Their Lusty Little Valentine [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  The road dipped and then rose again and Samantha gawked. A sign stuck into the ground on her right proclaimed that she had reached a town—or maybe a village? The white letters on the rough-hewn wood read Lusty, Texas—and nothing more.

  “That’s a hell of a name for a place. Oh! Maybe it’s a hippy commune!” The thought had her mentally rubbing her hands in gleeful anticipation. The hippy communes she’d found back home had been happy, welcoming places. She hoped there’d be someplace to grab a lunch. Maybe they had crafts for sale. Samantha was feeling a lot more optimistic about the wrong turn she’d taken. Whatever Lusty was, it appeared to be just over the next rise.

  Wanting her full attention on whatever she might encounter next, she turned down her car stereo.

  The rattle-clank-clunk sound, low pitched and soft and coming from somewhere close, was new. Her brow furrowed, as she tried to figure out what exactly the sound could be, and, therefore, what the heck could be wrong with her beloved car.

  Woman and machine crested the next small hill and Samantha forgot about the sound. There, before her, lay the prettiest little town she’d ever seen.

  The vista ahead was quite a surprise, sitting as it was out in the middle of all this farm and ranchland. There was a slight bump as the wheels of her car went from hard-packed dirt to pavement. Buildings lined either side of the street, most of them made of brick and several even two stories high. Not a single stoplight impeded progress, and while she saw a few vehicles parked by the curb on both sides of the street, with sidewalks also on both sides—there weren’t any people out and about.

  They’d taken the care to plant trees along the street she was on, and it didn’t take a great deal of intelligence to know this was the main street of the small town. Signs hung out so that she could see that Lusty, Texas, had a lot to offer. A grocery store, a pharmacy, and a hardware store were on her right. A dry cleaners, a seed and feed, and a book store were on the left. She passed a sheriff’s office, also on the left, and a store called Wendy’s Western Wear. On the right there was an arrow with the words “Doctor’s Office,” pointing down the first street—Elm Street. She also noted the juxtaposed street sign that told her she was on Main Street. Glancing down Elm Street, which only ran to her right, she could see that neat houses, most of them of the Victorian style, had been set down on either side of the little street. She wondered if each also claimed a good-sized yard.

  Her eyes scanned but could not see a phone booth anywhere along Main Street. It didn’t appear, either, that any of the stores were open.

  It’s Sunday. Of course everything will be closed.

  The sound her car was making got louder and Samantha found herself in an unfamiliar situation—she didn’t know what to do.

  Then three men rounded the corner of the cross street ahead and began walking down Main Street, coming her way. Taking a chance, she eased her car to the curb. Maybe they could tell her where there was a public telephone—or better yet, where the local garage was. It might be on a back street and close by.

  Her timing was perfect because as soon as she got her Mustang pulled over against the curb, she heard a loud bang, the car jerked to a sudden stop, and the engine died.

  She looked in her rearview mirror to see ugly dark smoke coming out of the car’s exhaust.

  “Damn it!” This couldn’t be good. Grim-faced, Samantha shoved the shifter into park, pulled the hood release, and got out of the vehicle.

  She lifted the hood on her baby and stared down at the machinery that was the heart and soul of her beloved car.

  The sound of pounding footsteps warned her just moments before strong arms banded around her waist. In the next heartbeat someone lifted her, and running, carried her away from the vehicle.

  “Hey! Put me down!” Samantha squirmed and kicked, struggling for all she was worth. She knew one of the three men she’d seen walking toward her had grabbed her, though she couldn’t fathom why he’d do such a thing.

  “My, what a spitting little kitten you are! Now hold still, darling. I’m trying to save your life. We don’t know if that car of yours is on fire, or not.”

  “Oh. Oh, hell! I never even thought of that. Damn it.” Samantha immediately stopped fighting the man who carried her as if she were a petite miss. He stopped running and then turned to face the car, though he didn’t set her down. She tried to ignore the tingles rushing through her and instead focused on her Mustang. Smoke no longer poured from the tailpipe. One of the other two men was down on all fours looking under the car, the other was peering under the raised hood.

  It had never occurred to her that her car might be on fire—and it should have. Perhaps it was the sudden fear of what still might happen that caused her to feel so light-headed. Or maybe it was the lack of a lunch.

  It certainly can’t be that I’m being held in the arms of a stranger that’s making me feel this way, even if his arms do feel wonderful and his scent is making me drool.

  Samantha pushed the traitorous thoughts away and focused on her beloved Mustang.

  The other two men finished their perusal and as one, turned away from the car and approached.

  “It’s not on fire,” one of them said.

  “But that’s the only good news,” the other said.

  Samantha waited for a count of three, and then she looked over her right shoulder. The man holding her had the most intriguing dark blue eyes she’d ever seen. Beyond handsome, his midnight hair, styled close but thick on top, gleamed with good health. She couldn’t read the expression on his face, but she was pretty certain she’d caught a glint of devilry in his eyes.

  She assumed what her father had always dubbed her “lady of the manor” expression, and then raised her right eyebrow.

  His response was to grin at her, as if he found her cute. Samantha felt the embers of her temper begin to stir.

