Come and Get It (2 page)

* * *

“
Who’s the bimbo?” Quin
asked, watching as Dixie made her way back to the catering trailer.
He had to admit she was a pretty little thing with a wealth of
silky blonde hair and a figure that rivaled any of the old masters’
nudes.

Nelson Olmstead winced. “Best not let
any of these boys hear you talk like that about her. Ain’t a
mother’s son of ’em wouldn’t walk barefoot across broken glass to
protect that little gal. Hell, I’m half in love with her myself.”
He rolled up the blueprints he’d been holding and clasped them
under his arm. “Hardworkin’ little thing. Raised three sisters and
a brother after her folks passed. Got herself hitched to a local
boy who up and got himself killed over in Iraq.”

“
So she decided to run a
Roach Coach for a living? Ambitious.”

Nelson laughed. “Son, have you always
had your head so far up your ass?” He chuckled again at the shocked
look on Quin’s face. “She and her sisters got themselves a little
organic truck farm over to the other side of Junction. Two of the
girls run a little roadside diner and vegetable stand, while the
twins do a little ranchin’. Dixie Rose is single-handedly
responsible for improving the eating habits of half the
construction workers around here.” He lowered his voice so no one
else could hear. “Hell, she’s got ’em eatin’ tofu and they don’t
even know it.”

“
So, this is your way of
telling me the food’s safe to eat?”

Nelson slapped him on the back.
“You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

“
Hey, Nelson, what’s it
gonna be today? I got those Caribbean jerked ham sandwiches you
like so much, and Daisy Jean sent along some of her special soup
for ya.”

“
Sounds like just the
ticket, Miss Dixie.” He paused and then introduced Quin. “This
here’s the architect on the job. Name’s Quin Halladay.”

The woman had plastered on her best
customer relations smile. “Welcome to Texas, Mr. Halladay. What can
I get you to eat?”

A full order of you,
spread-eagle on a platter.
He nearly
blurted the words out, then remembered what Nelson had told him
about the crew’s fondness for the woman. The dark sunglasses
allowed him to check her out without seeming to be
disrespectful.

She had the kind of body that made a
man itch to touch her. Full bosom, tiny waist, just enough curve to
her hips so a man could hold on tight. Then there was that firm,
heart-shaped ass.

“
Is the chicken in that
gumbo free-range?”

The bimbo rolled her eyes. “I only use
domesticated fowl, Mr. Halladay. They scratch around some but
they’re penned up at the end of the day.”

He lifted his shades. “And why is
that?”

“
Well, aside from the
pretention factor, I’d have to say bird flu. Scientists have
performed DNA tests on blood slides of soldiers that died of the
flu back in 1918 and discovered a link to bird flu. Get ya some
gumbo?”

Quin gritted his teeth to keep from
laughing. By God, she was a sassy little thing. “Gumbo would be
fine, Miss . . . ?”

Dixie flashed a smile and a wink at
Nelson. “Reckon he’s hard of hearin’, too?” She leaned down,
resting her elbows on the counter. “Name’s Dixie, sugar. Dixie Rose
Bonifay.”

Quin’s jaw dropped. His company had
been trying to buy the Bonifay ranch for years and they’d flatly
refused to entertain any offer. If he wasn’t mistaken, five mil was
the latest figure, and the head of the company was willing to go as
high as ten. “The Dixie Rose Bonifay? You own the ranch land out on
the Llano River?”

Dixie eyed him suspiciously. “That’d
be me, sugar. You want some dinner or not? ’Cause if you don’t, I
need to be closing down. This ain’t the only construction site on
my route and I gotta get a move on.”

“
Yeah. I’ll try the gumbo.”
He pulled a ten and a business card out of his wallet and handed
her both. “Keep the change.”

Quin frowned when Dixie served him a
steaming dish of gumbo, a corn bread muffin, and slid his change
and card back across the counter. He didn’t care for the
contemptuous look she gave him either.

“
Sorry, sugar. I don’t need
your change or your business card.” She went to the door and opened
it. “Last call for refills, y’all!”

