Lone Star Blues

by Delores Fossen

  “Hell,” Ryder said. Her phone stopped ringing, the call no doubt going to voice mail. “What now?”

  It was one of the most important questions she’d ever been asked. This was her chance to put a lid on things. Or, as Bree had just pointed out, keep the Bra Posse intact.

  Or...

  Allie could do something that would change things forever.

  She had a quick debate with herself and went with the second choice. Allie slid her arms around Ryder, and she kissed him. Not some friendly peck, either. She went full throttle, down and dirty.

  He didn’t pull away, but he did grunt, maybe in surprise, and she thought there might be some pleasure mixed in with it, too. There was certainly pleasure for her. His mouth was everything she’d thought it would be. Everything she’d dreamed about for years. Firm, tasty and all man. Just the way she liked the mouths that gave her kisses.

  Ryder’s next grunt was definitely one of pleasure, and he snapped her to him, deepening the kiss, pulling her even closer and delivering the experience of a lifetime. When he stopped, they were both starved for air. Both looking as if someone had just hit them upside the head with two-by-fours.

  He opened his mouth, and she didn’t think it was the start of another kiss. No. This was likely going to be an apology where he tried to backtrack. But Allie decided to nip that in the bud.

  “If you want to cross any more lines,” she said, picking up her purse and phone so she could make her exit, “you know where to find me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  RYDER SWORE TO himself not to cross any lines. Especially ones that involved Allie.

  Of course, he’d sworn to give up booze after the moonshine-puking incident. And sworn not to cut class after getting caught in eighth grade and being grounded for a month. Once, he’d sworn to give up on girls after Juliette Jenkins had broken his heart in tenth grade.

  He’d failed on all three of those counts. Plus, plenty of other times.

  He couldn’t fail with Allie, though. He just couldn’t. The stakes with her were higher than puking, detention and, yes, even a broken heart.

  That was why this time Ryder had a plan to make sure there’d be no line crossing. Hard work and plenty of it. Cold showers, too. And pinching himself, hard, whenever the image of Allie’s breasts popped into his head. The pinching didn’t work on the ankle hickey, though. That was because now that he remembered everything in too-perfect detail, Ryder recalled staring up at her panties during the love biting.

  He was going to hell in a handbasket for the downright dirty thoughts he had about her and those panties. He was going to a level below hell for the thoughts he had of getting her out of them.

  That was why he kept on working, and today was no different. Since he had become one of the top hands at the Granger Ranch, cleaning the tack room wasn’t in his job description. That was a task for the newbies, those learning the ropes. Still, he’d volunteered for it, and he welcomed the back-aching chore. Actually, for the past five days since Curt’s wedding, he’d been up for any and all work that kept him busy. Anything to keep his mind off what’d happened in the hayloft with Allie.

  Too bad the work wasn’t, well, working.

  He was still thinking about her—about that kiss, too—and about her breasts. The damn panties. And it didn’t help that the thinking included the memories of seeing her practically naked.

  Sheez.

  He should have hit himself on the head then and there. It might have dulled the memories some, and it could have relieved his guilt over what was going on in his mind and body right now. Specifically, he was lusting after his best friend.

  Thankfully, in the past five days, he hadn’t acted on that lust. Ryder would have liked to take full credit for that, but he couldn’t. Truth was, it was just as much Allie’s doing as his. There’d practically been a downpour of medical issues with the livestock that had kept Allie working just as hard as Ryder had been. Until today, that work had taken her to another barn, the stables and other parts of the ranch, but that all changed when Ryder came out of the tack room. He saw her in the corral checking one of the new mares.

  “She’s a looker, ain’t she?” Bennie Fredrick said. “I ain’t talking about the horse, either.” The ranch hand put a thumb to the brim of his hat, moving it back so that it gave him a better view.

  Of Allie.

  It wasn’t the first time Ryder had heard a hand comment on Allie, but it was a first for Bennie, mainly because the man had only worked at the ranch for a couple of weeks.

