“Your turn,” she whispered, twirling her tongue over his velvet tip that was already leaking salty pearls, and then she rolled him over so she was on top and took him deeper into her mouth, determined to please him as much if not more than he’d just pleased her. Sex with Anders she loved. Anything else was off the table. It had to be.
Chapter Seventeen
Tinsley was mostly asleep. She felt warm. Safe in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. She breathed in deeply—Anders. He was still wrapped around her, one leg between her thighs, one muscular arm over her body, his palm on her lower abdomen, and his face against the back of her neck, his breath a soft tickle against her.
She’d let him stay over again, and she didn’t regret it. She’d been able to sleep deeply, something she hadn’t been able to do for a long time. It had been like that the few nights they’d stayed together on the two short trips they’d taken. She’d thought that was just because they’d been so tired after playing tourist and the marathon sex. But maybe it was more. Maybe it was Anders.
“Have you felt the baby move yet?”
Tinsley startled. She hadn’t realized he was awake.
“No,” she said. “I think that will freak me out.”
“Really?” He laughed a little. “I can’t wait. The book said it feels like a tingle or a flutter, like tiny wings inside of you.”
Anders kissed the nape of her neck, his fingers combing through her tangled locks. “It’s called quickening.”
“That sounds like something out of Harry Potter,” she said, waiting for the adrenaline surge, the fear, the need to get up, move, get away from Anders and her own body to kick in, but her heartbeat was steady and Anders’ spread palm over her abdomen and his fingers through her hair and kisses along her spine made her feel cherished. There was nothing sexual in his touch.
“Sometimes it’s around sixteen weeks or more before the mother can feel the baby kick inside of her,” he said, proving what she’d learned about Anders early on—he loved to read and learn new things. On their trip, he’d Googled information vociferously. If there were a plaque or a sign, he read it. Even history of restaurants on menus he’d read aloud. It was something she’d found almost painfully endearing.
“I can’t wait. It will be cool.” He kissed her and then climbed out of bed. “I gotta roll, but let me make you some tea and you can drink it in bed.”
He pulled on his jeans.
Anders looked like an ad for Wranglers, bare-footed, bare-chested, perfect specimen of a man grinding coffee beans while the electric kettle was already heating up. His jeans were low on his hips, half unbuttoned, and he was commando. She visually drank him in while he measured out the ground beans and started the coffeepot on brew.
Unable to resist him, she got out of bed, dragging his discarded shirt over her body.
“Don’t cover up,” he said. “You look beautiful.”
She made a face but walked to him and let him take her in his arms just like she knew he would. She sighed, and he brushed his lips against the top of her head and murmured her name. The kettle boiled then turned off. The coffee machine beeped its conclusion, but Anders still held her. She sighed and nestled closer to him.
His phone on the countertop vibrated, but he didn’t let her go to reach for it.
“Go back to bed,” he urged. “Relax a little.”
His phone vibrated again.
He made a sound of annoyance. “Axel needs to stop being such a distrustful hard-ass.”
“Axel?”
“I’m supposed to meet him at six this morning, and he’s no doubt making sure I’m awake.” He made a face. “I’ve woken myself up to do chores since I was twelve. Too bad he’s not clairvoyant so he’d know that we were having a moment.” He smiled and then kissed her. “Let me make your tea and a thermos of coffee for me, and I’ll get on the road. I can still be a few minutes early to prove to big brother that I can handle my own life. Can I take you to dinner tonight?”
“Ahhhhh.” She watched him pour the coffee into a large thermos from his duffel bag. She noted the brand of beans and determined to buy more for her apartment so she didn’t run out.
Was she counting on him moving in? Staying with her when he was in town?
“Dinner? It’s not even breakfast time yet,” she hedged.
“It’s my last night home this week. I have to head out tomorrow. I have a photo shoot—a jeans photo shoot.” He wiggled his ass, and she laughed. “Maybe you could come with me. Help me with the fittings.”
“Very funny. I’m working.”
“I will be too,” he said virtuously.
“I know how good you are taking your jeans off, cowboy,” Tinsley teased, surprising herself with how natural it felt.
He handed her a mug of tea with a splash of honey and then kissed her cheek.
“So tonight?” He pulled on a T-shirt and grabbed a button-down shirt he shrugged into as he headed to the bathroom. “Dinner in town or at the ranch? I can pick you up.”
Tinsley smiled up at him, feeling swamped with an emotion she didn’t dare name. Anders would drive twenty minutes to pick her up and then twenty minutes back to the ranch and then twenty minutes back to the tasting room and not think twice about it. For her. No complaints.
John or her parents never would have inconvenienced themselves for her.
You have to stop.
She couldn’t make a future if her brain kept dragging out the past.
And she wanted to tell Anders about some of her past. Not all of it. But he had a right to know that her parents were still alive, although she was estranged from them. And he had a right to know that her ex-fiancé had betrayed her, lied to her and scared her when he’d grabbed her by her neck when she’d tried to run away after telling him they were over.
Maybe by telling Anders, she’d feel closure. And then the whole not dead parent thing, she reminded herself. She hadn’t lied. Anders had assumed, but a lie by omission was sort of a lie, wasn’t it?
