One Night with a Cowboy (Paint River Ranch) (Entangled Indulgence) (12 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Tucker stepped into the office with a stack of receipts for Paint River’s receptionist. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d been in the office. The very idea of paperwork and ringing phones inside the small space made him want to twist a nut before spending any time there. With everyone gone today, he had no choice.

Taking off his hat, he stood by the deserted desk. A couple different girls shared the full-time position, but he couldn’t recall their names. He was unfamiliar with the inside staff, a sudden thought that gave him pause. In the time he’d been shouldering most of the operational responsibility, he probably should know more of the interior staff by name. A soft, desperate voice came from behind the divider wall that separated the front office from the back. The desk phone rang, flashing with a red light on the switchboard.

Tucker frowned, leaning slowly to the right to try and peek behind the divider wall for the sound of the voice. A girl with a mop of brown curls twirled out from behind the divider, her eyes growing huge when she saw him. She made a mad lurch for the switchboard phone and dropped her cell phone at the same time.

“Mr…Mr. Haywood!” she squeaked. The phone stopped ringing, a click sounding through the room as voicemail switched on. Tucker couldn’t remember meeting her, though she knew him. Her eyes were damp and red-rimmed, a fact she tried to hide by dipping her head and grabbing a tissue. A little throb started behind his left eye at the sight of her tears. Shit, he didn’t even know her and her emotions were affecting him. The urge to race out the door almost got the best of him, but he pressed his heels into the carpet and gritted his teeth.

“Everything okay?” The words were forced, but he got them out. Tucker put the stack of receipts on the desk and she took them with a trembling hand.

“I’m sorry about the-the phone.” Her voice was thick and she refused to look up. It took him a moment to realize she thought he’d care that she hadn’t answered the switchboard phone. He glanced at her nametag. Stacy Kane. “It happens, Stacy.” He replied, the anxiety welling in his gut at her continued puffy eyes and red-streaked cheeks getting stronger. “Um, is there something I can, you know, help you with? You seem…upset.”

She wiped her nose with a tissue. “It’s just, my babysitter just called and my son has a high fever and keeps falling asleep and, Mrs. Haywood is out and I can’t…can’t find anyone to come in for me and my husband is over-the-road…” The fast pace of her words nearly made his head spin. He put his palms out in the only attempt he knew to calm her down.

“Hey, hey… Go ahead.” He pulled a tissue from the box on the counter and held it to her. She looked up at him with a dubious expression.

“What’s that, Mr. Haywood?”

He almost laughed at the formality. Mr. Haywood was his father, not him. “There’s an evening girl that comes in later, right?”

“Yes, she’ll be here at five. She couldn’t come in now because she has a morning job…”

“Go ahead. I’ve got this.” He couldn’t believe the words as they flew out of his mouth. He’d be alone, in this cubicle with narrow walls and one window. He almost groaned. The tissue she was holding floated down from her hand. “Are—are you sure you know how to do this?” she blurted, her cheeks instantly flaming red.

“I just answer the phone, right?”

“Well, yes but if it’s a reservation, you need to know how to book that. And if a guest needs assistance, you need to call Brent to take care of it. Guest calls come in on this switchboard here, and other calls here.” She pointed to two separate panels. “For Brent, push number 25.”

“Tell you what. I’ll just take messages unless it’s a guest needing something, and the night girl can take care of it later. In the meantime, go get your son.” Relief flooded her features, giving him an odd sense of pride that he’d done something to make her feel better. There, that hadn’t been so hard, he supposed. His head hadn’t exploded and she hadn’t run out of here in tears. She grabbed a bag from beneath the counter and slung it over her shoulder. Then, grabbing a thin stack of pink slips, she held them out. He took the slips with a pluck of his thumb and forefinger and held them at arm’s length as if they were dripping poison.

