I snap my mouth shut.
Guess that clarifies some stuff. I’m not suffering from a delusion.
I wished that Violet would return to Copper Creek and bam! My wish came true.
Except…I also prayed that the show would be canceled. So maybe my guardian angel or fairy godmother—or whatever the heck it is—is only a rookie. She could only finagle the first wish.
Oh, well. One out of two ain’t half-bad.
“What should be interesting?” I ask, unable to take my eyes off Violet, even though my brain is screeching, Mayday, mayday, mayday and demanding I look away.
“TJ,” Camilla says before Jake can reply. “This is Violet Brooks, our super talented photographer. Violet, this is our cowboy, TJ Daniels, and his brothers, Jake and Noah.” She points to each of them in turn.
That explains why Aubrey is here. She and Violet have been best friends as long as Austin and I have been the same. She knew Violet was part of the TV crew.
“We actually know each other,” Violet says. “TJ has been my brother’s best friend since we were kids.” Her gorgeous brown eyes, alive with flecks of amber, slide to me—and just like that, my knees have trouble remembering their function.
She smiles. Christ, how could I have forgotten what her smile does to me? Between that and those eyes, I’m surprised I remember how to speak.
Wait—I do remember how to speak, right?
“It’s great seeing you again.” Yes! I can still form a coherent sentence.
“You too.” She steps in for a hug and wraps her arms around my shoulders. Her breasts press against my chest, and I inwardly groan. Luckily, Austin isn’t here to witness this, or else the reality show would have some serious entertainment for its viewers.
My arms loop around her and threaten to never let go.
“I can’t believe how long it’s been since I last saw you,” she says so only I can hear her. Her arms remain around my neck. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too. I was beginning to think the only way I’d ever see you again would be if I went to LA.”
The feel of her soft body against mine and the smell of her vanilla and rose perfume sparks a memory I’ve kept close all these years.
I had gone to her house to hang out with Austin. He was held up at his grandfather’s ranch, where he was working that summer. I was nineteen; Violet was seventeen.
She was dating a guy at the time. Some loser, if memory serves me correct. They were supposed to go out that night, but the dumbass forgot and stood her up for his buddies.
Violet was sitting on the porch steps, her shoulders slouched forward, her heart in her hand. I sat next to her, and she told me what happened.
“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered once she was finished.
My heart pinched at her words. How could she even believe for a second that something was wrong with her? Everything about her was right. The way she smelled like vanilla and roses. The way the world seemed a thousand times brighter whenever she smiled. The way she made me smile even when I was having a crappy day.
But I couldn’t tell her any of this.
Not if I valued my life and my friendship with Austin.
So I did the second best thing: I hugged her.
It only lasted a few seconds, but the memory of it has clung to me all these years like well-chewed gum on the bottom of your boot.
I reluctantly release Violet, who goes on to hug Jake and Noah.
Camilla’s face lights up. “You must have some juicy stories about TJ growing up,” she says to Violet. “What was he like?”
Amusement flares briefly in Violet’s eyes. But it’s gone too quickly for Camilla to notice. I only recognize it because I’m more than familiar with those juicy stories. Stories my old teacher Miss Truby would be delighted to share—if she was still with us.
Although now that I think about it, Miss H is still around. She was my high school English teacher.
Jake’s warning from earlier comes back for an encore.
Note to self: Make sure Camilla doesn’t track down Miss H. If my old teacher is given the chance to talk about my mischief-making days, I’m sure I’ll be painted as the villain on the TV show. While that would be a great way to avoid advancing to the next round, it won’t help us promote the ranch.
For a moment, Violet seems to consider Camilla’s question. “I’m assuming he hasn’t changed much since back then.” Her gaze sweeps over my body, much like Camilla’s did earlier. Except when her eyes land on my face, there’s a heat in them that wasn’t in Camilla’s.
But then it flickers away faster than a flame in a blizzard, and I can’t be a hundred percent certain I didn’t imagine it. I mean, we’re talking about Violet. I’ve never been anything but a big brother to her.
I brush the heat in her eyes off as nothing more than a hallucination—a hallucination brought on by seeing her again after she’s been away for so long.
Sounds like a reasonable explanation, right?
“He’s a sweet, hardworking man who is liked by everyone.” The corners of Violet’s mouth twitch up.
I choke back a laugh at the “sweet” part. I can’t remember anyone ever describing me as that. I’m not an asshole, but I’m about as sweet as frills are manly.
I’m not the only one trying to keep from laughing. Jake is rubbing his hand across his mouth, as if erasing the laugh lurking there.
Thor nickers—giving into his need to laugh. And to remind me that he’s still standing there, and if I’m not riding him now, he would like to check on his mares.
“Jake and I need to tend to our horses.” And maybe after that, I can leap into the cold river. Because if I don’t do that soon, everyone is going to discover the effect Violet has on me.
Not to mention, jumping into the cold river might knock some sense into me. I need to play things cool. No point revealing just how much I’ve missed her friendship and her humor.
No point revealing how much I crave seeing if her lips are as soft as I’ve imagined they would be.
“How about Noah gets you all settled in the meantime?” I say.
