Texas Fire

by Kimberly Raye

  “The one and only.” Josh grinned, his blue eyes twinkling as he slid his arm protectively around her waist. “This is my younger brother, Mason.”

  “Younger by about five minutes,” Mason reminded him.

  “Five minutes and forty-five seconds,” Josh corrected.

  “It’s good to finally meet you. My, but your eyes are green.”

  “We’re fraternal triplets,” Mason told her. “While we all look the spitting image of each other, our eye color is different. Josh got the baby blues and Rance, the youngest, has gold eyes.”

  “That’s amazing.” Holly spared Mason a smile before her attention shifted back to Josh. For the next few moments, they seemed to lose themselves in each other.

  “Since you don’t look madder than a wet hornet,” Mason finally said, feeling suddenly awkward for one of the few times in his life, “I’m assuming she said yes.”

  “Damned if she didn’t.”

  And damned if Josh didn’t seem incredibly happy about the fact. The cynical gleam in his gaze had disappeared. His serious, intense expression had slipped away. His usual back-it-up-buddy air had faded.

  He looked truly happy and content.

  Mason felt a rush of envy. Despite all his professional success, his personal life wasn’t anything to talk about. By necessity, he reminded himself. But now that he was taking over the Iron Horse the way he was always meant to, the way his mother had wanted, and continuing the family tradition, he could open himself up to a relationship with the right woman.

  His gaze shifted in time to see the Lexus nose around the far end of the parking lot and pull onto Main Street. Charlie Singer was every bit the SOS girl he’d walked in on in the bathroom so long ago. Still smart and opinionated and sexy as all get out. Still staring at him with that open hunger in her gaze. Still stirring his interest and firing his fantasies.

  But now, she was no longer off-limits.

  “THE HAMBURGER IS definitely off-limits. Talk about your double whammy. Toxic red meat swimming in saturated fat.”

  Charlene glanced up from her menu at the man who sat opposite her in the booth at the Fat Cow Diner.Dr. Stewart Connally had dark brown hair cut short and neat, and deep brown eyes. His jaw was freshly shaven, as usual, and his white button-up shirt was neatly starched and buttoned just one shy of his neck. A crisp white undershirt peeked from the small V and a gold Rolex glittered from his wrist. His lab coat rested on the back of the seat next to him. He wasn’t a particularly attractive man with his slightly too large nose and a pair of eyes that sat a little too close together, but he made the most of what he had—namely a good physique—and he was neat.

  It was their weekly lunch meeting and Charlene had been late thanks to Mason McGraw and the conversation about her underpants which had delayed her a good ten minutes.

  As if her thoughts had conjured him, the bell on the door chimed and he walked in, Lolly Langtree on his arm.

  He obviously didn’t waste any time falling back into old habits, Charlene thought as she watched them slide into a nearby booth.

  “…not having the hamburger, are you?” Stewart’s voice pushed into her head and she shifted her attention back to the man who stared at her over his menu. Worry lit his brown eyes.

  Charlene would have been touched by his concern, but she knew from previous lunch dates that he wasn’t nearly as worried about her arteries as he was about having all that greasy temptation within arm’s reach.

  Stewart was six feet of fit, toned, tanned muscle with very little body fat. Less than nine point two percent, to be exact. A tidbit of information he shared on a regular basis with anyone and everyone who would listen.

  She grinned. “I’m not in the mood for toxic red meat swimming in saturated fat.”

  “Good.” Relief etched his handsome features as his gaze went back to the menu. “The fried catfish special is definitely a no-man’s land, what with all the batter and oil and the steroids that Walt Jackson pumps into his fish before he stocks his pond.” He studied the menu a few more seconds. “The egg salad’s always a possibility provided they use a mayonnaise substitute.”

  “I feel like apple pie.” While she didn’t do chocolate, Charlene still indulged her sweet tooth. Not to mention, she needed something sweet after all that talk about chocolate and orgasms and…

  Her gaze drifted back to Mason in time to see him glance up. His gaze locked with hers and her breath caught.

