Texas Rose Forever (Texas Rose Ranch #1) (10 page)

CHAPTER 10

Early the next morning, CanDee flopped onto her back. A mattress spring poked her in the lower back, so she turned onto her side, which felt even worse. No matter how she positioned herself on her bed, she couldn’t get comfortable and her feet hung off the end. She glanced at the clock—six-fifteen. Another night of little to no sleep in the lumpiest bed ever. She rolled onto her stomach and closed her eyes, willing her body to relax and fall asleep. A minute later, she gave up and got out of bed. She yawned and stretched.

A thought struck. Not a mile away, there was a soft, cozy, empty bed that was more than long enough to fit her body. And, probably some leftovers to fill her belly. In her book, that was a win-win situation. Cinco had said that she could stop by anytime . . . well, now, for instance, seemed like a great time. She could work at Cinco’s house, putting the documents they’d found last night in chronological order. And then there was that shower.

She glanced down at the wrinkled tee she used as a sleep shirt. A long, hot, seventeen-showerhead shower—the thought made her weak in the knees.

She pulled on a pair of yoga pants, a bra, and a clean T-shirt, threw a dress and her toiletries in a large canvas bag along with her notes on the Rose family and her laptop, slid her feet into some gold flip-flops, and headed to the door. She had put her hand on the knob to open it when she remembered her shampoo and conditioner. Men weren’t known for their great selection of hair products, so she ran back into the bathroom and grabbed those and stuffed them in her bag.

She flip-flopped her way across the yard and to the barn motor pool in search of a golf cart. Last night, hoping for a little high school car-date groping, she’d walked all that way to Cinco’s house so he’d have to drive her home, but all she’d gotten was a chaste peck on the mouth. It was like he was going out of his way not to fool around with her. He was attracted to her—last night’s kissus-interuptus had proven that.

Maybe his equipment didn’t work. She stopped in her tracks and shuddered. Holy crap, that would suck. How did she bring that up? She searched her brain and absolutely nothing came to mind. For now, she was ruling out that possibility until she had further evidence.

She pulled the barn door open. A short man with an eye patch over his right eye looked up from under the hood of a truck he was working on. He reminded her Popeye—all muscular forearms and a squinty face.

“Don’t just stand out there, girl, come on in and close the door. You’re letting out all the air conditioning.” His deep gravelly voice fit him perfectly. “Were you raised in a barn?”

He laughed at his own joke.

“Are you Lefty?” She tried not to look at the eye patch, but it was hard. Clearly he’d gotten his name from the missing or injured right eye. She stepped into the barn and closed the door. She shivered. It was freezing in here. He really liked his air conditioning.

“Who’s asking?” His one eye sized her up.

“I’m CanDee McCain.” She held out her hand as she walked to him. “I’m here writing the family genealogy.”

His eye narrowed as he watched her hand like it was an unwelcome houseguest who’d stayed too long. “Uh huh. I heard you was coming.”

He turned back to the engine. Okay then, introduction over. She dropped her hand.

“I’d like to borrow one of the golf carts.” She pointed to the closest one.

“Nope.” He didn’t even turn his head, he just kept working on the engine.

What did he mean,
nope
?

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I can’t borrow a golf cart? I was told that I could.” She wasn’t sure what to do.

“Have to take the test first. There’s a written portion of a hundred questions, the oral portion, the driving portion, and finally a vision test. You’ll need to make an appointment.” One hand shot out from under the hood and pointed to a clipboard hanging on a nail by the office door. She remembered the clipboard from the other day.

Okay, she could take a test. She walked over to the clipboard and picked up the pencil tied to the metal ring. She leaned in closer to get a better look at the calendar. “This says that the next appointment for a driving test is two years away. I can’t wait that long.”

“Then you’ll have to walk. I’m a very busy man.” He slapped one tool down hard on the side of the truck and picked up another. “Rules is rules.”

“But—” She jumped when a telephone rang in the office. It was startling because it sounded like the kind that hung on the wall. It had been ages since she’d seen anything but a cell phone.

