Turn and Burn_A Blacktop Cowboys Novel

by Lorelei James

  “Huh. You really think that’ll work?”

  “What were you planning to do?”

  Storm her house, kiss her stupid, strip her naked and after an orgasm or ten, beg her to date me.

  Maybe the coffee thing would work better. To start with anyway.

  “I believe I’ll skip my plan for now and go with yours.” He grabbed the remote. “So, what game are we watching first?”

  Fletch hadn’t taken an emergency call all day, so when Hugh at the Split Rock had called concerned about a new foal, he hadn’t hesitated to hop in his truck.

  Not just because Tanna lived there and he had a chance to put his “friend” plan into play after he dealt with the animal. Which he was pretty sure was a dire diagnosis if Hugh contacted him on a Sunday afternoon.

  It wasn’t until he’d gotten ten miles down the road that Fletch realized he hadn’t combed his hair, shaved or changed out of his ratty UW tank top. Yeah, he was some slick operator.

  He took the dirt road to the left of the entrance that led to the barn. He snagged his medical bag and entered the barn—the cleanest he’d ever been in. Renner was a stickler about that.

  Hugh was leaning over one of the last stalls. “Hey, Fletch.”

  “Hugh. What’s up?”

  “Pepper’s foal won’t get up. It’s been sitting in the same spot since early this morning. And Pepper knows something is wrong with it because she keeps pacing.”

  “Did she let you get close?”

  “Once. But all the other times she’s chased me off.”

  “How long have they been in the barn?”

  “Renner said she was actin’ funny yesterday afternoon when we were at the branding, so he brought her in. She didn’t have any problems with the birth.”

  “The foal stood on its own?”

  “It appeared to. It started to suck all right so I left ’em alone. That’s where it’s been since I got here at five this morning. Makes me sick to think I shoulda stayed and didn’t.”

  Fletch clapped him on the back. “Pepper ain’t a first-time mother and I imagine you were whupped after branding yesterday, so cut yourself a break. I’m gonna get her to move back and then you’ll have to keep her there with a bucket of oats.” Fletch opened the gate. Before he got into the stall, Pepper blocked him, her big body protecting her baby.

  He rubbed her neck. “Hey. You’re a good mama, aren’t you, Pepper. Watching out for your baby. Such a good girl. But I’m not gonna hurt it. We’re just talking here. I’ll bet you’re hungry. Been pacing and fretting. I just wanna have a little look-see. We’ll take it nice and slow. There’s a girl.” He kept stroking her, talking to her, gently urging her deeper into the stall. She didn’t balk or bolt when Hugh entered, but she stopped moving for a moment. When she deemed it okay, she allowed Fletch to maneuver her.

  Hugh inched along the inside of the stall, holding a bucket. As he slowly approached Pepper, the bucket held by his side, Hugh started talking to her and Fletch stepped back. By the time Hugh reached Pepper with the oats, she’d forgotten about Fletch entirely.

  He dropped beside the foal. It didn’t acknowledge Fletch at all. He waved his hand in front of the face. It didn’t flinch. Son of a bitch. It was blind. He ran his hand down the spine to the rump and felt the misalignment. The foal’s hip was broken. He patted the legs. They were cold and stiff. Most likely a piece of the broken hip rested on the spinal cord, which would account for why the foal initially stood but couldn’t now. He looked at the chestnut-colored filly and sadness washed through him. He patted her neck.

  Pepper had finished the oats and was making chuffing noises at Hugh.

  Fletch stood. “Sorry, man. It’s blind and paralyzed.”

  “Shit. Seriously?” Hugh paused to stroke Pepper’s neck. “We’ve never had a problem with Pepper’s foals before.”

  “Who was the stud?”

  “I’m not sure. Tobin would know. So, what now?”

  He reached the gate and pulled the handle to let himself out. “Pepper might stay calm now that she’s eaten. I’ll get the meds to put the poor little thing down. That’ll ease some of its misery. Try and get Pepper outside.”

