Bucking the Rules (23 page)

“That was some ride.”

“Mmphfeed.”

“Either that's a cowboy term I haven't learned yet, or you have to take your face out of the pillow first.”

He lifted his grinning face. “I said, ‘indeed.' Some ride.”

Jo stroked one hand over his face, the hair that missed a cut a week ago, the scruff he ignored so often. “I love you.”

His eyes lit, and she realized he hadn't expected her to say it back. Hadn't assumed. Hadn't been ready to pressure her into it, make her feel guilty about it. He'd just been prepared to wait. Which only made her love him more?

“I love you,” she said again, the words bringing a lightness to her breathing, to her life. “Wow. I can't remember the last time I said that.”

“About two seconds ago. But say it again, so you can remember how.”

“I love y—” She broke off when he kissed her. “You,” she finished.

“No pressure.”

She closed her eyes a moment. “I can't promise I'm what's best for Seth.”

“I'm what's best for Seth. And you're what's best for me. So, ipso facto . . .”

One brow arched. “Did you say ‘ipso facto' to me while you're still inside me?”

“Whoops.” He pulled out and gave her a serious look. “Ipso facto. Better?”

“Smart ass,” she said, slapping him playfully on the thigh as he got up to head to the bathroom.

“But I'm your smart ass.” His face sobered a little. “We take it slow, for real this time. We hang together, you promise not to freak out when he cries—which he will, because he's a baby. And we go from there. You've got a lot of love built up in you, Jo. You just weren't ready to open the floodgates yet.”

“Oh, you know that for a fact, do you?” She pinched his butt.

“Yeah, I do. If you aren't worried about us cramping your style—”

Her mouth dropped open. “What? Why would I worry about that?”

“Super hot bar owner suddenly takes on boring father and son?” He shrugged. “It could drag a person down.”

“Hardly.” She blew out a breath and nodded. “Fine. You don't worry about cramping my style, and I won't worry about screwing up with Seth daily.”

“It's a deal.” He kissed her to seal it.

“Love you,” she sighed. She couldn't stop saying it, hearing her own voice give power to the words.

“Love you, too.”

They'd be good. The two, and then the three of them. She could believe it now.

 

 

 

Oh, yeah. A single look at the leggy blonde in the stands
and Tucker Jenkins is ready to buck all night long. It's
time to forget all about his cheating ex and his usual
hands off policy.

 

Becca Hart is an East Coast professor. Not a buckle
bunny. But no degree can prepare her for the moves of
the sexy bull rider she hooks up with at her first
rodeo . . . or the shock of finding him at her first
Oklahoma State University staff meeting.

 

Tuck knows it's all about holding on, no matter how
wild the ride. Now he just has to convince Becca that a
rough start out of the chute doesn't mean they aren't
a smokin' combination . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

“T
his'll be your first time meeting Bec's sister, won't it?”

Logan dipped his head in a nod. “Yes, sir. It sure will be.”

“I'm not worried about Emma fitting in. Everyone loves her. It's the rest of the relatives I'm concerned about.” Becca screwed up her face into a scowl. “My father, Mr. Punctuality, is beside himself they're not here an hour early and it sounded like my mother was already well into her sherry. She bought a bottle at the duty-free shop at the airport.”

“Sounds like a hell of a start to a party.” Jace walked through the door and scooped Becca into a hug that lifted her feet right off the ground. “Hey there, darlin'. You look great, as usual.”

Speak of the devil . . . Jace gave Becca a kiss and set her on the ground.

Becca laughed. “Save some of those compliments for later when my relatives from New York are here and I'm tearing my hair out. I may need to hear them.”

“You got it. And just send me the signal and I'll sneak you some booze too, if you want it.” Jace winked at her and slid a flask out of his pocket.

“I'll keep that in mind. A visit with my parents might require some alcohol.” Becca glanced at Tuck. “I'm going to go see if your mom needs any help in the kitchen.”

“Sounds good, baby.” Tuck nodded.

Jace watched Becca leave as he walked over to Tuck. He stuck out one arm to shake the groom's hand. “Hey, man. How you holding up? I got the truck filled up with diesel and coolers full of ice-cold beer. It's parked right outside, just in case. You ready to bolt yet?”

Logan shook his head. Typical Jace. As changeable as the wind. Sucking up to the bride with one breath, and offering to help the groom escape with the other.

Tuck's gaze cut to the doorway Becca had left through before he answered, “Not at all. I'm loving every minute of it. Nothing more fun than planning a big ol' wedding. You want a beer? I'm getting myself another one.”

