by Lynda Chance
“Sarah.” She answered quickly and didn’t elaborate.
Irritation trickled down his spine that she’d make him pull the information from her. “Last name?” he asked succinctly.
“Why?” she asked with a skepticism that made John clamp his teeth. Since when had he had to drag a woman’s name from her?
“Just being neighborly, Sarah.”
“I appreciate you pumping my gas, but please forgive me when I say you’re a stranger and—”
He cut her off. “We don’t have to be strangers. Ever heard of getting to know someone?”
“I don’t see why that’s necessary.”
John put the handle back and screwed the gas cap back over her tank. He grabbed the printed receipt the machine spit out and stuffed it in his pocket. As he pulled a disposable towelette from the dispenser and began wiping his hands, he kept his body between her and that of her vehicle to prevent her from trying to leave.
He chunked the tissue in the trash receptacle and immediately walked the few feet toward her. He’d never been shy around women. He always went for what he wanted and he wanted this one now.
He reached out and lifted her chin with one finger as he crowded into her personal space. “It’s completely necessary. What’s your last name?” he demanded.
She jerked her chin away from him and refused his request with one of her own, “Give me my receipt.” She reached out her hand, palm up, and waited for the slip of paper.
“It’s not your receipt. What’s your last name?” He took the hand she held out in his and studied her reddened palm with a frown.
“What do you mean? I want the receipt.” She attempted to snatch her hand from his but he held it steady.
“It’s my receipt. My debit card, my receipt. What’s your last name?” He moved his eyes back to her face and saw her incredulous look before his gaze dropped to the feminine chest heaving in agitation.
Sarah was appalled. Had he messed her up so badly that she hadn’t even noticed he’d used his own card? And why the hell would he pay for her purchase? It was insane. “You can’t pay for my gas!”
John watched her intently. “Just did, hon,” he clarified clearly, wanting to move on. “What’s your last name?” He wasn’t going to let this go. He knew he sounded like a dog that refused to let go of a bone, but he wanted her information and he was damn well going to get it.
“You’re crazy. That was over fifty dollars worth of gas.” Aggravation as well as amazement colored her tone.
“So it was,” he agreed. “What’s your last name?”
Silence continued to meet his demand and a trace of edginess heated his blood. He wanted her bad and now her refusal to comply with what he needed from her only notched up his interest.
His body tightened with irritability at the impassive look on her face and the realization that he couldn’t get past the roadblock she’d created. She’d give him the information he wanted; they always did. She might seem hesitant now, but as soon as she found out how deep his pockets ran, she’d change her tune.
He continued to hold her hand in his while he put his fingers over the side of her face and felt the smooth silkiness of her cheek. Her body stiffened and no doubt she would have jerked away from him again, but the residual shock she was probably feeling from him buying her gas was giving him a few extra minutes before she ran.
He could just cement the deal and tell her who he was, because everyone in a five county area knew his name. All he really wanted from her was one thing, and the quicker the better. If she only went to bed with him because he was richer than sin, why the hell should it matter to him? But he was vaguely hesitant to tell her, the challenge she represented was fueling the aggression in his blood. It was an added heat that was tempting him to keep playing with her.
He decided to try again without revealing his identity. “You’re probably right not to tell me. I could be a rapist or a murderer. Good for you, sweetheart. So how do we get past this?”
Her breathing hitched and she shook her head. He felt irritation at her refusal but continued to try to woo her. “People meet in all kind of places, Sarah.” He deliberately used her name to establish an intimacy between them. “You’re not married, I’m not married. So we met at a gas station. How am I supposed to see you again if you leave me now without anything?”
Sarah was absolutely dumbfounded. Never in a million years had anything like this ever happened to her. School had just let out for the summer, she’d driven all the way from Dallas, and all she wanted to do was get to the farm and get a good night’s sleep before she began tackling the problem her conscience just wouldn’t let go of.
But this man stood in her way.
She’d met his type before. She’d even been married to one when she was younger. But she wouldn’t ever be so stupid as to get involved with a guy like this again. Nope. She had her life completely mapped out. She had a nice man in Dallas who cared for her and treated her like a princess. There was no reason to rock that boat. A guy like this was completely out of the equation.
Not that he wanted to get involved with her. She wasn’t completely stupid. Or naïve. She knew what he wanted from the glimmer in his eyes to the way he was crowding her space.
As she stood still in front of him, her mind racing, she was vaguely aware of a car pulling into the station. From the corner of her eye, she could tell it was a sheriff’s patrol car. The new arrival didn’t faze the man standing in front of her at all. She knew he registered the car because he took his eyes off her for the space of a second and looked over at it. But he didn’t stiffen, didn’t flinch, didn’t betray he was doing anything wrong or abnormal in any way.
So he probably wasn’t a rapist.
He was just a player.
And he was trying to play her.
The officer exited the vehicle and casually threw out, “How’s it going, John?”
The man called John who held her hand never took his eyes from her as he answered, “Good, Sam.”
