by Liz Talley
“Don’t tell me you’ve made some sort of vow of chastity or something. Because that’s so wasteful. And so passé.”
His eyes shuttered. “It’s not a vow of chastity. It’s a promise to not engage in casual sex.”
Kate cocked her head. She’d never heard of a guy actually wanting a relationship before hitting the sheets. Okay, she was sure there were guys like that. Sensitive guys. Guys who spent their Friday nights watching noir films and sipping espresso. Or guys who spent their weekends at self-help retreats. “Why?”
He gave a humorless bark of laughter. “Do you know how many women I slept with when I was rolling with my gang? I can’t even count. When I wanted one, I took her. Didn’t matter her name. Or her feelings. Or how wasted she was. I used her.”
Kate swallowed. The juice felt sour on her stomach. “Oh.”
“I’m not that man anymore. When I have sex, it will be with someone I care about. Someone I’m in a relationship with. Someone I have a future with. No more flings.”
His words jabbed at her heart. For some reason, it hurt. So she crossed her arms over her chest as if that would protect her. She wanted to say something funny, saucy, but couldn’t think for the life of her how to respond. He didn’t want to have sex with her and he didn’t care about her. Which one was worse?
He swallowed. “I shouldn’t have invited you down here. It was a mixed signal. Things are hot between us. We don’t need to stoke any embers.”
Kate wrinkled her nose. “What? You think I have no self-control? You think I jump every guy I see and beg him to do me?”
“No. That’s not what I—”
“’Cause I can resist you, buddy. I can.” She moved away from him, toward the door.
He didn’t say anything further. Just tore a roll from the pan and took a bite.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’m surprised you eat that. From the looks of your fridge, I’d expect you to be eating tuna fish or coddled egg whites.”
He smiled. It made him look as yummy as the sweet he crammed in his mouth, and it made Kate’s stomach twist with regret. “Yeah, but some things are worth it, you know?”
She studied him framed against the sophisticated backdrop of the kitchen. He’d pulled on worn jeans and a tight long-sleeved Henley shirt. His chest was like a fullback’s, his legs those of a runner. He was golden, dark and decadent. What a waste.
“Yeah, I know.”
He smiled.
“Just so you know,” she said, crossing her arms again. “I don’t believe in love. And if I did, two weeks is not enough time to fall in love with you.”
He choked on his soy milk. “Who said anything about love?”
“No one,” she said, turning into the living room. “See you at the center. Thanks for breakfast.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She left. It was the only way she could uphold her promise not to jump his bones. Maybe cinnamon rolls made her horny. Or maybe it was simply Rick.
Kate stomped up the graded hill. She was a little pissed and she wasn’t sure why. She thought it was because the man had hurt her feelings. Made her feel raunchy. Like trailer trash. Like the Katie Newman she could have been. Living hard and being easy. But she wasn’t that person. She’d done better and she had standards. She didn’t have to throw herself at a man to get laid. Usually, they came sniffing around her.
Morals and principles. Who needed them? Did anyone really pay attention to them in today’s world? Please. Even the pious and righteous bent definitions to meet their needs. Kate believed in being honest. With herself and others. She wanted Rick. She liked the way he made her feel, even if it scared her a little. Okay, a lot. But she wasn’t avoiding him or the feelings he stirred in her.
She was being true to herself.
She was being the Kate she’d chosen to be.
She had a full life. She had friends. She lived by her own rules and answered to no one. At least, she had until Justus had flipped the blackmail table on her.
“Katie Newman!” a voice shrieked from her left. “Holy heck! I haven’t seen you since that Cowboy Mouth concert at Cooley’s where we danced on the pool tables.”
Kate watched as the former head cheerleader for the Oak Stand Rebels nearly tripped on a large iron ore rock beside the path. Tamara Beach was as clumsy as ever. How she’d managed to nab the prime spot on the squad was a mystery. Could have been because her mother was the PE teacher and had counted the votes, but that was only Kate’s guess. Tamara still had the naturally wavy blond locks that fell past her shoulders, but the boobs that sat high on her slight frame were absolutely store-bought.
