by Stacy Gail
Not that she had a vast amount of experience to compare it to. Her first time—near the end of her senior year in high school with a teenaged Lothario—had been utterly forgettable. Then there’d been her semi-serious boyfriend a couple years back. Like her, he’d been studying digital art and they’d had some decent chemistry together. But before she could get around to thinking he might be The One, he’d “borrowed” some of her designs and gotten himself a job in Hollywood making animated features.
Good riddance.
But even if she’d had a dozen lovers instead of just her measly two, she still would have known what Ry had given her last night was beyond compare. The man was a freaking rock star in the sack, and she couldn’t wait to get him back there to see what else he could do.
So naturally, they needed more condoms.
Small town shopping was never fun when it came to personal items, but for the first time since she’d goosed Ry in public, Celia was grateful for her near-invisibility. All she had to do was go in, pick up a box, and no one would even notice her.
Easy peasy.
“Well, well, fancy meeting you here. Maybe we should have carpooled.”
Celia whirled and found Willard and Pauline bearing down on her, all smiles.
While she stood in front of the display of condoms.
Shit.
“Uh, hey there.” Covertly casting around to see what else was stocked in that aisle, Celia blindly grabbed up some deodorant. “If I’d known you two were going to hit Abel’s, I would have been happy to do some shopping for you.” Not to mention it would have been so much easier to slip a box of condoms in with a bigger shopping.
“What, and cheat us out of an opportunity to get out of the house? For shame.” Seated on one of the store’s motorized carts, Pauline tipped her a wink. “Trust me, hon. When you get to be our age, a trip to the grocery store becomes a major event.”
“It’s definitely going to be a major event now that you’ve decided to be the internet’s answer to Julia Child. Our grocery bill’s going to go through the roof.” Leaning on a half-filled grocery cart, Willard rolled his eyes heavenward. “Do you know what this madwoman wants me to do? She wants me to build her a movie studio right in our backyard, can you believe it?”
“It’s not a movie studio, and you love it.” Pauline gave his arm a playful swat before beaming over at Celia. “Willard isn’t quite sure about what I’m asking him to do, because he doesn’t get video blogging—”
“I do, too. Sorta. I think.”
“—so today I’m going to video myself making my famous praline ice cream, as well as a few other dishes.”
“And by a few, she means half her recipe index,” her husband groused, looking put-upon. “That’s why we’re here. Apparently we’re buying out the store today.”
Pauline made a face at him. “We are not buying out the store, so you can just hush.”
“I’m pushing a cart, and you’re driving one, so that means we’re buying out the store. Celia doesn’t even have a cart, just one of those handbasket things. What are you here for, Cel?”
“Deodorant,” she said promptly, holding it up.
“See?” Willard said to his wife. “That’s how to shop right there. Bam, one item. Plain and simple.”
“Uh, honey, that’s men’s deodorant.” Pauline’s sharp eyes were trained on the item she held aloft. “A men’s deodorant with a scent that drives women wild, if you can believe their stupid commercials.”
“I love those commercials,” Willard announced. “Hey Cel, can I borrow your deodorant when you’re done with it?”
“Whoops. Grabbed the wrong one.” Mortified and wishing she could find a way out of both the conversation and the store in the next five seconds, she shoved the deodorant back into its slot and searched for her own brand. “Guess my mind was elsewhere.”
“Mm, it was probably focused on why Ryland Brody’s truck was parked outside your place all night,” Pauline said, nodding. “And of course, the rows and rows of rubbers behind you.”
“Do they still call them rubbers?” Willard wanted to know while Celia made a choking sound and her face grew so hot she thought it might go up in flames. “Kids these days, they come up with all sorts of slang for things. What do you call rubbers nowadays, Celia?”
“Necessary. Vaguely mortifying. Take your pick.” It would be a mercy if she could die right there...
“At least we don’t have to have the birds and bees talk with you,” Pauline said with a Cheshire Cat grin. “That would be mortifying.”
She could feel her eyes bug out. “And this isn’t?”
“Not for us,” Willard confided. “Personally I’m having the time of my life. How ’bout you, Pauline?”
“Are you kidding? Shopping and teasing Celia until her head explodes? It’s like Christmas.”
Ugh. “So glad you’re enjoying yourselves.”
“Don’t let us interrupt your shopping,” Pauline added while that wicked grin of hers widened. Any second now her friend and neighbor would be squealing with glee. “Feel free to peruse the selection. Don’t mind us.”
“I’ve decided not to bother. You two are the best birth control there is,” Celia muttered, then glared when they both burst out laughing. “So, I guess the whole town knows where Ry, uh...parked his truck last night?”
“Nice euphemism,” Willard snorted, still chuckling. “If kids are referring to sex as parking your truck, who knows what they’re calling rubbers these days.”
“Honey, have you forgotten we live in the boonies? Why would anyone know besides us?” Pauline shrugged while her husband struggled to get himself under control. “More to the point, who cares? It’s your business and no one else’s.”
“If only that were true.” A hint of bitterness seeped in through the embarrassment, and she couldn’t stop herself from glancing around to see if anyone was watching them. “That’s the one great thing about big cities. Nobody cares if a truck stays parked in front of your house overnight.”
