“Ugh, yes. Yessirree.” Eustess nodded as if his life depended on it. “Ain’t nothin’ more attractive than a housedress.”
“Except for my pink sponge rollers. He said I remind him of that pretty Princess Leah from that there Star Wars movie when I go to bed with my rollers. On account of I roll primarily on the sides. Ain’t that right, Eustess?” Before he could reply, Lurline added, “Said the likeness is downright scary.”
“Scary’s definitely the word when it comes to those rollers—ugh.” He sucked in a sharp breath and rubbed at his thigh where Lurline’s hand had been resting. “It’s like watching the movie all over again.”
“That’s…nice,” Charlene said. At least I think so.
She eyed the old couple and noted the belligerent set to Eustess’ jaw and the guarded expression in Lurline’s gaze.
They looked anything but a couple eager to reconnect with one another. Then again, they were here.
Charlene pushed aside her suspicions and smiled. “What about you, Lurline? What things did you say to Eustess?”
“Well, I told him how handsome he looked when he put on his red suspenders and his matching bow tie to take me dancing.”
“But I didn’t—” Eustess stuttered, but Lurline rolled right over his statement.
“And how graceful he was when we waltzed. And what a fantastic bingo player he was.”
“We ain’t been to bingo in over ten years.”
“Lurline?” Charlene turned a questioning gaze on the woman.
“That’s true, but when we used to go to bingo, he was a fantastic player and the other night I was watching the bingo play-offs on ESPN and they had this older gentleman who was the spitting image of Eustess. It reminded me of how wonderful he was and so I told him so.”
Eustess arched a bushy gray eyebrow. “You did?”
“Of course I did. His memory’s short,” she told Charlene.
“My memory ain’t no such thing. The only thing short is your brother, Monty.”
“My brother is not short. He’s just not as tall as everyone else.”
“Which makes him short. And since he gained all of that weight and fattened himself up, he looks like one of them Weebles that the grandbabies are always playing with.”
“My brother does not look like a Weeble, nor is he fat. He’s stout.”
“And short.”
“And you’re obnoxious.”
“Ain’t nothin’ more obnoxious than you in your red housedress.”
“Red is my color. The lady at the mall over in Austin said so.”
“About a hundred years ago, which is how old that blasted dress is. It was an eyesore way back when and it ain’t much better now—”
“A fifteen minute conversation,” Charlene blurted, eager to kill the sudden tension in the room and get everyone back on track. Both pairs of eyes turned on her. “Every day for the next week. You can talk about anything, except each other. In other words, no picking faults or complaining.” When they both looked as if she’d taken away their favorite toys, she added, “Talk about the weather or current events.”
“We’re in the middle of a dadblasted heatwave,” Eustess grumbled. “There ain’t nothing to talk about ’cept how hot it is and we did that weeks ago when it first started.”
“Not to mention, I’m cold-natured,” Lurline added. “So I think the weather’s just fine.”
“And everybody knows it ain’t,” Eustess chimed in. “So’s we always get into a fight about it ’cause everybody in their right mind knows it’s dadblamed hot as hell outside.”
“Which means he’s saying I ain’t in my right mind—which I am—which constitutes fighting and we don’t fight anymore. Ain’t that right, Eustess?”
“There’s always current events,” Charlene offered.
Silence settled in for a long moment before Lurline shrugged. “They are building a new self-serve car wash on the east side of town. One of them fancy places with the air freshener gun so’s you can make your car smell like pina coladas or real lemons.”
“There you go,” Charlene said. “I’m sure you each have your own thoughts about the car wash. What I want you to do is share them with each other. This week is all about seeing your partner in a new light. It’s about rekindling the admiration and respect that you once had for each other.”
“I sort of like the idea of a new car wash. Piggy’s gas station over on Main will wash and wax for you, but they don’t have no fancy air freshening guns.”
“It’s a dadblamed waste of water if you ask me. Why, when I was growing up, I washed my truck whenever it rained.”
“That’s the silliest thing I ever heard.” As if she’d just realized what she said, Lurline caught her lip. “Silly, but smart,” she amended. “Very smart. Why, I never knew what a devoted conservationist you were, Eustess.”
“If you would listen instead of doing so much yapping—”
“No picking faults,” Charlene reminded the old man.
“Why, I’m just statin’ the God’s awful truth.”
“I do tend to yap,” Lurline said, despite the sparks that blazed in her eyes.
Eustess actually looked startled by the admission. He stared at his wife and she stared at him, and Charlene could have sworn a silent warning passed between them. And just to make sure that Eustess got the message, Lurline rested her hand on his thigh and curled her fingers into his flesh.
“You yap, but it’s a good yap,” Eustess finally said as he pried his wife’s hand loose and glared at her.
“See?” Lurline turned toward Charlene. “Eustess already admires my yapping. Why, you are a genius, Doc. Why, I bet by the next session, we’ll be cured.”
Judging by the death grip that Lurline had on the old man’s thigh, Charlene wasn’t placing any bets. But when she watched them climb into Mason’s truck a half-hour later, she changed her mind. Eustess held his wife’s hand and helped her inside. She smiled at him. He smiled at her. They looked happy.
