by Susan Arden
The kind she’d like to turn the flame up on and see where it led. And that was part of the problem. Flame. Fire. Getting naked. So far, it hadn’t happened. Not for her with him—or any other man.
Four years, seven months, and sixteen days since they’d officially started dating. And still counting until the moment they’d do more than kiss and drive each other stark raving mad. Lately being near Rory had her to the point of going all kinds of crazy. They might not be doing it for real, but they were tormenting each other’s imagination every which way from Sunday.
She squeezed her hands around Rory’s bronzed bicep that he flexed. Taut under her fingertips and she savored his smooth skin that sizzled like the summer sun against her palms. Pushing up his shirtsleeve, she traced the intricate inking on his arm, admiring her handiwork up close. Interlocking bands of black ink inspired from a Maori tribal design. This example of her freehanded artwork looked unbelievable on his rock-hard shoulder and sculpted arm.
“Cowboy, you’re positively lickable,” Sommer moaned.
“You look mighty appealing yourself in that skirt. How ‘bout you come sit on my lap and tell me about your day?” he teased her with a panty-melting grin.
“Rory—” Her words were drowned by a raucous thunder of male voices that suddenly filled the air.
A line of hard-bodied men trekked past. Some wore work clothes, while others were clean-shaven and drenched in cologne. She watched girls she knew latch onto a guy—or two. As they passed by, they called out with a chorus of “Hey, Sommer!”
The locals came here to enjoy the game, beer, and food that the Diamond served up during football season. For a Sunday night, the bar was overflowing with customers, what with this weekend’s combination cattle drive and the first NFL game. The sexual tension was thick enough to slice and serve on a plate. No question—afterwards, a majority of the couples were going home and getting busy.
Someone called out, “Rory. Hey, dude!”
Two wranglers from Evermore Ranch walked up and tipped their hats to her.
“Sommer,” Ely greeted her and smiled.
Mike, the other man and a new hire, shifted his eyes to her for a second but said nothing.
She recognized the men, ranch crew not much older than Rory. But he was their boss, now that he’d decided to stay put in Annona and follow in his family’s ranching business. More greetings filled the air. Some of the men were temporary ranch hands, hired to help with the cattle drive, and others were guys that she’d grown up with.
Greeting them, she kept her expression neutral, yet couldn’t help bunching her shoulders as more and more men entered the area. Single studs on the prowl, whooping and hollering. Yep, things were heating up fast.
“What’d I miss in the first quarter?” Rory fist bumped his crew. “Anyone get taken out?”
Mike pushed his Devils cap back on his head. “Dallas is ahead. Your soon to be brother-in-law got sacked on the thirty-yard line.”
“How bad did Brett go down?” Rory cut a glance toward the widescreen, though a commercial was on.
“He wears his name well. Maybe too well.” Mike snorted, lifting his mug and drained it.
Rory snapped his focus to Mike. “What do you mean?”
“Golden boy is fine. Held onto the pass.” Frowning, Mike set his mug down and motioned to the bartender. “But I bet he’s angrier than a riled grizzly. The Giants are dead serious tonight. The play just went down. Look, it’s on replay again.”
Rory swung his attention to the widescreen, watching the play, and Sommer cringed at the way Cory’s fiancé took the hit. All sorts of stats and remarks were tossed back and forth, as she sat there tongue-tied. No matter how many times she crossed paths with Mike, he left her with a sour taste in her mouth in how he took people’s bets like it was nothing.
About six months ago, her mom had made the mistake of getting involved with a man like him. A no account bookie, but connected to Clayton Bell. Momma believed the worst of it was that it had cost her a whole paycheck. One of the few her mom had earned. Sommer had never explained how bad it was to anyone. But it was enough that either she or Aunt Belinda were there at night to watch over Rae. Luckily, it was a one-time deal as were many of Momma’s ventures.
Sommer focused on the TV screen, watching Brett Gold run and weave down the field. That NFL tight end was head-over-heels in love with Rory’s twin sister, and she’d met him a few times. Sommer was well acquainted with the McLemore clan. She’d gone to school with Rory and Cory, starting in kindergarten through high school when they’d graduated together in the auditorium down the block.
