Shawnee closed her eyes and swore—long, low, and filthy—while the infamous Ace Pickett beamed at her from the midst of his scattered baggage.
Chapter 12
Ace looked about as good as trouble could, even in day-old clothes and a dingy arm sling—broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, with a lazy grin that had been fluttering female hearts since birth. Even Hollywood hadn’t been able to resist him…until the third or fourth time he failed to show up on a set because he’d wandered off to rope and forgot to come back.
Shawnee folded her arms tight over the heart that was still stupid enough to skip a beat at the sight of Ace. “You can’t borrow my horse and I’m not giving you money.”
Beside her, Cole sucked in a breath, as if shocked at her rudeness. He didn’t understand. With Ace you had to lay down the law before he had a chance to dazzle you with his bullshit.
He flashed her a sad, wounded smile. “Is that any way to talk to your daddy when I came all this way just to see you?”
Yes. “How did you know I was here?”
“Everybody’s talkin’ about you two.” His eyes were measuring Cole even as he jabbed a thumb into his own chest. “That’s my girl, I said. And it’s been too long since I’ve seen her.”
In other words, he was either flat broke or had some scheme cooked up to cash in on her fifteen minutes of fame. Probably both.
“Well, here I am,” she said. “And here I go. Glad you could see me.”
And she walked away before she weakened and asked him if the sling was real or just a prop, or got sucked under by the wave of pity and disgust at seeing him that way—threadbare and abandoned by his latest sugar mama, all his worldly possessions tossed in the dirt.
“Shawnee, honey—”
In her peripheral vision she saw him move to follow her. Cole blocked Ace’s path, Katie stepping up beside him with her ears pinned and lip curled. Shawnee could have told them not to bother. Ace would get to her eventually. He always did, on too many levels to contemplate. But she kept walking, knowing with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t get past Cole right this minute. She was all for fighting her own battles, but she’d lost this one enough times to take advantage of every extra second to bolster her defenses. The silver-tongued devil was hard enough to resist when she saw him coming.
And they wondered why she didn’t have much use for charm.
But what did you call a man who would sacrifice his precious schedule on her behalf? A smile tugged at her mouth and she realized she had the flyer Cole had given her clutched to her bosom like a damn bouquet. She scowled and jammed it into the back pocket of her jeans, but her heart did a fancy little swoop and spin of anticipation. Picking up broncs was way more of a rush than she’d anticipated, but God, she missed competing. Sometimes she had to ride away from the arena during the team roping, out of sight and sound, because she couldn’t stand being on the sidelines.
And Cole had not only noticed, but cared enough to do something about it.
She flattened another smile. Like he said, she was one of his crew. His responsibility. And they did owe her. There was no reason to take it personally. Or get all squishy in the head and start looking at Cole as anything but a giant favor she was doing for Violet.
Too late, a little voice whispered in her ear.
She shook it off and forced her attention back to the more immediate disaster. Getting rid of Ace was gonna cost her. It always did. She just had to decide how much she was willing to pay—and in what currency.
* * *
Ace didn’t seem particularly alarmed when Cole stepped into his path. He just tipped his head back and flashed a friendly smile. “So you’re Steve’s nephew. Good man, your uncle.”
“Yes.” Cole folded his arms and took full advantage of his size to loom over the older man. “I don’t think Shawnee wants to talk to you.”
Another man might have been embarrassed, or shamed. Ace laughed. “Aw, that’s just her way. She’s gotta bust my balls for not keepin’ in touch, but deep down she’s happy to see me.”
Very, very deep down, from what Cole could tell. “So that’s all? Just a visit, then you’re on your way?”
“Well, now, I suppose that depends.”
“On?”
Ace flashed another good ol’ boy smile. “How much catchin’ up we have to do.”
“Uh-huh.” Cole surveyed the scatter of belongings on the ground. “You’re travelin’ pretty light.”
“I like to keep things simple.”
