by Becky McGraw
Some battles were better left for another day though. This was one of them. He had to get back to the circuit tomorrow, and she was going to do what she damned well pleased anyway. Hanging around wasn’t going to get him anywhere. From past experience he knew letting her cool off was probably his best option at the moment. His next break was in two weeks. Ryan would come back then and try again to convince her to quit that damned bar. That was probably the most he could hope for, because he didn’t think he was ever going to convince her to come back with him.
He thought he’d made a little progress there, but that two-minute argument with Twyla and Heather had undone any headway he’d made with Twyla. He’d shot off his mouth before he thought about what he was saying, then stuffed his foot in his mouth to boot. Insulting both women at the same time had been taking his life into his hands, he realized now.
“I’m sorry, Twy—I’m leaving now, but I’ll call to check on you,” he mumbled as he pushed away from the door. Heaving a sigh, Ryan gathered up his stuff, and finished dressing. He grabbed his wallet from the dresser, and his heart skidded to a stop at seeing the condom wrapper sitting on the dresser beside it. Good God, that last time they made love in the kitchen on the counter, he hadn’t worn a condom. Hadn’t even thought about it. His head rocked back on his shoulders and he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. It came out in a rush, as he massaged his pounding temples. “I’m a fucking moron,” he grated as he shoved the wallet into his back pocket. “A total complete idiot.”
Ryan had never forgotten before.
It was something he remembered religiously. Hell, he kept almost a gross of them behind his seat in the truck. He didn’t want a kid, and he didn’t want something that wouldn’t be cured in nine months either. That was something his old man had taught him before he left them, the only thing really. Ryan found out later there was a reason for his expertise on the subject that he passed on to a fourteen-year-old boy. He was a serial cheater, a man who had slept with everything that had two legs and a split. That accidental knowledge about his father’s activities had come to him through his stepfather, who said at least he didn’t cheat, when Ryan confronted him about hitting his mother.
Like that made the black eye she sported that day, a lot of days, okay.
The old anger dredged up from deep inside him to wash through his body. His fingers flexed wanting to feel that bastard’s throat under his hands again like he had the day he almost killed him. The day his mother told him not to come back around. That day she had chosen between them. She chose to have a relationship with a man who beat the living hell out of her on a daily basis rather than her eighteen-year-old son who had only been trying to protect her. At the time it hadn’t made any sense to him, and it still didn’t. Relationships were the luck of the draw, and his mother had drawn two deuces, but she decided to play them.
That is why Ryan chose not to get involved in the mess that came with relationships. He stuck to temporary women who could give him temporary relief. Last night though, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, he had stepped off into uncharted territory with Twyla. He did have feelings for her, he just didn’t know what they were. The possibility of him having some kind of non-familial relationship with her now had tickled his brain, but Ryan planned on taking one day at a time to see where things went, while he sorted out those feelings, and she untangled the mess she’d made of her life. Both would take time.
If Twyla turned up pregnant though, that plan would change quickly. The sand would rush to the bottom of the hourglass. Ryan would marry her, and do the right thing. That’s what the only family he’d ever, her family, had taught him to do, would expect of him. What he expected of himself, because he cared about her and the family.
At the moment though, the right thing was to give her some space to get over her temper, and get his ass back in the saddle. Once he thought she’d cooled down, he’d try to call her. If she didn’t take his call, on his next break he’d be back down here to try again, and find out if anything had taken root from his stupid mistake.
That was all he could do.
CHAPTER TWELVE
During a break between rounds in Amarillo, their second stop on the circuit since he’d left Twyla a week ago, Ryan found an empty corner in the locker room, to make his third call to Heather’s apartment. Twyla didn’t have a damned cell phone, so he had to call Heather’s apartment. It was the only number he had for her. Ryan was going to rectify that situation when he went back to Dallas. He needed to be able to get ahold of her, and she needed to be able to make a call in case she needed help. Lord, just the thought that she might need help and not be able to call for it sent cold chills zipping down his spine.
Maybe he should tell Zack. Or her family.
It was bad enough when she was living there with Heather, but now she was really alone, in an apartment by herself, and she was still dancing at that bar. At least Heather had half a lick of sense about protecting herself. Ryan could attest to that firsthand. But Twyla was naïve and unsophisticated, not used to taking care of herself, because she’d always had him and Zack watching out for her. When it came to men, and what they were capable of, Twyla didn’t have a clue. Ryan had a clue, and so did his mother. Zack knew too, because his best friend was the only person on the planet he’d talked to about it. Which could be part of the reason he’d always sheltered Twyla like he had. They both had.
Dancing in that bar, there was no telling what kind of man could attach himself to her. Just thinking about the many things that could happen gave him cold sweats at night. Or it could be the damned dreams giving him cold sweats. Every time he shut his eyes, which hadn’t been often since he left her, because those hot moments in Heather’s apartment kept replaying in his mind like a broken record, he saw her face as she came, heard her delicious moans. In his dreams though, that slick shooting instructor’s face was the one he saw on the man making love to Twyla, not his own.