If she didn’t tell him now, she’d lose her courage. If she really were going to try to have a life with him in it, even if they were just co-parenting their child, she had to close the door on her past.
“Do you have to leave right away?” she asked, feeling as if the words choked her. Her timing sucked, but it seemed like Anders still had one foot out the door. So many demands on his time.
His phone buzzed again.
“I guess that’s my answer.” She tried to smile.
Anders scowled, grabbed it up and stuffed it in his back pocket. “You okay?” he asked. The warmth in his eyes and smile, both dimples showing, soothed her. Let the past stay dead.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m good. See you tonight.”
*
The day raced by. Tinsley and Isla were fairly astonished by the couples and groups that arrived for the tasting, and the bruschetta and tapenades, cheese plates, nuts and charcuterie plates were cleared out far before closing. She’d hired Hunter’s brother, Tarek Youngblood and immediately handed him the Verflucht credit card, the keys to her truck—beautifully stenciled—and a shopping list including a panini maker, even though he’d had no idea what that was, which had made her and Isla laugh.
Later she’d sent Isla home and was cleaning up and thinking about what to wear for dinner when Anders entered, kissed her and then ran up the stairs. He came down taking the stairs two at a time holding his duffel bag. For a fairly tall and hard-muscled man, it always astonished her that he moved so quietly.
“Oh!” She stared at his bag and then at him. “You’re leaving?” She tried to keep the dismay and the disappointment out of her voice.
“I’m sorry, baby. I wanted to take you to dinner, but August is flying out tonight, and he’s going to drop me in Sacramento before he heads to San Francisco for a ‘consultation.’” Anders made air quotes around the last word. “I’m sorry to miss our date.”
“It wasn’t officially a date.” She tried to ke
ep her voice light and expression neutral.
“It was a date, and I’ll make it up to you,” he said, tangling his fingers with hers and walking backward to the empty back patio so they could have some privacy.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly pulling her into his arms. “We never have enough time.”
She’d been thinking the same thing.
“Not like I don’t know the routine,” she said philosophically.
“Still…” His hands moved up and down her arms in relaxing strokes. “We are so new and finally doing well, I hate to leave, but in two more weeks we’ll have over a month, and then the finals and then two months off.”
He kissed her until she practically forgot her name. When he finally let her up for air, she clung to him. “I’d ask you to come, but I know you’re just getting the tasting room and the staff up and running. Maybe someday you can take a weekend off and travel with me.”
She knew a few wives and girlfriends traveled with the bull riders at least for a few of the competitions. She’d vowed to never be like that again—following her man. But he looked so hopeful, she didn’t want to shut him down.
She’d been gearing up to tell him about her family, her past and her ex, but now all the words strangled in her throat. They didn’t have time to talk. Time was too short and her past seemed far away. She stepped up on tiptoes to claim one last kiss.
“Keep safe,” she murmured against his firm lips. “Ride to the bell and come home without too many bruises because I have plans for your body that are going to require agility and stamina.”
“Can’t wait.”
Chapter Eighteen
Two months later, Tinsley closed the window on the software accounting program and then closed the lid on the laptop. A sense of accomplishment surged through her. In a little more than a month, Verflucht had surpassed their growth expectation by more than triple their lofty expectations in sales, visitors and more importantly wine club members.
They had done so well that they had held an October harvest party. It had been in conjunction with Last Stand’s fall festival, but they’d held their wine and food-pairing event at the tasting room and back patio. They had had live music—Isla’s band Armadillo Attitude performed two sets and drew a recent college graduate crowd that had practically camped on the back patio and had taken advantage of the seating, games area and enjoyed food from the diversity of the food trucks that had catered the event. Although young, they’d spent freely, and many had asked about upcoming social events.
The Verflucht harvest release event had been so successful that she and Catalina had already decided that they’d host it again but also up their game and hold the event at the winery with carriage rides through part of the vineyard and a wine-blending workshop—the fee would be high, but the reward would include half a case or a case of the blended wine. The evening festivities would be held at the tasting room and back patio.
“You do realize next year we will be running this madness with babies dangling off front packs like we’re wine industry kangaroos,” Catalina reminded her.
The idea no longer filled Tinsley with dread. How could it? Anders had spent most of his long break before the finals with her—oh, he’d helped out at the ranch four or five long days during the week, but he’d often spent the weekends helping out at the tasting room so that she could take a break, and the evenings were all for her. Anders was so attentive and fun that she hadn’t felt trapped or panicky once.
Last night after they both kicked back on one of the couches on the back patio and stared at the night sky through the beautiful, old-fashioned-looking, glowing orange filament lights, he’d laid his cheek against her slight baby bump, and had sung a Garth Brooks song to the baby.
Something inside of her had cracked open—something she could never put back together again, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. With tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks, she’d stroked his shaggy, very layered hair he still hadn’t cut and just allowed herself to feel.
She’d never told him about her parents. She’d never told him the truth about John. She was living in the present finally, and she wanted to stay here. Besides, the moment never seemed right. They were busy or Anders was gone. And the events seemed so long ago, and she was so different—stronger, but healed now—that she felt like it had happened to a different person.
