The Junkyard Cowboy (Tall, Hot & Texan Book 3)

by Christie Craig

  She laughed and another wave of wonderful washed up and over her heart again. “You’re good at this.”

  “Good at what?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Rocking your world?”

  “That too, but I meant . . . saying the right thing.” Making me want you to be my forever man.

  He stood up and moved toward her with a slow, sexy gait and a smile to match. His lips brushed hers in a let-me-love-you way. She put her hands on his chest and could feel his heart beating to the tune of something sweet. Right then the sound of a car’s engine filled the early-morning symphony, along with Devil’s bark. Clay pulled back, a slight frown on his lips, and went to the kitchen window over the sink and peered out.

  When he looked back, concern creased his brow. “It’s the sheriff. Wonder what he needs?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Clay and Jennifer both walked outside. The passenger door opened, and Pete got out of the patrol car.

  “What happened?” Clay asked as he took another step onto the porch.

  “Your truck’s fine,” Pete said. “But the keys went missing. I swear to everything holy that I left them on Ralph’s coffee table by my phone. I think someone took ’em when I was at the hospital.”

  “Hospital?” Clay and Jennifer said at the same time.

  Oddly, at that second, standing side-by-side, worried about the same thing, the same person, it just felt so damn right that Clay’s chest commenced to buzzing again.

  Pete moved up the steps. “Ralph got to feeling bad. I drove him to the hospital in his car. They kept him. I didn’t get back to Ralph’s place until four this morning. I crashed on the sofa. When I woke up, I couldn’t find your keys. Then I found your truck unlocked. But I’d locked it. I know I locked it. So, I called the sheriff to report it.”

  Pete leaned in. “The old buzzard thinks I’m a few French fries short of a Happy Meal. That I misplaced the keys, but I didn’t. Anyway, he offered to drive me here. You got a second set of keys, doncha?”

  Clay tried to digest everything. “Yeah, I have . . . Was the house ransacked?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did it look like the truck was searched?”

  “Nope. Which is the reason the sheriff thinks I’m losing it. But I’m telling you . . . I put those keys on the coffee table, and I locked your truck.” His frown deepened. “I may be this side of eighty, but I’m not that side of crazy.”

  “Maybe your friend picked them up by accident.” Jennifer rubbed Pete’s arm with affection.

  “Why would he do that?” Pete asked.

  “Because he was sick and wasn’t thinking,” Clay offered. “But you should’ve called. I’d’ve brought the extra keys to you.”

  Pete shot a look back at the police car. “The lazy coot doesn’t have anything better to do than go around accusing people of being senile.”

  Clay went in and found his extra keys. “If you want, we can run you back over there. You wouldn’t have to put up with the coot anymore.” He smiled.

  “Nah, he passes the house going back to the station.” Pete took the keys and turned to Jennifer. “And I didn’t forget I was supposed to bring cinnamon rolls.”

  “Not an issue,” Jennifer said. “We ate breakfast, so if you just want to wait for another day that would be fine.”

  Pete nodded and walked back to the patrol car.

  As he and the sheriff pulled out, Jennifer leaned against Clay. “Has Pete gotten confused or lost things before?”

  “No. The man’s sharp as a tack, but he’s not getting any younger.”

  “Does he have any family?” Her blue eyes turned tender.

  “No, but the way I see it, this place is half his.”

  She squeezed his arm. “He’s lucky to have you.”

  “It goes both ways,” he said, realizing while Pete might not be the best ranch hand, he’d been the best company. Clay couldn’t imagine he’d feel the same way about this piece of land if Pete hadn’t been here.

  They stepped back in, her gaze went to the kitchen, his went to her backside in those shorts. “You want to wash or dry?” she asked.

  Catching her hand, he pulled her against him. “We could be responsible adults and do the dishes, or we could . . . find something else to do. Pete can’t be back for at least thirty minutes.”

  She grinned, lifted up on her tiptoes, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “You think you can rock my world in thirty minutes?”

  He scooped her up in his arms and started to the bedroom. “Are you kidding? I can rock it twice.”

  And he did.

  • • •

  Bundy woke up after ten, his father’s voice roared in his head like a never-ending train heading straight to hell. You can’t do anything right. You almost got caught. What good are you? You’ve gone soft!

  He rolled over and tried not to listen. But the message hung on his soul like dirty laundry visible to everyone. He’d screwed up.

  Last night, he’d been so damn sure the truck parked in front of the old house had been the same one. He’d walked into that house ready for revenge. But no one had been home. In that silent house, he found the truck keys on the coffee table and went outside to look inside, hoping to find something that would help him. Other than some receipts, it didn’t have shit in it.

  He’d been in the front seat when headlights cut into the black night heading down the street. Ducking down, he hid like a scared rabbit.

  The old Chevy Cruise pulled up in the driveway, parking right beside the damn truck. An old man got out of the car. Where was the damn junkyard guy?

  None of that would’ve happened if Bundy had done his damn job and remembered the license plate of the truck that first night.

  Furious at himself, as soon as the man went inside, Bundy left.