  Bennie’s “observation” bothered Ryder more than it usually would have. Maybe because Ryder’s own mind was on the same “she’s a looker” track.

  “I sure wish she’d go out with me,” Bennie went on. “I figure she’s an even better looker out of those jeans.” He chuckled, and it wasn’t a light ha-ha chuckle, either. It was the sound of a man having downright dirty thoughts.

  Ryder ignored him and carried some horse collars back into the tack room that Bennie and he had just cleaned. When he came back out, Bennie was still gawking at Allie, and now the hand was leaning against a post.

  “I heard she went out with Dylan Granger,” Bennie said. “I’ll bet Dylan got her out of those jeans.”

  “He didn’t,” Ryder assured him. “And they only went out on a coffee date.”

  Bennie looked back at him as if waiting for an explanation as to how Ryder knew that, but then the man chuckled again. “Oh, right. I heard folks say that Dr. Good Girl and you are friends. No way could I be friends with that.”

  “That?” Ryder challenged, and he said it a little louder and meaner than he’d intended.

  It caused Allie to look in his direction. She didn’t keep it at a glance, and she lifted her eyebrow as if to ask him if something was wrong. For just that split second, she was Allie, his best friend, again and he could almost forget that he’d seen her breasts and given her the ankle hickey.

  He couldn’t forget those panties, though.

  “I could use some help moving this tack,” Ryder told Bennie, and this time it wasn’t mean or loud. It was the tone of a boss, which he was. Well, he was the boss of this shift of hands, anyway, and Bennie was definitely on the shift.

  Ryder’s phone rang, and he had worked himself up into such a lather that it took him a moment to drag his phone out of his pocket. Bree’s name was on the screen.

  “Ready for our usual Friday-night beer at the Longhorn?” Bree greeted.

  It was the same question he heard most Friday nights, but normally it came from Curt. He’d been the one to bring the four together. Apparently, Bree had taken over that role.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Bree said when he didn’t jump to answer. “I’ll text Allie, and the two of you can meet me there in about an hour. I’ll order us some nachos.”

  Of course, Bree would “invite” Allie, and Allie would probably come. It was her Friday ritual, as well. So, there was potential for beer, nachos, Allie and plenty of scalding-hot memories. There weren’t enough places on his body to pinch to help him with that, and that was why Ryder had to do something about it.

  “I can’t go tonight,” Ryder told Bree before she could hang up.

  Silence. To the best of his memory, Ryder had never turned down a Friday beer. Over the years, he’d even arranged his dates for Saturday so that Friday would be free.

  “Everything okay?” Bree asked.

  No, and it especially wasn’t okay that Bennie was licking his lips while watching Allie make her way to the barn. Ryder took off his hat and smacked Bennie on the shoulder. “The tack,” Ryder reminded him, and this time he added narrowed eyes to the order.

  Even with Ryder giving him the stink eye, Bennie took his time hoisting up a saddle, and he still kept firing glances at Allie. Of course, there was plenty to look at. The fit of her jeans, snug in all t
he right places.

  Ryder pinched himself, hard.

  “What’s wrong with the tack?” Bree pressed as Bennie finally moved out of earshot and from the ogling zone.

  “Just busy clearing out the tack room, that’s all. I figured you’d be busy, too, with Trace or your current sweet thing.”

  “Trace didn’t stick around. He’s back in Abilene. Besides, it’s Friday,” she reminded him. “Sweet things get put on hold for Friday. That’s always been the Crab Posse rule, and I figured we’d keep it up for the Bra Posse.”

  Yes, it had been, and Bree might be wanting to keep up their rituals as a way of hanging on to Curt. Or rather hanging on to what the four of them had been together. Losing a friend, even because of geography, was hard. It was even harder, though, being with a friend when that friendship had changed because of a kiss.

  “You’re sure you can’t make it? Just try,” she added when Ryder didn’t respond. “It wouldn’t be Friday without Allie and you.”