Anders was leaving today, Sunday, for the week-long publicity blitz that was the AEBR finals in Las Vegas. Tinsley and the rest of his family were heading out to join him on Thursday. There had been a lot of discussion about closing the tasting room, but the staff, five strong now, was capable and confident.
Humming to herself, Tinsley headed downstairs to the tasting room to join Isla and Tarek as traffic started ticking up later in the afternoon. Mentally, she began packing what she would bring. She was still fairly slim. Her breasts had gone up a bra size to Anders’ enthusiastic observation, but he was obsessed with the new curve in her abdomen that had recently become visible. Tinsley no longer felt like trying to hide it.
She still wore many of the boldly colored print bohemian-style blouses and dresses, but she’d added a few more form-fitting clothes that showed off her changing figure, along with skinny jeans, boots and soft floral blouses or T-shirts with embroidered details or ruching paired with a stylish vest.
She wore her hair up in a loose twist or messy bun—so different from her sleek and conservatively preppy style growing up and her sassy curly high ponytail when she poured whiskey on the AEBR tour.
“You’d start a riot if you poured a shot you let me drink off your breasts now,” Anders had whispered huskily to her last night when they’d made love under the stars. “Can we re-enact that pose when your baby bump is huge?”
“I’m not thinking that far ahead.” She’d playfully swatted him. “That was a once-in-a-lifetime thing.” Although with social media, who knew? Maybe their kid would get an eyeful someday with an unexpected YouTube tour or Google search, but hopefully the years and antics of others would deeply bury her sexy and showy impulse at last year’s finals.
Still smiling, Tinsley entered the tasting room. They’d opened a couple of hours ago and she and Isla and Tarek were the only ones staffing the tasting room today. Tinsley had already written an ad for more back-room help with shipping, food prep, cleanup and covering breaks.
It was fairly busy, and even as she greeted and served customers, she kept an eye out for Anders. He was delayed in leaving because he’d had new chaps customized and they were being finished today. He and his best friend Kane Wilder were tied for first place entering the finals. Kane Wilder had announced his retirement after the finals, so the AEBR was hyping the event even more than usual. Kane was one of their biggest stars, and Anders was just one of several bull riders jockeying to take his well-established place at the top of the leaderboard.
Tinsley soon lost herself in a rush of new guests. It was fun pouring tastes and discussing each wine’s characteristics as well as recommending other wineries, restaurants and places to stay. She was starting to feel a little like a local.
“I didn’t believe it. I thought John must be wrong.”
Tinsley’s knees buckled. She gripped the counter and turned around slowly, her heart pounding so loudly she couldn’t hear what her mother said next.
For a moment she couldn’t think, much less speak.
“I never for a moment…all the money we spent on your education and you’re working as a barmaid and dressed like…like…like a…” Words failed even the East Coast blue-blooded Daughters of the American Revolution board member.
“Mom. What are you…how did you…?” Tinsley tried to keep her voice even and failed miserably.
“Find you?” Her mother wore a trim floral dress by one of her favored designers, heels and a pale pink belted trench coat. Her strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back in a smart twist and anchored with three pink diamond jeweled hair combs. “My only daughter? The
one who ran away from a marvelous man, the catch of Manhattan? The girl who caused her parents years of shame so that we no longer mention you or make excuses for your absence? My so-called daughter who selfishly walked out of a six-figure job she’d been groomed and hand-picked for following her graduation from Barnard?”
Tinsley felt as if her blood had turned to ice.
“Yeah, that,” she said as five years of feeling strong bled away.
Isla shot her a curious, WTF look and turned back to the three women who’d just finished their tasting and were trying to decide what to buy.
“You’re barely recognizable.” Her mother stared at her as if Tinsley were something stuck on the heel of her equally esteemed designer shoe. “I didn’t find you. I wasn’t even looking.”
That was good.
But somehow the chilly, properly elocuted tones hurt.
“Your father certainly doesn’t know I am here, in Texas,” she said like one of the largest, most populated and influential states in the country was beneath her notice. “None of my friends know, and they’d better not hear of this.”
Tinsley wasn’t about to send out announcement cards.
“Then why bother coming to Last Stand for proof of something you didn’t care to know?”
It shouldn’t hurt. It really shouldn’t. She’d realized how her mother cared more for prestige, status and bragging rights than her only child when she’d run home bruised and terrified and told her mother what John had done, and her mother had blamed her and demanded that she apologize for upsetting John.
“John somehow, unfortunately, learned of your whereabouts.”
Tinsley’s blood ran cold. “John’s married. Why would he care where I am or what I’m doing?”
“He doesn’t, except likely he feels relief at his narrow escape.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” She tried not to feel the blow. Everything was still her fault apparently.
John. The liar. Cheater. The man who’d accidentally bruised her neck and had asked if she liked it rough. John, who hadn’t apologized for cheating, killing her dreams, hurting her, and had instead blamed her for interrupting him by arriving unexpectedly at his office and making a “childish scene.” What was she supposed to do now? Congratulate her mother on once again taking John’s side?
A Baby for the Texas Cowboy Page 18