  Now, rolling over, his chest heavy with shame, he saw the truck keys on the bedside table. He hadn’t realized he still had the keys until he got back to the hotel. Would the old man realize they were gone and think he misplaced them? Or would he suspect someone had been there. Bundy didn’t need to stir up any suspicion. He should have left them there.

  Or maybe he shouldn’t have left at all. Getting up, he dressed and within thirty minutes he was on the road back to the house where the pickup had been. He was about a half a block from pulling into the long driveway, when he spotted the truck pulling out.

  It looked like the old man driving. Bundy lagged back, gave the truck about ten car lengths so he wouldn’t suspect he was being followed. The tires ate up the road for a good five minutes, heading south, back to the junkyard side of town.

  In a few minutes, the truck pulled off onto a dirt road that had to lead to a house. Today just might be his lucky day.

  Or not.

  The sheriff’s car pulled out from behind a tree. Bundy’s heart thudded. But the sheriff passed and got behind the black pickup. The truck pulled over. Bundy ducked his head and passed by, praying the sheriff wouldn’t look up.

  He drove until he saw another farm and market road that lead back toward town. He’d wait and come back later.

  • • •

  Clay was feeding the horses that afternoon when he heard the front door bang open and closed. A glance back and he saw Pete’s bowlegged gait walking right at him. Walking with a purpose.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked as soon as the man stopped beside him.

  “You’re wrong. You took advantage of her, didn’t you? I oughta . . .”

  Clay pulled the bucket away from Bingo. Jennifer had made it clear she didn’t want Pete to know they were sleeping together. How that was going to affect tonight’s sleeping arrangements had been chewing on him all day.

  “What gives you that idea?” He threw out the question to give him a few seconds to regroup.

  “Don’t bullshit me. It’s written all over your face, and you think I didn’t see how you x-ratedly wiped ketchup off her lip.”

  X-ratedly? Is that even a word? Denying it didn’t seem like th
e best option, so he searched for a different one, but he came up as empty as the feed bucket. “I’m not taking advantage of her.”

  “So, you’re gonna make an honest woman out of her?”

  “I . . . uh . . .” Clay scratched his head. “I’m not even exactly sure what that means.”

  Pete’s stance stiffened. “We were supposed to be protecting her. And I go off one night, and you . . . you used your snake charm on her.”

  “I didn’t use . . . I’m not . . . Nothing happened that she didn’t want to happen. And frankly, I really like her, and I don’t feel right talking about this with you.”

  “See, you admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  “You said you liked her. Like! You don’t bed a woman that you just like. I know you got that good-looking curse, just like I do. It’s all too easy to sweet talk a woman naked. But it’s too soon.” He pointed a crooked index finger in Clay’s face. “You shouldn’t have done that. And holy hell, I encouraged it by telling her about breaking horses.”

  “What?” His mind reeled thinking about Pete getting a woman naked by talking about horses. He finally spit out the only thing that made sense. “Times have changed since you were young. Men and women—”

  “They haven’t changed that much. You don’t poke a gal like Jennifer if you aren’t serious about her.”

  Poke? “I’m not . . . not serious.”

  “That girl’s as sweet as fine powdered sugar on warm Christmas cookies. You can’t go hurting her.”

  “I’m not. I care about Jennifer. A lot.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  His mind kept reeling. “Just what I said, I care about her.”

  “So, what’s happening Thursday after the trial? You gonna just live in sin with her, or kiss her goodbye and send her packing?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, but not a damn thing came out. His first inclination was to say no, they weren’t going to live together, but they were already living together. More importantly, he liked living with her. Just thinking about the possibility of not sleeping with her tonight had nearly eaten a hole in his stomach.

  But wasn’t it too soon to make the living together official? If the answer was “Yes,” that meant she’d be leaving. And that thought curdled like sour milk on his tongue and threatened to eat a bigger hole out of his stomach.

  He wasn’t ready for her to leave, but he wasn’t ready for her to stay. And that didn’t make a lick of sense.

  “I’m just saying, don’t hurt her!” Pete huffed.

  “I don’t plan on it,” he said, but Pete’s bowlegged gait had already gotten him halfway to the house.

  Clay stood there. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Not that Thursday, two days from now, was that far. How the hell had he not seen this coming?

  Obviously, he and Jennifer needed to talk. But shouldn’t he know what he wanted to say? And right now he couldn’t think what to say, much less how to say it.

  He recalled Jennifer’s concern that he wasn’t in the relationship for the long term. If he brought this up, would she see it as a bad sign?

  How did two people who started a relationship living with each other restart things in separate dwellings without it feeling like a slow down or a step back?

  And why did stepping back feel just as scary as barreling forward?

  • • •

  Pete and Jennifer cooked dinner, and that meant Clay had kitchen duty. As he wiped down the old Formica countertops, he listened to them laughing at Family Feud. Then his phone rang, and he spent the usual five-minute call with his mom. When he hung up, Jennifer was on the phone. He wasn’t sure, but it sounded like it was her dad.

  The harder Clay tried to find an answer to their living arrangement issue, the more confused he felt.