  He wouldn’t…

  He did.

  His eyes crinkled and his lips tilted at the corners and he actually grinned at her.

  Her body—damn the superficial, traitorous thing—reacted accordingly. Her nipples pebbled and her insides grew tight and itchy and—

  “Are you okay?” Stewart’s voice broke the seductive spell that she’d been trapped in and yanked her back to reality.

  “I—I beg your pardon?”

  “You look flushed.”

  “It’s really warm in here.” She fidgeted against the vinyl seat. “Don’t you think it’s warm in here?”

  “I’m rather comfortable myself.”

  She fanned herself with the edge of the menu and let loose a deep breath. “Maybe it’s just me.” Duh. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.” A bad case of lust thanks to Mason and his grin.

  “I could prescribe some antibiotics when I get back to the office.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sure I’ll be okay.”

  “I’ll write the prescription anyway. In case you get sick with something while I’m away at that conference. There’s a summer flu going around.”

  “Once I eat something, I’ll probably feel a lot better.” Charlene turned her attention to the waitress who approached.

  “You don’t know how lucky you are,” Stewart told her after they’d placed their order—one apple pie à la mode and one grilled chicken salad with low-fat Italian dressing on the side. “Just catching a whiff of any type of dessert makes me pack on a few pounds.”

  Once upon a time, Stewart had been known at Romeo High as “Goodyear.” As in the blimp. All that had changed when he’d gone away to college. He’d shed fifty pounds, packed on some muscle and had come home looking like he’d done a stint on Survivor.

  “A protein-rich, low-fat diet and lots of exercise,” he’d told Charlene. “Not to mention, pediatric residents barely have time to breathe much less eat.”

  But Skeeter McBee and his group of busybodies that sat near the doorway of the diner still swore they’d seen him eating Mongolian cockroaches during the last season.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Stewart reached across the table and took her hand in his. It was a friendly gesture that he’d made often during the course of their lifelong friendship.

  One with little meaning behind it other than genuine like, since he’d yet to realize how perfect they were for each other.

  Men were just so slow sometimes.

  “I’m fine, really,” she told him.

  “You don’t look fine. You look uncomfortable.” As if he’d noticed the direction of her gaze, he turned and glanced behind them. “Lolly Langtree looks as trampy as ever, particularly with that low-cut dress and her new set of double D breasts. With the way she’s fawning all over Mason McGraw, she might as well crawl into his lap.” He turned back to Charlene. “I know people like that can make everyone else uncomfortable, but you can’t let a snotty diva like Lolly bother you. Sure, she’s got a heck of a body and a really great face and she shamelessly puts it out there for anyone and everyone, but it will all come back to haunt her one day.” He shook his head in disgust. “You mark my words, she’ll fool around with the wrong married man and find herself staring down the barrel of a shotgun someday.”

  Because Stewart had endured so much name-calling as a kid, he’d yet to forgive and forget the people who’d made fun of him.

  Namely Lolly and her diva friends.

  “She’s the last person you should let bother you,” Stewart went on. �
��She isn’t even in the same league as the two of us. We have self-respect. Class. Actual brains.” He told her what she’d told herself time and time again all those years ago.

  The trouble was, she didn’t believe it now any more than she had back then.

  “I’m a little tired, that’s all.”

  “Good because we’re having dinner with my parents on Friday before I leave Saturday morning and I would hate to have to cancel because you’re sick. You know how Dad hates having his plans messed up.” Judge and Mrs. Connally were perfectionists. Not a good thing for a boy who’d been very imperfect. But then he’d changed his appearance, graduated at the top of his class, and come home the perfect son—at least weight-wise. He’d been going out of his way to keep things that way ever since.

