by Vonnie Davis
“Know just how you feel, buddy.” Tyler started his truck. “I’m going off alone into the darkness, too. Puts a fella in a pissy-assed mood, doesn’t it?”
He glanced at the clock on the dash as he peeled out of the parking lot. Nine-fifty-one. Would Olivia still be awake? He slipped his Bluetooth in his ear and speed dialed her number.
“Hello?”
The sound of his daughter’s sweet voice calmed him. “Surprised I didn’t get your voice mail. Musta caught you between calls.”
“Oh, Daddy. You know I’m not like all the other girls. I’ve got better things to do than hang on the phone.”
There was a note of sadness in her voice. She’d been sullen at times since school started; hormones, he supposed. The teen years were never easy. His hadn’t been.
Olivia’s introversion bothered him. To his knowledge, she only had one or two close friends. At her age, she should have a busy social life, but she much preferred reading or playing the piano to texting.
“Hungry, Angel?”
“Pizza?”
“You got it.” He was about to end the call when her typical question reached his ears.
“Did you meet any women, Daddy?”
“Why do you keep trying to marry me off? Aren’t we fine the way we are?”
“You living a celibate life isn’t good for your hormones. I read that in a human sexuality book. I’m afraid it’s going to impair your prostate.”
“My what?” he bellowed. “You just leave my…my…” God, he was not going to discuss his prostate with his daughter, even if she was thirteen going on forty-nine. “I see I need to keep a closer eye on your reading material.”
An exasperated sigh floated through the sound waves. “You know I’ve got a genius I.Q.”
He responded with a grunt. What her I.Q. had to do with this conversation, he hadn’t a clue. But then, after the one-sided dialogue he’d just had back at the Lonesome Steer, feeling clueless seemed the modus operandi of the night.
Those big blue eyes and blonde curls came instantly back to mind. The feel of dart demon in his arms warmed him in many places, and his body responded again.
“Well, did you meet someone? Oh, you did, didn’t you?” An ear-piercing scream made him wince. “Details. I need details, Daddy. What’s her name?” Olivia’s pleasure was obvious. She’d been trying to match him up with someone since her momma moved out three years ago.
He smiled and ran a finger over the hair pressed against his Stetson. “Dart Demon.”
“What?”
By the time he finished telling her about the dart fiasco, both of them were laughing.
“That’s just too wild. Wait ’til I tell Cassidy.”
“Why don’t we hang up so you can call her? I’ll phone in our pizza order. Onions and anchovies, right?” His smile broadened, and he slipped the Bluetooth off his ear.
“Da-a-ad! No.” Her voice screeched from the earpiece on the seat. “Ham and pineapple. You know that’s my fav.”
He laughed as he ended the call. God, I love that kid.
Chapter Three
Dealing with old Frank LaRoche was difficult on a good day, but throw in the old codger’s rheumatism and the man was like a two-inch splinter in the ass.
Tyler lifted his Stetson and resettled it on his head, his finger protecting the blonde strand. “Can’t go that high, Frank. You got quality cattle, no doubt about that. But we need to meet somewhere in the middle between my offer and your counteroffer.”
Frank rested his forearms across the top rail of the wooden fence and stared off in the distance, no doubt doing some math while one hand rubbed the gnarled knuckles on the other. The old man’s collie, Honeybun, sat at her master’s feet, gazing at him. Tyler leaned a hip against the fence, crossed his arms and waited.
His gaze swept around the outbuildings. The roof on one needed replaced. A window was broken out of another. Odd since, in the past, Frank always took great pride in the Double-L. Grass grew almost as high as the tires on a cattle truck, as if it hadn’t been moved in a long time. One couldn’t say the ranch was rundown, but it teetered on the edge of the definition. Was the bad economy hitting the Double-L, too?
Tyler had worked here for a few years in his early twenties, learning the cattle breeding business. At that time, the Double-L was a big-time outfit; the ranch ran like a finely tuned race car. There were a lot of memories here.
