she passed on. This place got a little too lonely for Ezra after that, so we hit the road, traveled sometimes a couple of hundre
d miles in one day, riding in one town, then hightailing it to the next just in time for the buzzer.”
“Sounds tiring. I always bated to travel. We moved so many times while I was growing up, I just wanted to settle in one place, my family around me, and never pack a suitcase again. I guess that’s hard for you to understand.”
He paused and stared at his plate. “Not too hard. After a few years, I felt the same way. The difference was, except for Ezra, my family was pretty much gone.”
He looked so thoughtful, so serious, that something shifted inside her.
“You could always settle down and have your own family.”
“Is that a proposal?”
She managed a laugh. “Of course not. The last thing I want is to settle down.”
“Just lust, right?”
She concentrated on scooping up some mashed potatoes with her fork. “Right.” Absolutely, positively right. Because no way was she falling for Trace Honeycutt. No matter how good the sex, how companionable the silence, or how great the chicken. And the gravy. And oh, what she would have given for another biscuit.
“Why don’t you just eat the damned thing?”
Her gaze snapped up to catch him watching her, a twinkle in his silver eyes. “I’ve already had my share of starch for the day.” She stared at her empty plate. “More than my share.”
“It’s just a biscuit.”
“Tell that to my hips.”
He winked. “I’d be glad to, darlin’.”
“I meant that figuratively.”
He winked again and there was no missing the double meaning in his words. “So did I.”
“I’m serious. Too many calories and it’s bye-bye Tiny Hineys.”
“But you hate wearing them, right?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Is it? It seems to me if you hate the damned things, you should get rid of them.”
“But they’re exciting.”
“Only as exciting as the woman in them, and trust me, darlin’, you don’t need a lick of help.”
Her first instinct was to argue, but the sincerity in his deep voice stalled the words on her tongue. Warmth spread through her.
“But if you’re really worried about the calories,” he went on, “I’d be willing to make a deal with you. You eat another biscuit, and later, I promise I’ll help you burn off every single calorie. And then some.” Challenge gleamed in his liquid silver eyes, and she couldn’t resist.
She grabbed three biscuits. “Let’s see you put your money where your mouth is.”
“My pleasure, darlin’.” He licked his lips and smiled. “My pleasure.”
“MAYBE WE SHOULD have done the dishes,” Winnie said later that night when Trace crawled into her window, and into her bed.
“If they can cook, darlin’, they can clean.” His hard, muscular body pressed into her, and he slid deep, deep inside, relishing the sweet moan that burst from her lips. “Besides,” he said after a few frantic heartbeats, “with any luck, it kept them too busy to plot any more matchmaking attempts.”
“I doubt that.” She trembled around him. “You should have seen them when they came home and saw all the food missing. They were so excited, then I told them I ate it all myself.”
“I bet that went over well.”
“I got a very lengthy lecture on why they need great-grandchildren now. Then they called a time out and retreated to the kitchen. They were still huddled when I came to bed.”
“Definitely a bad sign,” he said as he rolled onto his back and pulled her over him, onto him.
“Not that it’s going to work,” she told him as she leaned back, catching her lip against a moment of exquisite sensation as the new position pushed him a fraction deeper.
“No way,” he panted.
“Because you’re off to Colorado and I’m on to bigger and better things.”
He fingered a ripe nipple and surged up into her. “Bigger, huh?”
“Okay, I’ll just settle for better.” Another thrust of his hips and she caught her bottom lip. Her eyes opened, bright with desire. “If I didn’t know differently, I’d say you were trying to tell me it doesn’t get much better than this.”
It didn’t. Trace knew it in an instant, and it scared the daylights out of him. He didn’t have time for this. For her. He had to focus on his next ride. And the next.
He would. Tomorrow. Right now he couldn’t think past this ride. Past the wonderful feel of her so wet and tight around him, past the way she snuggled into his arms afterwards and buried her face in his neck. Past the way his breath paused when she settled her hand right over his heart. Tomorrow.
12
“LET ME GUESS,” Winnie said the next evening when she arrived to pick up Grandpa Jasper from a neighboring farm and found Trace instead. “You’re here for Ezra.”
“He called about a half hour ago and said he needed a ride.”
“So did Grandpa Jasper.”
They both stared at the horse-drawn carriage, a blanket sitting on the seat along with a handful of wildflowers and a jug of apple cider.
“I’ve really got to get up early tomorrow,” he said.