Quin watched as Dixie poured refills
and went back into the trailer. Without being asked, the men broke
down the tables, tied off the trash bags, and stowed everything in
the back of Dixie’s Ford F-350. She thanked them graciously,
retracted the awning on the outside of the trailer, and closed up
shop.

Fascinating. Without a doubt, she was
the first woman in years who had never even given him a second
glance. He smiled as he walked back to his truck. That wouldn’t do
at all.

Chapter Two

The minute he pulled his rented truck
onto the graded dirt road, Quin understood why the Bonifay family
refused to sell. The property sat on acres of riverfront lined with
overhanging trees—mesquite, cedar, live oak. There were also a
number of hardwoods like elm, willow, and sycamore. Farther back
from the river were stands of pecan trees. He’d even noticed a
small peach orchard.

How much fun would it be to eat a
helping of peach cobbler off Miss Dixie Rose’s flat little belly?
All that thick, sticky peach juice running every which way. It
could take a man hours just to clean her up. And peach juice
wouldn’t be the only kind flowing. His cock twitched to life just
thinking about it. Best to put that thought aside, for now anyway,
because he was fast approaching one of the four intersecting roads
that led to each sibling’s home. He spotted a small wooden sign
that simply read “Dixie Rose” and swung the vehicle in that
direction.

Dixie’s house was a snug little
limestone cottage sitting among a grove of trees above the river.
He parked his truck next to hers and got out. The porch swing was
empty, as were the rocking chairs. He climbed the stairs and
knocked on the door. Silence greeted him and he felt a sharp pang
of disappointment. He’d really wanted to see her.

A loud splash and a bark rose up from
the direction of the river, and Quin heard Dixie’s voice. “Dadgum
it, Beezer, leave that turtle alone!” Quin chuckled and headed for
the gently sloping banks of the Llano. Another splash, this one
more substantial, and a feminine shriek, then, “All right, ya hairy
bastard, get your muddy paws off me.”

Quin stood at the top of the slope,
awestruck. There below him, calf deep in the clear water of the
Llano, stood Dixie, wrestling with a dog the size of a small horse.
And she was wearing next to nothing. He swallowed hard. The nothing
was a pink-colored string bikini, with a ruffle around the inner
cup of the top and the tiny triangle that covered her mound. When
she turned to throw a stick into the middle of the river, Quin
thought he might have to sit down—less than half of that gorgeous
ass was covered by the brief bikini bottom. His dick went from soft
to granite hard in seconds. Jesus Christ, he had to have her! And
soon, because he didn’t think he’d ever get the sight of all that
creamy skin out of his mind. Until he fucked her out of his system.
He stepped out of the trees and onto the riverbank.

“
Howdy, Miss
Dixie.”

Dixie looked up, shielding her eyes
from the sun. She laughed. “Somehow the word howdy sounds funny
comin’ from a fellow with no discernible accent. What can I do for
you, Mr. Halladay?”

“
Have dinner with me
tonight.”

She snorted. “Now why would I do
that?”

“
Why wouldn’t
you?”

“
No offense, Mr. Halladay,
but men like you generally want one of two things from a girl like
me. They either want to buy my property or they want to get in my
pants.” She picked up the stick and tossed it for the dog, then
waded out of the river until she was standing in front of him. “And
since you’re here, and so obviously . . .” She paused, taking note
of his erection. “. . . aroused, I’d say you wanted both. Am I on
the right track, Mr. Halladay?”

Quin grinned. “It’s Quin, and you’re
only half right, Dixie. Until I saw this place, I was hoping to
convince you to sell.”

“
And now?”

“
Now I understand why you
won’t.”

Dixie chuckled. “Well, that’s a point
in your favor, I reckon. That only leaves the other.”

Quin reached out and ran his index
finger down the side of her face, temple to jaw. “I don’t deny I’d
like to get you naked, Dixie.”

She burst out laughing. “Well, at
least you’re honest.” She whistled for the dog. “Get up outta that
water, Beezer.” She crooked her finger at Quin. “Come on up to the
house and have a glass of tea, Mr. Halladay.”