Rory shook his head. “So the Giant’s defense is on the warpath. What are the points on tonight’s game?”
Mike pushed his fresh mug aside on the bar. Leaning on his forearms, he smirked and pulled on the bill of his ball cap. “You want in?”
Silence. Rory peered over to the television screen, then slowly shifted his gaze back at Mike. “Depends. What’s the spread?”
She pursed her lips, and inhaled sharply. She imagined in Rory’s book, tonight equated to football, beer, and laying down a few bets with his friends. Another NFL Sunday night in Annona.
Far removed from the hot and sexy kind of boisterous behavior she was angling for this evening. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the bar, dousing herself in a round of self-talk. Just smile. Just keep smiling. That’s what her mom always said and the reminder lit a fire under her bottom. Some good it had done Momma, who probably right this moment was sitting on the sofa, watching Family Feud, and waiting on a man who wasn’t ever coming back.
“Sommer.” Ely tipped his hat to her before slapping Rory on the back. “Boss, take it easy on Mike.” Ely also said something about playing pool later on and moseyed down the bar.
But Mike remained. Now he spoke with Rory in a hushed voice. Probably trying to dicker to get a bet on tonight’s game. Mike and a few others around town booked bets from NFL to college ball, fantasy football, and other sports. Mike, like many of the men on the ranches, had a thing for laying odds on anything that had more than one possible outcome. Sports, pool, cards, darts, heck, even the gender of the offspring of a prized breeder’s cow or horse sparked a betting pool of late. And Rory had a way with winning.
Lady Luck seemed to follow him around. Not her. Lady Luck gave her wide berth—another reason why Sommer couldn’t seem to get free of Deputy Demento and his unending greed.
Nibbling on her bottom lip, she let her gaze roam across Rory’s six-foot-three frame. He was just starting to get that bulk that his older brothers sported. Over the last year, the stubble on his face had turned darker, casting a shadow of ruggedness across his carved features. She wondered what his beard would feel like scraping across her in other places besides her face and neck. Say, skimming over her breasts or belly, and maybe between her thighs. She sucked in a breath, gripping the bar at the thought of doing something truly wild with Rory. For once.
“Hey, McLemore,” the bartender called out from behind the bar. “What’ll ya’ll have?”
Mike had pushed off, wandering down the bar, talking with some other guys. Rory squeezed her arm, running his fingers down her skin, and eliciting a shiver from her core.
“Draft and whatever this firecracker is having,” Rory said, motioning to her and for a second, his attention flickered to the football game on the widescreen in front of them before returning to her.
“Another slippery dick?” the bartender shouted.
Rory stiffened. She felt his whole body tense. His jaw clenched and his brows drew together.
“Tequila,” she supplied, her face heating from her cowboy’s unwavering glare. When the bartender turned away, she notched up her chin. “Something wrong, McLemore?”
“Is that what you’ve been drinking?” His eyes were backlit with a spark that tended to flare when he got angry. Which was about seventy-five percent of the time on any given day.
When he really got going, his eyes darkened like a stormy sky, and how she’d love to see those eyes darken for her in a bedroom.
“Baby, I’m asking aren’t I? Did someone buy you that drink?” His gaze delved into her and she felt it take hold. He’d never gotten outright upset as in jealous but she understood it was a current that he kept in check.
It wasn’t a game she played like some of her friends to spur or spurn their boyfriends and lovers. “Nope, I didn’t talk to anyone. It was just me and the girls. They’re out dancing and having fun.” That white lie was crucial. She couldn’t ever let on about Bell’s threats—spoken or veiled. Rory would take action—not the sane kind.
“Naw, this isn’t about fun. I can see something in your eyes. You’ve been drinking more than usual.” Her cowboy leaned over and lowered his voice. “What’s the truth, hellcat?”
The back of Sommer’s eyes stung. Every atom in her roared to tell him about Bell. Oh, it’d be easy to let her cowboy enfold her in his sculpted arms as she poured out her worry and what it had been like—the things she’d witnessed. Don’t do it.
Rory’s temper ran black, and the risk was too extreme.