  “Thank you for saving my life. You may put me down, now, sir.”

  “But I like holding you, kitten. You’re a very enticing armful of woman.”

  Kitten? That was the second time he’d called her that. No one had ever called her such a whimsical name before. She held his gaze and didn’t blink, giving him the patented Kincaid stare. This was her biggest weapon, one she shared with her father The Judge. This look alone had been known to make grown men slink away in abject terror.

  The man holding her laughed in her face.

  “Preston, I think you should put the lady down now. She doesn’t look very pleased with you, and that won’t help any of us.”

  “Taylor’s right, man. Have a thought for the future, will you?”

  “Oh, very well.” Preston set her on her feet. “In my defense, kitten, I will say that when your car began to billow that black smoke, we were worried that it was on fire.”

  Now that she was on her own two feet, that sense of dizziness dissipated. But as soon as the other two men maneuvered so that she was sort of in the midst of them, she felt breathless and light-headed again. It took some real effort to put her thoughts back on the conversation.

  “I do appreciate your concerns, and I concede they were well founded. Is it safe for me to look at my car, now?” She addressed this question to Taylor and the unnamed brother. No doubt about it, they are all brothers. I bet they’re triplets, to boot. Not identical, because she could see they each looked a little different, one from the others.

  “It’s safe,” the unnamed man said. “I’m just not sure it’s advisable. Are you sure you want to view the remains of the so recently departed?”

  That sounded rather dire. Samantha didn’t know if she should believe this man, or not. There was something about the Texas drawl—they all had it—that felt like something very naughty strumming along her skin.

  She didn’t answer him in words. Instead she walked over and gazed down at car’s engine.

  “Did you name her Sally?”

  Samantha tilted her head and spared Preston a quick look.

  He must have taken her blank
stare for confusion. “After the song by Mack Rice, since it came out the same year your car was born,” he said.

  Not many people knew that Wilson Pickett hadn’t recorded that song first. Preston’s intelligence and the sincere expression in his eyes were a dangerous combination. She didn’t think she could ever maintain a “mad” against this man.

  Good thing it won’t ever be an issue since I won’t be here longer than it takes to call a tow truck and find a motel.

  “No. I call her Baby, as she’s likely the only one I’ll ever have.”

  “Now that is a shame, sweetheart,” the unnamed man said. “I’m Charles, by the way. I realize you’re smart enough to know he’s Preston and this one’s Taylor. We’re brothers, and our last name is Kendall. And you are?”

  “Samantha Kincaid.”

  “You had to know with all that red hair she’d be Irish,” Preston said. He edged just slightly closer and looked down with her at the engine.

  Samantha caught the way Preston was looking from the motor to her. He’s likely trying to see if I even know what I’m looking at. “It’s a 289 cubic inch 306, with a 10.5 to 1 compression, and a 4 barrel carburetor.” Her father had taught her how to do her own oil changes and how to perform simple maintenance procedures required of any car owner. She could change a flat and check all the fluid levels, and had even installed a new set of spark plugs once.

  “No,” Charles said. “It’s a 289 inch 306, with a 10.5 to 1 compression, a 4 barrel carburetor, with a thrown piston.”

  Her gaze snapped up to his. “Why would you say that?”

  “We heard the bang of it, and saw the way your car came to a very jerky stop. That wasn’t you jumping on the brakes, I’ll bet, but your engine seizing. Your car is going to need a new engine, Miss Kincaid.”

  Charles was right. She hadn’t been the one to make the car jerk to such a sudden stop. “Well, hells bells.” She looked around the town. “Is there a phone booth somewhere? I guess I’ll need to call for a tow, and a mechanic.”

  “There’re no phone booths in town,” Preston said. “As well, not a single business is open today. Sorry.”

  He certainly didn’t look sorry. “You don’t have to look so happy about that.” It was pretty hard not to smile at the man. Considering the state of her poor car, and the crisis she now faced, the fact she could smile was a remarkable thing, indeed.

  “What can I say?” he spread his hands, palms up, as if stating the obvious. “I’m a happy man.”

  Samantha exhaled, her breath ruffling her bangs. The heat had built so that she felt as if she was in an oven. Taking a moment to scan the town, she used her wrist to blot at the perspiration on her forehead. It was incredibly hot—and there really wasn’t a single business open. That fact shouldn’t have surprised her at all. It was, after all, Sunday, and this was a small town.

  New York City never closed, but then that city was in a class by itself.

  “Miss Kincaid, do you see that rather large house just over there?” Taylor pointed to the south. There were actually two large houses that she could see. They appeared to be standing nearly across from each other but about a quarter of a mile apart. She imagined there were streets or fields between them. The downtown core didn’t stretch that far, and one of the two houses put her in mind of an antebellum plantation home.

  “That’s our home. Our parents and our grandparents are in residence, and I know they would be delighted for you to come over and use our telephone. Even if you have to call long distance to have someone come to your aid, that would be perfectly fine.”

  “In fact,” Charles said, “if we don’t bring you home and Mother finds out about it, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  The mention of family in residence eased her concern about propriety—and at the same time, ridiculously, disappointed her.

