14
I’m gonna get the bedroom cleaned out. . . . Lying’s never a good plan. . . .
That’s all he has to say? Jude sat on the porch step in amazement and dismay. He had touched every one of her most intimate places. Parts of him had found parts of her that the two other men she had slept with hadn’t found. And he knew that, too. She had told him. And that’s all he has to say?
She sat a few more minutes, fighting back the lump in her throat that felt like a burr. A tear sneaked from the corner of one eye, but she quickly swiped it away with the back of her hand. She was a big girl, wasn’t she? She spent a lot of time trying to convince everyone that she was. So she had to take responsibility for her own behavior, didn’t she? She clenched her jaw. To hell with it. If he won’t give a damn, neither will I.
Right, Jude. Just get this whole thing over with and get back home, onto familiar ground.
Right.
She entered the mobile and walked into the bedroom. Brady already had the bed stripped and had stuffed the sheets and pillows into a big black plastic sack and was working at emptying drawers. She went to the bathroom and packed the toiletries she had left on the tiny vanity. She then checked the bathroom cabinets and found them empty.
She returned to the bedroom, carrying her duffel. “The bathroom’s all clear except for your personal items,” she said stiffly.
His attention was on cleaning out a dresser drawer. “Thanks. I’m almost finished here. Then we can get going. We’ll get some breakfast up the road.”
At a fast-food place. “That’ll be fine.”
He looked up at her with that teasing, knee-weakening grin. “Since I know you like to sit down, we’ll find a place we can go inside. We’re already late anyway.”
This morning, reality was far clearer than it had been last night, and her knees had a little more strength. She found herself able to resist his knee-weakening grin. At the thought of lying more when she saw her father again, Brady’s timetable seemed less important. “Look, since we’re already late, I need a favor.”
He smiled and she saw sincerity in his eyes. “Name it.”
“I need to go to Fort Worth. I know we’re close.”
Seeing his mouth open to speak stopped her, but he said nothing, so she went on. “Daddy asked me to check out a watercolor at a museum on Main Street. Since he thinks my girlfriend and I spent the night in downtown Fort Worth, he’ll be disappointed if I tell him I didn’t go to the museum. I feel I really need to do that. You might not be aware of it, but he’s an art collector.”
His eyes locked on hers. She sensed words stuck in his throat and she prepared herself to argue if he said there wasn’t enough time. Instead, he said, “Okay. If that’s what you need to do.”
“Great. I think I’m all ready. I’ll be waiting outside. If you want, I can feed the horses and hook up the trailer.”
He gave her a look.
“I know how to feed horses and hook up a trailer.” That wasn’t a lie. She had done both many times.
She picked up the plastic sack holding the bed linens and started for the pickup. A cardboard box filled with miscellaneous items sat by the door. Among the assortment was the flat black box of condoms. She stared at it for a few beats, willing away a tightness in her chest, and proceeded outside.
By the time he came out, she had fed the horses a few flakes of hay, hooked up the trailer and backed it down to the corral. “Thanks for doing that,” he said.
“No problem. Just trying to beat the clock.” She followed him down to the corral, and they worked as a team haltering the horses and loading them. Sal didn’t make a fuss, just docilely followed the geldings into the trailer. While he secured them inside, Jude took a seat inside the pickup.
Several minutes later, he climbed behind the wheel, filling the whole pickup cab with his presence, and they were on their way toward Stephenville.
“We’re going back to Stephenville?” Jude asked.
“Shortest way to Fort Worth.”
“Oh. I’m not familiar with this part of the country. Listen, since we’re going back to Stephenville, if we could stop somewhere, I could get something for my headache.”
He grinned. “Too much tequila?”
She suspected the cause was tension rather than tequila. Her body felt tight as a bowstring, and her eyes felt grainy from lack of sleep. But she managed a tense smile. “Probably.”
Parking a crew-cab pickup pulling a four-horse trailer loaded with three animals was a challenge anywhere. They found no good place until they reached an isolated convenience store on the outskirts of Stephenville. By then the ache in her head had spread to her neck and shoulders.
“Do you want coffee?” she asked, picking up her purse and opening her door.
“I’ll wait for breakfast,” he said, and she was glad. She didn’t feel like debating who would pay.
When she returned to the pickup, country music filled the cab. They rode toward Fort Worth without talking, the bass from the radio’s speakers drumming between her temples. It was just as well the radio overpowered conversation, because the burr in her throat had grown to the size of a tumbleweed.
She couldn’t keep from watching him surreptitiously, and she couldn’t keep from admiring the efficient movement of his capable body, the masculine grace of his hands—hands that had caressed her with indescribable tenderness. She saw again what a skillful driver he was. Fast, alert and competent. She believed that was how he handled every aspect of his life. She waited for him to start a conversation, but he didn’t. How could they follow last night with behaving like strangers this morning? How could he say all that he had said while they made love, then not even talk today?
Made love? You had sex, Jude. It isn’t the same thing.
She swallowed the thickness that had again gathered in her throat and stared out the window.
As he said they would, they stopped for breakfast on the outskirts of Fort Worth. At a Waffle House, they took up eight parking spaces with the pickup and horse trailer. Over coffee, while waiting for the food, Brady scanned the Fort Worth Sunday paper.