“
Don’t mind if I do.” He
walked a couple of steps behind her for the sheer pleasure of
watching that fabulous ass sway as she walked. “About
dinner?”

She turned around and smiled at him,
walking backward. “Sure, Mr. Halliday. I’ll have dinner with you,
but not tonight. I’ve got work to do.”

“
Well, I can’t say I’m not
disappointed. No hot date, huh?” He followed Dixie into the
house.

“
No hot date.” She quirked
a finger. “Kitchen’s this way.”

He took a seat at a scarred trestle
table that was probably an antique. The room was well equipped with
all the modern conveniences, but there was a homey quality about it
that bespoke years of meal preparation and family gatherings. The
oak cabinets were whitewashed and set with glass knobs, probably
original to the cottage. The countertops were butcher block with
plenty of knife scars from chopping vegetables and whatnot. Oddly,
the heavy-duty commercial appliances didn’t look out of place, nor
did the granite-covered island that held Tupperware boxes filled
with baked goods, along with several loaves of bread on cooling
racks. Come to think of it, it was probably the yeasty smell of
fresh-baked bread that gave the kitchen it’s cozy character—that
and the yellow and pink cabbage rose curtains that hung from the
windows and the back door.

Dixie poured two glasses of tea and
sat down across from him. Leaning forward, she rested her chin on
her hand and waited. Her wide-eyed expression was open and curious
as she met his gaze.

He gestured to plastic tubs of baked
goods. “So is this what you’re doing with your evening?”

Her lips curved into a tranquil smile.
She took a drink of tea. “It is. I offer desserts two days a week,
Tuesdays and Fridays. So Wednesdays and Sundays are my baking
days.”

He followed her lead and sipped tea,
eyebrows raising in approval. “You know what they say about all
work and no play.”

She uttered a little snort. “I happen
to enjoy my work, Mr. Halladay. I love experimenting with different
ingredients to make healthy meals for my customers. In fact . . .”
She got up and went to the cabinet, taking down a plate. “You can
be my guinea pig and tell me what you think of this.” She sliced a
piece of pie, put it on a plate, and took it to him, along with a
napkin and fork. “I’m gonna go change while you eat.” She hurried
from the room and returned moments later clad in denim cutoffs and
a peasant shirt.

The tiny slice of dessert was slightly
lumpy and not at all appetizing to look at, but he didn’t want to
look like a wimp so he forked a bite into his mouth. And his taste
buds exploded.

“
Oh, man. What is this?” He
chewed, swallowed, and forked up another bite. “It tastes a little
like sweet potato with a hint of pumpkin.”

She clapped her hands in delight.
“It’s Japanese squash. I used soy butter and soy milk. There’s even
tofu in there. So it’s really good? You like it?”

“
I do. There’s a . . .
texture issue going on, but other than that it’s great.”

She cut a slice for herself, took a
bite and chewed thoughtfully. Quin’s unruly cock immediately took
notice again.

“
You’re right, there is a
texture issue. I think I can play with the tofu a little bit and
thickening the filling will help.”

Quin took another drink of tea and
leaned back in his seat. “So, as long as I’m your guinea pig, what
else are you baking tonight?”

When Dixie laughed, Quin felt
something inside him thaw a little. Not so much he was ready to
change his opinion of her. He still thought she was beneath him.
Too uneducated and blue-collar for a man of his tastes and Stanford
education. But he was going to be stuck here for months. No reason
he couldn’t have a little fun with the pretty Texas
widow.

“
Sugarless applesauce cake,
peach upside-down cake, and trail mix cookies. But I warn you, if
you’re gonna reap the benefits, you have to wear the apron.” Having
said that, she opened a drawer and pulled out an orange and white
checked apron emblazoned with the words
If
there’s no chocolate in heaven, I’m not going.

Quin spent little time in his own
kitchen, could barely boil water, but he found himself drawn to the
science of baking. There was exactness to the process to which he
could relate. Like his own work, measurements had to be exact or
the final project was flawed.