  “Not what I wanted to hear, Doc, but thanks for coming out.”

  “No problem. Where’s Tobin?”

  Hugh exited the stall. “Up at the lodge. Guess there ain’t guests registered but Renner wanted someone there in case they had walk-ins, since he and Tierney had plans.”

  After he administered the meds and stayed to make sure there weren’t other issues, Fletch drove up the hill, saw the empty lot and was tempted to keep going around the bend to the employee housing. He had a legitimate reason for being at the Split Rock. Wouldn’t it be only natural if he stopped in to say howdy to his friend, Tanna?

  Nah. Maybe that’d come across as stalkerish. Not something a friend would do. So he whipped into the main parking lot and killed the engine. He was thinking about the foal as he scaled the steps and cut through the hallway to the great room.

  A loud female “Yes” was followed by a long groan and it echoed to him.

  Fletch froze. He’d heard that before. That exact same pitch. But the last time he’d heard it, he’d been naked. With Tanna.

  He entered the main room and saw Tobin and Tanna on the couch, her bare feet in his lap and her head thrown back over the arm of the couch. He tried to keep his cool. But somehow he barked, “What is going on?”

  Chapter Eight

  Tanna looked at Fletch coolly. And pressed her foot against Tobin’s chest in warning when he tried to stand up. Too bad she couldn’t tell Tobin to wipe that guilty look off his face; they hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

  What gave Fletch the right to just waltz in and holler at them anyway?

  She smiled sassily. “Tobin is massaging my ankle because I twisted it walking up the path.”

  Fletch stomped over. “Let me look at it. I am a doctor.”

  Tanna rolled her eyes. “You’re a veterinarian. Big difference.”

  “Not in this case. A limb is a limb.” He motioned to Tobin. “Scram.”

  But Tobin held his ground. “No offense, Fletch, but Tanna does have the right to refuse medical treatment. You can’t make her let you look at it.”

  “Fine.” He plopped his butt on the coffee table and rested his forearms on his knees. “I’ll just watch how you treat her.”

  Tobin’s lips twitched. “See what I get for bein’ a nice guy? A load of criticism and attitude.”

  “Not from me,” Tanna said sweetly. “The world needs more nice guys. Genuinely good guys like you.”

  “Bull.”

  His vehemence shocked her. “What makes you say that?”

  Tobin frowned and used his thumb to rub the outside of her calf, gently rotating her foot with his other hand. “Nice guys get trampled on. Women claim they want a nice guy, but that’s not true. They want a bad boy, regardless if those men treat women like shit.”

  “Not all women are like that, Tobin. I steer clear of domineering assholes.” Tanna shot Fletch a haughty look.

  “No offense, Tanna, but I’m betting you don’t go for domineering types because you pick guys you can boss around and control.”

  She felt Fletch studying her and she met his gaze.

  Fletch drawled, “I think Tobin’s hit it on the head.”

  “So I should apologize for bein’ a strong woman and speaking my mind?” she demanded. “For knowing what I want?”

  Fletch shook his head. “No, but you’re doin’ the same thing as those other women.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Putting the type of guy that doesn’t fit your criteria in the friend category,” Fletch said.

  “A category that I’m very familiar with,” Tobin grumbled.

  Tanna looked at Tobin. �
��Were you planning to ask me out on a date?”

  Tobin’s cheeks reddened. “Maybe.” He blew out a breath. “Okay, yeah. I wanted to ask you out. So sue me. I’m a guy. You’re hot and you’ll be living next door to me all summer. But when I brought you a cup of coffee, you immediately demoted me to that friend zone.” He laughed self-consciously. “Which now that I think about it, is a double whammy hit on my masculine pride. You just admitted I’m the type of guy you usually go for—nice, easygoing, I don’t mind letting a woman call the shots. But that’s not enough for you.”

  This conversation was going nowhere fast.

  “I’ll bet you’re never shoved into the friend category,” Tobin said to Fletch.