Logan glanced at his own bottle. He wasn't even half way done with his own beer yet but Tuck's was empty. Tuck might pretend he was calm, cool and collected about the wedding and all it entailed, but the empty bottle told another story.

Out of town relatives. Nervous brides. Rentals. Last minute errands. Saying
I do
for the rest of your life . . . Yup, Logan sure was happy he'd be on the ushers' side of the altar rather than directly in the line of fire like the groom.

“Definite yes on the beer.” Jace answered Tuck and turned to extend a hand toward Logan. “Lieutenant Colonel Hunt, sir. What's the status of the Oklahoma State ROTC program?”

Logan laughed as Jace lowered his tone of voice and spoke more like a battalion commander than a bull rider. “A little slow right now since we're between semesters for the summer, but thanks for asking. How you been, Jace?”

“Good. Rodeoing quite a bit now that it's summer. Dragging Tuck with me when I can convince him to ride.”

“Just don't break him, please. Tuck may be a bull rider part time, but full time he's one of my soldiers, and one of my department's best military science instructors. I need him with two good working legs for when we go back to working out with the cadets. Got it?”

“Sure thing. Let's just hope Becca doesn't break him during the honeymoon.” Jace waggled his eyebrows. “As for rodeo, he usually ends up getting his ribs broken when he wrecks, not his legs, so we're good. Broke ribs hurt like a son of a bitch, but he can still run with 'em.”

Jace grinned and accepted the beer Tuck handed him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jace. And I only broke my ribs once or twice, thank you very much.”

“Once or twice, my sweet ass. You can't seem to keep yourself out from under hoof. You're too tall for a bull rider, if you ask me. You need to be small and quick like me. You should have stuck with team roping.”

Watching the two men bicker, Logan sipped his beer and stayed out of the fray. He wasn't about to enter that debate. Bull riders were crazy.

Sure, Logan had joined the Army knowing there'd be times during his career he was going to be up against an enemy who wanted him dead, but to get on the back of a bucking bull knowing you were going to be thrown in the dirt every damn time? Nope. Not for him.

While Jace and Tuck continued to banter—something about which bull Jace drew last time he rode—motion out in the driveway caught Logan's eye. He turned to watch through the window as a hot as hell woman in a short, black dress reached one long, bare leg out of the car. She stepped out of the open passenger door and even doing nothing but standing in the driveway, she was sexy enough to make a man take notice. Her blond hair and resemblance to Becca told him this must be her sister Emma.

Logan glanced at Tuck and wondered how bad of a friend he was that Tuck's soon to be sister-in-law was giving him a hard-on. Just from his thinking about what the curves that dress accentuated so nicely would feel like beneath his touch.

Imagine if he ever actually got his hands on her?

An older woman and man got out of the front doors of the sedan and joined the blonde. They had to be Tuck's new in-laws. Their presence should have diminished Logan's amorous fantasies about Emma. It didn't. It seemed Emma had captured his attention and she wasn't letting go. He managed to block her parents right out as he wondered what her hair would feel like against his cheek while he ran his tongue down her throat.

“Hey, Tuck. It looks like Emma's here.” Jace came to stand next to Logan at the window. He let out a slow whistle. “Boy oh boy, is she looking good.”

The tone of Jace's voice made Logan turn to get a good look at him. The man had a knowing expression on his face that didn't sit well at all. “You know her?”

“Ohhh, yeah.” Jace dragged the two short words out to be obscenely long. What the hell was that about? Logan's brows rose. He turned to glance at Tuck.

“Emma was here with Becca the first time she came to Oklahoma for the job interview at OSU. You know, the night she and I met at the rodeo,” Tuck had answered without Logan having to ask, but that sure as hell didn't explain the rest. Such as why Jace was acting as if he and Emma had done more than just meet that night?

Those were details Logan was more than interested in having. “Yeah, I remember you telling me about the rodeo.”

But not that Jace and Becca's hot sister from New York had had a little one night rodeo of their own.

Of course, Jace liked to exaggerate. It didn't matter if it was about conquering a bull or a woman. Logan had known the man for years through Tuck. Since the two had ridden on the rodeo circuit together before Tuck had enlisted in the Army. If nothing else, he knew Jace could throw the shit with the best of them. It was very possible nothing at all had happened between Jace and Emma, except in Jace's own overactive imagination.

