Texas Outlaws: Jesse

by Kimberly Raye

  A lesson, she reminded herself. Photography was a crapshoot. Some people made it. Some didn’t. And so she’d given it up for something steady. Reliable.

  If only her brother had done the same.

  But instead, he’d enlisted in the army on his eighteenth birthday, just weeks after their parents had died. He’d gone on to spend four years on the front lines in Iraq while she and Charlie had tried to make a new life in Lost Gun with Uncle E.J. and Aunt Cheryl. But it had never felt quite right.

  It had never felt like home.

  Her aunt and uncle had been older and set in their ways—acting out of duty rather than love—and so living with them had felt like living in a hotel.

  Cold.

  Impersonal.

  And so Gracie had made up her mind to leave right after graduation, to make her own way and forget the tragedy that had destroyed her family. She’d snapped picture after picture and dreamed of bigger and better things far away from Lost Gun. But then Jackson had died and Charlie had become clingy and fearful. She’d followed Gracie everywhere, even into bed at night, terrified that fate would take her older sister the way it had snatched up their brother.

  Gracie couldn’t blame her. She’d felt the same crippling fear when their parents had died. She’d reached out for Jackson, but he’d left and so she’d had no one to soothe the uncertainty, to give her hope.

  She stuffed the framed picture back inside the box, along with a dozen others that had lined the walls of her city planner’s office, and reached for a Sharpie. Once upon a time, she’d hated the idea of tossing them when they could easily serve as cheap decoration, and so she’d kept them.

  No more.

  With trembling fingers, she scribbled Storage on the outside and moved on to the next box loaded with old files.

  She rifled through manila folders for a full thirty minutes before she found herself thinking about Jesse and how good he’d looked and the way he’d smelled and—

  Ugh. She needed something to get her mind back on track.

  Maybe a brownie or a cupcake or a frosted cookie—

  She killed the dangerous thought, grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Forget waiting on Trina. She would head out and check on Big Earl herself, and she wouldn’t—repeat, would not—stop at the bakery on the way. She’d cleaned up her eating habits right along with everything else when she’d decided to play it safe and stop being so wild and reckless.

  And safe meant looking both ways when she crossed the street and wearing her seat belt when she climbed behind the wheel and eating right. She had her health to think of and so she followed a strict low-carb, low-sugar, low-fat diet high in protein and fiber. That meant no brownies, no matter how desperate the craving.

  No sirree, she wasn’t falling off the wagon.

  Not even if Jesse himself stripped naked right in front of her and she desperately needed something—anything—to sate her hunger and keep her hands off of him.

  Okay, so maybe if he stripped naked.

  A very vivid image of Jesse pushed into her thoughts and she saw him standing on the creek bed, the moonlight playing off his naked body. Her lips tingled and her nipples tightened and she picked up her steps.

  No naked and no brownies.

  4

  GRACIE PULLED TO a stop in front of the bakery over an hour later and killed the engine.

  She wasn’t going to blow her diet with a brownie. She was headed straight for the health food store next door and a carob cookie with tofu frosting or a bran muffin with yogurt filling or something. A healthy alternative with just a teeny tiny ounce of sweetness to help steady her frantic heartbeat after the visit to Big Earl’s place.

  She hadn’t actually had a face-to-face with the man himself, but she had come this close to being ripped to shreds by his dogs.

  Charlie would freak fifty ways till Sunday if she found out. Luckily, she’d moved into the dorms at the University of Texas last year and so Gracie didn’t have to worry about explaining the ripped hem of her skirt or the dirt smears on her blouse. At least not until this weekend when her little sis came home for her weekly visit and caught wind of the gossip.

  If she came home.

  She’d canceled the past three weeks in a row with one excuse after the other—she was studying; she had a date; she wanted to hit the latest party.

  Not that Gracie was counting. She knew Charlie would much rather go out with friends than make homemade pizza with her older sister. Charlie was growing up, pulling away, and that was good. Still, when her little sister finally did make it home, Gracie would be here.

  She would always be here.

  Because that’s what home meant. It was permanent. Steady. Reliable.

  Her gaze swiveled to the two old men nursing a game of dominoes in front of the hardware store directly across the street.

  At ninety-three, Willard and Jacob Amberjack were the oldest living twins in the county. And the nosiest.

  She debated making a quick trip home to change, but that would put her back at the health food store after hours and she needed something now—even something disgustingly healthy.

  She drew a deep breath, braced herself for the impending encounter and climbed out of her car.

  “Don’t you look like something the dog just dragged in,” Jacob called out the moment her feet touched pavement. “What in tarnation happened to you?”

  “Was it a hit-and-run?” Willard leaned forward in his rocking chair. “Was it a car? A truck? Or maybe you got molested.” He pointed a bony finger at his brother. “I been tellin’ Jacob here that the world’s goin’ to hell in a handbasket.”

  “It wasn’t a hit-and-run. And I wasn’t molested,” she rushed on, eager to set the record straight before their tongues started wagging. “I was just cleaning out my office and I snagged my skirt on a loose nail.”