His heart jerked in his chest as he punched out Heather’s number on his cell phone. He slammed the phone to his ear and heard it ringing. Heather telling him, “She’s doing fine, and I’ll tell her you called,” wasn’t going to cut it this time. Heather was going to get Twyla to call him back, or he was going to Dallas. Ryan felt someone walk up behind him, and turned to see Zack lean a hip against the row of lockers and cross his arms over his chest. Wouldn’t you know he would show up at just that moment, Heather’s impatient voice came over the line? His luck had definitely gone south, and not only with his riding since Twyla left.
After a huffed breath, Heather started in with, “Look Ryan, your apology might’ve worked with me, because I really don’t give a shit what you think of me, but I can’t make her call you. I’ve told her you called. That’s all I can do. Now, I’m going to hang up, because I’m busy trying to get ready for a gig.”
Ryan dragged his eyes from Zack’s interested blue gaze, and turned to face the wall. “Wait! Can you at least go by there and check on her?” he said, then covered his mouth to whisper into the phone. “I’m worried about her. I really need to talk to her.” What Ryan was worried about, he definitely couldn’t be saying out loud with Zack standing behind him. “Um, how’s her apartment? How’s the job and her shooting lessons?” Has she started her period?
“She’s fine. The job’s fine. I haven’t seen the apartment yet. She and Randy are not seeing each other as far as I know. I know that’s what your real question is,” Heather said with a dry laugh. “And if it will get you to stop calling, yes, I’ll stop by on my way out.”
The tension in Ryan’s shoulders eased a little. Heather definitely wasn’t the one he’d choose to go by and do a welfare check on Twyla, that was sort of like sending a fox to check the hen house, but she was his only choice. “Can you call me back and let me know she’s okay? I’ll probably be riding, but you can leave a message.”
Heather sighed, and he could imagine her rolling her green eyes. “I’ll leave a message, but don’t cal
l me again. I have a lot on my plate, without playing go between. If you’re that damned worried, get your butt down here and find out for yourself how she’s doing.”
The line disconnected, before he could even mutter thank you.
Go to Dallas is exactly what he was going to do in six days and ten hours. He turned back toward Zack, and his friend was still there, but his look had changed from interested to concerned. “Why the hell are you so worried about Twyla? That’s the second time I’ve caught you sneaking off to call to check on her. You said she had a job at a burger joint, and was taking shooting lessons. How much trouble could she get into?”
More than you could ever imagine. Blood shot up to Ryan’s face and it felt like it was on fire, as he stammered, “I’m just worried because she’s so damned green about men.” A lot less green than before I paid her a visit. His heart took a sick dive to his toes. “You know how guys are.” Guys like him. Or worse, guys like his stepfather. Ryan fought off a shiver, and shoved his phone into his pocket.
Zack’s brows slammed down over his eyes, and his arms fell to his sides. “Was she seeing someone while you were there?”
Seeing someone? No, but she was having sex with me. Ryan’s blood rushed to follow his heart to his toes, making him a little dizzy.
Zack’s eyes narrowed. “Is there something you’re not telling me, bro?”
Only that I slept with your sister, and would do it again, if given the opportunity. Oh, and the little fact that she’s dancing at a bar. Other than that no. Good God, Ryan had lied to the man he thought of as a brother. Something he’d never done before. That man’s sister was into all kinds of things she shouldn’t be, and Ryan couldn’t tell him, or do a damned thing to stop her from doing those things. And now he was going to have to lie again.
“Um, no,” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Twy was fine.” He used Heather’s tactic, and it evidently worked, because Zack’s face relaxed.
“Well, that’s good then, because you only have five minutes to get ready for your ride, dude.” Zack put his arm around Ryan’s shoulder and slapped his back. “You’re up first next round. That’s why I was surprised when you ran off. We need to check-in at the pens, or they’ll scratch you.”
The last thing Ryan wanted to do was ride right now, unless he was riding a wild ass cowgirl he couldn’t get off his mind, he thought as he walked back to the arena with Zack.
***
Twyla reached beside her to fumble blindly for the half-empty Twinkie box on the floor. It was one of those Twinkie kind of days today. Had been for the last couple of days. When she needed it most, her tips at the bar Saturday night hadn’t been good, and Leon wasn’t happy. Twyla just couldn’t seem to find any sexy to put into her routines these days. Because she wasn’t feeling very sexy, not that she ever had. She was feeling dirty. Because Ryan had made her feel that way. Tried to make Heather feel that way too, but her friend just didn’t care what he or anyone else thought. Twyla wished she could manage that.
Even though it was all an act that Heather had helped her perfect, like she had perfected her own, to make ridiculously easy money to help her follow her dreams, Twyla felt dirty and cheap now when she danced. She wasn’t anymore a stripper than Heather was, or that kind of dancer, but Randy thought she was. Because of Ryan.
At their shooting lessons now, Randy was treating her like she had the clap. It had become obvious there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell now he’d ask her out again after what Ryan told him. Randy didn’t even look at her the same now. He left after they finished the lessons like his ass was on fire.
Stuffy, judgmental asshole.