The exchange was simple. Casual and to the point. But it told Sarah a couple of things. Even though the man holding her attention was dressed in disreputable jeans and scuffed boots, he was on a first name basis with the local sheriff. And he was called John.
It gave her a much needed sense of safety and now she just wanted to get away from him as quickly as she could. “Sarah McAlister.” She answered the question he’d been asking of her in an attempt to pacify him so she could leave.
At her answer, a slow smile crossed his mouth and instead of letting her go, it seemed to have the opposite effect as the hand that was holding hers spread out and his fingers entwined with hers holding her in an even deeper grip. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
The rough, callused palm touching hers and the deep vibrations of his drawled words sent a small current of heat through her belly. She quickly dismissed it by telling herself she was only human, after all, and he was undoubtedly the hottest man she’d ever been this close to before in her life.
But that didn’t mean she wanted to do anything about it or had any reason to take this further. She tried to retrieve her hand from his. “Look, let me get my purse and I’ll give you cash for the gas.”
“Nope.”
“It’s not right. I don’t know you—”
“We can remedy that real quick. We’ll just pull across the way and have a cup of coffee.” As he drawled the words in his deep, southern accent, an accent that was so reminiscent of Matthew McConaughey that it sent a rush of heat to her stomach, he indicated with an almost-imperceptible tilt of his head, a diner, right across the street from where they were standing.
There was absolutely no way she was going for coffee with a strange man. “No, I can’t, I—”
“Sure you can. What’s so important you can’t stop and give me ten minutes of your time?” He asked in a harsh voice that was in complete opposition to his thumb stroking the back of her hand.
Sarah took a deep breath an
d said the words that would put an end to this small interlude in time. “I’m engaged.”
Chapter Two
For five days John tried to push her from his mind. For five days, he built fences, replenished the feeders, dug trenches for irrigation, all the while pushing her from his mind. Every bit of it was back breaking, sweat inducing, hard labor. And for five nights, he tossed and turned, trying to find sleep, only to give up with a stream of cuss words before his hand slid down to his stiffened cock and he found relief the only way he could. Relief from her, relief from a five-minute chance meeting that had apparently fucked him up beyond all reason.
He’d gotten a significant amount of work done during the daylight hours, and he’d been able to place an ad for a foundation manager. But other than that, he felt like his life was suddenly on hold, like it was stagnant in some way it hadn’t ever been before.
Even when his lying, cheating, bitch of a wife had downed one too many painkillers with one too many shots of vodka and killed herself by wrapping her car around a telephone pole doing one-twenty, he hadn’t felt this dislocated from his body.
He sat in his darkened study as the sun went down with a beer at his elbow, knowing he had to get over whatever Sarah McAlister had done to him. It was over. It was history. He could easily find out where she lived, but he wasn’t a stalker, and he wasn’t going to do that. But it ate him up. It ate him up inside knowing damn good and well he could find her.
What he needed was another woman to take his mind off her silky hair and awesome, gut-clenching, cock-swelling lips.
He couldn’t have her but he could damn sure have another woman’s mouth wrapped around his cock. Damn, fucking straight. That’s all he needed.
Tonight. He would find one tonight.
Unfortunately, the thought didn’t soothe him at all.
****
Sarah ended the call and jotted down a few quick notes in her Hello Kitty notebook. Phillip Johnson Garrett. That was the third time she’d been given that name. Evidently, he was the man with not only the money, but a strong streak of philanthropy as well.
Why in the world did she care so much? Why was the need to keep the tiny school district in the small town of Top Hill open and thriving such a major concern to her? Granted, she was a teacher and she had a deep, ingrained need to supply all children with the best education possible.
But it was more than that.
She loved the town and the two-hundred acres she’d inherited from her grandparents with all her heart. She’d never gotten to live here full-time; she’d grown up in Dallas with her parents and stayed there even after they divorced and her mother moved to Australia with a new man and her father drank himself to a premature death because of it.
But she’d spent every summer of her life here. She’d explored every inch of the pastures and ridden her bike up and down the terraces more times than she could remember. She’d picked wildflowers and churned butter with her grandmother, all the while listening to the stories her grandmother told her, thereby unknowingly bonding with a small plot of land and coming to think of it as her true home.
She’d been a shy teenager growing up, but sheer grit and determination had made her drive her grandparents’ old car into town by herself to try to make friends. And she had.
She’d gone to the small town swimming pool by herself, and the few kids there were curious enough about her to start the conversations. Some of the kids had felt threatened by her, simply because she was from a large city, but she’d met one girl in particular who had turned into a great friend. Jaime was a year older than Sarah, and that must have given the other girl enough of a sense of superiority that allowed her to open up to Sarah.
The two girls had spent their summers together, roaming the small town, driving up and down the main drag, and flirting with boys every chance they received. They stayed in touch with each other during the year, and recently, free cell phone minutes and social media had made the miles between them virtually disappear.