Maybe the therapy was working.
Her gaze shifted to the man driving and their gazes met. He grinned, the expression slow and teasing, and her stomach hollowed out. Heat swamped her and her nipples pebbled.
“I’m not sick,” Charlene said to Marge as she hiked the thermostat several degrees lower. “And I’m not horny.”
Yeah, right.
9
THIS WAS BAD.
Really bad.Charlene peered past the part in the drapes and stared at the man who knocked on her front door.
Not that she hadn’t envisioned Mason McGraw knocking on her door a time or two in the past. She had. But in each scenario she’d been a) dressed to the nines in a sexy dress and high heels, her hair and makeup perfect, and b) doing something really cool like waxing her Harley or singing with her band destined to be the next Creed or Nickelback.
Reality check.
She didn’t own a Harley and the closest she’d come to singing was when she belted out her favorite song—high-pitched and off-key—in the shower every morning. And the only thing she was doing at the moment was clipping possible do-me hairstyles from several magazines she’d picked up at the drugstore.
As for her appearance…
She glanced down at her ragged cut-off blue jean shorts and oversized green T-shirt, the words Romeo Rangers now faded and barely visible. She wore old sweat socks that slouched down around her ankles. She’d pulled her hair into a sloppy ponytail and her makeup was just a vague memory thanks to the anti-wrinkle scrub she’d purchased for an outrageous amount of money on her last shopping trip into Austin.
Really bad?
More like a major disaster.
Her heart jumped and anxiety rushed through her. He couldn’t see her like this. While she had no illusions that he really and truly wanted her—his interest was merely a ploy to dissuade her from her plan—she wasn’t going to go out of her way to solidify the notion.
She held her breath while the knocking continued. Sh
e wasn’t going to answer the door. Then he would go away and she could make up some excuse tomorrow during their lunch consultation as to why she wasn’t home at seven in the evening on a work night. Especially when Romeo practically rolled up the sidewalks by five. It wasn’t as if she could still be cruising the grocery store or checking out books at the library.
She closed her eyes as dread rolled through her and her heart pounded even faster. To make matters worse, her car was sitting in the driveway. She was home, end of story.
Of course, she could be in the shower, which was a valid reason not to hear his knock. Or maybe she’d simply been so tired that she’d gone to bed early. Better yet, maybe she was checking in on old Mrs. Johnson who lived two houses down and had recently had cataract surgery. Then again, it was common knowledge that Mrs. Johnson went to bed at seven every night on account of she had a rooster that woke her up at daybreak every morning (along with half the neighborhood, Charlene included). She could be next door at Mrs. Owens’ buying Happy Camper cookies as promised. Susie, the oldest of Mrs. Owens’ five daughters, was president of Happy Campers Troop 54, and just that afternoon she’d toted home eight cases of cookies for their annual sale. While Charlene avoided the bright pink boxes like most teenagers avoided asparagus, she couldn’t not support the local youth—
“Are you okay?” Mason’s deep voice echoed in her ears and her eyes snapped open to find him standing in the open doorway…of the door she’d forgotten to lock. He wore faded Wranglers that clung to his muscular thighs and a soft white cotton shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. He smelled of leather and wind and a rugged masculinity that filled her nostrils and did dangerous things to her common sense. His faded straw Resistol sat tipped back on his head, his bright green gaze hooked on her. Concern glittered in the green depths and something warm unfolded in her chest.
Followed by a well of panic.
He was standing in her open doorway.
Charlene ducked behind the drapes and nearly snatched the rod off the wall in the process.
“Charlene?” Her name was a question and her panic escalated. Not only was he standing in her open doorway, but he was looking at her, talking to her, and worse, she had to answer him back.
“I…” She licked her lips and tried to draw a much needed breath that didn’t include Mason’s delicious scent. Fat chance. “I—I’m fine.” Another breath and her body temperature rose several degrees.
“I’ve been knocking for five minutes. Why didn’t you answer?”
“I didn’t hear you.”
“You’re standing right next to the door.”
“I am now.” Just breathe and don’t think about how good he smells. Or about how close he is. Or how good he looks. “But I haven’t always been in this position. I was upstairs and I couldn’t hear the knocking.” Hey, it sounded good.
Mason didn’t look convinced. “So what brought you downstairs?”
“I was on my way to the kitchen. Then I thought I heard a knock, so here I am at the door.”
“But you still didn’t answer it,” he said, a knowing look in his eyes.
“You barged in before I had a chance. Speaking of which, what are you doing here?” There. Now she was the one asking questions and he could do the squirming.
Only Mason McGraw didn’t squirm. He looked calm. Cool. Handsome. Determined.
A shiver rippled through her as she recognized the same look he’d worn in the dressing room earlier that week.
Just before he’d touched her.
Her grip tightened on the drapes she held in front of her.
“I was driving by on the way home from the feed store and I thought I would stop by.”
“I’m not on your way home,” she added.