  “You sure? ’Cause there’s no shame if’n’ you was molested. Things happen. Why, old Myrtle Nell over at the VFW hall accosted me just last night on account of I’m the best dancer in the place and she really wanted to waltz. Had to let her down easy and I can tell you, she was none too happy about it. Poor thing headed straight home, into a bottle of Metamucil. Ain’t heard from her since.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Damn straight. Everybody knows there ain’t no substitute for good ole-fashioned prune juice.”

  O-kay. “Enjoy your game, fellas.” Before they could launch into any more speculation, Gracie put her back to the curious old men and stepped up onto the curb.

  “Afternoon, Miss Gracie.”

  “Hey there, Miss Gracie.”

  “See you at the church bake sale tomorrow, Miss Gracie.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she told the trio of women who exited the bake shop, glossy pink boxes clutched in their manicured hands.

  The youngest one, a thirtyish soccer mom by the name of Carleen Harwell, held up two of the boxes that emanated a yummy smell. “Sarah donated ten dozen Rice Krispies Treats.”

  “Excellent.” She waved as the women headed down the street and said hello to a few more people passing by before turning her attention to the display case that filled the massive storefront window. Dozens of pies lined the space, along with a sign that read It’s Pick Your Pie Tuesday!

  Not that she was going to pick a pie. Or a cake. Or anything else tempting her from the other side of the glass. But looking... There suddenly seemed nothing wrong with that.

  “Go for the chocolate meringue.”

  The deep, familiar voice vibrated along her nerve endings. Heat whispered along her senses. Her stomach hollowed out.

  “Or the Fudge Ecstasy. That’s one of my personal favorites.”

  Excitement rippled up her spine, followed by a wave of oh, no because J
esse James Chisholm was the last person she needed to see right now.

  He was the reason she was so worked up in the first place. So anxious. And desperate. And hungry.

  Really, really hungry.

  Run! her gut screamed. Before you do something stupid like turn around and talk to him.

  “If memory serves—” the words slid past her lips as she turned “—you were always partial to cherry.” So much for listening to her instincts. “In fact, I seem to recall you wolfing down an entire cherry cobbler at the Travis County Fair and Rodeo.” She didn’t mean to bring up their first date, but her mouth seemed to have a mind all its own. “With two scoops of ice cream on the side.”

  “Miss Hazel’s prizewinning cobbler,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips as the memory surfaced. “That woman sure can bake.”

  “So can Sarah.” Gracie motioned to the display case and the golden lattice-topped cherry pie sitting center stage. Inside gold certificates and blue ribbons lined a nearby wall, along with an autographed picture of Tom Cruise in his Risky Business heyday. “So why the switch to chocolate?”

  “When I was laid up after Diamond Dust, Billy thought he’d cheer me up with some fresh-picked cherries from Old Man Winthrow’s tree. I ate the entire basket in one sitting and made myself sick. I’ve been boycotting ever since.”

  “I don’t do chocolate,” she announced. She didn’t mean to keep the conversation going. She had a strict no-talk policy where Jesse was concerned. And a no-closeness policy, too. Because when she got too close, she couldn’t help but talk.

  Which explained why she’d avoided him altogether for the past twelve years.

  No talking. No touching. No kissing. No—

  “I mean, I like chocolate—brownies, in particular,” she blurted, eager to do something with her mouth that didn’t involve planting a great big one smack-dab on his lips, “but I don’t actually eat any.”

  “What happened to the Hershey’s-bar-a-day habit?”

  “I kicked it. I’m into healthy eating now. No Hershey’s bars or brownies or anything else with processed sugar. I’m headed to the health food store.” She motioned to the sign shaped like a giant celery stalk just to her left. “They make an all-natural apple tart. It has a cornflake crust. It’s really delicious.”

  “Cornflakes, huh?” He didn’t look convinced.

  She couldn’t blame him. She remembered the small sample she’d tasted the last time she’d been inside the Green Machine and her throat tightened. “Delicious might be pushing it. But it’s decent.” She shrugged. “Besides, deprivation is good for the soul. It builds character.”

  “It also makes you more likely to blow at the first sign of temptation.”

  And how.

  Twelve years and counting.

  “Everything all right, Miss Gracie?” Jacob Amberjack’s voice carried across the street and drew her attention.

  “It’s fine.” She waved at the old man and his brother.

  “’Cause if that there feller’s the one what assaulted you, Willard here would be happy to come over there and defend your honor.”

  “I didn’t assault her,” Jesse told the two men.

  The old man glared. “Tell it to the judge, Chisholm.”

  “No one’s telling anything to anyone, because nothing happened,” Gracie said.

  “That ain’t the way we see it,” the two men said in unison.

  “I’d give it a rest if I were you,” Jesse advised.

  “We ain’t afraid of you, Chisholm. There might be snow on the roof, but there’s plenty of fire in the cookstove. Willard here—” Jacob motioned next to him “—will rip you a new one—”

  “How come I’m the one who always has to do the rippin’?” Willard cut in. “Hell’s bells, I can barely move as it is. You know I got a bad back.”

