The Last Good Man in Texas

by Peggy Moreland

  "It's nothing. Really. You probably wouldn't like it, anyway."

  "How will you know unless you tell me what it is?"

  She grabbed the pad and furiously rubbed the eraser end of her pencil over the sketch. "It was a dumb idea, okay? While I was drawing in the koi pond, I came up with the crazy notion that you would get more use out of it if it was designed as an outdoor shower and hot tub." She swept away the rubbings, threw down the pencil, then folded her arms across her chest and turned her face away. "Like I said, it was a dumb idea."

  "I don't think it's dumb at all," he said, studying the rough sketch. "In fact, I kinda like it. Reminds me of those old Tarzan movies Johnny Weissmuller starred in. I remember watching one where he and Jane were playing around underneath a waterfall. If I remember correctly, he and Jane ended up doing the tango for two in the pool. Of course, that was only the impression that was given. Back then sex scenes were a big no-no on the big screen."

  He chuckled. "I kinda like the idea of me playing Tarzan under a waterfall with a naked Jane. Sliding down into the pool when things get all hot and heavy and making love in the water." He shivered. "Kind of turns me on just thinking about it."

  She swung her legs over the side of the hammock and stalked away. "Yeah. I'm sure all your Janes will love it, too."

  "Hey!" he called after her. "Where are you going?"

  "To work," she called over her shoulder. She snatched a tree pruner from the stack of tools she'd propped against the garage wall and ducked around the side of the house.

  Stopping beneath a redbud tree, she whacked off a damaged limb and silently cursed herself for ever drawing the stupid waterfall in the first place, then lopped off another and cursed herself some more for placing herself in the scene with Rory.

  Hearing him describe the fantasy she'd envisioned with a generic "Jane" had served as a brutal reminder that he might be her Tarzan, but she wasn't the only "Jane" in his life.

  Rory was a womanizer. A flirt. She'd tagged him as one the first time they'd met. And she had his sister-in-law to thank for confirming her suspicions for her. But she'd never thought that it would hurt so much to think about him being with another woman.

  "Get over it," she told herself, and stooped to gather up the limbs she'd pruned. She was a big girl. She knew the rules of survival in the dating game. You took what you could get, enjoyed it while you had it, then moved on and never looked back when it was over.

  But this time, when it was over, she had a feeling she was going to find it a lot harder not to look back.

  Her arms full, she turned to carry the limbs to the brush pile she'd started earlier and bumped into something hard. She backed up a step and lowered the limbs to find Rory standing in front of her.

  "Was it something I said?" he asked.

  She gulped, swallowed, then shook her head and darted around him. "It was time for me to get back to work. I don't have time to loll around, chewing the fat with you." She dumped the limbs onto the pile, then headed for her Jeep. "I'm going to town and grab a bite to eat. Do you want me to bring you something back?"

  He reached around her and opened her door. "I've got a better idea."

  Unaware that he'd followed her, she stepped back, wiping her hands down the sides of her overalls. "What?"

  "Let's go over to Ry's and raid his refrigerator, then come back here and have a picnic."

  "You can't just go barging into someone's house and steal their food!"

  "Why not? He's my brother. He won't care."

  Before she could think of another excuse to avoid sharing a picnic with him, she found herself behind the wheel of her Jeep and Rory climbing into the passenger seat beside her.

  * * *

  Seven

  « ^ »

  Macy tramped along behind Rory, still sulking over the fact that he'd outmaneuvered her.

  "If you'd told me you were planning on having this picnic in the Big Thicket," she grumbled, "I'd never have agreed to come along."

  "You didn't agree," he reminded her. "But don't worry. We're almost there."

  "And exactly where is there? We've been walking for hours."

  He stopped and waited for her to catch up. "It hasn't been hours. Fifteen minutes, tops."

  She braced a hand on his shoulder and lifted a foot. "Feels like hours," she muttered as she ripped off a prickly vine that had attached itself to her sock.

  Chuckling, he strode on, swinging the picnic basket in his right hand while balancing a rolled-up blanket on his shoulder with his left.