Having no interest in the newspaper, she looked around. Everyone in the small diner looked scruffy, as if they had been drinking and partying all night. Just as she and Brady looked, no doubt. Neither of them had showered and shampooed. She wondered if Brady had even combed his thick brown hair. It had even more curl today than she had noticed yesterday. He hadn’t shaved. Dark stubble showed on his jaws, making him look sexy and dangerous. She remembered the rasp of whisker stubble on her intimate flesh. A quickening low in her belly startled her, and she was disgusted with herself. They were in Waffle House, forgodsake.
Jack Durham’s arrival had prevented more than their morning ablutions. She wanted to believe that if the man hadn’t appeared and reminded them of facts neither she nor Brady wanted to be reminded of, she would have crawled back into Brady’s bed and they would have spent another hour having mind-numbing sex.
On a quiet Sunday morning, parking the pickup and horse trailer on the deserted streets of downtown Fort Worth presented no problem. They moved through the museum quickly, stopping only occasionally to look longer at a particularly interesting piece, until they reached the museum’s latest Boren acquisition. With the artist being one of her father’s favorites, Jude had seen many of his works. Daddy even owned two of his originals. She didn’t dislike them, but she didn’t have the interest and keen eye of a collector. Brady, on the other hand, appeared to be sincerely interested.
“I’ll be damned,” he said, bending forward, his fingers stuffed into his back pockets, his elbows cocked. “Just look at that. I’ve got a pair of boots that look just like that.”
She peered closer at the image of a pair of worn boots and spurs. The life-size subjects looked as if they could be plucked from the frame and worn. “I’m sure all working cowboys do,” she said.
“That’s what I am. A working cowboy. Too bad I can’t paint. I
f I could, I might not be where I am now.”
She wondered what that meant. An image of him mounting his horse and riding away passed through her mind. All at once, she realized that image had replaced the one from the poster. Perhaps because a nearly nude picture of him didn’t compare to the real thing.
As they left the museum, she picked up a flyer on the new watercolor to take home to Daddy. She felt a modicum of relief at seeing the painting, and her mood lifted. At least she could say truthfully she had been to the museum and seen it. And the two ibuprophen combined with the food had started to ease her headache.
Back in the pickup, as Brady fired the engine, he said, “Since we’re going west and the day’s already shot, let’s stop by that other museum that’s got all the Russells and Remingtons. I haven’t been there in a long time.”
“The Amon Carter?” She had been to the Amon Carter in January when she and Daddy had come to Fort Worth’s annual rodeo.
“Yeah,” he said, and started out of downtown Fort Worth on the street that would take them there.
Jude was surprised. Indeed, the Amon Carter Museum had one of the most extensive collections of Russell and Remington art, but Brady Fallon was not a person she would expect to know the names of artists, much less be interested in seeing their work. “What about the horses?” she asked.
“They’ll be okay if we don’t take too long.”
They strolled through the exhibits. She became acutely aware of Brady’s hand on her shoulder as he pointed out with his opposite hand that every Russell had a splash of bright red. He slipped his arm around her waist as he discussed the accuracy of the detail in the horses. After observing the paintings, they moved on to the sculptures.
Before leaving the museum, they stood and perused the life-size mural on the wall in the front room—a group of hatless cowboys standing around a wrapped corpse in an open grave. In the background, the artist had painted a sea of longhorn cattle.
“One of those could be my distant grandfather,” Jude said. “He drove a hundred head of strays up from South Texas. While his cattle grazed on open range, he lived in a dugout. That was the beginning of the Circle C.”
She sensed his eyes on her and looked up. “We need to get going,” he said. “I’m sure those horses are getting restless.”
When they were on their way again, she had to ask, “How do you know so much about art?”
“I just know what I like. I like the history that Western art represents. I’ve always wanted to go to Montana. If I ever do, I’m gonna make it a point to go to Russell’s hometown.”
Jude had never wanted to go to Montana, but she had been there. She had accompanied her father to look at some livestock. When they were there, even her art collector father hadn’t mentioned stopping by Charles Russell’s former residence.
Soon they were on the interstate heading west, a long drive ahead of them. The radio played softly. They talked about music and movies. Brady seemed more relaxed and open, like he had been last night. They stopped at a large roadside park and exercised the horses before the last long leg of the trip.
Her braid had become a weight pulling at her neck, so once they were on the road again, she loosened it, dug a brush from her purse and brushed her hair. Brady’s attention volleyed between watching her and watching the road. “I like your hair,” he said.
“Thanks,” she replied, smiling at the memory of his hands buried in it last night.
They stopped for lunch at a Denny’s. As they crossed the parking lot, he caught her hand and held it. That same feeling of being cared for and protected that she had experienced in Lupe’s last night came back.
As they started through the Denny’s doorway, to her astonishment, Brady dropped her hand as if it were a hot coal and stopped to chat with a man coming out. The stranger discussed the construction business in Fort Worth and even mentioned Brady’s divorce and his former father-in-law. They appeared to be more than casual acquaintances. She stood back from the conversation, not wanting to be included. Brady made no attempt to introduce her and she was thankful.