Sommer’s heart beat faster than a war drum. Hush up, heart. Thirteen years ago, she’d fallen hard for Rory. Loving him wasn’t easy, not that she could or would ever stop. Deep in her core, she knew what McLemore would do to Bell—deputy or not. This would go to her grave as long as Texas still served up capital punishment and death row.
Chapter 2
“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1
Thirteen years ago.
MOONLIGHT SPILLED from the window into Rory’s room, washing a glint of silver over the floor. Momma had already checked on him and his dad had just gone to sleep, so it was time. Fully clothed, he threw off the covers and rolled out of bed. From under his pillow, Rory snatched an envelope. Even in the dark, it glowed bright pink. Not about to get ribbed by his friends, or worse by his brothers, he’d kept it hidden.
He tucked the envelope inside his jacket next to the red heart Sommer had given him during recess. It was still Valentine’s Day and he wasn’t late. Not yet. Treading down the hall, he crept close to the wall. Step-by-step he descended the stairs, careful of the spots that creaked. It took a heap of his concentration. This was the first time he hadn’t flown down them. Near ‘bout everyone kept harping whenever he tore through a room, there wasn’t a fire to get to, and to think before he flew out the door. Felt real hard, almost impossible when his heart hammered nonstop—like now. Last step, he was almost home free.
Downstairs was shrouded in shadows. Holding his breath, he sprinted noiselessly, all the way through the kitchen to the back door. Rory popped the lock. It sounded loud, but nowhere near the beating of his heart, drumming nonstop in his ears. He slipped outside into the quiet, into the gun gray dark. Smoke from the chimney scented the crisp air as he raced over frozen ground that crunched under his boots.
Once inside the barn, he hoofed it to the stall door of his horse. All around it was as if prickly darts pierced Rory’s skin somethin’ awful. Lifting the saddle and tack, he jostled alongside Tribute’s flank. He brushed by his horse’s dapple-gray coat. The ticking in Rory’s head made breathing difficult. As he cinched the saddle, his horse neighed then softly nickered as if in question.
“It won’t take long,” he replied in a strained voice, keyed up to get to going. After dealing with the bridle and reins, he practically burst out of the stall. He jogged across the dirt floor, tugging on the leather reins to get Tribute to trot.
They cleared the barn, and he was careful not to slam the door shut. Sounds echoed across the field and his father had mighty good hearing. Wade McLemore was known to be fair, but he’d be angrier than a hornet if he caught Rory out here. Yet his dad always said, “What was worth having, was worth the sacrifice.” Rory had heard that since the day he was born. It ran in his veins like that of his brothers, uncles, cousins.
Grabbing hold of the worn horn, he hauled himself up and onto the saddle. His boots slid into the stirrups. He barely clicked his tongue and Tribute’s hooves bit into the ground. A spring that exploded.
As though one fluid body, they charged over the packed dirt. Rory held onto the reins, bowing forward along his horse’s neck as they flew over the road. Then like a bullet, they tore past the Evermore sign and out the ranch gates. His heart drilled against his ribs matched by his horse’s hoof beats. Excitement bled through him as a smile stretched wide over his cheeks. Soon he’d give Sommer the valentine he’d made, and she’d finally know the secret he carried.
Under the twinkling gleam of a million stars, Tribute’s hooves pounded the road faster and faster. The icy wind whipped against Rory’s cheeks, making his eyes tear, blurring his vision. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, and when he refocused, up ahead were a pair of lights. Dim, off in the distance, but he recognized them. Unease coiled in his gut. Boxed in by deep ditches on either side of the road, there was no escape.
Closer and brighter tunneled the headlights of the truck. He gritted his teeth as Tribute raced toward the twin beams. Rory had two choices. Stop and explain, or…Dang it. Flicking the reins, he galloped by his brother’s truck window. Their gazes collided and he absorbed the shock of surprise on Brandon’s face.
The headlights swung around and tailed him, gaining speed in a race he couldn’t win. His whole body clenched as moonlight mixed with the high beams. He couldn’t risk spooking Tribute. Slowing his horse to a canter, Rory glared at his brother, pulling up alongside him.
