Tomorrow.
He eyed the car and a memory pushed its way into his head. Of him and his three brothers sleeping on the backseat so many nights when his dad had been too drunk and too volatile for them to be in the house. That had been before the fire, before Pete Gunner had taken them under his wing.
They would have wound up in foster care if it hadn’t been for Pete. They should have, but he’d stepped up and fought for them. Eli, too. It had taken three weeks for Pete to win custody. A speedy process compared to the red tape nowadays. But Pete had had money and fame on his side, and a decent lawyer. That, and the county had been underfunded and severely understaffed. They hadn’t had the resources to worry over three more children.
Still, the threat of foster care had been real for those few weeks and so Jesse had taken his brothers and gone into hiding in the woods. They’d stayed at an old hunting camp until Pete had finally found them and taken them home.
A real home.
But that first night right after the fire, they’d had only the Buick.
He could still feel the cold upholstery seeping through his clothes, the frustration gripping his insides because he hadn’t known what to do or where to go. The fear.
For his younger brothers.
Jesse hadn’t given a shit about himself. His future. His life. He’d been angry with the world for dealing him such a shitty hand and so he’d spent his young life pushing fate to the limit. Backing her into a corner and daring her to lash out at him. He’d raced his beat-up motorcycle down Main Street every Saturday night and thumbed his nose at authority and climbed onto any and every bull he could find, to hell with rules and buzzers.
Then.
But there was nothing like a severe concussion and thirteen broken bones to make a guy realize that he actually cared if he lived or died. He’d turned his back on his wild and reckless ways and started taking his career seriously after the Diamond Dust incident. He’d trained smarter, harder, and it had paid off.
He’d finally made it to the top.
Even more, he’d made it out of Lost Gun. The purse he’d won at nationals had been more than enough for a down payment on the Austin spread. And the endorsements that came with being a PBR champion gave him an ongoing income that far surpassed his winnings. For the first time in his life, he was financially set.
And so were his brothers.
Billy and Cole were making their own way on the rodeo circuit, pocketing not only their winnings but endorsements, as well. They were the new faces of rodeo. Young. Good-looking. Lucrative.
A far cry from the scared snot-nosed kids they’d been way back when.
He eyed the dismal landscape one last time. It was time to let go. To move forward and stop looking back.
To move, period.
He’d just keyed the engine and revved the motor when he saw the flash of headlights in his rearview mirror. Gravel crunched as a black BMW pulled up behind him.
A car door opened and slammed shut. Heels crunched toward him. The sweet smell of cupcakes drifted through the open window and Jesse’s heartbeat kicked up a notch.
He killed the engine, drew a deep breath and climbed out from behind the wheel.
Yep, it was her, all right. Up close and in person. Three times in the same friggin’ day.
So much for keeping his distance.
His groin tightened and he stiffened. “Stalk much?” he asked when Gracie walked up to him.
Her carefully arched brows drew together. “I seem to recall, you were the one who snuck up on me outside the bakery. Besides, I’m not here for you. I’m just keeping an eye on things.”
He spared a glance at the falling-down stretch of property. “Not much to see.”
“Maybe not yet, but with Tuesday looming and the interest picking up, that’s sure to change. Besides, it’s right on my way home.”
“Still living on Carpenter Street?”
She nodded. “Aunt Cheryl and Uncle E.J. bought a place down in Port Aransas and left the house to me and Charlie.”
“How’s she doing?”
A smile touched her lips and a softness edged her gaze. “She’s in her second year at the University of Texas. She lives on campus, but she drives home on most weekends. Straight As. Beautiful. She’s got a ton of boyfriends.”
“What about you?”
“I’m too busy for a boyfriend.”
Her words stirred a rush of joy followed by a flood of What the hell are you thinking? He didn’t care if she did or did not have a significant other. He didn’t care about her, period.
Ah, but he still wanted her.
There was no denying the heat that rippled through his body or the crazy way his palms tickled, eager to reach out and see if her skin felt as soft as he remembered.
“Running this city is a full-time job,” she went on, “especially with the extra notoriety from Famous Texas Outlaws. In addition to the out-of-towners coming in to dig for treasure, Sheriff Hooker caught Myrtle Nell’s grandsons trying to drive a forklift over the back fence of this place.”
“There is no treasure.”
“Which makes it all the more aggravating.” Her finger hooked a strand of blond hair that had come loose from her ponytail and she tucked it behind the delicate shell of her ear. “At least if there was something left, someone would have already dug it up. The press would have broadcast it from here to kingdom come and all the fuss would have died down. Instead, the D.A. is gearing up for a mess of two-bit trespassing charges.”
He wasn’t going to touch her. That was what he told himself when the silky tendril of hair came loose again and dangled next to her cheek. No reaching out and sweeping the soft strands away from her face. No. “Speaking of charges—” he cleared his suddenly dry throat “—shouldn’t Sheriff Hooker be the one keeping an eye on things?”