He decided to run with that theory and see how things progressed. It was far better than the alternative—assuming Jace had a prior claim and having to back off. A lot could happen over a short period of time. Look at how one night between Tuck and Becca had changed both of their lives. Logan had an entire weekend and a wedding reception to work with. There'd be sentimental speeches and tears, music and a fully stocked bar. Everything to put the partygoers—and Emma—in the mood for romance.

Not to mention Logan had Tuck on his side, pulling for him, putting in a good word. At least Tuck had better be on his side. Jace was Tuck's friend, yes, but Logan was like a brother. Not to mention his boss and a superior officer. If it came right down to it, Logan would pull rank. Hell, he could order Tuck to put in a good word for him with Emma or else.

When it involved leggy blondes with curves like Emma's, a man had to bend the rules a little sometimes.

 

 

 

M
organ Browning, DVM, stared his arch-nemesis down.

“You can't beat me.”

His enemy blinked.

“I'm smarter. I'm stronger. And I can think.”

Blink. Blink.

“I will take you down.”

The phone blinked again, signaling that this little intimidation exercise had not, in fact, helped solve the problem of how to get the voicemail off the machine to make the light go off.

“Damn it.” He pushed away from the desk in disgust. Why had Jaycee left for the day already? It was just three. She was the only one who knew how to make the stupid machine behave.

She'd given him a month to find a replacement for her as she trained to be his new vet tech. Despite the inconvenience of having to hire someone new, he agreed with her choice to become a tech. And Jaycee had been pulling double duty, answering phones between patients.

But why, God why, had she left him alone for the afternoon without teaching him how to make the ugly thing stop blinking?

The bell above the door swung open, and Morgan pasted on his friendly, paying-customer smile. But as he turned and caught sight of his patient, the smile broadened naturally.

“Bea, hey. What's going on?”

“I—” She glanced at the phone as it rang, then at the empty chair. “Do you need to get that?”

“No, it's fine.” He reached for Bea's Boston terrier, Milton, which she'd adopted a few months ago. “Do you have an appointment?” The dog licked his face, smudging one lens of his glasses even more than it already had been.

The phone stopped ringing, and blissful silence—except for the dog's snuffled breathing—filled the waiting area. He sighed in relief; then his body clenched again when the phone rang once more.

“No appointment. I just . . . okay, are you sure you don't want to get that?” She pointed a finger at The Devil. “We can wait a few minutes.”

“Ignore it.” He was. Morgan held the Boston up to eye level. “Hey, dude. What's up?”

“He keeps scratching.” Bea puffed and blew out some baby-fine white-blond hair from her eyes. Her hair reminded him of a pile of feathers, it looked so lightweight.

“Dogs scratch, Bea.” He hid a smile behind Milton's back. To Bea's mind, every whimper and whine was a new health scare for her pup. “But let's go take a look at—”

“That's it!” Bea swerved around the desk on heels so high they had to be a danger to her health and plopped down in Jacyee's chair. Picking up the phone and pressing two buttons he never would have considered pressing together, she chirped, “Morgan Browning's office, how can I help you?”

Morgan's eyes nearly bugged out as far as Milton's. The flighty, sometimes-ditzy Beatrice Muldoon had just sounded like a true professional. Fascinated, he leaned over the desk to observe.

“Yes, of course. Oh, the poor thing,” she cooed. “Let me check for you; please hold just one moment.” Pressing another two buttons, she glanced over at him quickly. “Appointments this evening?”

He shook his head. “None so far. Who is it?”

“The Peckinpaughs. Their family dog is throwing up. Do you want to . . .” She motioned to the phone.

“Yeah, just a minute.”

He picked up the receiver, then stared helplessly at The Devil. “Help.”

“Men,” she muttered, then pressed a few buttons and waved for him to continue.

“Thank you,” he mouthed and pointed toward the open exam room behind him, holding up a finger to indicate he'd be there in a moment.

She nodded and scooped Milton up, walking to the room and closing the door behind her.

God almighty, those legs of hers made his mouth water more than any rare steak ever could. The things he would give up in life to be able to watch her kick off her shoes under his exam table and crawl up there for—

“Hello?”

Shit. “Yes, hello, Mrs. Peckinpaugh. I hear Toby's having some trouble.”

Legs could wait. At least for now.

 

“No, Milton, stop that.” She bent down and placed her fingers between his scratching paw and his neck, earning an unintentional swipe over her knuckles for her trouble. “Ow, that hurt.”

“Did he get ya?”

Morgan's voice from behind startled her, and she straightened so fast, blood rushed from her head. His hands went around her biceps to steady her and ease her into a chair.