Sarah didn’t have any siblings or first cousins on either side, and now her father and grandparents were all gone. Her mother loved her and they had a close relationship, but Sarah was old enough and experienced enough to know that what the older woman had found in Australia with her new husband was priceless and she truly didn’t begrudge her for moving away.
So now Sarah had a small farm that was home to her and if there was any possible way she could make enough money to live here full time she would do it. But she couldn’t think of a way, so every school year she returned to Dallas and her teaching position that paid for her condo and supplied her with enough funds for the taxes and utilities on the farm.
There simply weren’t enough job opportunities in the community to allow her to live here full time.
And that was the gist of the problem.
No job opportunities. Not enough families, not enough kids for the school to stay open. If new jobs weren’t created, the few families left in town who didn’t own farming land would end up moving away and the school would be even more at risk.
Without the school, the town would wither and die.
And Sarah was determined to prevent that.
She’d researched the problem, because it was happening to small towns all over Texas. She knew the answer to the problem lay with the aging population and especially with the wave of baby boomers coming up in age.
The way she saw it, if the town could come up with the funding for not only a nursing home, but assisted living and possibly senior housing for those still active, then that would create jobs, as well as bring in older people to live in the facilities offered.
It would be a win-win for the town, the school, and the aging population. It wasn’t a new idea, and the county had at one time, held a bond election for just that purpose. But it had failed because it meant a rise in taxes that the people could little afford.
So now Sarah struggled with how to make it happen. And that was part of the problem.
When she mentioned it to people, they were interested and knew it was a good idea, but were mostly busy with their own lives and barely squeaking out a living in the harsh economy.
She began scribbling out ideas as they came to her and was chewing on the end of her pen, deep in thought, when her phone rang. She glanced down and happiness pierced her when she saw Jaime’s name. There was no question about it, the other woman was like the sister she’d never had.
Sarah activated the call. “Hey.”
“Finally! You’re home!” Jaime’s voice made it sound like they hadn’t seen each other in six years instead of the six months it had been since they’d visited at Christmas.
“Yep,” Sarah agreed, much pleased herself.
They had spoken briefly, but hadn’t seen each other in the five days since Sarah had arrived. Jaime worked at the office of the county commissioner, and was only now getting some free time in the form of the weekend arriving.
“You up to party tonight?” Jamie asked her now.
“Party?” Sarah sounded skeptical. There wasn’t much to do around here. “You mean like you and me and a bottle of wine and something good on Netflix?”
Jaime snickered. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean like you and me and every cowboy in a hundred mile radius at the Cut-n-Shoot.”
“Cut-n-Shoot?” Sarah’s asked with doubt in her voice.
“It opened up about four months ago on the highway outside of Egret Lake. It’s a total blast. I can’t believe we finally have somewhere to go dancing. You’ll love it.”
“I’m not sure Randall would want me to go.” Sarah said with an edge of doubt in her voice.
“Oh, bullshit, Sarah. Don’t give me that crap.” Jaime’s voice held bristling indignation. “That man isn’t a bit jealous. I don’t think he’d care if you walked up and kissed another man full on the lips. He probably wouldn’t even notice.”
“That’s not very nice, Jaime,” Sarah admonished softly.
“Ser
iously. Why’d you tell him you’d marry him?” Jaime’s tone was filled with frustration.
Sarah paused. “We get along. He’s kind and respectful.”
“Really? Kind and respectful? What about something like, he creams my twinkie and all I have to do is look at him to start salivating? That’s what floats the boat in a relationship and I’d think you’d know it by now.”
“Jaime—”
“Don’t start with me. I don’t want to discuss it. You already married one loser—”
Sarah cut in with accusation. “So did you—”
“Yeah, but I learned something from it and all you’re doing is hiding behind the most boring man imaginable. Jesus Christ, Sarah, is he even heterosexual?”
“Of course he is.” Sarah couldn’t control the miff in her tone.
“How’s the sex?” Jaime fired back.
Sarah was silent as she digested that question.
Jaime continued with an edge to her voice, “Don’t for one minute tell me you haven’t had sex with him! Sarah. Shit. Have you had sex with him?”
“No,” Sarah admitted.
“Why?”
“He’s a gentleman.”
“He’s gay.” Jaime argued in a flat, succinct tone.
“No, he’s not.”
“Is he planning on coming here anytime soon?”
“Not that I know of,” Sarah answered.
“Have you even talked to him since you got back?”
“Yeah, I called him to let him know I got here safely.”
“Uh-huh. That’s it?”
“He texts me every day.”
“Right. Whatever. I’ll pick you up at eight. Be ready. And I’m warning you now, if you come outside in boring teacher clothes, I’m taking you back to my place and dressing you myself. So be ready.”
“What are you wearing?” Sarah never knew what to expect from Jaime’s choice of clothing.
“My black Miss Me shorts and red Ropers. White camisole top.”
“I’m not wearing boots. I’ll wear shorts, but West Texas or not, I’m not wearing boots.” Sarah had been born and raised in Texas and she loved her two-hundred acres, but a cowgirl, she was not.