He worked two jobs back then, trying to make ends meet for his family and sock away money for their future. On the weekends, he’d competed in rodeos, riding bulls for the ultimate eight-second high. The prize money he’d won brought his dream to fruition earlier than expected, and he’d bought his own spread, the Star-D, putting to use what he’d learned from this old man standing next to him.
“How you been feeling, Frank?”
Hardened eyes peered at him. “Like an old man who’s spent too many hours in the saddle.”
Frank quoted another figure not near the halfway point Tyler was hoping for, still, for quality stock, it wasn’t bad. He pressed an open hand over his heart. “You’re killing me here.”
The old man smirked. No doubt he could smell a sale and a healthy profit.
Tyler extended his hand to shake on the deal. “Okay, I’ll meet your price, but I want delivery by the end of the week.”
“Delivery?” Frank grabbed his hand and shook to seal their agreement. “For that price, you come get ’em yourself.” He yanked off his Stetson and wiped a red handkerchief over his nearly bald head. “Hot as hell for October, ain’t it?” After settling his hat on his silver fringe of hair, the old rancher turned and strode off. “Come on into the house, and we’ll settle our business. Hope you brought your checkbook.”
“I’ve got it. Got a pen, too.” Tyler followed him to the back door. “Hell, you’d probably charge me to use one of yours, you damn skinflint.”
Flowerpots full of vivid blossoms lined the back porch, and he wondered who took care of them. Certainly not Frank. A porch swing looked inviting with a cushion seat and a book lying on it. Honeybun turned around twice and gracefully stretched out in the afternoon sun.
The old man stepped inside the mudroom and hung his hat on a peg. “Want some coffee?”
“Not gonna charge me for it, are you?” Hanging his Stetson next to Frank’s, he followed the older man into a large kitchen so clean, it shone. A vase of flowers sat on the round oak table. Who was looking after the house? Frank’s wife passed on several years ago. His granddaughter moved away shortly afterward.
Frank chuckled. “Might charge ya, at that.” He lifted the carafe from the coffee maker. “Empty. Girl’s done dumped it out. Have a seat while I hunt ’er down.”
Tyler nodded and pulled out a chair, taking this opportunity to call his ranch foreman.
“Pete, got those cattle Frank LaRoche had for sale. Hundred head. Prime stock. Yeah, well, we’ll have to come get them ourselves on Friday. Call Lone Star Rentals and rent another truck and trailer. You’ll drive the ranch’s and I’ll drive the rental. Oh, have Slim check the holding pens to make sure they’re secure. I’ll be back before long.”
His mood darkened as he snapped his cell shut. This purchase was getting more expensive by the second. Frank raised strong, healthy stock. The bloodlines of his cattle were peppered with prize-winning steers. He was happy to make the deal for cows he planned on artificially inseminating with his prized Brahman bulls’ sperm. What he wasn’t happy about were these additional costs eating a hole in his eventual profits.
Frank’s booming voice followed by a softer one filtered through the house. Footsteps drew closer.
“Here she is. My granddaughter will have coffee made in a jiffy. Tyler, this here’s little Lacy. You remember her? My state barrel-racing champion?”
Damn good thing he was sitting down. Little Lacy, as Frank called her, was the blonde from the Lonesome Steer. He’d thought of little else since their encounter five days ago. After much s
oul searching, he attributed his impulsive behavior to a combination of the beers he drank and too many nights without a woman. No doubt if he ever saw her again, she’d have little effect on him.
He’d been wrong.
Damn, dead wrong.
Her eyebrows rose to kiss the blonde curls covering her forehead. Those blue eyes of hers, opened impossibly wide, were nearly turquoise in the daylight. A man could lose himself in them. She wore a pink tank top with a red bra underneath, if the strap peeking out was any indication. He hardened as soon as his mind snagged on the visual of her in a sexy red bra. Long, shapely legs grew out of the tight denim shorts she wore. But the thing that did him in was her bare feet with toenails painted alternately red and hot pink, as if she couldn’t make up her mind which color to use.
She was a sweet, amusing piece of work.