“Whoa, now. Didn't mean to scare you. Just sit a second. Standing up at that altitude might really get ya.”

“Altitude?” she asked, bringing her hand up to inspect the scratch. Just a red scrape, no broken skin. She eyed the dog, who looked innocent. A look he'd been perfecting for a few months now.

“The heels,” he said with a smile. “Need me to check your pulse?” He was watching her eyes from behind hopelessly smudged glasses, and she knew he was taking stock of whether her pupils were dilated. Or not dilated. Whatever it was those medical types were looking for.

Cutie. Dr. Cutie. Wanting to save the world one forlorn case at a time.

“I'm fine. But Milton needs help.”

Morgan looked skeptical at that, but he hunkered down and called the dog, who trotted toward him with ease. Morgan removed his collar to inspect the skin underneath. “Where is he scratching?”

“His shoulders and neck, mostly. Sometimes at his ears.”

“You're using a flea and tick prevention?”

“The one you recommended, yes.”

“Bathed him in anything new?”

“No. Same stuff since I got him.”

“Hmm.” Morgan picked up the dog and checked under one leg, then the other. “Any other problems? Not eating, not drinking?”

“He's fine, other than the scratching.”

“Well, then I think you're gonna make it, my man.” He roughed up the top of Milton's head with two knuckles in a gesture of manly affection for the small dog. “I think he's got allergies.”

“Allergies? The dog?” She rolled her eyes. “It would figure I'd get a high maintenance dog. Allergies.”

He refrained from making any sort of joke about a high maintenance dog for a high maintenance woman. She appreciated the restraint. But he did smile and hold out a hand to help her up.

“I'll get some samples of allergy meds. But really, you can give him the human stuff. I've got a paper around here somewhere that gives you the dosing instructions based on his weight.”

He walked back out to the front desk and started opening file cabinets at random, peering in, and slamming them shut again quickly. Milton escaped deep under the desk, in a dark corner, as if sensing something bad was coming.

The phone rang again, and Morgan completely ignored it.

After the third ring, she asked, “Should I get that again?”

“No, I can do it.” His voice was muffled in a drawer.

Uh huh. Right. Since he didn't know how to take a call off hold, he could obviously answer the complex office phone system. “You look like you're busy—I'll just answer this one.” She slid around him, her thigh brushing against his shoulder.

And okay, wow, her nerve endings stood up on point for that one. Clearly, if she was getting hot for the vet, she'd been in Marshall too long. Finding him adorable in a distant,
sure, he's cute
sort of way was one thing. Getting hot for the good animal doctor was another thing entirely.

“Morgan Browning's office, how can I help you?” She listened, scribbling the message down on a pad of paper to pass him when he was through. “That's wonderful, I'm so glad you're considering a dog from the shelter. I have to tell you, I just got my Milton from there a few months ago.”

Morgan turned to watch her, but she shrugged. How hard could this be?

“What kind of dog are you looking for? Mm hmm, yes, okay . . .” She scribbled down the traits the family was hoping for on a pad of paper. “I'll have Dr. Browning give you a call back in a bit, after he's had a chance to think about it. How does that sound? In the meantime, there's a form online you can print off and fill out to bring in with you. That would save you some time when you come in. Yes, just go to the vet website, then click on the tab up above for the shelter. Yes, that's right. Well, thanks to you, too. I hope you find what you're looking for!”

She hung up and smiled, then caught Morgan's stare. “What?”

“How did you do that?”

“What?” She looked at the phone. “Answer it?”

“No, know how to do all that . . .” He waved a hand around like he was swatting flies. “All that talking crap.”

Bea rolled her eyes and patted his cheek . . . which was easy to reach since he was squatting by another file cabinet. “Sweetie, talking is what I do for a living. Acting on a soap is ninety percent talking. And plus, I just went through this process a few months ago. It's fresh in my mind. They're looking for a small dog, more of a lap dog than anything. No kids, just the wife and her husband. Empty nesters.” She pushed the pad toward him and stood. “That's their number. I told them you'd check what's available now and get back to them.”

He grabbed her arms again, the way he had in the exam room, but it had nothing to do with catching her before she fainted. His hands were warm against her chilled, bare skin, the pressure just a little insistent.

“You can answer the phones.”

She nodded slowly at his wild-eyed gaze. “Yes.”

“You can talk to people.”

“I manage to use real words and everything,” she bit off.

“Can you use e-mail and figure out a calendar program?”

“Morgan, who the hell doesn't know how to use e-mail anymore? What's this all about?”

“You're hired.”

“I'm what?”