Even if she was a stripper, that wasn’t any way to treat someone you’d asked out not a week ago. But something else was bothering her more. Although it pissed her off to admit it, she was missing the hell out of Ryan. Since he left a week ago, she had intentionally refused to talk to him, trying to get on her way to forgetting him, but she was paying the price. Twyla wondered if the heartsick feeling in her gut would ever go away.
Heather said he’d called her apartment a couple of times looking for her, but Twyla hadn’t found the gumption to call him back. If he gave her more of the same that he’d given her while he was there, she’d get more pissed off at him. Might never want to talk to him again. Twyla didn’t want to end up hating him, because she became so frustrated. Hell, after ten years of it, she was surprised she wasn’t already at that point. But dammit she wasn’t.
She missed him more every day, wondered if he was making time with the bunnies again after he’d made love to her like he had. If she knew that was the case, it would be over for sure. But they weren’t committed. She was as free to date anyone she wanted as he was. The problem was she didn’t want to date anyone else. Hadn’t ever wanted to be with anyone else. Unless she changed her attitude on that, she probably never would be over Ryan Easter. She’d spend her life alone pining for him.
Her lips wobbled as she shucked the crinkly wrapper from the yellow cake in her hands. She crammed it in her mouth and tossed the wrapper over the side of the sofa. Another dead soldier. She quit counting how many she’d had in the last two days. It didn’t matter really if she ended up weighing two hundred pounds or not. No man wanted her anyway. Would ever want her. At least she wasn’t a virgin anymore. But that made things worse, because now that she’d had sex, she wanted more. With Ryan. Twyla’s nose burned, and she rubbed it. She was not going to cry dammit.
Of course her feelings could be exaggerated, magnified, because on top of all that she started her fucking period this morning. Twyla definitely wasn’t feeling up to dancing tomorrow. Leon would probably fire her.
Hell, today was her day off and she didn’t feel like doing anything other than laying here on this ratty pullout loveseat, the only piece of furniture in her new furnished apartment, which consisted of one room with a hotplate on a vanity, and stare at the dingy walls, while stuffing her face full of Twinkies. A Twinkie pity party is what she was having, and this time it wasn’t making her feel better. She actually felt a little sick. Twyla reached for another Twinkie, but someone knocked at her front door.
She groaned wondering if it was her pinched-face little bald landlord coming to perform one of his ‘surprise’ inspections’ he informed her he performed occasionally. She hadn’t even been here two weeks, but she wouldn’t put it past him. The only person who needed to be inspecting this rat hole apartment was the fire marshal. Or the health inspector maybe. Her eyes fell to the nasty carpet, which she thought used to be olive green. Now, it was a puce color. In places anyway. Lord knew what was growing in the long shag strands.
The knock came again and she glanced at the deadbolt, saw it was locked, and breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t get in with the spare key. Maybe if she just kept quiet he’d go away. Twyla slid down on the sofa so her head was below the back, but that just meant her legs hung further over the arm at the end. If he looked in the window beside the door, she knew he would see her. This loveseat was definitely not meant for a person over five foot four, and she was six inches taller.
“Twyla I know you’re in there, I see your damned truck parked out here!” Heather shouted at the top of her lungs. “Open the door!”
With a groan, Twyla sat up and shoved her feet into her boots, because there was no way she was walking across that carpet barefoot until she could have it cleaned. The knocking became banging by the time she got to the door and flipped the locks. Heather stood there dressed like she was ready for a concert at the Grand Ole Opry in a rhinestone studded black shirt with red rose embroidery and fringe on the V across her bosom, with a snazzy black fringed skirt, and high heeled studded black boots. On her head she wore a black felt hat with a rhinestone band. This was as close to formalwear as a country girl could get. She must have a gig tonight.
Twyla couldn’t help but laugh, even though it came out a little rusty. “Damn girl, you look like you hit a garage sale at Lorett
a Lynn’s place.”
“Very funny. I have a gig,” Heather said as she brushed past her into the apartment. “Ugh…” she said walking further inside. “What the hell is that smell?”
“The landlord said the tenant before me had a ferret. I’ll get the carpet cleaned when I get my check. I need the money to get my pistols for the competition this weekend.”
“You need that pistol to shoot the damned landlord you mean?” Heather turned around. “That bastard should’ve cleaned the carpet, before you moved in. I’ll talk to him for you. And you need to get your priorities straight. Food other than Twinkies, a decent place to live, and then pistols.” Heather looked at the floor in front of the sofa, then put her hands on her hips. “What’s up with the Twinkie fest?’
Twyla huffed a breath and shut the door, then walked back around the sofa. Bending she pulled the last Twinkie from the box, then stood to hold it up to Heather. Her Twinkie party or the reason for it was none of Heather’s business. Twyla was getting damned tired of people telling her what to do, butting in her damned business.
“You should try it sometimes. If a girl has enough Twinkies, she can solve most any problem.” Twyla jerked open the end and shoved the wrapper down then bit off half of the cake. She shoved it into her cheek. Tilting her head, she asked sharply, “You dress up to come over here to talk about my eating habits? Or did you need something?”
“Damn girl, who pissed in your corn flakes this morning?” Heather asked with a laugh. “Can’t I come over just to see how you’re doing?”