“These are phone messages for guests. Their name and cabin number are on the back. Brent can deliver them for you.” She moved to come around the counter, paused, and went back to the computer with a little hiccup. “Oh, Ms. Miller in eighteen just called. She’ll be out for a few days and believes she forgot to lock the cabin, so send Brent to lock it up.”

He set the papers on the counter. Something in the way Stacy said
Ms. Miller
concerned him. “Sophie Miller?” Sophie had been gone when he’d went around to her cabin earlier, dousing the need he had to see if the scratch he’d left behind was any better.

Stacy nodded with a frown. “Yeah. Poor thing…I felt sorry for her,” she abruptly stopped talking, the blush returning to her pale cheeks.

Tucker stood a little straighter. “Why’s that?”

Stacy nibbled her lower lip as if weighing the pros and cons of gossiping with the boss. “Well, she just sounded like she’d been crying is all. And she…she reserved the cabin until the end of the month. She said she had to max a credit card to do it. But it went through, so she’s all paid up.”

Stacy put a knuckle to her lips as if she’d said too much, but as far as Tucker was concerned, she hadn’t said enough. Why was it so important for Sophie to stay here that she’d max a credit card to do so? This thing between them wasn’t enough of anything to prompt her into hanging around…he’d told her that he wasn’t good for more than sex. And while he might be pretty confident in his skills in that department, even he wasn’t conceited enough to think a woman would throw all her cash away for a little more time with him.

So, maybe that thought did give him a moment of pure, self-absorbed male pride. Tucker blinked it away, his palm coming down on top of the slips on the counter. He might not be able to give Sophie much, but he could save her some cash. In fact, that same pride insisted on it.

“Take the charge off.”

Stacy paused. “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Haywood would have to approve that.”

“I’m approving it.” The cold edge in his voice; the don’t-question-me-or-else firmness that got him his way, had no place here, but it came out without thought on his part. It was natural, how he expected people to jump when he said go, even when he didn’t intend to come across that way. Stacy stiffened and he was immediately regretful.

“Never mind, you go. I’ll discuss it with the night girl. I hope your son gets better soon.”

Stacy gave him a grateful, if cautious, smile and hurried out. The phone started ringing the minute the door closed behind her. Tucker stared at it as if projecting the reluctance he felt inside could magically make it stop. He let voicemail get it while he pondered what the hell was up with Sophie. He wasn’t happy with how they’d parted ways last night. The protective side of him, one that shocked him to the core, wanted to snoop for her cell phone number and call her. The stony part of himself he was most used to didn’t want to get involved. He went with the stony part as he sat in the cushy office chair, propped his boots on the desk, and dug a toothpick from his pocket.

He had no business worrying about Sophie, but he did. It wasn’t just physical. He liked the sound of her laugh and her smile and the way she looked off into space when she didn’t think anyone was looking. She carried herself with a stubborn throw-back of shoulders and ramrod spine, her chin jutting up as if she expected a confrontation at any moment; posture, he supposed, that came from dealing with tense, crazy, and morbid situations in her medic job. Yet, around the toughness was the undeniable softness of pure woman. A woman who loved to be held. One who liked to get her nails done, and had pretty colors in her hair and wore mind-blowing perfume. Sophie Miller was an enigma, both tough and soft and an all-city girl. Nothing he expected, and everything he shouldn’t want.

He got up and paced a little, fiddling with things on the desk, feeling the walls closing in on him. Damn office. He should be on his horse or working alongside Jax, anything but sitting in this cracker box with a fake plant on the counter and barely any sunlight streaming in.

“Tucker?”

He looked up as Maeve walked through the door, bringing a blanket of sunlight in with her. He sighed in relief until a bright glint caught his eye. He glanced at her left hand. A huge diamond ring winked back at him.

“What are you doing in here? Did you lose a bet or something?” His mother’s lighthearted voice cut through the sudden clog in Tucker’s brain.

“I’m…I…” He looked down at the ring on his mother’s hand, then up to her face. She was glowing with an elated, gorgeous smile.

“Is Stacy here? She left a message on my cell saying she had to leave.”