  “Not to mention,” he was saying, “it was hell to clear my schedule in the first place. Speaking of which—” he glanced at his watch “—I hope they hurry up. I’ve got a busy afternoon. I have several patients to see before I meet with Doctor Collier from Cherryville, who’s agreed to fill in for me while I’m gone. We’re having dinner at the Steak-n-Bake.” The Steak-n-Bake was the nicest restaurant within a fifty mile radius of Romeo and the only place where they actually had linen napkins. It was located just off the main Interstate about twenty minutes outside of town and it had always been the date place on any given Saturday night.

  Charlene had been there on occasion with her mother while growing up, but never with a date. Which spoke volumes for her social life. Or lack thereof.

  “Are you packed yet?” she asked Stewart.

  He smiled. “Done, and I used my new organizer suitcase. Fit everything into one bag with room to spare. You know, I’m really excited about this conference. I’ve got everything planned down to the minute.” He smiled and seemed to lose himself in his thoughts before he noticed that Charlene was looking at him. He cleared his throat. “Um, that is, I just love learning new treatments. It’s time consuming, but totally worthwhile.”

  “I’ve just started a new communication therapy with some of my patients, one I read about on the Internet,” she added. “It’s the latest thing and, so far, it seems to be actually working.”

  “Really? You’ll have to fill me in on the details when I get back. And speaking of getting back…” He cleared his throat again as if to work up his courage. “I, um, was thinking that when the conference is over and things settle down again, we really need to sit down and talk about us. We’ve been having lunch every week for how long now?”

  “Two years.”

  “Two years is a really long time to see someone on a regular basis.”

  Plenty of time for Stewart to have realized that they were perfect for each other in a romantic sense. They were both professionals. They both enjoyed reading. They even had the same favorite color—beige. They were a match just waiting to happen.

  “I’m getting back on Sunday morning, so maybe we can have an early dinner that night at the Steak-n-Bake. I think we need to talk about the nature of our relationship.” Before he could elaborate, his beeper went off. “It’s Bernice.” Bernice was his nurse. “I hope Dr. Collier didn’t cancel. I can’t miss this trip.” He gave Charlene’s hand an affectionate squeeze and pulled his cell phone from his pocket to call his office.

  Charlene closed her hand against the lingering warmth. A direct contrast to the overwhelming heat she’d felt when she’d handed Mason her business card and his fingers had brushed hers.

  When Stewart touched her, she felt comfortable. Calm. Safe.

  She never felt as if she was standing on the edge of a steep well, the shaft pitch-black, the bottom endless.

  With Stewart, she could see what lay ahead. Their weekly lunch filled with talk about work and family. Their occasional Friday night dinner date—when he managed to carve time out of his schedule—always followed by talk about books or movies or world events. She could even envision the nice, satisfying sex they would have once he actually realized they were so compatible. If his beeper didn’t go off, that is.

  Nice.

  The way it should be between good friends.

  Her gaze shifted to Mason who’d just taken a gigantic piece of chocolate cake onto his fork. He slid the bite into his mouth and Charlene felt her own stomach tighten.

  Mason wasn’t the type of man to be friends with a woman. Nor was he a man to dim the lights, slide beneath the sheets and hold a woman tenderly in his arms the way she imagined Stewart would do.

  Loud. Bright. Down and dirty.

  She’d bet money that that’s what sex with Mason McGraw would be like. If she’d been a betting woman.

  But Charlene wasn’t the type to gamble on uncertainty. She prepared for life. She contemplated it. She studied it with the various how-to books that lined her monstrous bookshelf. She planned it down to the last detail so that there were no surprises.

  No excitement.

  Charlene forced aside the last thought and turned her attention to the apple pie the waitress slid in front of her.

  She didn’t need excitement.

  What she needed was a way to show the women of Romeo that it wasn’t about the way they looked or dressed or what they cooked up in their kitchen that made them attractive to the opposite sex. A woman didn’t have to turn herself into a flirtatious, outrageous diva like Lolly Langtree to attract a man. All she really had to do was be herself and let her personality shine through.

  She needed to prove that to the women of Romeo. But even more, she needed to prove it to herself.

