“We can go for a ride later,” he said.
A crease appeared between her brows. “Maybe.” She looked back at Bingo. “Is she your horse?”
“Well, she belongs to the ranch.”
“Oh, I thought . . . I mean, I thought maybe you brought her with you. I saw the way you two were . . .” her blue eyes lit up with tease, “making out.”
He laughed. That was another thing he really liked about her. She could find humor in anything.
He rubbed Bingo’s neck. “She’s just desperate for love.”
“Understandable,” Jennifer said quietly.
He gazed down at her, trying to read the wispiness of her voice. “Feeling lovesick?” he asked before he could stop himself. “Missing that ring on your finger?”
Surprise widened her eyes. “No. I don’t. I’m fine. It might have been the best thing.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m not sure . . .” She looked away.
“Sure about what?” He heard his better judgment insist he drop it, but for some damn reason he couldn’t.
“I liked Charles. He was attractive. We seemed to share common beliefs, and at the time I respected him. He seemed like a perfect someone to spend my life with, to raise a family with, but I’m not sure if I was . . . there, yet.”
There? He read between the lines. “You didn’t love him?”
Clay didn’t know what surprised him more, her talking about attraction and respect after he’d had those same thoughts earlier, or her claim that she hadn’t loved her fiancé.
“It was developing into it.” A hint of defensiveness heightened her tone.
He looked back at the horses. “I think you’re supposed to be there before you accept the engagement ring.”
She looked up with a lifted, unhappy brow. “You sound like an expert.”
Touché. “Nope. Just making a point.” He scrubbed the heel of his boot on the ground and didn’t look at her. “Which . . . I shouldn’t have made. Sorry.”
She didn’t say anything for a good thirty seconds, and then, “What happened with your marriage?”
“Anything that starts with me having to wear a penguin suit always ends badly.” He tossed out humor, hoping for a reprieve.
She looked up at him, disappointment filling her eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.” She looked back out at the pasture.
Shit! He knew this would come back to bite him in the ass. But he’d started this, both last night and now, and bowing out would make him an asshole. “I blamed her career. I’d guess she blamed me and my career. And we were probably both right.” He swallowed.
“You loved her?” she asked.
Their gazes met and locked.
“Yeah, I did. Wish I didn’t.” He exhaled. “Look, I’m sorry I brought this up. I promise to stop meddling.”
She looked away, and her words barely reached his ears. “I Binged you.”
“What?” he asked, unsure if he’d heard her right.
“Last night when we went to bed. I went on Bing to find out more about you. It was wrong. I’m sorry. I was curious about you, too.”
It didn’t completely piss him off, but he couldn’t deny it annoyed him. It’s wasn’t so much her as it was being reminded that the story was out there. Would always be out there. That anyone could hit a few keys on a computer and know his Kryptonite, know what kept him up at night.
He shoved those feelings away. When he did he realized something else that he liked about her. Her honesty.
Glancing down at his feet, he saw the bucket of feed. He picked it up and held it out. Bingo dipped her head down and started munching. Banjo, the gelding, came trotting over, wanting to make sure he got his share.
Clay pulled the bucket from Bingo and offered it to the other horse. That’s when he realized the silence had hung too long, but before he could find words, she spoke again.
“I’m sorry. It was so unfair. And if that’s why your wife left you, then she’s pond scum. Because all the articles said . . . he was the one who shot you and your partner. So yeah, she’s pond scum. And not the pretty kind that floats on top, but the nasty kind that grows from frog shit and even fish won’t eat.”
He chuckled. Which turned into a real laugh. When he sobered, he felt compelled to take the same honest path as she had. “Truth is, I was in a bad place.”
“Doesn’t matter. That’s why the vows include the sickness and health stuff. That’s what makes a marriage. That kind of support. That kind of loyalty.”
“That’s a pretty bold statement for someone who didn’t even love the guy she was about to marry.” Friggin’ hell. He was doing it again. “Which is not any of my business,” he seethed aloud.
“Yeah,” she said. “But I think whenever you put strangers together in the same house, it’s instinct to want to know about them.”
Was that what this was? Curiosity between strangers thrown together. And not the roadmap he was afraid of?
“But for the record,” she continued. “I loved my ex.”
He kept his gaze on Banjo eating. “You just said—”
“A different ex.”
“You’ve been engaged before?” That question slipped out.
She hesitated. “Uh, three times. But I was referring to my ex-husband, Johnny.”
A dozen questions lined up on his tongue, but he was not going to ask.
“Johnny and I were married two years. He was my high-school sweetheart. We both had big ideas, goals, and a belief love could change the fact that we wanted completely opposite things in life.”
And what did you want?
“He wanted to go to Africa and help save the world. I wanted a family to make my world. You want that when you know what it is to have one. When you know what it is to lose one.”
“I imagine you would.” Realizing the bucket he held was empty, he set it down at their feet. Banjo moved away. Bingo hung close. The sound of her tail swishing to keep away flies whispered in the summer air.
Jennifer continued, “I loved Todd, too. Not as much as Johnny, but I did love him.”
He just looked at her. He didn’t ask, but she must have seen the questions in his eyes.