“I’m Stacy,” he stammered. “I mean, I told her to go away.
Home
. I told her to go home.”

Maeve’s smile got bigger. “Wow, my Tucker is getting a soft spot for…”

“What the hell is that on your hand?”

Maeve’s eyes softened as she stared at him. He waited, realized he was holding his breath when his chest started to burn. It didn’t take a psychic to know. This had been coming a long time, they’d all known it, and with an honorable amount of time passed since her husband’s death, there was no reason for Maeve not to move on with her life. A sudden sadness washed over Tucker, one he couldn’t explain.

“Jim proposed.” She tentatively slid her left hand across the counter. The huge, square-cut diamond caught every dim ray of sunlight and threw it all over the room. “He…he wanted to ask all of you boys for your blessing, but I…I didn’t want to wait.”

Tucker’s scalp tingled as he contemplated Maeve’s words. He was pretty sure she was speaking a foreign language. In all the years he’d known Jim, Tucker had clung to his laughter, kindness, and attention. It had been like a holiday when Jim would arrive from Chicago to the ranch for one of his extended, bi-yearly stays. He’d ride with Jim after chores were done, or simply sit next to him quietly at a bonfire, listening to stupid ghost stories, or Jim’s sad attempts at playing Cole’s fiddle.

Jim had been day to Cooper Haywood’s night, and as hard as he tried, Tucker couldn’t remember a day he hadn’t wished Jim had taken Cooper’s place.

Maeve splayed her hands with a sigh. Tucker realized he hadn’t yet responded and didn’t feel able to. “I know this seems sudden. But the truth is I’ve known Jim almost half my life. And I’ve loved him just as long.” The plea for understanding, for acceptance, in her voice caused his inner sadness to grow deeper. Why he was feeling this way made no sense. Of course he was happy for his mother…after the hell she’d put up with over the years with his father, she definitely deserved happiness.

He tried to speak, but crossed his arms instead. In the span of a year and a half, Cole had remarried—having found his soul mate in Rylan—and Maeve had fallen in love again. They were moving on, his family, finding a new way. Taking second chances and coming out ahead.

Almost as if she was reading his thoughts, Maeve put an elbow on the counter and reached her other hand to smooth a chunk of hair from his brow. That simple gesture could reduce him from grown man to little boy, every time. It was her trademark soft touch, her way of trying to smooth his ruffled feathers. “Tucker, I deserve this chance at happiness.”

Yes, she did. Tucker caught her hand before she could fiddle with his hair again, drew her knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss. She deserved the world, and as much as he wanted to congratulate her, he couldn’t get past the bowling ball in his throat. Worse was that he didn’t know exactly why the joy he wanted to feel wouldn’t come to the surface. Instead of disappointing her with whatever word salad might come out of his mouth, Tucker touched her cheek, tipped his hat, and walked out.

Sunshine hit him hot and bright, flooding him with the relief of being out of that small space. But breathing didn’t get any easier. His chest still clenched hard, his gut a pit of unease and unnamable feelings. Hell, breathing be damned. It hurt too much to suck air into the empty cavity where his heart would be if it didn’t feel like it had shrunk a couple of sizes and landed like a rock at his feet.

Chapter Fourteen

Sophie stayed three days in Missoula, dividing her time between sitting with Violet at the rest home, and scouring the want ads for a job. She and Carla had gone over the costs of keeping up with their mother’s medical bills. More than once, Sophie almost broke into a fit of anxious tears, especially when Carla stood firm on wanting to move their mother into the Garden Room as soon as it became available. Sophie couldn’t deny her mother that; she wouldn’t deny her anything. After their financial powwow, it became apparent that she needed money as fast as she could earn it. Luckily, a varied employment history in her college years made her well-versed in the service industry. Finding a medic job in Montana would require applying for a transfer of her Minnesota paramedic license, and would take too much time.