“Hey, Tam.” Kate hugged her then stepped back. “You look amazing. I like the rack.”
Her former going-out buddy laughed. “Thanks, they’re almost paid for. And you don’t look too bad yourself. I’m digging the streaks in your hair, Katie.”
“Kate.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” She cocked her head like a terrier sniffing out a rat. “Oh, my gosh, you know what?”
Kate suffered a flash of dread. Tamara always had something cooking. And whatever it was often got her into hot water. “What?”
“Crater Moon is playing at Cooley’s tonight. You remember that drummer, right? He was so into you. You gotta come with me. Everybody will be there.”
“Well, I—”
“You’re staying for two weeks, right?” Tamara blushed, obviously realizing she’d admitted to knowing about Kate and the Mitchells. “What I mean is, I heard in town you were staying for a while. What’s with that, anyway? You hate it here.”
Kate felt Rick before she saw him. Again. He ascended the path to where she stood. “Umm…it’s complicated. And kinda private.”
Her friend averted her eyes and looked embarrassed. “Oh.”
She hadn’t really worked out what to say to people about why she was in Oak Stand. She thought that maybe she could get through the two weeks without having to venture out much. Not going to happen. She needed a cover story. Or maybe she would tell everyone to mind their own damned business.
“Well, what are you doing at Phoenix? Does it have to do with gang stuff or something?”
Kate shook her head. “No, I’m helping Rick with the center while I’m in town. Doing some…consulting.”
“I thought someone said you owned a salon out in Vegas,” Tamara said before catching Rick out of the corner of her eye. Kate prayed he wouldn’t say anything that would call her bluff on the consulting thing.
He stopped beside her. She could feel his heat even in the cool breeze. “Hey, Tamara, did you bring the forms? I’ve got the planters ready to go.”
“Silly man. All work and no play.” She tapped him lightly on the arm and Kate could see her friend was into him. Of course she was—what warm-blooded single woman wouldn’t be? “An awesome band is playing at Cooley’s tonight and I’m trying to talk Katie, I mean Kate, into coming. You should come with us. It’ll be cool.”
He shook his head. “I got too much going on, but you girls go on ahead.”
Tamara turned a full-wattage smile on him. “Oh, come on. This is your last chance. The guys arrive Thursday and you won’t be able to get away. Dude, you never do anything but work.”
Her pretty baby-blue eyes pleaded with Rick.
“Sorry, I can’t,” he said, sliding past them. “When you’re done here we can look at those planters and see if they’ll meet the green initiative. I want to keep that grant.”
Tamara rolled her eyes as he turned his back to them and jogged up the path. “He’s such a party pooper.”
At that point, Kate had to wonder about Tamara’s intentions toward Rick. Her former friend had always been open for fun with the right guy. She looked like she had her eye on Rick, and something about it made Kate feel a little sick. Tamara was a natural. Breezy manner, friendly smile and a string of broken hearts behind her, she partied, cajoled and danced her way through life. And had a lot of fun doing it. But he was
n’t up for a casual relationship, was he?
Still, Tamara lived in Oak Stand. Kate didn’t.
“So what’s up with the grant and planters?” Kate asked, pulling the discussion away from Rick and going to Cooley’s.
“Oh, I’m with the Farm Extension Bureau. I’m going to work with the clients at the center on nutrition and cultivation. We’re doing outreach programs now, not just schools and stuff. We’re actually going to help with a garden here as a sort of therapy. Rick was insistent on growing stuff.”
“Oh,” Kate said, trying to envision Tamara in overalls and work boots. Tam preferred less over more when it came to clothing. Case in point, she wore a thin long-sleeved T with a plunging neckline that hugged her generous curves.
“I always say, getting in touch with the earth is getting in touch with yourself.” Tamara smiled as if she’d imparted the most sacred of insights, one that made Kate want to snort.
“Yeah,” Kate said, stifling the need to make masturbation jokes. “I’m not sure about tonight.”
Her taking off would likely make Justus hopping mad. Then again, the idea of a repeat of last night’s dinner made her skin crawl. Besides, Rick had made her feel crappy about herself. As if wanting a man was a bad thing. She didn’t have to sit around and moon over him like a lovesick calf. Nothing like hitting a bar to stroke her ego and take her mind off Rick, Justus and her flailing business.