  “Are you all right?” Stewart asked her again. “Because I’ve been talking and I don’t think you’ve heard a word I’ve said.”

  Charlene forced a smile. “I really am tired.” And rattled.

  “Cancel your afternoon appointments and go home early,” Stewart suggested. He smiled. “Doctor’s orders.”

  She nodded.

  Maybe after a good night’s rest she wouldn’t be thinking such ridiculous thoughts. Like how her coveted theory might be completely and totally off-base and her life’s work useless.

  Or worse, how she’d wasted so many years waiting for the perfect match to come along and give her the happily ever after she’d always dreamed about, only to find herself just this side of thirty and still very much alone.

  Or how much she really needed a taste of Mason’s chocolate cake.

  And how much she really, really needed a taste of him.

  3

  “DADBLAME IT, Lurline! I told you to buy the high-fiber bran flakes.”

  The familiar male voice carried through the house to greet Mason when he opened the front door of the sprawling ranch house that sat in the heart of the Iron Horse.He’d spent the better part of the day since he’d returned from town inspecting the north pasture. There were fences to be repaired, cattle to be rounded up and a host of other chores that had fallen by the wayside since his granddad had passed on a few months ago.

  Josh had been seeing to things since the funeral while Mason finished up his last project as head of McGraw Ranch Management. But in the past few weeks, Josh had been preoccupied with Holly Farraday. Not to mention, Josh had never been much of a rancher at heart. As a teenager, he’d been more content under the hood of an old clunker than on the back of a horse. While he’d spent his free time back in high school learning how to fly a crop duster and had gone on to become a pilot and operate his own charter service out Arizona, he’d never lost his passion for cars. Now that he’d found the woman, he’d decided to sell his business, stay in Romeo and open up his own auto shop.

  Mason was glad that his brother had finally made peace with his past—Josh had nursed a world of hurt over their father’s infidelities—and so he wasn’t the least bit angry that Josh had let things slide a little at the ranch.

  “All bran flakes are high in fiber. That’s what bran is,” a female voice countered, pulling Mason from his thoughts. A voice that belonged to his great-aunt Lurline.

  Lurline and h
er husband Eustess had moved in six years ago when Mason’s grandfather had first been diagnosed with prostate cancer. Since all three grandsons were off making their own way in the world and they were the only living relatives within a spit and a throw, Lurline had said it was their duty to look after Romeo in his time of need.

  He’d passed away eight months ago, but Mason and his brothers had insisted that the older couple stay on at the house. Lurline and Eustess were just a few birthdays shy of ninety. Lurline’s memory wasn’t what it used to be and Eustess suffered from severe arthritis. Their own kids had grown up and moved away, and they found themselves the ones in need of family now.

  And Mason was in need of an extra strength Tylenol.

  “There ain’t a thing on this here box that says anything about these flakes being high in fiber. I want the ones in the light blue box that say it right there on the front.”

  “That’s just fancy packaging to make folks think that they’re getting something extra so they’ll fork over a good fifty cents more for something that ain’t worth more than two dollars in the first place.”

  Make that two Tylenol.

  After an hour at the Fat Cow Diner, Mason had had a headache the size of the Grand Canyon. So big, in fact, that even an afternoon out in the pasture, with the sun beating down on him and the horse steady and strong beneath him, hadn’t been able to ease the blasted throbbing. Lolly had wanted more than a walk down memory lane. She’d wanted a ride, so to speak, and Mason’s refusal hadn’t set too well with her. Not that she would be put off. That was one thing about Lolly and all the women like her. They were persistent.

  The thing was, Mason didn’t feel nearly as hot and bothered over Lolly as he was over a certain relationship therapist. And so all the persistence in the world wasn’t going to change his mind.

  Not this time.

  Because at this point in his life, Mason McGraw wanted more than a roll in the hay.

  He wanted forever.

  “I want the cereal in the blue box,” Eustess insisted while Mason contemplated opening the door and heading back out to the barn.