Somehow, Cole doubted that. He’d never had the dubious pleasure of meeting Ace personally, but from all accounts the man was a walking, talking complication. Before he could decide whether to tell him to gather his crap and keep on walking, Tyrell climbed down the stairs from the announcer’s stand and strolled over, picking up a stray boot along the way and handing it to Ace.
“Did I miss all the excitement?”
“Nothing worth mentioning.” Ace tucked the boot under his injured arm and extended his left hand in greeting. “I’m Shawnee’s daddy. And you are…”
Cole made terse introductions. Tyrell and Ace both smiled their slickest smiles while sizing each other up. Then Tyrell turned to Cole. “I suppose it’ll take, what, another hour or two for y’all to finish up with the stock?”
Cole frowned. What was Tyrell talking about? “We’re just—”
“Getting started, right?” Tyrell cut in with a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Mariah and I are heading into town for lunch. Ace here might as well come along with us, if he doesn’t mind a little shopping.” He rolled his eyes skyward with a long-suffering sigh. “Daughters, right?”
“Uh, right.” Ace glanced in the direction Shawnee had disappeared, his need to pursue her obviously warring with the offer of a free meal. “But I really should…”
“I’ll talk to Shawnee,” Cole said.
“I can wait—”
“I’ll talk to Shawnee,” Cole said again, with more emphasis and a hint of a threat.
Ace eyed him for a couple of beats, then relaxed into another of those devil-may-care smiles. “Sure. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up later.”
Unless Shawnee preferred not to be caught. As soon as Cole got his horse put away, he intended to make a beeline straight to her rig and find out what he was supposed to do with their uninvited guest.
* * *
Shawnee had barely set foot inside her trailer when her phone rang. A glance at the number confirmed what she’d already guessed. Her mother’s Ace radar was still fully functional. And they’d have to slap a red-hot branding iron on Shawnee’s bare ass before she’d confess that he was here.
She injected some sparkle into her voice when she answered. “Hey, Mama. How are you?”
“Fine.” The word was a breath away from a sigh. “I saw you on television.”
Shawnee toed off her boots, resisting the urge to kick them at the walls. “Yeah? Is it true what they say about chaps making your ass look big?”
“Shawnee!” Her mother sighed for real. “You looked good. And Cole Jacobs is such a nice-looking boy.”
“He’s thirty-five, Ma, and half the size of an elephant. I don’t think boy is the word we’re looking for.”
“Hmm. And how is Joao Paolo?” Because of course her mother would pronounce his name in full, and properly, ever fearful of offending.
“That’s over,” Shawnee said breezily.
“Oh. Well. I suppose it had to be eventually. He is very young.” She paused, then added hopefully, “Were you being sarcastic in that interview? About Cole, I mean.”
“Of course.”
“But you’ll be working with him the rest of the summer, so there’s always a chance…”
“Ma. Don’t.” Shawnee plopped down on the couch and scraped sweaty hair off her now-aching forehead. “They didn’t sav
e me a place in the happily ever after line.”
“You don’t know that! And Cole has always been so reliable…”
“He wants kids,” Shawnee said flatly. “Of his own.”
“Oh.”
Yeah. That was always a conversation stopper. Shawnee put a deliberate leer in her voice. “But I suppose I could let him practice on me. He is very…large.”
“Shawnee!”
“I’m kidding, Ma.” But now she’d gone and planted the idea in her own head, where it immediately began to, um, grow. Ack. When was someone going to invent a safe and effective delete key for stupid thoughts? “I’m fine. And you’d be a whole lot better if you stopped worrying so much.”
“You’re all I have to worry about.”
Shawnee swallowed a curse at the quaver in her mother’s voice. Yet another sin for which Ace Pickett would burn, if there was any justice at all.
