Texas Thunder

by Kimberly Raye

  His gaze drilled into hers as he rocked her, working her into a frenzy with the friction of fabric against her most sensitive parts.

  Sensation rippled up her spine.

  He urged her higher, his hands holding her tightly as he dipped his head. The first leisurely rasp of his tongue against her ripe nipple wrung a cry from her throat. Her fingers threaded through his hair as he drew the quivering tip deep into his hot, hungry mouth. He suckled her long and hard and she barely caught the moan that burst from her lips.

  She clamped down on her bottom lip, swallowing her cries as he licked and suckled and nipped. Her skin grew itchy and tight. Pressure started between her legs, heightened by the way he leaned into her, the hard ridge of his erection prominent beneath his jeans. She spread her legs wider and he settled more deeply between them. Grasping her hips, he rocked into her.

  Rubbed against her.

  Up and down and side to side and …

  It was too much and not enough all at the same time. Heat swamped her and she gasped for air. Her hands clutched at him, holding tight as sensation crashed over in a fierce wave that left her trembling in his arms.

  From far away, she heard Les’s voice. She felt a moment’s panic, but then she opened her eyes and Brett was there, filling up her line of vision, blocking out everything except the fire that burned between them.

  He eased her to her feet as he pulled a small foil packet from his back pocket. Tugging at the button of his jeans, he pulled his zipper down and freed his hard length.

  She took the initiative then, opening the condom and spreading it on his throbbing penis from tip to root. Her fingers brushed hot skin and silky hair and anticipation coiled inside of her.

  He lifted her then, bracing her back against the wall as he pushed between her thighs and pressed the head of his cock into her just a fraction.

  Pleasure pierced her brain for a split second, quickly shattering into a swell of sensation as he filled her with one deep, probing thrust.

  Her muscles tightened around him, gripping him tight as he held her bottom and braced her for another thrust. He pumped into her, the pressure and the friction so sweet that it took her breath away.

  She was vaguely aware of the voices on the other side of the door. But then he touched her nipple and trailed a hand down her stomach. Rough fingertips made contact with the place where they joined and heat splintered her brain. She clutched wildly at his shoulders, bracing herself as she met his thrusts in a wild rhythm that urged him faster and deeper.

  Then it seemed as if the room started to shake and spin. The light overhead blazed hotter and brighter and she clamped her eyes shut. But the brilliance was still there, splintering into a fireworks display that shot off and lit up the darkest depths of her mind as she came with an intensity she’d never felt before.

  He buried himself deep inside her one last time, anchoring her hips tight around him. A shudder ripped through him and his body quaked as he followed her over the edge.

  An odd quiet fell over them then, the sound disrupted only by her frantic breathing and the furious beat of her heart. She slipped her arms around his shoulders and held him, feeling his heartbeat mimic hers.

  He tightened his hold on her, gathering her close, and a strange sense of peace stole through her.

  Oddly enough, the fact that she would have to walk out of the pantry with Brett, past whoever might be looking around the kitchen—Les included—didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should have.

  But then Callie had never worried about what everyone else thought when it came to Brett. She’d snubbed her nose at the world, at all those Tuckers and Sawyers with their preachy judgment and holier-than-thou looks, and she’d set her sights on him anyway. She’d opened herself up to him, to them.

  And for that one small moment in time, before their disastrous ending, she’d been happy. Content.

  Then, and now.

  CHAPTER 26

  “Speak of the devil,” Les said just as Brett was about to make it to the front door.

  He stopped dead in his tracks, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the urge to turn, walk back to the storage closet, and toss Callie over his shoulder, a house full of people be damned.

  But she was working, after all, and she didn’t want to fuel the gossip that was already spreading around Rebel because Callie Tucker had been seen driving out to the Sawyer spread every night for the past week.

  Not that Brett gave a shit what people said, but he didn’t want her to look unprofessional and so he’d agreed to a head start. After a deep, thorough kiss on the lips, of course.

  Enough to tide him over until he saw her tonight.

  As if that were enough.

  His body still ached, his muscles bunched tight, and he had the gut feeling that no matter how many times they had sex, it wasn’t going to be enough.

  He ignored the disturbing thought, pasted on his best smile, and turned toward Les Haverty.

  “I was just talking about you,” Les said, extending his hand for a shake. “I forwarded Callie’s pictures to several more prospects and I’ve got another buyer interested. He just called and wants to drive down first thing in the morning to take a look at the property. I was going to head out to your place with the good news, but here you are.” Les smiled before the expression faded. “Why is that?”

  The click of a doorknob punctuated the sentence and Brett glanced over his shoulder in time to see a flushed Callie exit the pantry and head for the first-floor restroom. Her lips were pink and full, her cheeks rosy with desire, her hair slightly mussed and it was all he could do not to go after her. To touch her one more time. Kiss her once more.

  More.

  “Sawyer?” Les’s voice drew Brett’s attention and he focused on the Realtor standing in front of him. “Why are you here?”

  “I was, um, passing by and I saw your car. I thought I would just stop by and see if you had any more interested buyers and, well, you obviously do. Talk about great news.” Brett clapped Les on the shoulder. “Good job.”