“Me, too. The kids and I are making Rice Krispie wreaths.”
“I promised Spunk I’d help him breed Echo.” He stared at her, at the way her eyes caught the moonlight and sparkled. “Then again, renting this thing off of old man White probably cost them a fortune.”
“We can’t very well let them waste their money.” She met his stare. “Not that this means anything.”
“Not at all.”
“We know where we stand.”
“Far, far apart. Come on.” He helped her into the carriage and climbed in after her.
They spent the rest of the evening riding and talking and drinking apple cider.
“Don’t you ever get scared?” she finally asked him when he pulled the carriage to a stop so they could sit and stare at the blaze of stars overhead. “I mean, when you climb onto a bull. Don’t you feel afraid?”
“Not if I can help it. It’s all about concentration. You don’t think about anything except the ride, that way you don’t have time to be scared, to be distracted.”
Trace meant to kiss her. To trade all this friendly talk for something hot and wild and consuming so he wouldn’t have to think about how much he actually liked the friendly talk. But damned if his lips would cooperate.
“That’s what happened to me,” he heard himself say. “How I got injured. I let myself get distracted. I’d been nursing the hurt for months after catching Darla cheating. Then there she was in the audience in Vegas, sitting right next to this guy.” His gaze met hers. “When I climbed onto that bull and heard the buzzer, I didn’t see dust and hoofs. All I saw was Darla and that damned cowboy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ll make it up this year. I’m getting a late start, but as long as I make Colorado, I’m sure to walk away with the championship next November.”
“I meant about your marriage.”
He shrugged. “It was my own fault. I mistook lust for love, which made getting married a bad move. Trying to make it work was an even worse move.”
“You made a mistake, but at least you didn’t run from it. You tried to do right.”
“And it nearly cost me everything.”
“But now you’ve got a second chance in Colorado.”
He did have a second chance, because no way was he falling for Winnie Becker and losing his concentration. His determination. His vision.
No matter how many biscuits she ate. Or how pretty she looked with moonlight dancing in her eyes.
Or how great a bowler she turned out to be the next night when they both arrived at the bowling alley on another wild goose chase. Or how she sang just a little off-key, but oh so sweetly, when someone mysteriously volunteered them for caroling duty the night after that. Or how her heart beat in such perfect sync with his during the dead of night when they lay
in each other’s arms.
Nope, he wasn’t falling.
If only he didn’t have the sneaking suspicion that he already had. A suspicion that grew into a terrible truth over the next few days as Christmas approached. Trace tried to throw himself into his training, but he couldn’t quite find his seat, his grip, his rhythm.
“Damn, boy, what’s gotten into you?” Spunk asked him on Christmas Eve as Trace dusted himself off for the fifth time in less than an hour.
“Winnie Becker.” And damned if he knew what he was going to do about it.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS!” Big Jim’s booming voice greeted Winnie bright and early Christmas morning when she found him on her doorstep holding a cooked turkey. “Just a little thank-you from Big Shirley. She’s off her diet and thinking like the fat-loving woman I fell in love with. When I told her how you tried to keep me and the boys from going into a low-fat coma, she fixed this up for you. She figured you wouldn’t want to be slaving over a hot stove today.”
“Thanks.”
“Many thanks.” Ezra came up behind her and retrieved the turkey. “And Merry Christmas.”
Big Jim’s visit set the pace for the next few hours. Just when Winnie walked into the kitchen to start her own cooking—since the grandpas were here, she’d resigned herself to blowing her diet and going all out with a big dinner—one of her friends knocked on the door, dish in hand.
Ann brought chestnut stuffing and a permanent job offer.
“Full-time?” Winnie asked. “Me?”
“You’re good with the kids, dependable and that thing with the eye is classic.”
No sooner had Winnie said she’d think about it than Shermin’s Aunt Missy showed up with sweet potatoes. Then Bea brought a honey-glazed ham.
It didn’t stop there. People from all over town, from the mayor to the police chief, stopped by to wish her a Merry Christmas and drop off everything from banana nut bread to cranberry sauce. Even Myrtle Jenkins, whom Winnie had never met, stopped by with two gallons of eggnog and a case of homemade cider.
“Much obliged, Myrtle,” Ezra had told the woman. “This’ll come in handy.”
“I figured it would on a day like today.”
A day like today?
Fruitcakes and Other Leftovers & Christmas, Texas Style Page 29