Camilla and several members of the crew are staying with us for the week—another surprise that Noah sprung on us a few days ago.
The rest of them will be in Copper Creek’s one and only hotel. Thank God for that.
And when I say hotel, I’m referring to the tiny hotel in the heart of downtown. Hence the reason some of the crew has to stay at the ranch.
A new thought almost levels me onto my ass. Does the list of guests at the ranch include Violet? Having a house full of people keen on videotaping my every move will be bad enough; having the girl who I’m not supposed to touch stay under the same roof will be a new lesson in torture.
“You have a gorgeous place,” Camilla says, admiring the two-story building with the wraparound porch, large picturesque windows, and the pointed roofs over the various wings that comprise the upper level.
“It was our grandparents’ home before they died. Jake, Noah, and I inherited it and the ranch.”
Our grandmother had died ten years before that, and for whatever reason, Granddad never willed it to his only living child. Deep down, he was probably still angry that she hadn’t married Walter Scottsdale’s son like Granddad and Walter had planned.
That was back before the ranches became rivals. Back when our ranch focused exclusively on cattle and theirs on horses.
“Did you live here while you were growing up?” Camilla asks.
“No, we lived on the other side of town.” In a small but nice house.
“Do your parents still live there?”
“No, they moved to Helena a few years ago when my mom was offered a nursing job there.”
“What does your father do?”
“He’s an author of thrillers.”
That was another point against Dad as far as Granddad was concerned. Being an author wasn’t a job for real men—as Granddad liked to frequently
point out.
“Are you telling us that Christopher Daniels—The Christopher Daniels—is your father?” Wilson the director asks, practically fanning himself in excitement at that little detail.
“That would be him.”
“Can Noah deal with your horse while you show us around, TJ?” Apparently Camilla doesn’t share the same enthusiasm as Wilson about my father’s career and books.
But if showing them around means I get to talk to Violet, then I’m all for it.
Even better if it means getting to kiss her senseless.
But since I know that won’t be part of the tour, I open my mouth to suggest Noah show them around instead.
“That’s a great idea,” he says, halting my words before they can form. He flashes me a dog-eat-dog grin.
Asshole.
It’s only then that I realize a large portable camera is perched on one man’s shoulder. Guess that means the tour will be videotaped.
My gut clenches into a tight fist, reminding me how much I hated doing interviews back when I was competing. It’s not that I sounded like an idiot in them. I didn’t. It’s just I had better things to use my adrenaline high on than being interviewed on TV.
I hand Noah Thor’s reins. “Did you know Violet was part of the show?” My voice is low enough so no one else can hear me.
I don’t have to ask Aubrey if she knew. Of course she knew. The question is why didn’t she tell me?
Noah chuckles, the sound a quiet rumble. “Not at all. But it will definitely make things more interesting,” he says, echoing Jake’s earlier comment.
“Interesting for who exactly?”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” And with that, he and Jake lead the horses back to the stable. Sophie joins them.
Shit. Has Noah figured out my illegal feelings toward Austin’s sister? Right, they aren’t technically illegal. But try telling that to Austin, the town’s sheriff.
Mr. Follow-The-Rules might not feel the same way.
Aubrey, who has been grinning like the cat who ate a pet store’s worth of canaries, tells Violet that she’ll call her later and leaves.
I gesture for the group to walk up the porch steps. Violet is ahead of me, chatting with one of the men. I’d like to say that jealousy doesn’t pitchfork me in the ass, but that would not be accurate.
So instead, I appreciate her fine ass from behind. It’s better than I remember. Rounder.
Sweeter.
Now, that’s a more appropriate use of the adjective than what Violet used sweet for.
An image flashes in my head of me pounding into her from behind, of her sweet pussy devouring my cock, and I barely keep from groaning out loud.
No more looking at her ass. Move your eyes away from her ass.
My eyes do a piss-poor job of listening to my brain.
We step into the house and I begin the tour: The main foyer large enough to party in. The grand living room with the huge stone fireplace. The numerous windows spanning two walls. The dark, honey-colored overhead support beams with the matching ceiling and floor. The iron chandelier above the dark green couch that forms an L-shape in the middle of the room.
The many cathedral ceilings.
The kitchen.
“If I cooked,” Camilla says as she takes in the massive room with the black granite counters and stainless steel appliances, “this would be my dream kitchen. Do you guys have a cook?”
One would believe that from looking at the room. “My grandmother did all the cooking. That’s why the kitchen is so big. It was her dream kitchen.” Our grandfather made sure she got exactly what she desired when he built the house. He loved her that much.
“As for having a cook—no, we don’t have one. My brothers and I take turns cooking.” Fortunately, the show hired a local caterer to provide lunch while everyone is here. Otherwise, I’d make Noah do all the work.
“You enjoy cooking?”
I chuckle. “I enjoy eating, and since none of us really enjoy cooking, we take turns.”
Besides, hiring a cook costs money, and it’s an expense we aren’t interested in taking on. Of course when it comes to hiring someone to keep the house clean, that’s a different story. “Let me show you to your rooms.”