  “Well, I do know my business. Do you remember that old building off of Main and First? That place was condemned last year, but I managed to find an investor who agreed to completely redo it and then donate it to the city to use as a community center. Now that took some talking, but I pulled it off…” Les went on about his latest listings and how he was sure to beat Tanner Sawyer out for salesman of the year at the Carson County Board of Realtors annual fish fry and watermelon toss. “I’ve never actually won, but this is my year. I can just feel it, and it’s all because of you. Selling a piece of the legendary Bootleg Bayou will nail it for me. I can’t thank you again for giving me the opportunity.”

  “Let’s just hope it happens quick.”

  Les winked. “You can count on it. Now, I wanted to go over a time frame with you…” Les went on about appointment times while Brett tried to forget the woman who walked into the living room and greeted an elderly couple standing in front of the newly renovated stone fireplace.

  Sex, he reminded himself. That’s all this was. All it could ever be.

  He knew that.

  So why the hell did he find himself wondering what it would be like to curl up in front of that stone fireplace, Callie in his arms, and simply sit? Talk?

  Crazy.

  That’s what he was. He’d been tossed by too many bulls. Inhaled too much arena dust. Because no way was he thinking that maybe, just maybe, bull riding wasn’t all it was cracked up to be and that signing that contract was a move he would surely regret.

  That the buckles would tarnish and the fame would eventually fade, and he would be left with nothing to show for his years of hard work.

  Yep, he’d hit the dust way too many times.

  He was going to be a legend, for Christ’s sake. The best of the best. A Cowboy Hall of Fame member for sure.

  He was going to be something more than just a spoiled, self-centered, entitled Sawyer like his father. He was on h
is way. It was just a matter of signing the contract and preserving his winning streak.

  Which he would most certainly do.

  In his peripheral vision, he caught the flash of a blond ponytail and his heart stalled.

  But first he was going to finish things here. That meant finding the recipe and forgetting Callie Tucker.

  And if it took another trip to the pantry, or another striptease down by the creek, well, he was more than ready for it. He would do whatever it took to work her out of his system and leave Rebel with a clean slate this time.

  No unfinished business.

  No regret.

  No Callie.

  No.

  He held tight to the notion as he climbed into his truck and hit the dirt road leading to the ranch.

  By the time he reached Bootleg Bayou, he actually started to believe it.

  Especially when he found his pappy sitting at his desk in the study, his spectacles in place as he read over the ledger that Brett had updated just that morning.

  He looked just as Brett remembered him. Thoughtful. Happy. Coherent.

  “Hey, Pappy.” He ignored the worry that niggled at him. A feeling that slipped away as the old man glanced up and a smile cracked his ancient face. “You look good today.”

  “I feel pretty good.” He glanced down at the ledger and his smile faltered. “We’re still not pulling in enough.”

  “No, but Les Haverty is bringing by a buyer tomorrow. He thinks we’ll sell the acreage pretty quick. That should push us into the green for the short-term. I was thinking we might consider out-breeding a couple of our bulls. We’ve got some prime stock. That might be an option to add to our revenue in addition to the cattle.”

  “Breeding, huh?”

  “Pepper has quite a few contacts who’d pay through the nose for some good semen. We can start with Red and Mack. They’re the best of the best. Grade A and registered. One dose of their sperm would surely bring a nice chunk.”

  Pappy nodded before a melancholy expression slid over his face. “Red was one of Pirate’s calves. He was your daddy’s first bull. He always said he’d breed the best stock if we ever wanted to open our doors. Seems like he was right.”

  “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

  “I know you don’t like to talk about your daddy.” Pappy pushed the ledger aside and leaned back in his chair. “And you got good reason. He was a hateful SOB sometimes.”

  “More like all the time.”

  A sadness touched the old man’s expression as he nodded. “Toward the end, he was. But there was a time when he had some goodness in him. Why, I remember when he came home with your first horse. That pretty little filly named Charlotte. You were only two years old at the time and your mama liked to have had a fit, but your daddy just knew you could sit a horse. You were his boy, after all, and he’d been riding since he’d been in diapers.” Pappy’s gaze held Brett’s. “You didn’t disappoint. You grabbed hold of the reins with one chubby fist and held tight like you’d been born in the saddle. Your daddy laughed so hard. Why, I don’t think I ever seen him that happy.”

  “Happy? Dad?”

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but he was a decent father at one time. All of this just got the best of him.”

  “You mean his pride got the best of him.” That’s what had motivated Berle. He’d wanted the biggest and the best, and when anyone had threatened that, he’d taken his anger out on his wife. Or his son. “You can defend him until you’re blue in the face, Pappy, but it’s not going to change my opinion of him.”

  “I know that. I just want you to know that he never intended to hurt you. It was the liquor. I know ’cause my daddy had it bad for the shine. He managed to kick the addiction thanks to my grandmamma, but some just ain’t so lucky. I wish I had seen it getting the best of Berle in time to do something about it, but I was so busy with this place. I know he was a hard man, but he loved you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Maybe you don’t want to, son, but you need to. You need to remember that this house doesn’t hold just bad memories of him. He had his good moments.”