  Curling her lip in a snarl, Macy stalked after him. But it wasn't long before she was lagging behind again. She lost sight of him when he stepped into a thick grouping of trees. She quickened her step, not at all sure she could find her way back to his house without him. Weaving her way through the trees, she stepped out into a small clearing, where she found Rory spreading the blanket beneath the shade of a mammoth live oak.

  Frowning, she looked around. "Are we still on your land?"

  "Not mine, specifically, but it's Tanner land."

  Though she'd never admit it, the spot he'd chosen for their picnic was idyllic, a picturesque setting straight from the pages of a magical fairy tale. Trees a hundred or more years old towered overhead, their lattice of limbs creating a cool oasis of shade. Wildflowers peeked from beneath the drooping blades of the native grasses that carpeted the area, their colorful blooms looking like confetti sprinkled across the ground.

  Her curiosity peaked by the sound of running water, Macy went in search of it. She didn't have to look far. A creek ran through the grove of trees not far beyond, its water crystal clear. Rocks chipped from the walls of the creek's banks by time and weather formed crude dams, which in turn formed deep pools. Water churned and gurgled in the recesses between the rocks before tumbling over them, creating a symphony of sound that filled the woods.

  "Pretty neat, huh?"

  She jumped, startled, then frowned, unaware that Rory had followed her. "Yeah. I suppose."

  "Want to go for a swim?"

  She glanced back at him in alarm. "Here?"

  Grinning, he tugged his T-shirt from the waist of his jeans and dragged it over his head. "Why not?"

  She wiped her hands across the seat of her overalls, while trying her darnedest not to look at his chest. "Sorry, but I don't have a suit."

  He unfastened his belt buckle while toeing off his boots. "You don't need one. It's just you and me here."

  She gulped, watching as he pushed his jeans down his legs, then turned away, squeezing her eyes shut against the tempting sight of his nude body. "I'm really not much of a swimmer."

  She felt his hands light on her shoulders, then the warmth of his breath against her neck. A split second later his lips touched her there.

  "Who said anything about swimming?"

  The huskiness in his voice, the suggestion in it, turned her knees to jelly. "Rory," she began.

  He eased the straps of her overalls over her shoulders, then pressed his lips to the skin he'd exposed and dragged the straps down her arms. "Yeah?"

  "I—" She gulped as he slid his arms around her waist and drew her back against him.

  "This is what you were thinking about, wasn't it?" he murmured against her ear. "When you were drawing that sketch, you were thinking about you and me standing beneath the waterfall and making love in the pool."

  Stunned, she turned slowly in his arms. "You knew?"

  Smiling softly, he swept a lock of hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. "I may be slow, but I'm not completely dense." He dropped his hands to her waist and gave her overalls the encouragement they needed to clear her hips. Teasing her lips with his, he slipped his hands beneath her tank top and stroked his palms up, flicking his thumbs over her nipples before pulling the top up and over her head.

  He stooped, catching her beneath her knees and hefting her up into his arms. "Better lose those shoes if you don't want them to get wet," he warned as he started down th
e bank.

  Clinging to his neck with one arm, Macy quickly yanked off her shoes and socks, then locked her hands around his neck as he made his way across the moss-covered rocks to a boulder lodged midstream.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  She drew in a breath, held it, gave a quick nod. He stepped off the rock and plunged them into the water. The shock of the cold water had her clinging tighter to his neck as they drifted to the bottom. He held her against him and kicked, forcing them back up.

  As they broke through the surface, Macy slicked her hair back from her face, laughing. "This is insane," she cried, then squealed as he lifted her high in the air and planted a kiss on her belly button, before plunking her down on the boulder.

  Laughing, she shook out her hair, watching as he heaved himself from the water. Her laughter faded as he swung himself around to sit beside her, the muscles on his arms and chest cording at the effort. Droplets of water dripped from his chin and hair and ran in glistening rivulets down his chest. Her heart pounding, she lifted her gaze to his and found him watching her. Eyes as blue as the sky overhead and fathomless as the sea seemed to draw her in, hold her.