“You are if I turn left on Main and circle back around town.” He grinned, slow and easy, and she found herself almost mesmerized.
Her panic eased and her heart slowed and she actually felt herself smile. “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I know.” His grin faded and something dark and delicious glittered in his gaze. “But it’s the truth.”
Her heart kicked up a beat. “Why?” The word was out before she could stop it.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kiss you.”
“That’s kill you.”
“Not in this case.”
He was so close that she had half a mind to lean forward and kiss him herself, just to cut the tension that stretched between them and satisfy the lust that pushed and pulled inside of her. A lust that had driven her to walk by his locker so many times when they’d been back in school. A lust that had always been one-sided.
Until now.
Just as the thought struck, she pushed it away. He didn’t really want her. He was trying to prove a point.
She knew that, but at the same time, she couldn’t stop herself from at least contemplating the notion.
That Mason really did want her. That he wanted to pull her close and kiss her deeply and carry her up to her bed or to the kitchen table or the front porch swing and make mad, passionate love to her.
She tried to push the notion away, but it lingered in her head and she heard herself say, “Why are you really here?”
Not that it mattered. She wanted happily ever after more than hot, torrid sex.
He rested one hand on the wall near where she stood in front of the window and leaned in just a fraction. Her nipples tingled in response and she swallowed.
Okay, so the desire for a happily ever after and torrid sex were running a close race at the moment. Very close. But the first would win because Charlene had learned a long time ago that banking on lust ultimately ended in heartache. Her mother and father’s failed marriage proved as much.
Charlene wouldn’t doom herself to the same fate as her mother. She wouldn’t spend her nights crying and her days trying to hide her misery from her child.
Forewarned was forearmed, she always said. So Charlene was making the smarter decision.
No matter how badly she wanted to kiss Mason McGraw…or press her lips to the pulse beat at the base of his throat…or peel his T-shirt up and run her hands over the hard muscles of his chest.
“You wanted my advice about hairstyles.” His deep voice shattered her dangerous thoughts.
“Excuse me?”
“You asked me why I’m here. Aren’t we doing the hair thing next?”
“That’s tomorrow. Lunch. At the diner.” With lots of people so she wouldn’t be tempted to throw her beliefs to the wind and jump him.
As if he could read her mind, he grinned. “I’m afraid that’s no good for me. I’m branding new calves tomorrow, so if you want me, it’ll have to be tonight.”
The want me stalled in her brain and stirred a very vivid image of Mason, naked and very aroused, spread out on her lilac colored sheets. It was one of her favorite fantasies in which she wore a slinky, sexy white see-through nightgown and had her way with him—
Her thoughts careened to a halt as she remembered that she wasn’t wearing anywhere close to a sexy nightie. Her feet heated inside the beat-up sweat socks and the flush worked its way clear to her head.
“Would you, um, excuse me for a second?”
“What?”
She indicated the curtain she held in front of her. “I’m not really decent.”
“You’re plenty decent. Shorts. Shirt. Smacks of decency.”
“These are my lounging around clothes and since you’re here, I won’t be lounging. I’ll be visiting. So I really think I should change.”
He stared at her, a puzzled look on his face. Then he shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”
When he just kept looking at her, she motioned for him to turn around.
He looked surprised. “You’ve got to be kidding? I’ve already seen you.”
Unfortunately. “I would really appreciate it.” She didn’t mean to sound so desperate, but the words came out anyway.
She half expected
him to laugh at her. That’s what most hot, hunky men would have done when faced with such a request. But Mason didn’t so much as crack a smile. Instead, he stared at her long and hard as if searching for something before he finally shrugged again and turned.
Charlene didn’t waste a precious moment. She hit the stairs running and didn’t stop until she’d reached her bedroom. Leaning back against the closed door, she drew a deep breath and tried to calm her pounding heart.
Mason McGraw was really here, in the flesh, right now.
The truth galvanized her into action and she raced to the closet, straight to the new outfits she’d purchased earlier that day.
She retrieved a neon green miniskirt and skimpy white tank top and tugged them both on. Then, before she could think about how uncomfortable she felt in the revealing clothes and dive into a pair of cover-everything-up sweats, she headed back downstairs.
While she didn’t feel comfortable, she couldn’t very well face Mason McGraw looking like a groupie.
That would be as bad as the time she got caught in her Hee Haw underpants. That humiliating moment was enough for a lifetime.
Besides, if she truly intended to fool Stewart with her new appearance, she needed to get used to her new clothes.
Now was as good a time as any to start.
“Where’s the birdhouse?” he asked her when she found him in the living room a few minutes later.
“Excuse me?”
He held up a book he’d pulled from her massive collection. How To Build Your Own Birdhouse in Four Easy Steps.
“I haven’t actually built one.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t have the time. During the semester, it’s all I can do to eat and sleep. During the summer break, it’s almost just as bad. I don’t actually have classes, but there’s a lot of work in preparing for the new semester.”
“What about surround sound?” He held up How To Customize Your Own Surround Sound System.
“Not yet.”
Texas Fire Page 10