  “Wrong. But know what’s worse? If I’ve got a woman in my bed, then afterward she changes the parameters and wants to go back to bein’ friends—talk about a swift kick to my male pride. Especially when I know the sex rocked her world.”

  She looked away from Fletch’s accusing eyes and wondered how she could keep herself from blushing. Or keep Tobin from noticing.

  But Tobin was focused on Fletch. “I gotta admit that sucks worse. I mean if the sex was blah . . . that happens. But if it was awesome and she still bailed? She’s running scared.”

  “Interesting theory, wouldn’t you agree, Tanna?”

  Her gaze snapped to Fletch’s of its own accord. They engaged in a heated eye fuck that raised the temperature in the room at least ten degrees.

  Tobin’s sigh broke the moment. “I just remembered something I forgot to do.” He set her foot on the cushion as he got up and vanished down the hallway.

  Before Tanna moved, Fletch slipped into Tobin’s place and picked up her foot. “How about if you let me take a look?”

  Those big, rough-skinned hands were cupping her foot, gripping her calf and rotating her ankle. His eyes remained on hers as he maneuvered her foot.

  “Does that hurt?”

  Tanna mooed.

  Fletch threw back his head and laughed. And damn damn damn why did he have to have such a sexy, carefree laugh?

  “You are ornery. You know what I do with ornery patients?”

  She shook her head.

  “I hobble them. Tie them up with straps or ropes or chains. Then I can keep them right where I want them and they can’t get away. Or run away.”

  “How long are you gonna beat on that dead horse?” she asked with annoyance.

  He froze; his hands, his body, everything stilled.

  “What?”

  “I hate that phrase. A dead horse is serious, sad business in my line of work. Especially since I just had to put one down a little bit ago.”

  That made her feel like shit. “I’m sorry. After what I’ve been through, I oughta know better than to use that awful phrase too. Consider it forever struck from my vernacular.”

  “There’s that contrite side I remember.” His fingers started caressing her shin again. “But I surely do like it when you get all kinds of fired up, sugar twang. Makes that Texas drawl more pronounced. More fiery hot and sweet.”

  How was she supposed to respond to that?

  “Answer the question in English,” Fletch prompted. “Does that hurt?”

  “Actually, no. It didn’t hurt that much to begin with. Tobin overreacted.” Such a lie. You just don’t want the good doc to know your recent injury history.

  “Tobin is a smart man. He saw an opportunity to play a little footsie with you. If you’d wrenched your neck he would’ve volunteered to give you a back rub. Anything to get his hands on you.”

  “So you’re saying all men are dogs?”

  He grinned. “Like you didn’t already know that. And I don’t blame him. I’d do anything to get my hands on you, because I know firsthand how amazing it is to have your hands on me.”

  “Fletch.” He was not wearing down her resistance saying such sweet and sexy stuff.

  He pushed both his thumbs into her instep and began to massage her foot.

  “Omigod.”

  “Like that, do you?”

  Say no. But what tumbled out was a long, “Yes.”

  Those magic fingers kneaded and poked and rubbed the ball of her foot, across the center pad and over to her pinkie toe. Then back down the outside to her heel. The circuit he made became tighter and more focused on the center of her foot.

  God. Now she knew why some dogs’ legs shook when their tummy got rubbed in the right spot. But it wasn’t just her leg that wanted to shake uncontrollably.

  “Ever heard of reflexology?” he asked in that husky bedroom voice.

  “Right there. God. That feels good.” She lifted her head and squinted at him. “Umm. What did you say?”

  “Reflexology. It’s a practice where applying pressure to specific spots on your body directly fires certain synapses in the brain. Pressing one place can alleviate pain. Pressing on another spot brings pleasure.”

  “FYI. I’m not feeling any pain right now.”

  “Good to know. But to keep everything in balance I oughta work on your other foot too.”

  Tanna pulled her left foot free from where it’d gotten lodged in the cushions. She so wanted to slide her heel up the length of that muscled thigh and walk her toes up his broad chest. But that would send him mixed signals.

  And you moaning and sighing when he’s got his hands on you . . . isn’t?