After I direct the three men staying with us to their bedrooms, I open the door to Camilla’s room. If I had a choice, I would’ve given it to Violet. It’s the largest guest room in the house, with huge windows overlooking the meadows and the mountains. Violet had always loved this room.
Camilla steps in and her breath hitches. “Wow. This is gorgeous.”
I have no idea if she means the rustic antique furniture or the four-poster bed with the lacy white bedding or the view.
Don’t think about Violet spread out on the bed, gazing up at you with those beautiful, soulful eyes. Her soft lips parted, waiting for you to—
The ringing of a cell phone intrudes on my thoughts, and I shake myself back to reality.
“Roger, I’m so glad you called,” Camilla says. The vowels are dragged out longer than normal, and there’s an almost sing-song quality to her tone.
I turn to Violet—and my mouth curves into what I hope comes off as an I’m-happy-to-see-you smile. Better that than the smile betraying my I-want-to-do-you-on-this-bed dirty thoughts. “Let me show you to your room.”
My cock not-so helpfully points out she can always share my bed.
Yeah, I’m sure that will go down well with Austin and the show’s producers, I remind it.
“I’m not staying here,” Violet says. “I’m staying at my grandmother’s.”
Even though that makes a helluva lot more sense, I blurt, “We have plenty of room, and staying here will make your job easier.”
“I’m the photographer, not the videographer. I don’t have to follow you around all the time like the guys do.”
That’s a good thing, I tell myself. And then, because I’ve done a piss-poor job convincing myself of that, I imagine Austin discovering me fucking his sister in my bed, followed by him demonstrating some SEAL-approved moves on me.
That argument is more convincing.
Besides, Camilla and the crew might find it odd if I invite Violet to my room just so that we can catch up on the past ten years. In private. Because as great as Grandma Meg has been at keeping the town up-to-date on what Violet’s been up to, I want to hear it from Violet.
“I’ll call you right back.” Camilla ends the call. “Violet’s right,” she says to me. “She isn’t needed here all the time, so I’m fine with her not staying with us. But since we have the afternoon of shooting ahead of us, let’s get started. We can shoot some photos of you shirtless. You have a barn, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Not that I have time for a photo shoot. I’ve got my own work to do. But since Noah got me into this mess, he can do my chores.
Sounds only fair.
“Your application mentioned you sing,” Camilla says.
That’s right. Noah’s toothpaste is about to have extra-hot chili paste added to it.
“He has a beautiful singing voice.” Violet’s tone is soft. Soft in a way that makes my stomach do several impressive somersaults.
I let my gaze drop to her lips.
Not a good idea, the know-it-all voice in my head snaps. Eyes up.
“We can light a fire by the lake in the evening and shoot the video there.” The way Camilla says it, you’d think she was planning to shoot a music video for an up-and-coming country singer.
But since that’s not going to happen if I can have any say in this, I do my best to redirect her from the campfire idea. “I’m singing at the senior center tomorrow night.”
Now I just have to hope Grandma Meg can pull it off on short notice. Ever since the afternoon almost two months ago, when she gave me the Marvel comics, she’s been hinting—loudly—about me entertaining the seniors.
Camilla taps her finger against her lips. “I don’t suppose that will entail you being shirtless?
”
I laugh. “I’m not sure the seniors would go for that.”
“I don’t know,” Violet says. Her tone holds a giggle, her eyes an unexpected heat. An unexpected heat directed at me that no one else notices.
I’m hallucinating things. That must be it.
My cock one hundred percent disagrees with me.
“Grandma says Gertrude has a framed, shirtless picture of Ryan Reynolds on her nightstand,” Violet explains. “Gertrude claims it ensures happy dreams.”
Why doesn’t that surprise me?
6
“Ooh, I’m going to be famous,” Gertrude says.
“You’re not going to be famous,” Grandma Meg replies.
“You don’t think us being on a reality show will make us famous? Maybe we can be the next Kardashians.”
“We’re not going to be the next Kardashians.”
“Why not?”
Grandma Meg lets out a long, I’m-going-to-hit-my-head-against-the-table sigh. The same round table Gertrude, Tilly, and Violet are also sitting at. “Because we’re old and we’re not rich,” she says. “That’s why not. And we won’t be famous just because we’re here while they videotape TJ singing to us.” She gestures to the twenty or so seniors sitting around the six other tables in the rec room.
“You’re such a killjoy,” Gertrude grouses. “So, to bring joy back into my life,” she says a little louder in case I couldn’t hear her before, “I think TJ should perform without his shirt on. In fact, I think TJ should do a benefit concert while shirtless to help save Mavis’s store.”
I roll my eyes because this isn’t the first time Gertrude has made that request. About going shirtless—not the concert part. She tried last week to sell me on the virtues of me grocery shopping shirtless. “Sorry, ladies. The shirt’s staying on.” Then I frown. “What’s going on with Mavis’s store?” She sells antiques. Has since before I was born.
“Not enough business these days.” Gertrude says it quietly, as if telling me a secret no one else is privy to.
“Why?” Andrew says loudly from their table. The eighty-five-year-old war veteran’s hearing isn’t all that great. “Are you afraid they won’t be as impressed with your body as they are with mine?”
Cowboy Most Wanted Page 4