“What in tarnation are you doing!” Brandon hollered. “Hold up, and I mean now!”
He used his knees to control Tribute, who nickered loudly and tossed his silvery mane. “Tell me about it,” Rory growled. Both of their breaths came out in billowy clouds of frustration at this interruption. Horse and rider finally conceded, whirling around on the frozen road without an alternative in place.
“Boy, you better start talkin’,” Stephen, his other brother yelled, coming out of the truck and around to him.
Stephen grabbed Tribute’s bridle, and glanced back at Brandon. Anger and disappointment washed over Rory in crashing waves. He could barely breathe, let alone speak.
Brandon climbed out from behind the wheel and ambled over. “Rory, what are you doing out here?”
Rory’s muscles quavered. Sommer. Sommer. Sommer thrummed inside his chest. Gripping the reins, he couldn’t explain the feeling, only that it didn’t go away. Not that he wanted it to. Well, some days he did when that girl drove him nearabouts to fisting his fingers and wanting to shout like there was a wild animal inside him ready to burst out.
“Going to Sommer’s. Got to give her somethin’ important.”
With their stern expressions, his brothers turned to each other. He expected them to really start shoutin’, but they didn’t. Stephen tipped up his hat and shook his head. Both of them actually smiled before letting go whooping laughs.
“Man, I won the bet.” Brandon punched his brother. “Nine years old, Rory’s the youngest. Looks like he overtook your record, dude.”
His head snapped up. “What record?”
“Aw nothing. Just trash talk,” Stephen said. “And don’t get angry. Better save it. Once you fall in love, it ain’t us you gotta fight.”
Love? Rory frowned. He’d always thought Stephen was smart, but his brother was dead wrong. He wasn’t in love. That was mushy stuff for girls, not him. Sommer was his. Had nothin’ to do with… that.
Staring hard at his brothers, he gritted out, “I ain’t in love. It’s different.” He couldn’t explain and there went that sharp surging rush inside his chest. Bam-bam-bam! Happened more and more when he thought about Sommer. “It’s something else!”
“We aren’t here to argue, Rory,” Brandon sighed, and jutted his chin. �
��How’re you getting to Miss Kincaid’s?”
If they hadn’t hauled him off Tribute by now, it meant they might help. He shifted in his saddle as Tribute stomped his hooves, impatient to get going. “On the old highway. Cutting across the high school field, and it’s only a few blocks past.”
Both his brothers nodded and Stephen let go of Tribute’s bridle. “Okay. We’ll follow.”
“No!” he hollered in return. “You’ll ruin it.”
“Don’t argue. We’ll keep our distance,” Brandon said. “It’s either that or we all return home.”
* * *
Angry shouts filled the house and Sommer flinched. “Rae, I’ve had enough of your shit! I warned you,” Daddy yelled at Momma down the hall.
More hollerin’. Her parents’ bickering got loud, so loud it made her stomach knot tight. Ugly words hung in the air. Words she didn’t like. Sommer covered her ears, kneeling down inside her closet as Dandelion her kitten climbed onto her lap. She didn’t have earplugs and one of them fancy iPods the other girls in her class had to drown out the world.
Momma’s doctor visits and medicine came first. That’s what Daddy explained time and again, but the angry way he’d said it made Sommer sad. Nowadays, he always seemed upset. Even when he smiled, she could see he wasn’t happy inside. That’s where it counted.
“This time, I’m leaving for good!” Her daddy’s voice thundered.
Then there wasn’t any more hollerin’. Rapid loud footfalls crashed in the hall and paused outside her bedroom. The knob rattled but Daddy didn’t come inside. Her heartbeat kicked up and she rose from her hiding place. Beyond the purring of her kitten, on the other side of her door lay silence. Dense quiet only splintered by her mom’s sobs. Something felt strange. Needling pinpricks of fear tore over Sommer’s skin and the tiny hairs along her neck stood straight up.
Picking up her kitten, she scurried across her room. Before she could get her door open, the front door slammed. Rushing forward, she couldn’t let Daddy leave. She pushed aside the living room curtains and peeked out. No. The engine of his car reeved and then the screech of his tires hit the pit of her stomach.