  Pete retired early. Clay used pillows and an extra blanket to make it look like he was sleeping on the sofa in case Pete woke up to go to the bathroom. Then he slipped in to sleep with Jennifer. They made slow, quiet love.

  It wasn’t as playful as before, but it somehow seemed more powerful. She cried again. He wrapped her in his arms and held her against him, not liking the tears, even when she swore they were good.

  Afterwards, awake in the dark, she asked about his conversation with his mom.

  “It was good.”

  “Are you still mad at her?” Jennifer asked.

  He stared at her. “I’m not . . . why would I be mad?”

  “Because she left you.” She brushed his hair off his brow.

  “I’m not . . . I mean, she gave me a choice of where I wanted to live.”

  “Why didn’t you go with her?”

  “She was moving to Dallas. I had my horse, my friends, so I chose to stay with my dad.”

  “And that didn’t make you feel abandoned?”

  He hesitated, the question bumping against old hurts he didn’t think needed to be woken up. But the way she looked at him had him answering anyway. “No. Well, maybe, but they got a divorce.”

  “Who wanted the divorce?” she asked.

  He hesitated. “She did. She accused Dad of having an affair.”

  “Did he?” she asked.

  “Dad swore he didn’t.” Clay attempted to push back the past. “That was a lifetime ago. I don’t harbor any grudges.”

  “Then why don’t you see her more?”

  A frown pulled at his lips. “How often do you see your dad? I think that’s the first you spoke to him since you’ve been here.”

  He felt her flinch. “Touché.”

  Shit! Why the hell was he attacking her? “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’re right. I mean, considering we’ve both lost one parent, you’d think we might want to try to mend fences with the ones we have left.”

  He ran a hand down her bare back, fitting into the naked curve of her waist, wanting to think about her and not the past.

  “Why don’t we make a pact.” Her gaze held soft pleading. “I’ll try to mend things with my dad, and you do the same with your mom.”

  “Okay,” he said, just to make her happy.

  As the night grew late, they held on to each other until they fell asleep. It took Clay a little longer than usual, trying to keep the past where it belonged. Buried. But in the end, he admitted she was right. He should see his mom more.

  At four in the morning, Jennifer woke him up and suggested he go back to the sofa. Leaving her all warm and naked held about as much appeal as being kicked in the balls by a horse.

  And it wasn’t because of the sex. It was the companionship. It was being with someone who made you better than you were alone.

  That’s when Clay knew what he wanted.

  Or what he didn’t want.

  He didn’t want her leaving. Yeah, he was still afraid of this thing between them moving in the break-neck speed it was traveling. But he was more afraid of losing his chance with her. Even a little afraid of her meeting some short, hairy, small-penised, funeral director.

  He left her room and went into the bathroom. When he stepped out, he almost walked over Pete.

  Pete studied him with a puzzled look, then glanced back at the sofa, then back to him again. Muttering something under his breath, he entered the bathroom.

  When Pete came back out, Clay was still standing in the same spot.

  “It’s not just like,” he told the old man. He couldn’t bring himself to say the word love, but it was right there on the tip of his tongue. “And you’re right, it probably happened too fast, but . . . I want to keep her. I mean . . . if she wants to be kept.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jennifer hadn’t slept since she’d made Clay leave. All she could think was that in two days it was probably going to end.

  While she was only there because someone was trying to kill her, she’d barely thought about that. Instead, she’d spent the time absorbing and savoring the feeling of . . . of being a part of something. A part of something that felt like a family. Cook
ing, washing dishes, horseback riding, even watching Family Feud with Pete.

  A part of a relationship that felt so real, so right, that the thought of leaving hurt like a goodbye—a forever kind of goodbye—like the last day of high school hurt, like leaving her first job hurt. Not just the I’m-gonna-miss-this kind of ache, but one that came with knowing it would never be this way again.

  How could it just end? She’d laughed more in these last few days than she had in months. And she felt . . . whole. As if she’d accidentally fallen into some alternate world where she actually belonged. The last few days had been refreshing, relaxing, rewarding . . . Not like a vacation because while you might want a vacation to last forever, you know it won’t. This time here felt like . . . like coming home feels. The sensation you get when the daily stresses fade away, and you kick off your shoes, take off your bra, remove your jewelry, and slide into something cottony.

  Clay, Pete, Devil, even this house with the horses and cattle—all of it fed her soul in a way it hadn’t been fed in a long time.

  But it was illogical to think that she could just stay. It was too soon. They’d never even dated.

  Although wasn’t dating overrated? Didn’t you learn more about someone living with them?

  Stop! Stop! Stop!

  She couldn’t let herself go there. And no matter how much leaving was going to hurt, it didn’t really mean it was a forever goodbye. Clay liked her. Maybe not as much as she liked him, but she knew he cared about her.

  What was it he’d said? Damn it, I have no idea what this is. I can’t promise anything—we just met. But you managed to get under my skin.

  She needed to go a lot deeper than skin. She needed to get all the way to his heart. But just because he hadn’t promised anything didn’t mean that down the road he couldn’t reconsider. Her best chance of this working out long-term was for her to play it cool, not come off like some lovesick, clingy female.

  Leave. And then maybe he’d miss her and want her back.