It was summertime and tourists were in full swing. It only took one day of hard looking to find an evening gig waitressing at a bar called Tit for Tap. When she’d seen the ad in a college newspaper Carla picked up, she’d laughed. No self-respecting woman would work at a place with Tit in the name, but Sophie was too broke to be completely self-respecting. Besides, she’d done plenty of time waitressing at sports bars in the city where a well-placed smile and tight uniform shirt resulted in easy tips.

Despite the lurid name, the Tit for Tap was clean, well-organized and, according to the manager who’d interviewed her, was crazy busy Thursday through Sunday. The front seating area was huge, the bar flanked on the right by a generous stage, a billiard room bringing up the rear. Sophie shrugged off the crunch of peanut shells under her sandals and the short belly shirt she’d be required to wear. The place could get rowdy and a little rough thanks to the generous mix of local cowboys, curious tourists, and brave frat boys who co-mingled on any given night. But bouncers in every corner watched over the staff, especially the waitresses. She’d take her chances. The place screamed easy money, and she’d endure a little ass-grabbing to make sure she could provide for her mom.

She returned to Paint River late in the afternoon the day after her interview, having spent as much time as she could at the nursing home. She’d overshot that time a little, leaving her two hours before her first shift at the bar started. Luckily, Tit for Tap was only twenty minutes from the ranch. She’d rented the cabin at the ranch for a bit longer mostly because, though Carla had asked her to stay with her, Sophie was more at ease away from her sister’s place. With any luck, she’d be able to find a place to rent soon. But for now, the cabin was convenient.

But while the cabin might be in a convenient location, it also kept her in the middle of Tucker’s very tempting path. Her mother’s declining health had given Sophie a single-minded focus: make money to keep her mother comfortable until her final days. Tucker Haywood was the kind of man she could fall for, no question. And falling was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Though they’d both tiptoed around the sex-only thing, she couldn’t even risk that anymore. Because the more time she spent with him, the more he touched her, the more clear the path to falling for the cowboy.

She stepped into a scalding shower, letting the heat permeate her deepest emotions through her skin, wishing the water could wash the anxiety away. She scrubbed head to toe with Margarita body wash and slathered coconut shampoo in her hair, letting the girly smells lighten her mood. By the time she dried off and painted her nails a bright shade of blue, Sophie was feeling a little more human.

She’d just slipped into the tiny black uniform shirt and a pair of low rider jeans when a knock sounded on the door. Threading a worn brown belt through the loops on her jeans, Sophie padded bare foot to the door, swinging it wide. She jumped to see Tucker leaning against the outside doorjamb, black hat pulled low, toothpick sticking from one corner of his beautiful mouth. A deep longing pulsed in her belly at the sight of him, the neatly-tucked reservations unfolding in a burst of confetti inside her heart. The top four buttons of his denim shirt were undone, while dusty, worn tan chaps were slung low on his hips. Day-old stubble swept his jaw and she itched to feel it under her fingers.

He swept her from feet to eyes with a slow moving, smolder of a stare. And then his eyes went huge and he took two big steps inside, slamming the door behind him.

“Oh hell no!”

…

Three days, he’d agonized that she hadn’t come back to the cabin. Denial was a sweet mistress, allowing him to discount his disappointment during the day while he was busy. Checking on her cabin now, Tucker had a hard time admitting that he’d nearly shouted for joy to see her car parked in the drive. That joy was short-lived when he saw the black T-shirt clinging to her gorgeous breasts.

There was only one way she would have gotten her hands on that shirt—working at the Tit for Tap. Patrons could buy other shirts with the bar logo, but not ones like these. Oh no. These little black shirts were reserved for waitresses to flaunt.

“Why are you wearing that shirt?” He was growling and he knew it. Good. Maybe she’d realize how pissed he was and take the shirt off.

She crossed her arms. “Hello to you, too. Won’t you come in?”

