Going Cowboy Crazy (5 page)

“What do you call those?” Faith pointed to one of the nodding oil pumps.

“A pumpjack.” He turned off the engine, and Buster let out a howling bark and flew past her window.

She started to voice her alarm, but then thought better of it. If the cute dog got eaten by some wild animal, who was she to complain? Besides, his owner didn’t seem to be too concerned.

Slate unfastened his seat belt and slouched back in the corner of the truck, stretching his legs out toward her. “So who are you?”

Unable to stop herself, Faith watched as Buster bounded through the dry, thick grass, scaring up flocks of birds, before disappearing into a jagged crevice lined with bushy vegetation. She pointed a finger at the windshield.

Slate groaned. “He’s fine, but you’re not gonna be if you don’t start talking.”

She pulled her gaze away from the spot where the dog
had disappeared, but it was hard to talk when facing such raw sexuality, so instead she stared down at the round scuffed toes of Slate’s brown boots.

“Faith. Faith Aldridge.”

“So, Faith Aldridge, what brings you to Bramble?”

“The weather.” The smart-ass reply surprised her. She had never been a smart-ass. It had to be the tequila. Yes, that explained it. The tequila had to be responsible for all her inappropriate thoughts and behavior thus far.

“You like wind, drought, hailstorms, and tornados, do ya?” He took off his hat and flipped it up on the dashboard. “Let’s try this again. What brings you to Bramble?”

She would’ve loved to wipe the smirk off his face with some whopping good lie, but she couldn’t think of one. Not even a wimpy one. Besides, she had only herself to blame for being in this predicament. If she hadn’t posed as Hope, she wouldn’t be stuck in a king-sized truck with a king-sized cocky cowboy.

“My sister.” Just saying the words caused her stomach to flutter.

Slate’s eyes widened. “Hope?”

She nodded.

Pulling his feet off the edge of the seat, he sat up. “Twins?”

“Yes.”

A slow whistle escaped through his teeth. “But how? I mean, it doesn’t make any sense. I’ve known Hope and her family for years, and I never heard anything about some long-lost twin sister.”

All the bitterness she’d felt over the last few months came back in full force. It didn’t make any sense to her, either. How could a mother keep that a secret? And why
would she want to? A person had a right to know if they had a sister. Especially a twin sister.

“Obviously,” Faith said, dryly, “her adoptive mother failed to mention it. Mine didn’t say anything until she knew she was dying.”

His hazel eyes grew even more surprised. “Hope’s adopted?”

It was her turn to be shocked. “She doesn’t know?”

He turned away, then quickly turned back again. “And you know this for a fact? Maybe your mother was mistaken.”

“Mistaken?”

His gaze ran from the top of her head to the tip of her red shoes. “No. I guess not.” Releasing a long rush of breath, he ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Hope’s adopted—damn, this can’t be good. I’d like to think she knows and has kept it a secret all these years, but Hope isn’t the type to keep secrets—nor is she the type who likes surprises.”

“She has the right to know,” Faith stated, although she couldn’t help the quaver in her voice. She had been nervous enough about showing up on her sister’s doorstep unannounced; the news her sister wasn’t aware she was adopted tripled her apprehension.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Slate said. “Though I’d hate to be the one to tell her.”

Faith swallowed hard at the thought of breaking the news to a woman who brandished a gun—onstage or off. Still, she had come too far to back out now. “So do you have her address and phone number?”

“I’d love to help you out with that, darlin’, but I don’t have either one.”

“But I thought you and Hope were good friends.”

“We are.” He shrugged. “We’ve both just been a little busy the last year.”

She leaned forward, stretching out her seat belt. “A year? You haven’t talked to her in a year?”

He held up a hand. “Now calm down. I haven’t talked to her much, but her mama talks to her every week, and from what I hear, Hope is doing just fine.”

Relieved, she relaxed back against the seat. “Oh. Well, do you think her mother would give me her information?”

Slate hooked his arms over the steering wheel and stared out the windshield. “Hell, I don’t know. The Jenna Scroggs I know wouldn’t mind at all, but then again, the Jenna I know wouldn’t keep a secret from her daughter. But it doesn’t matter, seeing as how she and Burl are in Lubbock visiting Jenna Junior and won’t be back until Monday.” He glanced over at her. “Unless you want to wait.”

“No.” Faith shook her head. “I need to find her.”

Finding Hope had become a relentless need—something that pulled her through her mother’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, the nine months of suffering, the funeral, and the quiet loneliness that filled her life afterward. Besides her aging aunt, Hope was the only family Faith had left. And she wasn’t willing to live without her sister for longer than it took to reach California. Even if Hope didn’t like surprises.

“So I guess that explains why you’re here,” Slate broke into her thoughts. “Although it doesn’t explain why you were impersonating Hope.”

Embarrassed by the stupid charade, Faith turned away and looked out the side window. “I thought I would get more information that way.”

He snorted. “Hell, darlin’, all you had to do is ask—there are no secrets in Bramble… at least, I didn’t think there were.” He sat back against the seat. “So without her address or phone number, how do you plan on finding her?”

It was a good question. Finding her sister in a small town in Texas was nothing compared to finding her in a huge city with millions of people.

Suddenly feeling exhausted and defeated, she slumped back in the seat. “I don’t know.”

He nodded as if he somehow understood her irrational behavior, then stared at the sunset for a few moments before he spoke. “I guess if you give me your number, I can call you with the information when Jenna and Burl get back.”

She glanced over. “You would do that?”

“I don’t see why not. Any sister of Hope is a sister of mine.” He flashed that sexy smile.

Slightly dazed, she took a while to locate her gel pen and notepad in her purse. After writing down her name and number, she carefully tore off the piece of paper and handed it to him. He studied it briefly before he folded it and stuffed it in the front pocket of his shirt.