  “And because of them I’m just supposed to forget all the shitty things he did to Mom? To me and Karen?” Brett shook his head as bitterness welled inside of him. His chest tightened and his throat constricted and it was all he could do to sit still and let his pappy talk.

  He wanted to get up, to walk out, to leave.

  He needed, to, but the hope in his pappy’s eyes held him and so all he managed was to push to his feet. His boots thudded on the hardwood floor as he walked to a nearby bookshelf. He put his back to the old man as the memory of that last night overtook him.

  He closed his eyes, hearing his mother’s scream, feeling the urgency as he caught his dad’s arm and tried to hold the old man back. He could still feel the hard tendons of the man’s forearm tight with rage, the crippling pain as the man’s fist made contact with his head. The crack echoed in his head and then … nothing.

  That had been the last time he’d seen his father alive, the last time he’d felt the man’s rage, the last chance to say good-bye.

  The thought struck and he shook it away. The last thing he’d owed his sorry-ass dad was a decent good-bye. Or a thank you for all those horse shows the man had taken him to when he’d been younger. Or that one Christmas when he’d put on a Santa suit and bounced Brett on his knee. Or the time he’d helped him catch his first fish down at the creek.

  All those moments that had faded in the face of so much abuse. Good times all but forgotten.

  Or so he’d thought.

  But they rolled over him as he stood there, looking at the books, his pappy’s voice echoing in his ear, reminding him of the man Berle had once been. Of the father who’d tucked him in at night and tickled him awake every Saturday morning.

  Not that it changed anything. Berle had still chosen alcohol over his own family, and while Brett might eventually forgive the man for his sins, he would never forget. Berle had deserted him. He’d deserted them all.

  While Pappy had been the one who’d toughed it out, raising his grandkids all by himself, loving them.

  For that reason alone Brett forced a smile and turned toward his grandfather. If it eased the man’s mind to know that Brett didn’t hate Berle, then so be it. “I know it wasn’t all bad, Pappy. I remember.”

  “You do?” Hope fired in the old man’s gaze and Brett nodded.

  “I remember everything Dad used to do. I also remember everything that you used to do.” His gaze locked with the old man’s. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, Pappy. I never said thank you, but I’m saying it now.”

  While he still had the chance.

  The doubt struck and Brett forced it aside. Things were getting better. Pappy was getting better. And Brett was this close to working Callie out of his system.

  Hell, forget better. Things were great.

  At least that’s what Brett tried to tell himself as he spent the afternoon tending cattle, riding fence, and trying not to count down the hours until Callie Tucker showed up to continue the search for the recipe.

  CHAPTER 27

  “We need to talk,” Brandy said when Callie walked into the kitchen later that afternoon.

  Callie dumped her purse on the counter, along with a stack of fliers and a platter of leftover pinwheels from the open house. “If it’s about the cupcake apocalypse in the living room, I can explain.”

  “Actually, it’s not about that, but I’d still love to hear your explanation. Especially since I’ve spent the last two hours trying to get crème filling off the couch cushions.”

  “Well, see, Alex showed up with Arnie.”

  “Arnie? That guy’s a moron. Why did Alex bring him here?”

  “It seems he’s recently earned his certification in acupuncture. Alex brought him hoping to help Jenna with her claustrophobia.”

  “Jenna doesn’t have claustrop
hobia.”

  “You know that and I know that, but Alex thinks that’s why she broke up with him. You know, when she told him she needed her space.”

  “Okay, that makes sense. In a weird, twisted sort of way, but still. That doesn’t explain the cupcakes.”

  “Well, see, when the acupuncture didn’t work, he brought Arnie back to try hypnosis.”

  “Arnie did acupuncture on Jenna? I saw her yesterday just before she left for the horse vaccinations. She didn’t tell me that.”

  “That’s because he didn’t do the acupuncture on Jenna. He did it on me.”

  “Because you’re trying to kick the cupcakes.” Brandy stated the obvious.

  “Sort of. I mean, I did do the acupuncture to kick my addiction, but it didn’t work. So when Alex showed up this morning with Arnie again and said he wanted to try hypnosis—on Jenna, not me—I figured I might as well give that a try, too.”

  “And so he destroyed a bunch of cupcakes in front of you to deter the bad behavior?”

  “Not exactly. Apparently, I’m the one who went crazy on the cupcakes. He was just holding up a box and making a suggestion. I took the suggestion and bam, no more cupcakes.”

  “That’s wild. Understandable, but wild.” Brandy eyed her. “So the cupcake thing actually worked?”

  “Not really.” Callie had scarfed a pack of cupcakes on the way home from the open house. And she’d had sex with Brett at the open house. So clearly the hypnosis hadn’t worked. “But it was worth a try.”

  “Maybe you just need a little time. By tomorrow you might kick the craving completely.”

  “You really think so?” She latched onto the hope and held tight. “Arnie did say it could take a little while to see results.”

  “Definitely. But cupcakes aside, we still need to talk.” She caught Callie’s stare and held tight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what?” Callie averted her gaze and busied herself grabbing a glass from a nearby cabinet.

  “That you’re trying to sell the Texas Thunder recipe because you desperately need money.”