Aware of the horses in the trailer, they hurried through lunch. Brady remained quiet. She suspected he was worried about having run into someone who knew him again. When she asked who the man was, he said the guy was a drywall installer, someone he had known for years in the home-building business, and there was no danger of him knowing J.D. Jude wanted to ask him about his business and what had happened to it, but she was no longer comfortable peppering him with questions.
Then they were driving again, and this time not talking about even innocuous subjects such as movies, as if running into Brady’s Fort Worth acquaintance had shoved the mistake they had made—the mistake she had made—into their faces again. It loomed larger with every mile closer to Lockett.
Since they weren’t conversing, her mind was free to consider again all of the reasons she should never have done what she did last night. She couldn’t deny that being with him, then seeing those photos, had ignited something new and different, but that didn’t mean she should have acted on whatever it was. She was a disciplined person. How had she lost so much control of the past twenty-four hours, of herself? How could she have handled this so badly?
She was a mess. Her emotions had been in turmoil since this morning, yet she, Jude Strayhorn, who was known for saying what she thought, was unprepared to talk about her feelings, couldn’t even define what they were.
The radio seemed to be playing louder. The afternoon sun burned through the windshield, and they both put on sunglasses. With her eyes hidden by dark lenses, she stared at his profile. She might be wallowing in confusion, but one thing was gradually becoming clear. She simply couldn’t have a fling in Lockett, Texas, with Brady Fallon. She had to say something, had to clear the air, had to end this before it went any further, though the idea of not seeing him again, not spending time with him, felt as heavy as a stone in her stomach.
When she saw a freeway sign noting that Abilene was fifty miles ahead, she reached over and switched off the radio. “I feel I should tell you something.”
His eyes stayed focused on the highway, but she could see a tic in his jaw. She heaved a breath and said, “I don’t want you to feel obligated because of last night. If I hadn’t started it, I know you wouldn’t have—I know we wouldn’t have—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said flatly. No expression that she could discern.
Rattled by his dispassionate reaction and her own chagrin, she forged ahead, letting words fall out of her mouth without forethought. “I know it didn’t look like it last night, but, uh . . . I’m not necessarily looking for a, uh . . . boyfriend. Daddy and Grandpa have never allowed me to even go around the bunkhouse. If they knew where I’ve been the last two days, it goes without saying they would be really upset. I’ve never . . . I’ve never even dated one of the ranch hands, much less—”
“I figured out all that before I agreed to take you with me.” He looked at her across his shoulder, but with him wearing sunglasses, she couldn’t see his eyes. “As for anything else, I wasn’t holding up a sign saying I was looking for a girlfriend, either. The last thing I can afford is a woman. I took this whole thing to be a no-strings-attached deal.”
She flinched inside. She knew she must mean something to him, because she’d had experience with two men to whom she personally had meant nothing. What had meant something to them was her family’s wealth. Being with Brady had felt somehow different. “Right. It isn’t like you kidnapped me or something, is it? Or that we pledged undying love.”
“That’s how I see it,” he said.
She wanted to curl up and wail, but she turned back to the sunny day gliding past the passenger window. Gradually that and the dull monotony of the Chevy’s big engine lulled her to sleep.
With Jude having dozed off, Brady was alone with his thoughts. And that was damn sure where he needed to be. Jude Strayhorn had sure as hell put him in his place, hadn’t she?
He went over a checklist in his mind. He had to unload the boxes in the truck bed. The fence around the small pasture attached to the barn was in decent shape, but rust and dry rot had done a number on the gate. The old hinges needed some strengthening. That should take him less than an hour. He would still have time to get in touch with Jake and find out where he could get some extra hay. If they reached Lockett early enough, he might still be able to haul it tonight.
He dared to glance at Jude, sleeping like a baby, her chest rising and falling evenly. She had on the same black bra she had worn last night. Her arm was positioned so that a small pillow of flesh pushed above her tight little top’s neckline. A wide strip of black lace lay seductively over it. And today, he knew just how soft that mammary flesh felt filling his hands and how sensitive her nipples were to his fingers and mouth. Damn.
He tried not to look at her, but his eyes seemed to have a will of their own, just like last night in Lupe’s. She was beautiful. And fearless. And unruly. She had a wildness inside, barely restrained by family loyalty and tradition. She reminded him of Sal. He had kept that horse for those very qualities. But Jude was a helluva lot more threatening to his well-being than any horse.
He turned his eyes back to the road, trying to wrestle his thoughts away from last night. But the effort proved fruitless. The landscape flanking I-20 wasn’t much to look at, and it sure as hell didn’t compare to the view of Jude’s lush, naked body astraddle his hips. She had ridden him as if he were a bucking bull that was hers to conquer. That full-frontal vision of female perfection, her head tilted back, her swollen lips parted and wet, her hands burrowed in her wild and thick-as-a-mane hair, would be branded on his brain for a good long while.
He shifted in his seat again, his pants suddenly too tight. Shit. Minutes ago, he would have sworn he didn’t have the energy for a hard-on.
Lone Star Woman Page 18