* * *
Half an hour later, he still hadn’t knocked on her door. She wasn’t exactly hard to find with her name plastered on the side of the pickup. Should she worry what Cole had done with him? She dumped a blob of bread dough onto the scrubbed and floured counter top and began to take out her frustration on it. Of course, as soon as she was elbow deep, a knock came at the door.
Without even glancing over her shoulder, she knew it wasn’t Ace. The knock was a familiar deep thud, and there was only one person big enough to make the whole trailer dip when he put his weight on the step after she yelled to come in.
And just how big was enough?
Shut up, shut UP, you stupid brain. “Did you knock him over the head and dump his body in a ditch?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
Cole sounded so grim she turned to see if he was carrying a club. “What did you do with him?”
“Tyrell and Mariah took him into town. They’ll keep him out of your hair until we can—” The words died as his gaze landed on the mound of dough. His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “Are you baking bread?”
“Rolls, actually.”
“I haven’t had homemade rolls in almost two months.” He swallowed audibly. “And you can make them? From scratch?”
Bristling, Shawnee folded her arms, then cursed when she smeared flour on her boobs. “They’re edible. Better since Miz Iris taught me—”
He cut her off with a groan that sounded physically painful, and fumbled his wallet out of his back pocket. “I’ll pay you for them. Name your price.”
Shawnee gaped at him. “Are you insane?”
“Yes. It’s the withdrawal.” He gazed at her with more longing than she would’ve imagined him capable of. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to get cut off after eating my aunt’s cooking all these years?”
“That’s…” She was going to say ridiculous, then she remembered the baked ham, biscuits, and mess of greens she’d inhaled the last time she was at the Jacobs ranch. And that apple pie…“I see your point.”
“Then we have a deal?” He started to pull a bill from his wallet.
“No.” At his stricken expression, she added, “I’m not taking your money. Just…” Geezus. She’d been braced to deal with Ace, and now this? She pointed at the table. “Stop looming while we figure something out.”
He obeyed with an eagerness that would’ve made her laugh if this whole day hadn’t been so damn bizarre. The dog followed on his heels, plunking her butt down and thumping her tail on the floor, suddenly friendly as hell. Cole plopped his forearms on the table and they both looked at her as if she was going to toss them a cookie.
“I’m not even done kneading the dough,” she said. “Then it’s gotta raise—twice—and I have to bake them.”
“Okay.” He didn’t budge. Neither did the dog. Were they just gonna sit there and stare at her for two hours?
Shawnee stepped over to the sink, brushed the excess flour off her hands, then grabbed a full colander and an empty bowl. “Here. You can earn your first fix by snapping these beans. I assume you know how?”
“Of course.” His big hands were surprisingly nimble as he plucked the first bean from the colander, snapped off the ends, then broke it into precise pieces. He cast her another hopeful look. “I don’t suppose you got Aunt Iris’s recipe for these, too?”
Shawnee huffed out a laugh. “My grandmother’s. But I don’t generally make enough to justify a ham hock, so I use bacon instead.”
“I love bacon.” Cole’s eyes glazed over a little, then refocused with added determination. “Seriously. I will pay you to feed me. Even if it’s only once a week.”
“I can’t…” Imagine sitting down to a meal with Cole, just the two—she glanced at the dog—okay, three of them.
“I’ll buy the groceries,” he added. “And I’ll get rid of Ace.”
Now she did laugh. “You can’t just toss him off the rodeo grounds. It’s public property.”
“I can make it hard for him to stay.”
Suddenly Shawnee was acutely aware of Cole’s mass, and his strength. She had no doubt he could bundle Ace up, haul him out of town, and dump him on the side of the road. And she should let him. Dammit.
She heaved a deep sigh, ripe with contempt for her dear ol’ daddy…and herself. “If he had anywhere else to go or a dime to get there, he wouldn’t have come looking for me.”
“How’s that your problem?” Cole picked up another bean and snapped it into another series of uniformly sized pieces. “When did you see him last?”