“He had an anniversary dinner with the missus. I had the time, so I figured I might as well do a quick drive-by.” She shrugged. “What about you? What are you doing out here?”
“Just looking around.” He forced his gaze away from her and studied his surroundings. His gut tightened.
“I wasn’t here when it happened,” he heard himself say. A crazy thing to say, but it was so quiet that he almost felt as if he were talking to himself. Except that he could hear her soft even breaths and feel the warmth of her body so close.
But not close enough.
“I was over at the rodeo arena helping out with the horses,” he went on, the words slipping through the darkness. “Eli used to pay me to rake the stalls. It was enough to buy lunch for me and my brothers, but sometimes it put me home late. The fire was in full force by the time I got here.”
“Where were your brothers that night?”
“They were at the rodeo arena with me. They used to hang out until I finished work so that we could go home together. Eli would let them do their homework in the office. He had a few toys in there, too. To keep them busy while I finished up my chores. Eli dropped us off just up the street that night so my dad wouldn’t see him. Silas got mean when he drank and he was always itching for a fight. Not that night, though. We saw the blaze clear down the street. We just didn’t know what was burning until we got here.”
He could still feel the heat licking at his face long after he’d gone in to discover his father passed out on the couch. Immobile. Unmovable. He’d stood outside afterward, his brothers whimpering beside him. There had been no sound from inside. Just the crackle of flames and the popping of wood.
Because his dad had been dead by then.
That was what Jesse told himself. What he wanted so desperately to believe. Because he didn’t want to think he’d left the man in there to die.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said, concern edging her words.
As if he didn
’t know that. He did. He knew.
So why the hell did he think that maybe, just maybe, he could have done something more? That he would have? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. He’d rushed in, his shirt covering his mouth and nose. He’d tugged at the man’s lifeless body. He’d begged him to get up. He’d even prayed.
But Silas hadn’t budged.
The smoke had gotten thicker and Jesse had had no choice but to retreat. To leave him.
So?
His father had been a selfish SOB and Jesse and his brothers had done a hell of a lot better after he’d passed on. No, Jesse wouldn’t have done a damned thing to change that night. He wouldn’t have stayed a second longer to try to get him out. He couldn’t have stayed.
“It’s not going to work,” he blurted, eager to change the subject. His gaze slid from her face to her modest blouse and plain navy skirt. The getup wasn’t the least bit revealing, but it didn’t have to be. The soft material clung to her curves, tracing the voluptuous lines. His dick stirred and he stiffened.
“What are you talking about?”
He motioned to her. “The provocative clothing.”
“You think this is provocative?” She glanced down. Her brows knitted with concern as her gaze swiveled back to him. “Did you see a doctor today? Because you took a really hard fall earlier—”
“I’m fine,” he cut in, determined to ignore the warmth slip-sliding through him. The last thing he wanted was her concern.
No, he wanted something a lot more basic from Gracie Stone.
And that was the problem in a nutshell. He still wanted her. A desire that neither time nor distance had managed to kill.
Because he’d never had the chance to work her out of his system. To grow tired and bored. Rather, she’d given him a taste of something wonderful, and then she’d taken it away before he’d managed to sate his hunger.
Once he did, he would be done with her like every other woman he’d ever been with. Like the cherries. The first few bites had been heaven, but then he’d gotten really sick, really fast.
And although Jesse Chisholm had no intention of letting his emotions get involved where Gracie Stone was concerned, there suddenly seemed nothing wrong with a little physical contact.
One really hot night with her would be enough to give him some closure. At least that was what he was telling himself.
“I really think you should see a doctor.” She eyed him. “Maybe you hit your head.”
A grin tugged at his mouth and he couldn’t help himself. “Darlin’, it’s not my head that’s aching like a sonofabitch.” He closed the distance between them. “At least not the one on my shoulders.”
And then he kissed her.
7
HE WAS KISSING HER.
Here. Now.
Oh, boy.
His strong, purposeful mouth moved over hers. His tongue swept her bottom lip, licking and nibbling and coaxing and—
Earth to Gracie! This shouldn’t be happening. Not here. Not with him. Especially not him.
Just as the denial registered in her shocked brain, he deepened the kiss. His tongue pushed inside, to tease and taunt and tangle with hers. All rational thought faded into a whirlwind of hunger that swirled through her, stirring every nerve. It had been so long since she’d kissed anyone. Since she’d kissed him.
She trembled and her stomach hollowed out.
He tasted even better than the most decadent brownie. Sweeter. Richer. More potent. More addictive.
Before she could stop herself, she leaned into him, melting from the sudden rise in body temperature. Her hand slid up his chest and her fingers caught the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
His arms closed around her. Strong hands pressed against the base of her spine, drawing her closer. She met him chest for chest, hip for hip, until she felt every incredible inch of him flush against her body—the hard planes of his chest, the solid muscles of his thighs, the growing erection beneath his zipper.
Uh-oh.
The warning sounded in her head, but damned if it didn’t make her that much more excited. Heat spread from her cheeks, creeping south. The slow burn traveled inch by sweet, tantalizing inch until her nipples throbbed and wetness flooded between her thighs.