“Well….” he said. The word just hung there until Faith realized he was waiting for her to finish it.

“Oh! Yes—well, I guess you better take me back to my car.” She paused. “You are planning on taking me back to my car, aren’t you?”

He rolled his eyes. “No. I plan on keeping you out here at Sutter Springs all night long.”

“Sutter Springs?” She looked around. “Where are the springs?”

Slate laughed. It was almost as sexy as his smile.

“Mostly dried up by the overpumping of groundwater for irrigation, but if you walk down to that arroyo”—he pointed to the spot where Buster had disappeared—“you’ll find enough water to get your feet wet. Although people don’t come out here for the water.”

Faith leaned closer to the windshield. “Can your dog swim?”

“He’s a hunting dog, for God’s sake. Of course he can swim.”

She turned back to him. “So what do people come out here for?” Slate shot her a suggestive look, and her face heated. “Oh.”

He chuckled. “You sure get flustered easy. I don’t think I ever remember Hope blushing.”

Faith wasn’t surprised. It seemed she and her sister had nothing in common. Still, she refused to stop searching for similar traits.

“So tell me about her.”

His eyes squinted. “Hope?” When she nodded, he shrugged. “She’s Hope. Sassy and controlling. Smart and funny. Determined and stubborn.” He smiled and stared off as if conjuring up her image. “I’ve never seen a woman who loves to set goals as much as she does—she was the busiest little bee you’ve ever seen in high school.”

“Did she go to college?”

“She was saving up to, but then Hollywood distracted her.”

The sun slipped farther beneath the horizon, replacing the vibrant colors with soothing pastels. The hours spent on the road finally caught up with her, and she leaned back and rested her head against the window.

“So I guess she’s a talented actress.” There was a long pause, and she glanced over.

Slate slouched back against the door, his eyes crinkled in thought. “Talented? I don’t know if I’d go that far. Entertaining is probably a better word.”

“So she’s not any good—” A mournful howl brought her head up. “Is that a coyote?”

“Nope, just Buster. He must’ve found something.”

Faith rested her head back and tried not to think about the somethings that were wandering around in the growing dark waiting to jump through the open window.

“You really do look like her, you know.”

She turned. Slate stared back at her from across the worn leather, the last sparkle of sunlight highlighting his wheat-colored hair, dusting his long lashes, and reflecting off the gold flecks in his eyes.

“I do?” she asked.

“Identical.” A corner of his mouth tipped up. “Except for the hair and those.” He reached over and tapped her lips with his index finger.

“My lips?”

“No, your straight teeth. Hope has a crooked one.”

The thought of a crooked-toothed sister made her smile. “I had braces.”

“And a scissor-happy barber.” Again his hand reached out, but this time it seemed in no hurry to leave. His warm fingers brushed over her forehead and slid through the strands of her hair. “But I guess it’s not so bad.”

“You mean it’s kinda cute in a short ugly kinda way.” She made a lame attempt at Kenny’s country twang.

The grin got wider, revealing a set of perfect teeth. “Something like that.”

The smile faded as his hand stopped stroking and rested against the side of her neck. Through the open window came the chirps and creaks of insects as the purple of dusk settled in around them. There were at least a million questions she wanted to ask about Hope and her life here in Bramble. But with the warmth of his hand pinning her to the seat, she couldn’t verbalize one. All she could do was look back at him and try to memorize each feature so she would be able to recall it on her long drive to find her sister.

The unique color of his eyes that defied description. The nose that wasn’t too long or too wide. The hard angle of his smooth-shaven jaw. And the curves of his perfectly shaped lips. Lips that were soft. And warm. And gentle. The gentle part was what intrigued her. The two kisses he’d given her didn’t go with his cocky strut or flagrant flags and bumper stickers.

At the thought of those kisses, a chill tiptoed down her spine, and she shivered.

“You cold?” Before she could answer, his thumb brushed over her bottom lip. “Because I was thinking…” Suddenly his lips were only inches away, his breath hot and tinged with lime and tequila. “That if you
were
cold, I might be able to warm you up.”

The old Faith would’ve pulled away from those hot fingers and asked to be taken back to her car, but the old Faith didn’t have a twin sister or a pair of red high heels or a tube of Passion Fruit lip gloss. And she would never shoot tequila or suck lime juice from a man’s mouth. Or have the strong desire to find out if the bumper sticker on the back of the truck was something more than false bragging.

But the new Faith still couldn’t bring herself to voice
her desires. Thankfully, Slate was aggressive enough to take matters into his own hands.

His thumb tipped her chin up as he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. They rested there, soft as silk and slightly parted, before he took a sip. “Mmmm, you still taste like Cuervo,” he breathed, before he deepened the kiss.

His tongue slipped inside her mouth, all wet and lush and wonderful. It swept along the edge of her teeth, then settled into a lazy dance that curled her toes inside her red high heels. He took his time, his skilled lips sweet, the hand cradling her chin gentle. Then just when she had turned into a limp puddle of need, he pulled back. And her eyelids fluttered open to a pair of eyes that glittered in the growing darkness.

“Faith.” He said her name in a way that made her stomach feel all light and airy, as if he was trying out the word to see how it rolled from his sweet Texan tongue.

It rolled nice.

But no nicer than what followed.

With a groan, he lowered his head again. But this time, there was nothing gentle or sweet about the kiss. It was deep, and demanding. And the hand on her neck no longer rested but moved up and manipulated her head to match the angle of his. He delivered one hot kiss after the other, until she grew light-headed and dizzy. Then his fingers slipped from her hair and caressed their way down to her breast. His hand encased her, molding and shaping the aching flesh until she whimpered deep in her throat and tightened the grip she had on the front of his shirt.