  Ryder gave the most noncommittal mumble in the history of that particular form of communication, and he put his phone away just as Allie came into the barn. Her phone dinged with a text. No doubt from Bree, and Allie’s forehead bunched up when she read it.

  “The Longhorn Bar,” she mumbled after she put her phone away. “You, me, beer and memories I can’t get out of my head. Nothing could go wrong with that.”

  So, they were on the same page. And that sucked. Because it confirmed what Ryder already knew. “I ruined things with you in that hayloft.”

  She gave his arm an exaggerated pat. “There, there. That hickey wasn’t so bad. Uneven suction, yes, and a little too big for the surface area, but I give you a ninety out of a hundred.” Allie flashed him a smile and wink.

  But it wasn’t friendly in a friend kind of way. It was, well, flirty. And sexy. Hard to go back to friendly after the things he’d seen and after that kiss. After everything else that’d gone on it the hayloft, the kiss had merely lined his handbasket to hell, but it was a very hot lining.

  “Ninety, huh?” he asked. It was really stupid to keep up this flirting. Or talk about anything that involved some kind of love-bite one-upmanship, but it felt good to see her smile again. Like old times. With some heat.

  “Okay. Ninety-one.” She reached out, touched her finger to the button on his shirt, and Ryder felt tightening in parts of him that shouldn’t be feeling that kind of stuff. It was as if she’d touched his bare skin.

  Ryder continued with the stupidity. “I used to be a solid ninety-five, but I guess I’m out of practice. The last hickey I gave was back in high school. Plus, when I gave you that one, I think I had a bit of hay stuck on my tongue.”

  She nodded. “Lots of hay. Lots of tongue.”

  More body tightening, and it felt like more than bare-skin touching. It was as if she’d unzipped him right then and there.

  Where the hell had this come from?

  And why was there so much heat?

  Ryder wanted to believe it had started at the wedding with that comment about her not wanting him for a brother, but he had to admit that it’d been simmering for a while. It’d obviously just been easier to keep the lid on the heat when they’d been part of the real Crab Posse. Maybe because of the routine of being together. The expectation. But both the routine and expectation were gone now that Curt was no longer in the picture. Their whole dynamic had changed.

  Allie smiled at him again, the lids of her eyes a little heavy now, as if she were looking at a lover, and it had an effect on him. A bad one. Because it made Ryder want to continue the flirting, which in turn would only keep teasing parts of his body that were best left unteased.

  “I hope my tongue got better than a ninety-one,” he drawled. It didn’t make sense, and it was a couple of miles past the flirting stage, but Ryder felt a little crazy now.

  Apparently, Allie was jumping on that crazy train right along with him because she fingered his shirt button again. “A solid ninety-five,” she said. There was a lot of breath in her voice, and some of that breath hit his face. Now it felt as if she’d unzipped him and taken him into her hand.

  A man crazed with lust could imagine all sorts of things. Like voices, for instance.

  “Uh, am I interrupting anything?” someone asked.

  It took Ryder a moment to realize he wasn’t hearing things, that Bennie was actually there. The hand was out of the tack room, only a couple of feet behind Ryder, and he’d obviously heard more than he should have.

  “We were talking about the new mares,” Allie said without missing a beat. She spared Bennie a glance before looking back at Ryder.

  “Oh.” Bennie seemed relieved though Ryder didn’t know why. If Bennie had indeed heard the tongue comment, then he knew the conversation hadn’t been about mares. Still, he came closer, as if he might go through with asking Allie out.

  Ryder nipped that in the bud. “Why don’t you make sure the new horses are settled?” he told the hand in his best boss tone of voice.

  Bennie volleyed a few glances at Allie and him but, shaking his head, he finally walked away. The moment Bennie’s back was turned, Ryder took Allie to the tack room. Not for sex, although that might be negotiable. Because Allie kissed him again.

  Better yet, he kissed her.