Pauline clicked her tongue. “Now, now, no need to get defensive. We don’t care what you do in the privacy of your own home. If anything, we’re happy for you and Ry.”
“Yeah,” Willard nodded, beaming. “After all, if you two are becoming an item, that’s got to mean you’re beginning to think it might not be so bad around here after all, right?”
“And,” Pauline added before Celia could respond, “if that’s the case, then maybe you’ll have second thoughts about taking that job up in Dallas.”
Celia loosed an exasperated sigh. “Swear to God, the grapevine in this town is better than the CIA. Did Lucy tell you about that?”
“It was either Lucy or Sully.” Pauline waved an airy hand. “Not that it matters. I think everyone in town knows you went up to Dallas for a job interview. Did you ever hear back from them? Velso and Company, or something like that?”
“Velni and Associates.” It took a conscious effort for Celia not to face-palm. She’d totally forgotten about that. “They sent me an email last night, which I was responding to when Ry showed up.”
Willard’s brows went up. “And? What’d they have to say?”
“They sent me a detailed package of all the benefits they offer to their fulltime employees, along with a lengthy contract. They’ve offered me the job,” she added unnecessarily while Willard and Pauline exchanged speaking glances. “It’s a decent offer. Full benefits, partial moving costs, that sort of thing. The pay isn’t great to start out, but there’s a lot of opportunity for advancement. I could do worse.”
“You could also do better.” Pauline’s mouth was a tight line, and the laughter was nothing but a distant memory. “Did you accept the job offer?”
“Not yet.” Her gaze went past them to the rows of condoms, and the memory of the night before—and this morning—shoved everyth
ing into the background. “I kind of forgot about answering that email until this very moment.”
“Do yourself a favor and don’t jump on the first job that comes along, Celia,” Willard advised. “That sort of thing is a life-changing commitment. You don’t want to rush it. Not to mention Dallas is so far away.”
“Exactly,” Celia said, but without conviction. “That was kind of the point when I applied for the job. Getting away from Bitterthorn was my number-one goal.”
Pauline’s gaze sharpened. “Was? Does that mean it’s not your number-one goal anymore?”
“It...is.” She couldn’t help the hesitation, because once again her brain kept insisting that having sex with Ry had somehow changed the world. It was crazy, of course, but it was a feeling she just couldn’t shake. “I wouldn’t miss this town if I left, that much I know.”
“You wanna know what I know?” Willard said, looking almost mournful. “We’d miss the hell out of you, hon. And I’ll bet we wouldn’t be the only ones.”
Ry.
Would he miss her?
Long after Celia said her farewells to the Padgetts and made her condom purchase, she still didn’t have a solid answer.
Chapter Eleven
“Stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you.” Ry glanced over at Celia from under the brim of his hat as she clung to the saddle cinched around Hopper. Short for Clodhopper, the fifteen-year-old horse had never been known to go over a lazy trot even on his best day. Yet Celia, decked out in jeans, a T-shirt and a pink straw cowgirl hat, was acting like the big bay’s pokey pace was threatening to break the sound barrier. “Remember, don’t hold on to the saddle and the reins all at the same time. Relax your grip on the reins, tuck your knees in close and let Hopper follow my lead, yeah? Why not take a look around, enjoy the scenery?”
“Because I’m convinced I’m about to die.”
“You need to know that I’d never allow anything bad happen to you.”
“I believe you, but I’m not sure this horse is on the same page.”
“’Course he is, he’s a Brody horse. That means you’re safe, because Hopper and everything around you is mine.”
“Here’s hoping you’re smart enough to not include me in that statement.” Grudgingly she swept her gaze over the rugged terrain, dotted here and there with torturously twisted live oaks, outcroppings of jagged malachite rock formations, and grazing Black Angus. That was all there was, as far as the eye could see, and as he watched, her face softened with a kind of wonder that lit a warm glow in his chest. “Wow, you’re right. It really is beautiful out here.”
“From here to the horizon and beyond, everything you see is Brody land.” Keeping a close watch on her, he chose an easy trail around the base of a malachite-rich ridge that had given the ranch its name, and aimed for a green ribbon of water that had been responsible for creating the ridge in the first place. “There it is, my favorite place in all of Green Rock—the best damn fishing hole this side of the Nueces River.”
She zeroed in on the long swath of green shaded by gnarled, hardwood trees. “It’s beautiful. But isn’t it a little late in the day for fishing? It’s almost noon.”
“I go fishing for the fun of fishing, not for catching anything.”
“I hope you know that doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t recall ever saying I made sense.” Again he glanced back at her to make sure she was hanging in there, and had to chuckle at how fiercely she held on to her reins. “Hopper’s going to be backing up in a second, the way you’re pulling on those reins.”
“Crap.” Instantly her grip relaxed. “Okay, I’m not pulling. And stop laughing. I’m doing great for never having been on a horse before.”
She was, by damn. And she was doing it without complaint, too. Another bonus. “I have to admit, you’re being a good sport about this, city slicker.”