  I'm falling in love with this man.

  The realization sucked the breath from her lungs, twisted her gut with panic, yet she couldn't deny the emotions that swelled inside her as he lifted a hand to cup her cheek. His lips, as they touched hers, were cold from the water, yet warmed quickly, as did her body, at the gentle stroking of his hands.

  She wanted to freeze this moment, keep it with her always so that she could remember this feeling, the pure unadulterated joy of experiencing love for the first time. But her need for him, the desperate yearning to have him inside her, to be physically joined with him, superceded all else, and she sank back with him to lie on the boulder, twining her legs with his, seeking and exploring his body with her hands while he did the same to hers. His touch was that of a master, each stroke of his fingers over her flesh filling her with color and light and a heat that licked higher and higher. It burned behind her eyes, seared her throat, churned in her belly, until she was desperate to have him inside her, feel the stretch of her flesh, the exquisite pressure as he filled her.

  But first she wanted to touch him, taste him.

  Curling her hand around his erection, she stroked her fingers slowly down to the nest of dark hair at its base, up to swirl the tip of one finger in the pearl of moisture that formed at its head, then down again, smearing the moisture along his shaft. She kept her touch light, her strokes slow and even, though there was a need in her for speed, for greed.

  When she was unable to resist any longer, she pulled her mouth from his and slid down his body, raining kisses over his chest and abdomen in her journey down. He jerked reflexively as she closed her lips around him, then fisted his hands in her hair and groaned as she took him deep. She felt the power in him, the heat and a need that equaled her own.

  She lifted her gaze to his and he reached for her, pulling her over him and fitting her knees against his hips. Holding her in place by the strength of his gaze alone, he slipped his fingers between her legs, spread her feminine lips and guided his sex to her opening. Her breath caught in her lungs at the heat, the pressure. Before she could draw another, he linked his hands with hers and drew her down, bringing her mouth to his as he stretched his arms above his head, pinning her hands against the stone.

  "Ride me," he whispered against her lips. "Ride me as fast and as hard as you want."

  Heat shot through her body at the invitation, and she pushed her hips into the curve of his groin, taking him in. With an abandon that she'd never experienced with any other man, she rode him, taking him deeper and deeper and faster and faster with each rise and fall of her hips, racing frantically toward a satisfaction that danced maddeningly just out of her reach. Frustrated, she tore her hands from his and used them to brace herself against his chest as she ground her hips against his.

  A tremble started at her toes and climbed upward, increasing in power and intensity until it shattered in her womb and exploded in a kaleidoscope of color behind her eyes. Her muscles burning, her lungs screaming for air, she held herself rigid against him, wanting to draw every ounce of pleasure that she could from him, give him all the pleasure he deserved in return.

  As if knowing her thoughts, her needs, he sat up and wrapped his arms around her like a vise, holding her to him. She felt the shudder that ripped through him, the spasm of his sex inside her, and she buried her face in the curve of his neck and shattered a second time.

  He continued to hold her against him, his hands stroking over her back while their bodies cooled, then pressed his lips in the curve of her neck. "You okay?"

  Weak, sated, deliriously happy, she couldn't find the words to tell him that she was more than okay. Instead, she drew back and framed his face with her hands.

  "If this is what water does to you, you can forget the koi pond. I'm building you a creek right through the middle of your house."

  Chuckling, he pushed off the boulder and slid down into the water, holding her close. "I figured I could make you see things my way."

  * * *

  "This is a family dinner," Macy continued to argue stubbornly as Rory drove to the ranch for Sunday dinner at Ry's. "You told me so yourself. I'm not family, so I shouldn't have to go."

  "Don't you like my family?"

  Folding her arms across her chest, she turned her face to the passenger window. "They're all right, I guess."

  "Then what's the problem? It's not like you're crashing. I was given strict instructions to bring you with me."

  "But it's a family dinner!" she cried. "Why would they want me there, when I'm not family?"