He ignored her sarcasm, tipping his hat back a little because it suddenly felt too tight. He wanted to demand where she’d been though he knew it was none of his damn business. While he’d been struggling with the fact that he actually
cared
that she’d been gone, she’d been prancing around at the Tit.

Tucker glared at the cropped black top with
Tit for Tap
lettering in silver glitter, wishing he could incinerate it with his eyes. His temple began to throb, the bounding pain reducing his ability to think of anything beyond the fact that Sophie was wearing that damn shirt. With nothing but skin underneath it, her bare, tight belly begged him to rake his fingers over it. As soon as she stepped into the bar, his wouldn’t be the only fingers itching to get all over her.

“You’re working there?” He gestured to the shirt. Hell, she looked good. Tucker didn’t want to be pissed. He wanted to grab her in his arms and show her just how much he’d missed her. He glanced at her cheek where the scratch had been, relived to find it had healed. That flare of relief almost covered the deep angst her outfit caused him. Almost.

Sophie nodded. She hooked her thumbs in her front jeans pockets and gave him a curious look. “Yeah. I start tonight. In fact, I need to get ready, so maybe I can catch you later.” Her voice was hard, but her eyes were conflicted. Tucker saw the shine in them when she’d seen him at the door, the little flip of happiness that had alighted there. She didn’t wait for a response, but turned and went to the bathroom. No way was he leaving before he’d had his say. Tucker followed her and leaned against the doorframe.

She looked at him in surprise, the warning in her voice was clear. “
Tucker
.”

He grinned, but she only scowled harder. Fine, she wanted to be stubborn, so be it. He’d beat her at that game every time. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into working at the Tit.” He crossed his arms. He needed to stop this insane jealousy. Arguing with her about her choice of employment screamed intentions and relationships, things he couldn’t touch. Yet, his heart wouldn’t let it go. Sophie regarded him, cool and unruffled, before opening a drawer and pulling out a little fabric bag. She unzipped it and laid cosmetics out on the counter before dabbing white cream from a tiny glass jar beneath her eyes.

“The
Tap
isn’t that bad. It’ll be fine.” She gave him a sideways glance in the mirror. He frowned. She wasn’t taking this seriously and he sure as heck was. Sophie poured a few drops of liquid from a small bottle with the words “Brazilian Silk” on the label, rubbed it between her hands, and then swiped them though her hair. He frowned. Nothing good could come from anything with the word, “Brazilian” in it. Whatever it was made her shine.

“It’s not the place for a girl like you.” That got her attention. Her stare burned him from the edge of the mirror before she looked away and smoothed a huge brush over her cheeks, leaving a light pink smudge behind. It was one thing that her belly showed in the space where her low-rise jeans started and the T-shirt ended just below her ribs. She had to put makeup on
and
fluff her goddamn hair, too.

“I need the money. “ She said tightly. “You know what girls back home do when they need money?”

“Strip?”

She whipped him a look. “They work in a bar like the
Tap
. Cheap drinks, big tips.”

Tucker talked right over her. “Strippers.”

The cheek brush slammed down on the counter. She was angry, but the hint of desperation in her eyes hit him harder. He thought of her maxed-out credit card, realizing just how little he knew about what kind of difficulties she might be having.

“They
don’t have
strippers at the Tap!”

“Might as well, for all the boob and ass grabbing that goes on. You’ll see. The Tit for Tap is notorious for fondling fun. Ask any local, they’ll tell you which girl to feel up first.” If he’d thought that little tidbit would give her pause, he was wrong. She went on as if she hadn’t heard him.

“The
Tap
.”

“The. Tit.”

“Ugh.” Sophie rolled her eyes at him in the mirror as she stuffed the makeup brushes into the bag and crammed everything into a drawer. Her hair was glossy and smooth and she smelled like coconut with a hint of lime, like an intoxicating cocktail. The guys at the Tit were going to be all over her. Tucker’s gut clenched with a new flood of anger. Sophie might not be his, but the thought of some redneck trying to cop a feel on her while she played nice to get big tips about drove him out of his mind. No way.