“Yes, I remember Lacy.” She wasn’t the kind of woman a man soon forgot. Nor could he forget the horse-crazy teenager she’d once been. Only back then, she’d been skinny as a fencepost. His gaze swept over her. Now she was every man’s fantasy—or at least she’d been his the last few hot, sweaty nights.
She opened and closed her mouth twice, and then pursed her lips.
Knowing full well what was about to happen, he covered his mouth with his hand to hide his grin.
Holy crap! The guy from the bar was sitting in her kitchen and looking at her as if he couldn’t believe this crazy quirk of fate any more than she could. Now, if she could only get through the next few minutes without prattling and making a fool of herself—once more.
“Hello, again, Lacy.” His deep voice washed over her, raising gooseflesh and setting her insides to melting. Then he smiled and her heart stuttered for a few beats. Only one man in the entire world could smile like that with dimples so deep they carved grooves into his cheeks.
“You’re…you’re Tyler Desmond? I haven’t seen you since I was a teenager and you were young and handsome.” Shit, did I say that?
Tyler’s chocolate eyes narrowed.
“I don’t mean you’re not still handsome, you’re just older.” She cleared her throat and glanced frantically around the room, mentally searching for a way out of this awkward situation. “Not that you’re real old.” She waved a hand in expression. Men like Tyler didn’t age, they sauntered into the arena of perfection. “You’re just…older.” And twice as sexy. She pursed her lips. “I had a serious crush on you at one point.”
His dark eyebrow quirked in silent surprise.
“I can’t believe it’s you. Why didn’t I recognize you the other night?” She fingered her curls and shook her head once. “You, of all people. I even took a picture of you years ago, when you weren’t looking. Just one. A profile shot.”
Now both dark eyebrows rose.
“Had it blown up poster-sized and taped it to the ceiling over my bed. That was ten years ago, the summer I turned fourteen.” Shut up! For God’s sake mouth, shut up!
But, of course, her demon tongue kept right on talking. “Grandma had a fit when she saw it. Said I had no business lusting after a married man.” She pursed her lips again. “I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing. I just simply enjoyed looking at you.”
He sat there silent; his gaze locked on her, looking better in a navy T-shirt and worn jeans than any male had a right to. One of his elbows rested on the table; his square chin was cupped in his hand and a long finger slowly stroked his lips as if he were erasing a smile before it had a chance to grow. The mustache she knew could send shivers down her back when he kissed her twitched, and dark eyes twinkled with humor. Was he getting a charge out of this? Couldn’t he see how uncomfortable he made her?
“Quit yer prattlin’, girl, and make Tyler and me some coffee. I’ll go write up the bill of sale for that hundred head of cattle.”
Grandpa headed for his office, leaving her alone with a roomful of testosterone and a bellyful of feminine nerves.
“Want some coffee? Personally, right now I could go for something colder. But if coffee’s what you want, coffee’s what you’ll get.” Her hands clasped and unclasped. Why couldn’t she get a handle on her nerves? Because it’s him, that’s why. Wouldn’t any mature woman stress out coming face to face with her teenage fantasy? She cleared her throat. “Will that be caffeinated or decaf? We have both. French roast, too, if you prefer that.”
“Regular suits my tastes, Lacy. Something full-bodied and strong.” His rich baritone voice still made parts of her quiver. Oh, God.
Wait. “Full-bodied?” Was he making an underhanded reference to her size? Many people felt compelled to.
A slow, sexy, badass smile spread, deepening the creases in his cheeks. “Oh, yeah.”
Before she allowed her hackles to rise over the weight slur and said anything else inanely stupid, she bit the inside of her cheek and stepped to the coffee maker. Something about the man made her act pubescent, and she’d do well to keep her distance. She’d make the coffee and get the hell outta Dodge. Go to the printers to pick up the advertising postcards she ordered. If she was going to achieve her goal of being one of the more sought-after website designers in the Amarillo area, she’d need to engage in both online and direct advertising.
Boot steps sounded behind her, and the hair on her arms stood straight out. Parts of her started to moisten. Damn the man for making her feel things she’d be better off doing without.
“Lacy?”