“Todd was my second fiancé.”
She stared off for a few seconds before adding, “In the beginning, we weren’t totally in love. I think that’s why I was willing to bet that I’d fall in love with Charles. I wanted to believe it.” She said the latter as if it came with some kind of a realization.
Bingo moved to stand in front of her. Then chancing it, the horse hung her head over the fence close to her, begging to be touched. Jennifer hesitantly reached out and ran a hand down the mare’s neck.
After a couple of strokes, Bingo eased away. Clay and Jennifer stayed there, sipping coffee and watching the horses grazing. The silence slowly grew thick.
“Want to help me feed the cows now?” he asked.
She looked up at him. “Okay, but I’m not petting them.”
He grinned. “Why not?”
“Because I like steak, and I don’t believe in petting my food.”
He laughed.
• • •
The ringing of the home phone yanked Clay from a deep sleep. He wasn’t even sure where he was. The sofa spring poking him in the side brought it back. He and Jennifer had finished feeding the cows. She’d gone into the kitchen to start cooking a pecan pie. Clay had stretched out on the sofa. He must have fallen asleep. But for how long?
Sitting up, he dropped his face into his hands. Then he realized the phone had stopped ringing. Listening, he didn’t hear Jennifer.
He stood up, suddenly aware of the sweet smell of pecan pie. Inhaling, he savored the scent. Maybe he shouldn’t be upset at Pete for pushing her into baking it.
“Smells good.” He eased into the kitchen, expecting to see her. She wasn’t there. He glanced at the bathroom. The door stood ajar.
Another phone rang. His cell. He glanced over to the cabinet where he
’d been charging it.
He picked it up, checked the screen, and saw it was Jake. “Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” Jake said. “Where are you?”
“At the house. What’s up?” He ran another hand over his face.
“I called.”
“Yeah, I just missed it.”
“Look, Mark was planning on running over to check the house that was broken into. Savanna insisted on coming and stopping by to see Savanna. Obviously, when a nine-months pregnant woman insists on anything, she gets it.” Jake chuckled.
Clay hid his yawn. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Then Bethany insisted on coming. And Macy. So, I’m assuming it’s all okay.”
“Sure,” he said, not really thinking he had a choice.
“Have you guys had lunch yet?” Jake asked.
Clay’s stomach growled. He hadn’t even had breakfast. He glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. He’d slept a little over an hour.
“Not yet,” he said.
“Well, Macy suggested we bring pizza and salad. Does that sound okay?”
“Great.”
“Good, because I’ve got the pizza, and we’ll be there in ten minutes.” Jake hung up.
Clay put his phone down and walked back into the living room. Jennifer must have decided to take a nap, too. He should probably wake her up and let her know her friends were coming.
As he neared the door, he noted it was open. He peered inside. The bed was made. And empty.
Right then, he heard Devil bark outside. Followed by a scream. Jennifer’s scream. He tore out of the house barefoot. Bolted off the porch. He didn’t see her anywhere.
Shit!
While debating whether to grab his gun before looking for her, he heard her again. This time it came with a word. “Stop.”
Unable to wait, he tore around the house, stepping on thorns at every step.
Ready to fight, he cut the corner around the house. And froze.
Jennifer stood, hose in hand, by a very sudsy Devil. A bottle of shampoo was at her feet. The dog shook, and suds flew off him and onto Jennifer. In spite of knowing he’d be pulling splinters out of his feet for weeks, Clay laughed.
She looked at him. Or did as soon as she swiped a beard-sized dollop of foam off her face. “It’s not funny.”
He laughed harder.
And he shouldn’t have done that.
Devil saw it as an invitation. He bolted over and commenced to shaking in front of Clay.
Now Jennifer laughed.
He looked up. “I thought it wasn’t funny.”
“I changed my mind.” She moved over.
Devil shook again. Shampoo foam came at Clay from all directions.
“Crap,” he called out.
“Let me help you,” Jennifer said, still laughing.
The next thing he knew he felt the spray of water.
He looked up, and her blue eyes were bright with laughter as she squirted him.
“That’s not nice.”
He bolted after her. She turned to run, but wasn’t fast enough. He snagged the hose from her hands and turned it on her.
And he shouldn’t have done that, either.
Wet, that damn light-pink tank top and obviously thin bra, became almost transparent. Holy hell, she was beautiful.
Standing there, stunned, he wasn’t prepared when she snagged the hose from him and turned it back on him. The water was cool, but not cool enough. He felt his body responding to the sight of her dark rose-colored nipples pebbled against the wet cotton.
Then her laughter, that sweet sound and look of joy in her eyes became a challenge again. He wanted that. The fun. The flirting. Forgetting the past and just living.
He shot forward to retrieve the weapon. She turned to run. He caught her around her waist. When he went to take his next step, the pain of thorns digging into his heel caused him to trip. Arms and legs tangled, and she came down with him.
He pulled her against him, taking the blow of the ground. They rolled, and he ended up on top of her, but he held his weight on his elbows. The hose caught between them, and water squirting up between their close bodies sprayed their faces.
“You okay?” he asked.