  “Well, I got bunions.”

  “So? You ain’t fightin’ with your feet....”

  The two men turned their focus to each other and Gracie’s gaze shifted back to Jesse. She expected the anger. The hatred. He’d been big on both way back when, particularly when it came to the citizens of Lost Gun. He’d hated them as much as they’d hated him, and he’d never been shy about showing it.

  Instead of hard, glittering anger, she saw a flash of pain, a glimmer of regret, and she had the startling thought that while he looked every bit the hard, bulletproof cowboy she remembered so well, there was a softening in his gaze. His heart.

  As if Jesse actually cared what the two old men had said to him.

  As if.

  No, Jesse James Chisholm didn’t give two shakes what the fine people of Lost Gun thought about him. He hated the town and he always would.

  Meanwhile, she was stuck smack-dab in the middle of it.

  She ignored the depressing thought and searched for her voice. “So, um, what are you doing here?”

  He motioned to the bridal salon just two doors down. “I have to see a man about a tux. I’m Pete’s right hand.”

  “I didn’t mean here as in this location. I meant—” she motioned between them “—here. You couldn’t wait to get away from me earlier. Now you’re standing here having a conversation. Because?”

  He frowned, as if he didn’t quite understand it any more than she did. “You caught me at a bad time, I suppose.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to warn you before the reporters beat me to it.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “I just thought you should know...” Her gaze snapped up. “What did you just say?”

  “It’s not about what I just said. It’s about what I should have said earlier.” His gaze caught and held hers. “Thanks for giving me the heads-up.” Where she’d missed the gratitude that morning, there was no mistaking the sentiment now. “Motives aside, you warned me and I am grateful.”

  “Me, too.” When he gave her a questioning look, she added, “For the flowers that you sent when my brother died. I should have said thank you back then. I didn’t.”

  “I’m really sorry about what happened to him.”

  “It was his choice.” She shrugged. “He enlisted. He knew the risks, but he took them anyway.”

  “Seems to me,” he said after a long moment, “he died doing something he believed in. I can’t think of a better way to go myself.”

  Neither could she at that moment and oddly enough, the tightness in her chest eased just a fraction. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be following in his footsteps. That was a hard fall you took back at the arena.”

  A wicked grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “The harder, the better.”

  “I’m talking about riding.”

  “So am I, sugar.” The grin turned into a full-blown smile. “So am I.” The words were like a chisel chipping away at the wall she’d erected between them. Even more, he stared deep into her eyes and for a long moment, she forgot everything.

  The nosy men sitting across the street. The endless stream of people walking past. The all-important fact that she needed to get a move on if she meant to get inside the health food store before they closed.

  He made her feel like the only woman in the world.

  Which was crazy with a big fat C.

  He was flirting, for heaven’s sake. Just the kind of sexy, seductive innuendo she would expect from one of the hottest bachelors on the PBR circuit.

  It wasn’t as if he wanted to sweep her up and ride off into the sunset. This wasn’t about her personally. She was simply one of many in a long, long line of women who lusted after him, and he was simply living up to his reputation.

  Just as she should be living up to hers.

  She stiffened. “It was nice to see you, but I really should get going. I’ve got a ton of work back at City Hall.”

>   “Duty calls, right?”

  Her gaze collided with his and she could have sworn she saw a glimmer of disappointment before it disappeared into the vivid violet depths. “Always.”

  And then she turned and hurried toward the Green Machine before she did the unthinkable—like wrap her arms around him, hop on and ride him for a scorching eight seconds in front of God and the Amberjack twins.

  She would have done just that prior to her brother’s death, but she was no longer the rebellious teenager desperate to flee the confines of her small town.

  She was mature.

  Responsible.

  Safe.

  If only that thought didn’t depress her almost as much as the skinny treats that waited for her inside the health food store.

  5

  “THIS IS JUST plain wrong.” Cole Unger Chisholm frowned as he stood on the raised dais in the middle of the mirrored dressing room of Lost Gun’s one and only bridal salon. “Tell me again why I have to wear this.”

  “For Pete.” Jesse ignored the prickly fabric of his own tuxedo and tried to forget the sugary scent of vanilla cupcakes that still teased his nostrils. Of all the people he could possibly run into—the local police chief, the busybodies from the Ladies’ Auxiliary, the gossipy Amberjack brothers—it had to be Gracie. Talk about rotten luck.

  “Stop your bellyaching,” he told Cole. “You’re wearing it and that’s that.”

  “Pete don’t give two licks about a freakin’ tuxedo with a girly purple cummerbund and matching tie, so why should I?”

  “Because he’s marrying Wendy and she does give two licks.” Jesse lifted one arm so Mr. McGinnis, the shop’s owner and tailor, could adjust the hem on his sleeve.

  Cole eyed his reflection. “But the cummerbund looks almost pink.”

  “It’s actually lavender.” The comment came from the petite blonde who appeared in the curtained doorway. Her blue eyes narrowed as she eyed Cole. “And you’re right. It’s all wrong.”