  Like a man dying of thirst, he went after her, pressing his mouth to hers. Tasting her. Gobbling her up. And he did all of that while it occurred to him that this wasn’t a woman he should be gobbling. That didn’t cause him to rein things in, though. Nope. He just kept on until he was pretty sure his rating for this was going to be more than a ninety-five.

  When they finally broke for air, he pulled back, their gazes meeting, and he saw the heat in Allie’s eyes. Heat without the hesitation that he was certain was in his own.

  “What the hell are we doing?” Ryder came out and asked her.

  It took her a moment to gather her breath. “Playing with fire. Running with scissors. Tearing tags off of mattresses.” She paused, smiled. “All right, that last one doesn’t really fit, but it shows you that I can break the rules even when they’re spelled out on mattress tags.”

  Oh, he already knew all about breaking rules. He’d just kissed the living daylights out of his best friend. If that didn’t go against every big-assed man rule, he didn’t know what did.

  “I need to finish up some work,” he said. “After that, if I’m smart, I’ll go to the Longhorn Bar and meet with Bree.”

  “And if you’re not smart?” Allie asked.

  “The word for ‘not smart’ is stupid, and if I take the stupid route, I’ll meet you at your place in an hour.”

  It was the first time in his life Ryder hoped he would get amnesia. Or kidnapped. Because those were probably the only two things that were going to stop him from crossing this line and jumping right into Allie’s bed.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ALLIE PACED ACROSS her living room and wondered if Ryder had been kidnapped. Of course, the chances of something like that happening in Wrangler’s Creek were slim to none. And she certainly didn’t wish for that to happen. Still, it would be one explanation for why he hadn’t knocked on her door.

  One hour and forty-five minutes.

  That was how long it’d been since Ryder had thrown down the sexual gauntlet. Then, Allie had hurried home, showered and gotten ready for what she’d hoped would be one unforgettable evening. She’d even lined up an argument or two in case Ryder was having doubts and showed up to call things off. Even though Ryder had been the one to throw that gauntlet, it was possible—highly possible, even—that he not only had doubts, but that he also wouldn’t show.

  With that thought clamping around her heart like a gorilla’s fist, Allie sank down onto the sofa, put her face in her hands and willed herself not to cry. Tears never helped anything, and besides, she’d known it’d been a huge risk l
etting Ryder know just how attracted she was to him.

  A risk that could ruin their friendship.

  When she was with him, and the lust was zinging back and forth, it was much easier to convince herself that sex wouldn’t ruin anything. That it would make it better. Yes, better. She had to admit now that lust could talk her into just about anything when it came to Ryder, and the ankle hickey was proof of that.

  The hickey had faded, and the heat generated from the flirting and kissing in the tack room was just a memory. A very vivid memory, but still it wasn’t happening now, and it might never happen again.

  The gorilla fist squeezed even harder.

  Allie blinked back those blasted tears that kept threatening, waited several more minutes, and then she got to feet, ready to throw in the towel. There were four pints of rocky-road ice cream in the freezer, but she’d start with the spray can of cheese. It wouldn’t taste especially good, but before the Crab Posse had been of legal age to drown their sorrows at the Longhorn Bar, it had become their go-to vice.

  Easy Cheesy cures all.

  Sometimes, the cure had gotten really messy when it had become an all-out spray-cheese war with Curt, Bree, Ryder and her. That had often resulted in better moods but the necessity for showers and shampoo.

  She popped the top of the bacon-and-cheddar-cheese goo and squirted a gob in her mouth—just as there was a knock on her door.

  “Ryder,” she said on a gasp of breath. Well, she said it as well as she could say anything, considering the massive cheese-product obstacle that was now in her mouth.

  With the can still in her hand, Allie ran through the living room, forcing herself to slow down just so she wouldn’t look overly eager. But she had to ditch the hope of looking less eager because she couldn’t hold back from throwing open the door.

  It was Ryder, all right. And he had his own can of spray cheese.

  “I was kidnapped,” Ryder blurted out. He stepped around her and inside.