What the hell?
He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not now. They’d made arrangements to meet tonight at his motel room. He wasn’t supposed to be here in full view of everyone. Especially not looking so downright sexy. Her stomach hollowed out and she had the sudden urge to throw herself into his arms and kiss him for all she was worth. In front of God and the entire Lost Gun seventh grade.
“Excuse me.” She snatched the water hose out of a nearby girl’s hand and before she could think better of it, she let loose a stream of water directly in Jesse’s direction. He sputtered and frowned, and she put her back to him, giving herself a silent high five for marksmanship.
Now he would turn and head the other way.
That was what she told herself, but then she heard his deep voice directly behind her.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She whirled and tried to look surprised. “Oh, my. Did I get you wet? You must have walked into my line of fire.”
“I didn’t do any such thing. I was your line of fire.”
“Don’t be silly.” She tried to laugh off the coincidence, but he wasn’t buying it. She finally shrugged. “So I got you a little wet. Stop making such a big fuss.”
“A little wet?” He arched an eyebrow at her, amusement dancing in his violet eyes before they darkened and the air stalled in her lungs. “I’m soaked to the bone, in case you haven’t noticed.”
She’d noticed, all right. His white T-shirt, now practically transparent, stuck to him like a second skin, showing off every bulge and ripple of his broad shoulders and sinewy chest. She could even see the shadow of hair that circled his nipples and funneled down his abdomen. “At least I’m in good company.” He nodded at her.
She became acutely aware of the glide of water down her own neck, the sticky wetness of her silk blouse plastered against her chest. A glance down and she realized her aim hadn’t been that great. Her own clothing was in no better shape than his, her shirt practically transparent, revealing the lacy bra she wore and the puckered tips of her breasts. Her only consolation? The high-dollar camera hanging around her neck, the strap plunging between her perky nipples, was waterproof.
“It’s a car wash.” She bristled. “People get wet. It’s a hazard of the job.” She grasped for a change of subject. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d pick you up and we could have lunch.”
“Here? In town?”
“Why not?”
“Because you hate this town.”
He shrugged. “A man’s gotta eat. So what do you say?”
“I’d say your timing sucks. As you can see, I’m busy.”
“Oh, I see, all right.” He eyed her wet blouse and his smile widened. “You look good wet.” His deep voice stirred something even worse than the sudden panic beating at her senses. “But then I already knew that.” Excitement flowered inside her, making her heart pound and her blood rush.
She felt herself melting beneath the warmth in his eyes, his smile, and so she did what any freedom-loving woman would have done. She squirted him again for good measure, ignored the urge to snatch a picture of him soaked to his skin, turned on her heel and walked away.
Walked being the key word when all she really wanted to do was run. Because as much as Jesse excited her, he scared the crap out of her, too. The way he smiled. The way he made her feel when he smiled.
This feeling was not part of her plan. Working him out of her system to gain some much-needed closure—definitely tops on her agenda. But this warm, achy feeling? The urge to shirk her duties, climb into the cab of his pickup truck and drive off into the sunset?
No.
No matter how hot the temperature, how hot his gaze or how hot the heat that burned between them. This was strictly sex.
Closure sex.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t used to any kind of sex, which explained why she couldn’t forget Jesse James Chisholm or his damnable grin the rest of the afternoon after she dropped off the camera to the newspaper office and headed back to City Hall.
She turned her attention to unpacking the boxes of books back at her office and sliding them onto the newly delivered shelves. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to make her forget Jesse or the upcoming evening.
He was there in her head, teasing and tempting and reminding her of last night. Of how much she still wanted him.
She found herself counting down the seconds until she could see him again.
Because he’d awakened her long-deprived hormones and so, of course, he was starring in a few crazy fantasies. But that was all they were. No way did Gracie actually want to ride off into the sunset with Jesse. She wasn’t riding anywhere. She was here in Lost Gun to stay.
And Jesse wasn’t.
Sunday.
The word echoed in her head, fueling her resolve as she picked up the phone and dialed his number. His voice mail picked up.
“I’m afraid I’ve got a late meeting. I’ll have to take a rain check tonight. Talk to you tomorrow.”
There. No matter how much she might want him, she didn’t need him.
That was what she told herself as she slid the books into place, one after the other, until the shelf was full.
Like her life. Full. Content. She didn’t want for anything.
* * *
OKAY, SO MAYBE she wanted for one thing. A way past Big Earl’s trio of pit bulls.
“I need the biggest steak you’ve got,” she told the butcher the next morning after a night of tossing and turning and surfing late-night cable TV.
She’d ended up on Animal Planet watching a K9 Cops marathon. After twelve back-to-back episodes and four packs of Life Savers, she’d hit on an idea.
“Rib eye? New York strip? Filet?” asked Merle Higgam, the head butcher at the local Piggly Wiggly.
“Yes.”
“Yes to which one?”
“All three.” She wasn’t sure which cut would go over best with the vicious trio, so she didn’t want to take any chances. “Just make sure they’re all really thick.”