“Come on, it’ll be such a blast to hang with you. We used to have so much fun.” Tamara’s baby blues worked on Kate.
“Okay. Sure.”
Tamara squealed and clapped her hands. “Yay.”
“I don’t have a car. Can you pick me up?”
Her friend nodded like one of those bobble-head dogs in the back of car windows. “I’ll pick you up at 8:00.”
Just enough time to have dinner with Justus and Vera. Damn. Another strained meal. Her stomach pinched. God, she wanted to go home to Vegas. Instead, she’d be hitting a honky-tonk.
“I’ll be ready.”
CHAPTER TEN
COOLEY’S STANK OF STALE cigarettes and spilled beer. In other words, it smelled like a honky-tonk and was oddly comforting to Kate. Country music ricocheted off a tinny ceiling accompanied by the crack of pool balls and the laughter of folks unwinding after a day’s labor. For a weekday night, things were hopping.
“Hey, there’s Brent. He’s seen you,” Tamara said, pointing one French-tipped nail toward the crowded bar.
Great. The first guy she’d gone all the way with. Horny and hot, Brent Hamilton acted like God’s gift to Oak Stand’s womankind. She’d say he was delusional, but he did fill out a pair of jeans nicely. “Well, don’t point at him.”
She had to yell into Tamara’s ear. The place was loud and redneck rowdy. Just the reason why Kate felt safe here. This place, she could manage. Justus, Rick, Oak Stand? Not so much.
“Let’s get a table near the band,” Tamara yelled.
As they slithered through the crowd, Kate felt the eyes of the establishment upon her. She caught the eye of a girl who’d grown up in a trailer down from hers. The eye of a guy who’d spilled Kool-Aid on her lap in the second grade. The eyes of guys she’d never met. Girls she’d never pissed off. Everyone watched her as she swayed and bobbed her way toward an empty table.
They may have looked because she’d painted violet streaks in her hair. Or because she’d pulled on a yellow, satin halter top over skintight leggings. Or because her sweet Manolos made her look four inches taller. Thank God she’d squeezed them in her luggage at the last minute. They made her feel more powerful, like she could manage whatever came her way. She tossed her shoulders back.
“Hey, Tam. Who’s your friend?”
Kate glanced over. “You know who I am.”
Brent showed his polished veneers. “’Course I do. But it’s been a while, Katie.”
“Kate,” she muttered under her breath as she sank onto a chair that had likely been used in a bar fight recently, if the torn seat and scratched legs were any indication.
“So what you drinkin’, ladies?” Brent asked, spinning toward the equally brutalized bar. He waved old Bones Stewart over to fill his order.
“I’ll take a Bud Light,” Tamara called, raking her eyes up and down Brent like a prison guard about to do a cavity search. She lowered her voice. “Damn, but that’s a fine piece of ass. Wasn’t he your first?”
Kate sighed. “I don’t want to talk about Brent.”
Brent called over his shoulder. “Hey, Kate, pick your poison.”
“Jack and Coke,” Kate hollered before looking back at Tamara. “Have you two hooked up?”
Her friend shook her head. It caused her boobs to jiggle and three men standing at the bar nearly threw their backs out trying to get a second look. “Nah. He’s my type, but it never worked out.”
“Hmm. I thought he was like the DMV. You took a number and waited your turn.”
Brent plopped a beer down in front of Tamara before pulling up a chair and plunking his tight buns on it. He slid a glass toward Kate. “Don’t know why I asked. I know what you like.”
His words carried extra meaning, but she chose to ignore him. Instead, she raised a toast. “When in Oak Stand.”
The whiskey and soda tasted like a homecoming, especially with the Zac Brown Band blowing up the speakers and farm boys clad in tight Wranglers surrounding her. Kate Newman was finally home. Whether she wanted to be there or not.
“That’s my girl.” Brent didn’t waste time. He was a man who always knew what he wanted. He liked whiskey, women and redneck honky-tonks. He was positively medieval. He might as well drag a heavy sword behind him. He’d look fine in a suit of armor.