  She’d eschewed much of her generation’s worship of “free love.” Not that she was a prude, but she did believe that intimacy should only be shared after a man and woman got to know each other.

  It completely embarrassed her that the tiny mental fantasy that arose when she thought the word “intimacy” featured her with not one, but all three of these sexy Texan men.

  It has to be the heat. Push that thought away right now!

  “Oh, dear. You’re looking very flushed. Mother will be annoyed if we let you get heat stroke. You best come along.” Preston took her hand and began to lead her away from her car. “It’ll only take us about ten minutes to walk to the house. I apologize, the three of us were just over visiting some friends. We often leave our cars at home, because our town isn’t very big.”

  “If we’d had any inkling we’d be rescuing a damsel in distress today, we’d have driven one of them,” Charles said.

  “Although if we had, we may not have been on hand when you needed us, so there you have it.” Taylor seemed quite certain of that.

  “Wait. I need to lock my car and grab my purse.”

  “I’ll grab your bag for you, but there’s no need to lock your car.” Charles spun on his heal and jogged back to Baby.

  “This is Lusty. No one will touch it.” Preston had hold of her hand, and tossed that nugget back to her without breaking his stride.

  Her mother had told her, before she’d left home, that for the most part, Texan men were gentlemen in the finest Southern tradition, and would treat a lady with the utmost respect. She thought back over the last few minutes. From that first moment when Preston Kendall had scooped her into his arms, to the way they were leading her into the unknown, these men had been polite—and pushy. Samantha made a note that the next time she spoke to her mother, she would have to deliver the news that times—and Texan men—certainly had changed.

  Chapter 2

  Preston felt his heart pounding in his chest, and knew the cause. Samantha Kincaid was the most exquisite woman he’d ever laid eyes on. And she was one other thing, on top of that.

  She was theirs.

  He kept an eye on her as he led her through his town to his home. Yes, she’d looked flushed, but he didn’t actually believe the Texas midday sun was the only culprit for Miss Kincaid’s overheated condition.

  A very discreet, albeit dedicated glimpse of the front of the lady’s T-shirt told him her nipples had hardened into tiny little buds.

  Samantha Kincaid, for all of the veiled looks and pointed glares she’d sent his way, was aroused.

  “You’re very bossy, Mr. Kendall. My mother told me that Texan men were gentlemen, through and through.”

  Preston grinned. Samantha could certainly sound lady of the manor when she put her mind to it. His Aunt Kate had the same quality—as did his Grandmother Chelsea.

  “Your mother knows some Texan gentlemen, does she?”

  “She was born and raised in Austin. She married my daddy when he came down here to an American Bar Association convention.”

  “Your daddy’s a lawyer?” Taylor asked the question they all had on their tongues.

  “He’s a judge, now. Of course, I’m following in his footsteps. I’ll be clerking at a law firm in Austin, and going to law school at the same time.”

  “That’s got to be kismet,” Charles said. “The law runs in our family, too. Several generations, ending with us.”

  Samantha gasped and met his gaze. “The three of you are lawyers?”

  “It’s true. We have an office in Waco, and one in Houston. There’re so many of us the signs just say ‘Kendall Partners.’”

  “That’s…wow. I mean, what are the odds that I would run into not one but three lawyers in a small Texas town?”

  “Well now,” Charles said, “There are currently about seven hundred souls living in Lusty, and all the lawyers are named Kendall. So I would say your chances, statistically speaking, were six in seven hundred.”

  “You’re very literal,” Samantha said.

  “Thank you.” Charles beamed at the compliment.

  “I’m curious, kitten. Why go to law school in A
ustin when your daddy is a judge in Connecticut?” Of course they’d noticed the plates on her pretty little red Mustang, so they’d known she was from out of state.

  “Because my father is a judge in Connecticut. I’m not whining, I’m just stating the facts. If I were a man, no one would think twice of my success in law school. But being a woman, it will be assumed that my daddy the judge ‘fixed’ my marks for me.”

  Preston nodded. “It is a sad statement about society in this modern age that women are still not accorded the professional considerations they deserve.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you say it.”

  “We won’t take that comment personally,” Taylor said. “We know our view is uncommon for our times, and you don’t know us very well, yet.”

  “I’m not certain how well I’ll get to know you. Once I have my car towed I’ll get myself into a motel, and out of your hair.”

  “You have no family in Austin to call, then?”

  “None. My mother’s parents died in a car accident shortly after she wed Daddy. They were both only children, and their parents had also passed.”

  Preston shot a look over Samantha’s head—he was just able to do so, which made her the perfect height for them—to his brother Charles. His brother nodded.

  “We thought you might have friends or family in the area that you’d want to call to give you a hand.” And Preston found himself feeling not very happy that she didn’t, and that she’d in fact been on a cross-country trek on her own. I’d best hide those feelings for the moment. He didn’t think Miss Samantha Kincaid would cotton very well to his acting in what she might call a macho way.

  “Well, now you know. Although I would appreciate being able to check in with my mother, if I could, to let her know what’s happened, and that I’m all right.”

  “Of course,” Preston said.