“Three years ago.” She went back to pummeling the dough. “When Tori and I won that big Turn ’Em and Burn ’Em roping in Abilene, he figured out who she was, realized I had connections, and showed up with all kinds of big ideas about how we could spend the Patterson money—buying horses, training them, hauling them all over the country.” She made a disdainful noise. “Ace’s favorite kind of plan. Getting paid to rope.”
“You said no?”
“Nah. I went ahead and let him try his sales pitch on Tori.”
Cole winced. “Ouch.”
“Yep. She sliced and diced him without even raising her voice.” Shawnee smiled fiercely at the memory. “God, I love that woman.”
“He hasn’t been back since?”
Shawnee buried her fist in the dough. “No reason.”
Another man might have pointed out that most fathers would just want to see their only child, but Cole wasn’t one to waste words on the obvious. “Are you sure you won’t let me run him off?”
“I know. I’m an idiot.” Ace had abandoned her in an hour of desperate need. Why shouldn’t she return the favor? She punched the dough again and blew out a sigh powerful enough to send flour poofing into the air. “It would make me no better than him.”
For a few moments, there was no sound except the snap of beans and the thump of Shawnee’s fists in the dough. Then Cole said, “He can sleep in one of the trucks. The Leses and Hank can take turns sharing the motel room.”
“Way to cramp Hank’s style,” Shawnee said, falling back on sarcasm because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Even better.” Cole hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, then shrugged. “I can find some way for your daddy to earn his keep.”
Shawnee fisted her hands, the dough squeezing out between her fingers. “Call him Ace.”
Cole gave her a long look, then nodded. “Is he a drunk?”
“No. He’s a gambling addict—but instead of cards or slots, team roping is his game. There’s not much he won’t do to feed his habit, but as far as I know, he doesn’t steal outright. You may want to lock up any women of means over the age of fifty, though.”
“Not the sweet young things?”
“Hah!” She rolled the mangled dough into a smooth ball and began to knead it properly. “Young women cost money. Ace is the trophy, custom-made for hanging on the arms
of rich widows and divorcées. Unfortunately, he’s also a lazy, self-centered bastard who is incapable of catering to anyone’s whims but his own for very long. Hence—”
She gestured toward where Ace’s latest had heaved him and his belongings out of her car.
Cole snapped the last of the beans and pushed the colander across the table toward her. The chunks looked as if he’d measured them with a ruler.
Shawnee gave the bread dough a final pat and covered it with a towel. “Come back in a couple of hours. I’ll fix you a plate.” At the almost inaudible whine, she added, “And a little extra for Katie.”
Cole’s smile was so bright it knocked Shawnee back on her heels. She grabbed the edge of the counter for balance. “Hey! Be careful where you point that thing.”
“What?” The smile faded into puzzlement.
Right. Like she was gonna tell him. Shawnee flapped her hand. “Go. You and that dog take up too much air.”
And way, way too much space, especially in her thoughts. And potentially, her dreams.
Which—given their completely opposite life goals—could turn into a total nightmare.
Chapter 13
Cole glanced around to be sure the coast was clear, then peeled up a corner of the foil on the square plastic storage tub Shawnee had shoved into his hands. His stomach gave a deep, happy rumble at the scent of warm bread. He had intended to grab his loot and hustle straight to his trailer, but the walk was too long, and the temptation too great. The three golden rolls she’d tucked in beside a grilled chicken breast and the pile of greens weren’t quite as perfectly shaped as his aunt’s, but they sure smelled right.
He extracted a roll from under the foil. The instant his teeth sank through the crisp, buttery crust, his taste buds began to sing the opening lines to “Hey, Good Lookin’.” Not strictly appropriate, but it was the only song he knew about cooking. And Shawnee wasn’t hard to look at. Especially in a wet T-shirt…
Okay, that was inappropriate. He took another bite of the roll, which obliterated everything except Ahhh!
Tougher in Texas Page 8