His deep voice washed over her with a silky, sensual warmth.
She glanced over her shoulder and into dark eyes. Her male radar was accurate; he stood right behind her, so close she could smell his cologne and see faint traces of his five o’clock shadow coming in along his square jaw. “Y-yes?”
“I want to apologize for kissing you the other night.” He exhaled an audible sigh. “I don’t know what possessed me to do that. I need you to know I’m embarrassed by the way I behaved.”
Why was he ashamed? Because he’d kissed a heavy girl? Over the past couple of years, she’d grown sensitive about her weight, even more so after the trauma of college and a roommate who so cruelly invaded her privacy. She pushed the memory back into her pain closet; she would not dwell on that nightmare today.
What she needed to face was her residual fascination with this man and his lack of the same in her. No doubt he remembered her as the skinny teen she once was, before her grandma passed away and she turned to food to assuage the terrible grief of losing the woman who’d shown her what love was all about. Both she and Grandpa had drawn inward to their own private world of pain, instead of helping each other. The ranch had suffered. So had her body.
As her weight increased, she grew more invisible to the male population. Men seemed drawn to slender women, not those well-padded.
Her heart sank and her defense mechanisms rose. If he was embarrassed he’d kissed her, then so be it. But she’d not let him see how he’d just trampled her feelings, especially not this man she’d had a major crush on in her adolescence. Wouldn’t he be greatly amused to know she’d dreamed about him for the last five nights? Well, he’d never know.
She opened the cabinet and pulled out the coffee canister. “I can see why you’d want to apologize for the kiss.” She started scooping coffee beans into the grinder, hoping her trembling hand didn’t give her away. “It was a mighty pitiful kiss, after all. You must really be out of practice.”
She looked over her shoulder and winced at the visual effects of her callous remark. Tyler looked as if he’d been sucker punched. A slow flush crept up his neck.
He stepped back and extended both hands in a stop gesture. “Then it’s just as well the kiss didn’t live up to your experienced lips, for you’ll damn sure never get another one out of me.”
At this precise moment, the air conditioning Lacy yearned for in her grandpa’s farmhouse wasn’t necessary. Not with the chill in Tyler’s eyes. Her stomach cramped and her throat went dry. I shouldn’t have said that. How stupid of me. I should apologize.
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But her mouth wouldn’t work. Of all times to be tongue-tied, it had to be now, in front of this angry male. A man who years ago was the object of her teenaged fantasies.
“Is your grandpa’s office still across the hall from the living room?”
She nodded, unable to voice her regrets. Tyler turned on his heel and stalked out while pieces of her heart tinkled to the floor like tiny pieces of broken glass.
Chapter Four
Well, I certainly made a mess of that.
In no hurry to encounter Tyler’s wrath again, Lacy retreated to her office. When she returned from college, Grandpa built a first-floor addition for her with a bedroom, bath and office area for her fledgling business. He claimed a grown woman deserved some privacy, and so did an old man.
She’d check emails before changing clothes to run errands. Working at home afforded her the luxury of dressing casual, but anytime she went out in public, she chose to present a more professional appearance in case she ran into a potential customer.
She glanced at the closed door, her thoughts jumping back to the angry man in her grandpa’s office. I kissed Tyler Desmond. Kissed him and then told him it was no good. Oh, God.
No, she’d think about all that later. For now, she had work to do. She opened her business email account and clicked on an email with “Question” in the subject line.
And came face to face with her past.
“Ms. LaRoche, this internet video was recently brought to my attention. Is this really you?” The link to her nightmare was on the next line.
Her stomach clenched and coldness swept through her system. Would this damn video of her undressing ever go away? Did her ex-roommate have any clue what her actions of hiding a camera in their dorm room and filming her unawares had done to her life? Two years. Nearly two years had passed, and this video was still haunting her.
So, what did she do? Respond or ignore?
No, she’d run before. Not anymore.
Once she clicked on REPLY, she typed: Yes, this video was taken of me in college. I had no knowledge of my roommate’s intent, nor did I give my permission for the filming of this video. If this damned thing…