Ten minutes later she climbed into her car with the freezer-wrapped package and headed over to Big Earl’s. Trina had reported back that Big Earl was even older and more decrepit than they remembered. No way could he actually be making moonshine again.
At the same time, Gracie needed to see for herself. To warn him what would happen if he violated his probation.
“Lookie here, big boy,” Gracie said, summoning her sultriest “come and get me” voice as she held one of her purchases over the fence and did her best to entice the first animal that poked his head out of an oversize doghouse. “I’ve got something really special for you.”
He barked once, twice, before making a mad dash for her. She tossed the steak to her far left and waited while the other two dogs joined the first. Summoning her courage, she climbed over the fence and made a beeline for the house. She hit the front steps two at a time and did a fast knock on the door.
“Big Earl? It’s me. Mayor Stone. I need to talk to you.”
“Who is it?”
“Mayor Stone.”
“Mayor who?”
“Stone.”
“Sorry, I ain’t got no phone.”
“I didn’t say phone. I said Stone.”
“The mayor?”
“That’s me.”
“Ain’t got no key, either. ’Sides, you don’t need a key. The door’s unlocked.”
Gracie’s fingers closed over the doorknob just as she heard the barking behind her. She chanced a glance over her shoulder to see one of the dogs catch sight of her. She pushed open the door and slammed it shut behind her just as Ferocious Number One raced for the porch, his jaws wagging, his teeth flashing.
Heart pounding, she t
urned to drink in the interior of the double-wide trailer. Wood paneling covered the walls. An old movie poster from The Outlaw Josey Wales hung over an old lumpy beige couch piled high with old lumpy pillows. A scarred mahogany coffee table sat stacked with crossword puzzles. In the far corner sat an old lumpy recliner with an old lumpy man parked on top.
The last time she had seen Big Earl had been at a Fourth of July picnic six years ago. He’d been in attendance with his great-granddaughter, Casey, who’d been helping Frank Higgins, the owner of the local gas station, set off the fireworks. Casey had just graduated high school. She’d been working for Frank at the time, pumping gas and cleaning windshields, and so he’d brought her along to help tote the fourteen boxes of sparklers and Roman candles he’d donated. That had been the night that Judge Ellis had bought a case of moonshine off of Big Earl and stashed it in the trunk of his Lexus, which had turned out to be the finale of the fireworks show.
Big Earl had been wearing the same red-and-white-checked shirt he had on now. Except the colors had been a lot more vibrant and the fabric a lot less wrinkled.
The old man had a head full of snow-white hair that was slicked back with pomade. His eyes were pale blue and enormous behind a pair of thick round glasses.
“Well, I’ll be.” Big Earl peered at her. “Don’t just stand there, come on in.” He waved a hand for her to sit down next to him, only the nearest chair was a good five feet away.
She eased onto the edge of the sofa across from him. “So?” Her gaze skittered around the room, from an old cuckoo clock that ticked away in the kitchen to the ancient movie poster. “How have you been?”
“Fair to midland, I s’pose. Why, back in the day I was as spry as a young spring chicken. I was into everything back then. Knew everybody’s business. Had plenty of business of my own, if you know what I mean.”
“About that...” she started, but Big Earl wasn’t quite finished yet.
“But time sure has a way of slowin’ a man down. Why, my back’s been achin’ somethin’ fierce and I got these bunions. I’ve been doin’ Epsom salts in my bath and that helps some.”
“That’s good to hear. Speaking of hearing, I was just wondering...” Her words faded off as she noticed the way his eyes fixed on the spot just over her left shoulder. As if he couldn’t quite focus on her. She noticed the magnifying glass on the tray table next to him. And the extra batteries for his hearing aid. And a tube of arthritis cream.
She realized then that the only thing Big Earl could possibly cook up in his condition was a piece of burnt toast. The man could hardly see. Or hear. Or walk, judging by the cane propped next to him and the nearby walker parked in the corner. He certainly wasn’t in any condition to measure out ingredients or tiptoe around and keep one eye out for the cops while maintaining watch over a highly combustible still.
He wagged a bent finger in her general vicinity. “So what is it you needed to talk to me about?”
Gracie shrugged. “Just checking in to see how you’re doing.”
He grinned a toothless grin. “Mighty nice of you. Why, I ain’t had visitors in years. Used to head into town once a week for bingo, but I cain’t even do that anymore. Thank the good Lord for cable—otherwise I’d be bored out of my mind.”
“You watch a lot of TV?”
“I mainly listen to it. Turn the volume up real loud on account of my hearin’ ain’t what it used to be. But I get by. Still catch my favorite shows. Never miss an episode of The Rifleman or Bonanza. I love those old Westerns.”
Her gaze shifted to the movie poster. “You a Clint Eastwood fan?”
“I’m a Josey Wales fan. Eastwood ain’t never done anything since that’s worth a hill of beans.”
“Now, remember, when things look bad and it looks like you’re not gonna make it, then you gotta get mean.” Gracie read the movie quote at the bottom of the poster. “Plumb mad-dog mean.” There was something oddly familiar about the saying, but she couldn’t quite place it.