  “I don’t think—”

  “Don’t think. Just close your eyes and let me do this for you.”

  She couldn’t argue with that.

  When he dug those marvelous thumbs into her instep she nearly purred with pleasure. Although she tried to concentrate on the foot massage, other things kept distracting her. The slow, steady sound of his breathing. She peered at him from beneath her lashes. Fascinating, the way the muscles in his forearms and biceps moved. His dark hair fell forward, hiding half his face. His lips, those perfectly full lips, were parted and she remembered how expertly he used his mouth.

  “Tanna?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you have coffee with me some night this week?”

  Tanna groaned softly when he hit a sweet spot.

  “Can I take that as a yes? We could meet at the diner in Muddy Gap. Or in Rawlins. Whatever works for you.”

  She looked at him. “You’re serious about us having coffee?”

  Fletch’s thumbs stopped moving. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know. Coffee seems pretty sedate after how we met.” Way to point that out.

  He leveled that wild man grin at her. “Shoot. I knew I shoulda gone with my first instinct and asked you to go skinny-dipping in the creek and then let me have my wicked way with you in the mud. Or over a rock. Or against a tree. Or better yet, all three.”

  Her belly fluttered. “Ah. Coffee is good.”

  “Excellent.” Keeping his eyes on hers, he angled his head and placed a soft kiss on her instep. Then he playfully bit down.

  “Fletch. Stop.”

  “I don’t think I can.” He rubbed his lips over the shallow indent below her anklebone. Twice. “You have the softest skin.” His palm followed her shinbone up to her kneecap. His smile dimmed when he saw the ugly red scar. “What happened?”

  Tanna stared at the side of his head as he inspected the gash. He really didn’t know her sad history and bad luck? She’d assumed someone in the Muddy Gap gossipy group of friends had told him.

  Why would they? Maybe Lainie, Hank, Celia, Kyle and Devin would talk about her injury and the fallout among themselves, but Tanna wasn’t part of their group, so it wouldn’t come up in casual conversation. It was just another reminder that she’d lost that hometown connection when her father rid himself of the burdens of his family and the family ranch.

  “Tanna?”

  Her gaze met his. “If I told y
ou all the gory details now, what would we talk about over coffee?” She scooted back, and spun around to set both feet on the floor. “Thanks for the foot massage. It was awesome.”

  “I still don’t have your number.”

  She stood and retrieved her flip-flops from beside the coffee table. She pulled her cell out of her back pocket. “Give me your number.” He rattled it off and she poked at the keys. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Now you’ve got it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call you when I have a firmer grasp on my weekly schedule.”

  With that, she made her escape.

  Halfway back to her trailer she wondered what she was escaping from. Chances were high that coffee would lead to more. She should’ve said no.

  But the problem was . . . she didn’t want to say no to Fletch.

  Tanna and Harlow worked together at Wild West Clothiers on Monday.

  Tuesday she worked alone. Business was slow, giving her time to look over the merchandise—a lot of merchandise. Funky, cool, retro Western clothing, as well as some conservative pieces sprinkled in. Racks of accessories lined one entire wall. She figured out Harper’s coding system for when items arrived in the store and it looked to her like nothing was over six months old. Which meant she moved merchandise. That’d been Tanna’s biggest complaint working at Billy Bob’s. She swore some of the clothing had been on the racks since the place opened.

  On Wednesday blond bombshell Harlow popped in fifteen minutes before her bar shift started. She’d donned sedate black clothing as well as a jaunty fedora that she pulled off, in the way so few women can.

  “So, Tanna, I have to ask you a favor.”

  “What?”

  “I know I’m scheduled to work in here Friday and you’re in the bar, but could we switch?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have a date Thursday night. An overnight date, which means I’d have to leave Casper at six a.m. to be here to work by eight.”

  “So I have to suck up another two hours on shift so you can have a booty call?”

  Harlow cocked her head. “Yes.”

  “This is the first week on the job and you’re already asking for schedule changes. You don’t see anything wrong with that?”