And all because of a kiss.
Because the man doing the kissing was wild and careless and completely inappropriate. He was all wrong for her, and damned if she didn’t want him in spite of it.
Because of it.
Because Gracie Stone wasn’t nearly the goody-goody she pretended to be.
The thought struck and she stiffened. Tearing her lips away, she stumbled backward.
Breathe, she told herself. Just calm down and breathe. She couldn’t do this. She had responsibilities. “I... You...” She shook her head and tried to ignore the way her lips tingled. “You and I...” She shook her head. “We don’t even like each other.”
“True enough.” He said the words, but the strange flicker in his gaze didn’t mirror the sentiment. “But it’s not about like, sugar. It’s about want. I want you and you want me. The pull between us...” His gaze darkened as it touched her mouth and she felt the overwhelming chemistry that pulsed between them. “It’s strong.”
“I should get going,” she went on, desperate to kill the tiny hope that he would pull her close and kiss her again.
Lust.
That was all this was.
That and deprivation.
Character, she reminded herself. Deprivation built character. It made her stronger. More resilient.
It also makes you more likely to blow at the first sign of temptation.
His words echoed and she knew he was right.
This was temptation. He was temptation in his faded jeans and fitted Western shirt. He practically dripped with sex appeal. He always had. It only stood to reason that her starving hormones would shift into overdrive with him so near.
Which was why she’d made it her business to steer clear of him all these years.
And why she needed to get as far away from him as possible right now.
She backed up, eager to put a few safe inches of distance between them. “I should—”
“I told you to bring the shovel!”
The frantic whisper carried on the warm evening breeze and killed Gracie’s hasty retreat.
Jesse’s head jerked around toward the old garage and Gracie’s gaze followed in time to see a pair of shadows disappear behind the edge of the old structure.
“Call the sheriff.” Jesse leaned in his open window and plucked a flashlight from the glove box.
“Wait—” she started, but he was already halfway up the driveway. “Jesse! Stop! You shouldn’t be doing this. It’s dangerous....”
Her words faded as he darted behind the old car sitting in front of the garage and disappeared into the darkness. Her heart pounded for the next few seconds as the night seemed to close in. Panic bolted through her.
She darted for her car and snatched her cell phone off the dash. With frantic fingers, she punched in 911 and gave the information to Maureen over at the sheriff’s station.
She said a few choice words, all of them involving a headstrong cowboy who should have exercised at least a little bit of caution. But no, he’d run off into the darkness and now she was here. Waiting and worrying and— Hell, no.
She couldn’t just stand here. She stuffed the phone into her pocket and stepped forward.
She was halfway around the falling-down garage when she heard the chilling voice directly behind her.
“Hold it right there, lady.”
The air stalled in her chest and she became keenly aware of the barrel pressed between her shoulder blades. Her heartbeat lurched forward and her hands trembled.
&nb
sp; “Take it easy.” She held up her hands. “No reason to get upset. We should all just stay calm—”
“Quiet,” came the deep, oddly familiar voice.
She knew that voice, which killed the hunch that this was an outsider lured into Lost Gun by all the hype. Her brain started rifling through memories, desperate to find a face to go with the distinctive Southern drawl that echoed in her ears. “Just keep your mouth shut and no one will get hurt. I swear it.”
I do solemnly swear to uphold the rules of the Lost Gun Ranger Scouts...
The past echoed, rousing a memory of the Ranger Scouts initiation she’d attended on behalf of the city council.
Her brain started fitting the puzzle pieces together and she frowned. “Troy Warren?” Troy was now a fifteen-year-old sophomore at Lost Gun High and a frequent visitor to the sheriff’s office, most memorably after spray-painting I Love Sheila Kimber on the back fence of the middle school. “Is that you?”
“Heck, no,” came the voice, slightly frazzled this time. “Ain’t nobody here by the name of Warren.”
“I know it’s you.” Gracie summoned her most intimidating voice. “I was standing right behind you at the seventh-grade Scout ceremony.” She couldn’t help but wonder how a once-upon-a-time Scout ended up with a gun in his hands.
The same way a thirteen-year-old ended up being a provider for his two younger brothers. It was rotten luck. A crazy twist of fate. An accident.
Jesse’s image rushed into her head and a wave of panic rolled through her. What if this boy had already shot him?
Even as the possibility rolled through her head, she fought it back down. She would have heard a gunshot. A struggle. Something. Anything besides the eerie quiet.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” came a second voice. Same slow drawl. Same familiar tone. “She knows your name. She knows your friggin’ name.”
“She does now,” Troy growled to his partner. “You were supposed to keep your mouth shut.”
“And let you get us locked up and sent all the way to Huntsville? I knew we shouldn’t have come here. I knew it.”
Gracie’s memory stirred again. Same Scout meeting. Different boy. “Lonnie? Lonnie Sawyer? Is that you?”
Texas Outlaws: Jesse Page 6