  "So they'll have someone to chuck food at?" He tossed up a hand. "Hell, I don't know. I guess it's because they like you."

  Moaning pitifully, she slumped farther down in her seat. "I'll probably make a fool of myself," she said miserably.

  "It's not like you're having dinner with the royal family," he told her. "We're just normal folks getting together for Sunday dinner. Didn't you and your family ever do that?"

  She spared him a look. "You're kidding, right? My family consisted of a stepfather who barely tolerated me, a mother who wished I'd never been born and me." Frowning, she turned to face the windshield again. "We barely spoke, much less shared a meal."

  Finally understanding why she'd kicked up such a fuss about having dinner with his family, Rory reached across the console and squeezed her hand. "You'll do all right," he assured her. "My family likes you." Biting back a smile, he returned his hand to the wheel and added, "Though I can't understand why."

  "Hey!" she cried defensively. "There's nothing wrong with me."

  "Did I say there was?"

  "You said you didn't know why your family liked me, which is the same darn thing."

  Chuckling, he pulled his truck in behind Woodrow's and shut off the engine. "I was just trying to get a rise out of you."

  She shoved open the door. "Congratulations," she grumbled, then slammed it. "You did an excellent job."

  Trying to hide his amusement, Rory trailed her up the walkway. When she hesitated at the door, he reached around her to push it open. "No need to knock," he said, and gave her a nudge. "They're expecting us."

  "Seems as if we've done this before," she muttered, then stepped inside.

  "Is that a roast I smell?" Rory called as he urged her down the long hall and into the kitchen.

  "I swear that boy's got a nose like a bloodhound," Woodrow groused.

  "Boy!" Rory repeated, then put up his fists and danced around his brother, punching at air. "Better watch who you call 'boy,'" he warned. "You're liable to get the tar beat out of you."

  In a surprisingly smooth move for a man of his size, Woodrow caught Rory in a headlock and bent him double, scrubbing his knuckles over his hair. "I'd like to see you try."

  "Cut it out, you two," Maggie scolded. "You know the rules. No fighting in the house
."

  Woodrow released Rory, mumbling, "Sorry."

  Grinning, Rory shot Maggie a wink. "I'm sure Woodrow will thank you later for saving him from a whipping." He held out his hands to the baby Maggie held on her hip. "Come here, sweet cheeks, and give your uncle Rory a big kiss."

  Macy hung back, watching in amazement at the ease with which Rory handled the baby.

  He glanced her way. "You remember Laura, don't you?" he asked, then blew a raspberry kiss on the infant's cheek, making her laugh, before thrusting her at Macy. "Hold her a minute, would you? I need to kiss the cook."

  Stunned to find herself with a baby in her arms, Macy stared at the infant, then shifted her gaze, watching as Rory scooped Ry's wife off her feet to plant a loud, smacking kiss full on her mouth.

  "I swear, Kayla, you get prettier every day," he said, as he set her on her feet again. He slung an arm around her shoulders and leaned to sniff the air above the skillet she'd been stirring. "Mmm-mmm," he hummed lustily. "Red-eye gravy. If Ry hadn't already staked his claim on you, I'd drop down on a knee and propose."

  "Hey," Ry cried indignantly. "That's my wife you're groping."

  His hands in the air, Rory backed away. "Just giving the cook the appreciation she deserves," he said, then looked around expectantly. "So, when do we eat? I'm starving."

  The baby chose that moment to grab Macy's necklace. Instinctively, she closed her hand over the baby's, keeping her from breaking the chain.

  Chuckling, Maggie reached for her daughter. "Here. I'll take her." She shifted the baby to a hip, then looped an arm around Macy's waist and gave her a squeeze. "I know they can seem a bit overwhelming at first, but you'll get used to it."

  * * *

  Dazed, Macy sat at the table between Rory and Woodrow, having given up any hope of eating. With six different conversations going on at the same time, her head spun dizzily at the effort of trying to follow them all. The Tanners, from what she'd been able to determine, were loud, opinionated and openly affectionate.