“Take off that shirt, Sophie.”

Astonished wasn’t quite the right word to describe the look on her face, right before it turned to pure indignation, and she laughed at him. Laughed. In his face. “Seriously, Tucker? Because I don’t think so.”

“Didn’t they tell you how it works? Tit
for
Tap. A dude wants a beer; he’s got to grab a handful first.”

Sophie crossed her arms over her middle. “
Pfff
, that’s not true.”

Tucker’s face went hot. Oh it was true. He knew it well himself. The thought of Sophie being the object for another man’s beer mongering nearly set him off in a rage. “It’s very true. In fact, I can tell you right now which waitress’s tits are real and which aren’t. Want a list?”

Sophie gasped with a twist on her glossy lips. “You’re an ass.”

He mocked looking around for something to write with. “Don’t worry, Fifi. I’ll add you to the top of the list for ‘very hot and very real.’” He wanted to stop her from doing this; wanted to shake some sense into her before she got in over her head. She was desperate enough for cash to work at the Tit, but why? He wanted to press for information, the sudden urge to just throw money at her stabbing through his brain. Tucker’s shoulders snapped back at the thought. He’d never wanted a woman to have reason to use him for the ranch, his name, his money, and his affection. That he’d even thought about it now put a bad, bad taste in his mouth. This was going too far, but he cared. Damn it, he cared and that almost scared him more than Sophie leaving for the Tit for Tap. And what had caring got him so far?

A pissed-off Sophie who laughed at him and clearly had no intention of listening to reason.

Sophie turned off the vanity light and walked to the door. Tucker’s eyebrows rose when she paused, waited for him to move so she could get past. When he didn’t, she ducked her head and squeezed by.

“It shouldn’t matter if I work at the Tap, Tucker,” she threw at him as she popped out into the hallway. “It shouldn’t matter to you what I do.” No, it shouldn’t. It really, really shouldn’t if he knew what was smart for them both.

He chewed the toothpick with a sense of unfamiliar helplessness. Emotions flickered across her face, ending with a defiant set of lips and narrowed eyes that were sad, yet cool with indifference. Huh, he’d never seen that expression on her before. Sophie cleared the short space between them, one hand trailing softly over the buttons on his shirt. It seemed completely involuntary, this touch and she tried to pull back. But he gripped her elbow and pulled her closer.

“Tucker, listen.” She tried to shrug off his touch, but he wouldn’t relent. This isn’t how he imagined their reunion would go at all. “I can’t do this with you anymore.”

He tugged her arm and pulled her against his chest. A soft sound escaped her as their bodies met and his right hand slid to the curve of her naked back. Her feminine scent swirled around him, tempting Tucker to bury his nose in her glossy hair and lose himself in her softness. His other hand pressed between her shoulder blades to draw her tight against his body. It was an unintentional embrace, but it fit and it felt amazing and he didn’t want to let her go. Sophie exhaled and relaxed against him, her hands gripping his ribs and holding him just as tight.

“Are you sure about that?” he whispered against her hair. The words gave him pause, considering he had no intention of taking things further with her. His palms followed the contours of her spine to her bare midriff to her hips, and back up to her neck, each hand following the other in slow succession. Tucker moved his fingers just enough to drag a little pressure over her body, making her shudder and lean in closer. He groaned and dug his fingers into her hips. Her face tilted up and he grabbed the opportunity to capture her soft, glossy lips with his. Sophie deepened the kiss, pulling him closer with giant fistfuls of his shirt against his back. Triumph burst through him. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Now if he could just find a way of stripping that shirt off her and burning it without breaking the kiss…

Sophie drew back with a jerk. “Tucker, stop!” She wiggled until he loosened his arms and she could break free. Smoothing her hair with a shaky hand, Sophie took three steps back and glared at him with passion-filled eyes. “We can’t do this…
that
…anymore.” He made a move forward and she backed up again. “I mean it, Tucker.”