“No one from Bitterthorn could ever be called a city slicker. Or a city anything, really.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said easily, though he watched her expression like a hawk. “Small town values are my kind of values. And since you can’t get views like this in a city, I’d pick this country life every time.”
“I don’t blame you. And it doesn’t hurt that a major city is less than thirty miles away from where we are now.”
“That too.” He aimed for a grassy, tree-studded area that sloped toward the water, dismounted and waited for Hopper to come to a halt beside him. “But let’s not forget who you really are.”
She shot him a perplexed look. “Uh, who I really am? I’m pretty positive I’m not going to forget anytime soon that I’m Celia Villarreal.”
“You’re an avid gardener who loves playing in the dirt. You take care of your neighbors without a second thought. You wear cowgirl boots with dresses, and you live in a converted barn. Admit it—you’re a country girl through and through.”
“I hate bugs. I refused to move into that barn until it had been fumigated, insulated, and had AC installed. As for those neighbors, they spy on me like I’m their favorite form of entertainment.” Awkwardly she swung a jean-clad leg over Hopper’s wide rump and Ry caught her by her waist to guide her safely to the ground. “I’m not as country as you think.”
“You’d hate the city if you lived there all the time.”
“Maybe.” She let him turn her in his arms, and he loved the way her body arched into his as she reached up to link her hands behind his neck. “But I won’t know until I try.”
“Fuck trying. You belong here. Not some city where you can be anonymous. Not with people who don’t give a shit about you. You belong here.”
Her eyes narrowed and her body stilled. “By any chance, have you heard a rumor about me getting a job offer up in Dallas?”
“Word is, it’s not a rumor.” His arms tightened. “Is it?”
“I haven’t accepted it yet.”
It took every ounce of will he had not to crush her to his chest. But by damn, if he had to hold her there until the fucking sun burned out, that was exactly what he’d do. “You won’t.”
Her brows shot up. “Is that a prediction or an order?”
“I don’t give a shit what you call it—it is what it is. A person needs to know where they belong in the world in order to be happy.” Pushing her hat back, he kissed her hard to make sure she understood he wasn’t fucking around on this. When he finally raised his head and saw her blink dazedly, he nodded in satisfaction. “When we’re together like this, I know you know what I’m talking about. About being where you belong, and being happy about it.”
Those black magic eyes locked on his so completely he was sure he heard the click. “I know I’m crazy-happy right now. In fact, you should thank your lucky stars I can’t carry a tune, because I swear I have to hold myself back from bursting into song every time you touch me. See? Crazy-happy. I’m not even making sense.”
God, his lady was sweet. “You make perfect sense to me. You’re happy because you know what most people go through a lifetime not knowing. You know where you belong.”
“Oh, really? And where do you think I belong?”
“Under my hands. And my mouth. And me.” When she smiled with a kind of dawning realization that knocked every rational thought out of his head, he kissed her again and almost felt like singing himself when her mouth eagerly responded. It took a shocking amount of strength to break it off, and the pulse pounding in both his chest and his dick distracted him so much he almost forgot why he’d brought her out there. “Let’s get our stuff unpacked, yeah? We’re doing this picnic up right.”
“I’m impressed.” Minutes later, with plastic containers of grapes, baby carrots and celery, BLTs with loads of bacon and cut into picture-perfect triangles, chocolate-covered strawberries and brownies spread out on a large square quilt beneath the trees, Celia
smiled her thanks as she accepted a plastic cup of sweetened iced tea. “When you said you were packing a picnic lunch for a fishing trip, I was expecting peanut butter sandwiches, a jug of soda and a bag of tortilla chips.”
“You have Dottie to thank for this,” he said, taking his hat off and dropping it on top of hers. “She’s a twitchy-eyed perfectionist if there ever was one. If I’d been left in charge, it would’ve been exactly what you described. I’m not the greatest in the kitchen.”
“Dottie, huh?” For a moment she grimaced, before she shrugged and offered him a smile. “Next time I’ll pack a picnic lunch you won’t soon forget. Thanks to my mom, Pauline and Lucy, I’ve got mad skills in the cooking and baking department.”
“Deal.” He plucked up a grape and held it to her mouth. “Open up, my Celia.”
She did, putting her half-empty drink aside to hold his hand steady, her gaze tangling with his while her lips slowly closed over the fruit. The raw sensuality of her hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath and making him ache in the sweetest damn way. Suddenly setting up fishing gear and sharing this small slice of what he considered to be heaven with her didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except being inside her.
Right there.
Right now.
Desire thrummed through him as he slid his hand from her mouth, past her shoulder and over the firm swell of her breast, where her nipple was already taut beneath the veil of her pink T-shirt. That barrier kept her from him, an intolerable situation if there ever was one, so he lifted it up and over her head with quick efficiency.
“Wait, Ry—”
“No one knows we’re here.” The lacy pink bra she had on was the stuff fantasies were made of, but right now all he wanted was to see it gone. “This has always been my special place, my haven. My brothers know I do not share it with anyone, not even them. We’re as alone as two people can possibly be.”