“Words to live by.” Big Earl grinned. “’Course, I ain’t in much condition to get mean anymore, either. I leave that to my Casey. Girl’s got a fiery streak that would make her mama proud. Why, she don’t let nobody push her around. She ought to be back in a few minutes. Ran into town to pick up my foot cream.”
“I’m sorry I missed her.” Gracie pushed to her feet. “Maybe we can catch up next time.”
“You sure you don’t want to wait and say hello?”
“I really should get going.” Her hand closed on the doorknob and she heard the growls coming from the other side. “On second thought—” she summoned a smile and sank back down onto the sofa “—I wouldn’t want to be rude.”
14
WHAT THE HELL was he doing here?
Gracie’s hand faltered on the brownie she was stuffing into a plastic baggie. She stood behind one of the handful of tables set up on the lawn in front of City Hall. She set the treat aside, next to the dozen or so she’d just bagged for the annual Daughters of the Republic of Texas bake sale and did her best to calm her pounding heart.
Pounding, of all things. When she’d promised herself just last night after she’d cancelled on him that she wasn’t going to get nervous. Or excited. Or turned on when she finally saw him again.
Especially turned on. She had a reputation to protect and salivating at the first sign of the town’s hottest bad boy, particularly in front of the biggest busybodies in said town, was not in keeping with the conservative image of Lost Gun’s newly elected mayor.
Tongues were already wagging about the car wash incident. Of course, they were all focused on the fact that Jesse James Chisholm had been wet and practically half-naked in front of every female teacher at the middle school rather than Gracie, who’d been the cause of it.
It was all Jesse’s fault. He was too bold and much too sexy for his own good.
She forced an indifferent expression and tried to ignore the way his tight jeans hugged his muscular thighs as he approached her table. He wore a black T-shirt and a dusty cowboy hat that said he’d been in the middle of a training session not too long ago.
Yet here he was in the heart of Lost Gun.
“Brownie, cupcake or cheesecake bar?” she croaked when he reached her table.
“I’ll take all three.”
“Wow. Somebody’s hungry.”
“You have no idea.”
She knew by the way his eyes darkened that he wasn’t talking about the scrumptious goodies spread out on the table between them. She tamped down on her own growling stomach and reached for a white bakery bag. With trembling hands, she loaded his goodies inside and handed them over. “That’ll be three dollars.”
He pulled out his wallet and unfolded a ten. “Keep the change.” Their hands brushed as she took the money and a jolt of electricity shot through her.
“Why did you cancel last night?”
“I was busy.”
“Busy or scared?”
“Scared of what? Of you?” She shook her head. “I’m not scared of you.”
“No.” He eyed her for a silent moment. “You’re scared of us,” he finally said.
“There is no us. This isn’t a long-term arrangement. You’re leaving on Sunday.” She didn’t mean to sound so accusing. “Which is a good thing,” she blurted. “A really good thing. Enjoy.” She pushed the goodies in his direction and turned her attention to the next customer in line.
She glimpsed his handsome face in her peripheral vision, his eyes trained on her, his lips set in a grim line. As if he was thinking real hard about some question and he wasn’t too pleased with the answer.
As if he wasn’t any more happy to be here than she was to see him here.
She pondered the notion for a few seconds as she served up several more baggies of goodies and tried to pretend f
or all she was worth that his presence didn’t affect her.
Fat chance.
Every nerve in her body was keenly aware of him. She felt his warm gaze on her profile and a slow heat swept over her, from the tips of her toes clear to the top of her head, until she all but burned in the midday heat. She shifted her stance, her thighs pressing together, and an ache shot through her. Her nipples pebbled, rubbing against her bra, and her fingers faltered on the pie she was about to slice.
The pie splattered to the ground at her feet and her heart slammed against her rib cage. She shoveled the gooey mess back into the pie plate and headed for the building and the small kitchen situated at the rear of City Hall, next to a large conference room being used for the monthly Daughters of the Texas Republic meeting immediately following the bake sale.
Inside the kitchen, the ladies had stored all of their extra sweets. There were rows of pies and cakes and cookies.
She dumped the peach mess into a nearby trash can and went to the sink to wash her hands. Her fingers trembled and the soap slipped from her grasp. “Damn it,” she muttered.
“Careful, sugar. You’ll have the ladies dropping to their knees for an impromptu prayer meeting.”
The deep voice froze her hands.
Worse, Jesse leaned in, his arms coming around her on either side, his hands closing over hers to steady her as she reached for the bar of soap.
His large tanned hands were a stark contrast against her white fingers. His warm palms cradled the tops of her hands. The rough pads of his fingertips rasped against her soft flesh and heat spiraled through her body. His nearness was like a fuzzy blanket smothering the cold panic that had rolled through her the moment she’d realized that he’d followed her inside.
“Easy, now.” His voice rumbled over her bare shoulder and warm breath brushed her skin. Goose bumps chased up and down her arms and she came close to leaning back into him, closing her eyes and enjoying the delicious sensation. Just for a little while.
Texas Outlaws: Jesse Page 12