She spilled out happy sounds and yanked the hose free.
Both still laughing, their gazes met, held, locked.
He could swear she lifted her head, or hell, maybe he’d dipped his down. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the taste of her wet lips. The feel of her body under his. The fact that he wanted this more than he wanted to breathe just then.
Chapter Nine
Jennifer wasn’t sure who’d started it, or who’d ended it. Both maybe?
“I’m sorry,” they mumbled at the exact same second, leaving no doubt that both of them knew and accepted it’d been a mistake.
A huge, amazing and wonderful mistake. His masculine weight on top of her had soft butterflies brushing against feel-good nerves from the tips of her toes to the tip of her nose.
He rolled off her, and they lay there stretched out on the grass staring at the sky. She heard him catching his breath while she fought to find hers, certain one of those butterflies had taken off with it.
Slow, what-the-hell-just-happened seconds passed. Thirty. Forty. Fifty.
One of them was going to have to say something.
She sat up and stared straight ahead. From the corner of her eyes she saw he had done the same.
In addition to speaking, sooner or later, they were going to have to look at each other.
“It won’t happen again.” His words came out half-apologetic, half-gruff.
He took the high road on speaking, so she took it by looking at him. She turned.
“I think that’s best.” Her voice came out too soft, too vulnerable, too freshly kissed. Damn butterflies.
He must have sensed her gaze because he glanced over at her. His eyes appeared bright. Intense. She couldn’t read his expression. Was it desire? Despair? Don’t-give-a-damn?
“We can be friends,” she offered. “I’d like to be friends.”
“Right.” The one word echoed with zero confidence.
Devil came running and Clay stood up. He squirted the dog with the hose to get most of the shampoo off. Jennifer hoped he’d turn the hose back on her. That they could go back to the playful mode they’d found before things shot straight to pitifully awkward.
Instead, he dropped the hose, took one step, cursed, and then limped two steps.
She popped up. “Are you hurt?”
“Stepped on some thorns.”
Baffled, she looked down at his bare feet and then up. “You shouldn’t go barefoot.”
“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t screamed and scared the . . .”
He started toward the house, even his gimpy walk appeared pissed off.
“You thought I was . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . Devil . . .”
He swung around, then glanced off to his right. “I’m not blaming you.”
“Yes, you are. You’re pissed. I can tell.”
He exhaled. “I’m not pissed. I’m uncomfortable about . . . what happened, and it feels as if I have a half a dozen inch-long stickers digging into my heel.” Still without looking at her, he continued gimping toward the house.
She caught up with him. “Let me get a needle, and I’ll help you get them out.”
“No, I’m fine.” The gruffness in his tone lessened.
“I want to. We’re friends, remember? Besides, unless you’re double jointed, digging a splinter out of your own foot is impossible.”
He muttered something she didn’t understand, and his eyes didn’t meet hers.
“Sit here,” she said as they got to the porch. “The light’s better here.” She moved to the door then stopped. “Do you know where a needle would be?”
He frowned. “In the kitchen, top drawer beside the fridge. I saw some thread in there, so there might be one. But . . . you might want to get out o
f your wet clothes.”
“I’m fine.” She went in search of a needle, hoping it wasn’t lost in a haystack. “Got it,” she called out. Then she went into the bathroom, grabbed two washcloths, and dampened one. Then she found some alcohol in the medicine cabinet.
It wasn’t until she was about to walk out when she smelled it.
“My pie!” She bolted back into the kitchen, snatched a towel, and pulled it out.
Oh, hell! The crust was dark brown, bordering on black. And she had really wanted to impress Pete with her pie.
Pushing that frustration aside, she headed outside to play nurse.
Clay sat on the edge of the porch, his foot in his lap, trying to see his heel. He looked up. “You’re right. I can’t do this.”
She got situated on the bottom step. He scooted over and held out his foot.
He had big feet. Nice-looking big feet. She’d always heard big feet meant big . . . And yeah, since she’d seen him naked, she could confirm it. Then she castigated herself for that thought.
“I’m going to wash it off first.” Knowing it’d hurt if she rubbed too hard, she carefully cleaned the foot. When she saw the culprits, she let out a low, “Yikes. There’re four of them, and they appear to be in deep.” She looked up. “You got a bullet to bite?” She smiled to let him know she was half joking.
“I’m fine.” He quickly looked away. Not smiling.
She poured alcohol on the needle, doused his foot with it then went to work.
“Where’s Pete?” she asked to fill the silence.
“Went into town.”
She got the first thorn out no problem. With the second one, he let go of a hiss.
“Sorry.” Looking up, she found his gaze was on her, but then he glanced away again.
She thought of the kiss. Of all of the reasons it shouldn’t have happened. As in, no more playing the odds. No more giving her precious time to men who either didn’t intend to commit, or who would commit but chances were they’d bail. She wanted more than hot kisses and great orgasms. She wanted a family. A life partner.
The alcohol-scented silence thickened.
“Have you always wanted to run a junkyard?” The question came from the tiniest pocket of hope.
The Junkyard Cowboy (Tall, Hot & Texan Book 3) Page 9