Tamara edged forward, propping her cleavage on the table and twirling her platinum curls. “Brent, you wanna dance? I love this song.”
He tore his gaze from assessing Kate and looked at Tamara. “I really—”
“Oh, come on, cowboy. I’ll let you grab my butt.” Tamara pulled Brent’s hand from where it rested on the table and tugged hard with a won’t-take-no-for-an-answer gleam in her eye. “Katie doesn’t mind.”
Brent’s shoulders sank. She could see it in his eyes. He couldn’t think up one good excuse not to dance. “Okay. Be back in a minute, Katie.”
She watched as her friend pulled the former all-state quarterback to the crowded dance floor.
“Kate.” She didn’t have to mutter it this time. Rick had.
Her Latin fantasy took the chair Brent had vacated, and it both aggravated and thrilled her to her toes. She’d never envisioned him in a backwater dive. Something about him seemed not necessarily above such a scene, but surely out of place just the same.
“I thought you were busy.” She swirled the whiskey in the glass. Didn’t seem to be much soda in it as she tossed the last of it down. She could feel the warmth of the liquor flooding her body, making her feel loose.
“Yeah,” was all he said.
She couldn’t sit there and look at forbidden fruit without misbehaving, so she set her empty glass on the table. “You wanna shoot pool?”
His dark eyes met hers. She couldn’t read them. “Yeah, sure. But I’m warning you. I’m good.”
God, she so wanted to know how good Rick Mendez was, but according to him, that wasn’t going to happen. So she’d have to settle for kicking his ass at the table. “I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”
He grunted, which wasn’t sexy. But somehow this man made everything tempting.
She rose and moved toward where the pool tables sat in a section adjacent to the bar. Kate motioned Rick to get them a table while she collected another drink.
While waiting for her order she watched Brent dance with Tamara. Her friend practiced all the moves she’d seen in Dirty Dancing on the contractor. It would have been slightly pathetic if Brent didn’t have a bit of a gleam in his eye. Tamara might get her hookup tonight, after all.
By the time Kate made it to the table
where Rick stood twisting the chalk onto a battered cue stick, she’d nearly finished the whiskey sour she’d ordered.
“Here you go.”
Rick took the drink. “Ginger ale? With a cherry?”
“I told Bones you like girly drinks.”
He smiled and it slid down her body and curled around parts that were better left covered in public. “Ready to get your ass kicked?”
“That’s my line.” The rack was smudged from decades of use, but worked as well as the day Bones had bought it. She racked the balls and centered the faded cue ball on the mark.
“You wanna break?” she asked, finishing off the last of her drink.
His smile didn’t curl anything this time—just made her wonder about the man sliding the stick between his fingers like he belonged on ESPN. “Are we playing for anything?”
She licked her lips, tasting the banana lip balm she’d applied before walking in the place. “You wanna play for…”
“A kiss.”
“You think that’s a good idea?”
He shook his head. “No, but it has to be something I want. You have to kiss me if I win.”
“What if I—”
“You won’t,” he said, lowering his body toward the table. In one fluid motion, the balls spun to the corners in a dizzying explosion of color. Uh-oh. He hadn’t lied when he’d said he was good. Suddenly she was happy. She rubbed her lips together again. She hoped he liked the tropics, because her kiss would take him there.
AS RICK SANK SHOT AFTER SHOT, he silently beat himself up for coming to Cooley’s and making such a stupid wager. He’d already stated his position earlier in the day, so why was he here?
Hours ago, he’d eaten his dinner and told himself that what Kate Newman did at Cooley’s was none of his damn business. He wasn’t going to think about her sitting on a bar stool, chatting with some rough-and-ready cowboy. He wasn’t going to imagine her in someone else’s arms, spinning around the dance floor or shrugging out of a tight shirt and jeans. Kate didn’t belong to him.
But regardless, thirty minutes later, he found himself pulling on his “going out” jeans and digging cologne from the back of his bathroom cabinet. He’d actually debated which colorless shirt made him look better. Hell.