“Excuse me for a minute.” Lefty straightened to his full height of five feet two and strutted to his office. Napoleon couldn’t have had this much self-importance. He closed the door so he could take his call in private.

She glanced down at the closest golf cart. The keys were in it. Without thinking about it, she rolled the barn door open, jumped in the golf cart, turned the key, and backed out. She knew it was wrong, but she didn’t have two years to wait for a driving test. Lefty would have to get over it.

She stomped on the gas petal, taking the golf cart to its top speed in case he was chasing her. She wouldn’t put it past him. Lefty suffered from a textbook Napoleon complex and she was just the person to be his Waterloo. After all, one man’s barn was this man’s castle. Now she sounded like Grammie.

She glanced over her shoulder but didn’t see anyone. This was Texas—he might have a gun. She hunched down in her seat, not sure how it was helpful, but that’s what people did in the movies. She took the turn to Cinco’s house and kept looking over her shoulder. Stealing the golf cart was kind of exciting. When she finally got to Cinco’s driveway, she decided to park the golf cart in his barn. It was best to hide the evidence.

Now for the breaking-and-entering portion of her morning. She was on a regular crime spree.

She took the front steps two at a time and walked to the door. She tried the knob and it was unlocked, which was kind of a letdown. Surely breaking and entering should have been more exciting.

“Hello,” she called in case Cinco was there. It really didn’t matter if he was, she just wanted to know.

There was no answer.

She walked in and closed the front door. She parked her canvas bag in
the parlor. With its huge window seat in the bay window letting in natural
light, it would be a great place to work. Next stop, the kitchen. She opened
the Frigidaire, found the leftover pot roast, pulled it out, and set it on the counter. She went back to the fridge, found a head of bib lettuce, some
mayo, and an open carton of orange juice. With the remaining four slices of
white bread she found in a bag on the counter, she made two sandwiches—
one for her and one for Cinco. She wrapped his in the bread bag and put
it
in the fridge and put hers on a plate. She poured herself a large glass of
orange juice and returned the carton to the fridge. She took her sandwich and her OJ to the kitchen table and pulled out several of Edith’s journals.

After she’d eaten the sandwich and drank her OJ, she went journal by journal and put them in chronological order. She took her dishes and glass to the sink, washed them, and put them in the rack to dry.

She climbed the stairs and meant to go to the attic and pull the boxes with photos and documents down so she could sort them, but she was drawn to the over-sized brass bed. She yawned deeply as she stared down at it. Just a small nap . . . an hour at most.

She stepped out of her shoes and yoga pants, and curled up on his delicious bed.

Four hours later, Cinco hosed the cow dung off of his boots with the garden hose by his front door before shucking out of them, leaving them on the porch to dry, and opening his front door. He had just enough time for lunch and then he had a mountain of paperwork to wade through before he’d planned on stopping by the cottage to see if CanDee wanted to have dinner with him. Truth was, he’d stopped by there on the way here and she’d been nowhere to be found. Maybe she’d run to town to make her getaway after she’d stolen the golf cart.

He laughed to himself. He’d had to talk Lefty out of calling the Texas Rangers, the Sheriff’s Department, and the Highway Patrol. It took spunk to cross Lefty. As it stood, CanDee was banned for life from using any mechanical vehicle owned by Texas Rose Ranch.

He walked past the parlor and noticed a pink canvas bag that he didn’t remember owning. He walked into the kitchen and found a plate and cup that he hadn’t used drying in the rack. He was starting to feel like he was in a scene from
Goldilocks and the Three Bears
.

His kitchen table held stacks of Edith’s journals. CanDee was here somewhere.

“Hello,” he called as he walked through the house. When she didn’t answer, his heart kicked up a notch. What if she tried to lift some boxes in the attic and hurt herself? He took the stairs three at a time. The light wasn’t on in the attic. On his way to the attic, he glanced past the open door to his bedroom and stopped. She was asleep on his bed, her head on his pillow, her body facing him.

At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to lie beside her and pull her into him. He missed that—spooning. He missed it a lot. There was something primal and comforting about snuggling up to a woman . . . to CanDee. Not only did he want to keep her safe, but he wanted that feeling for himself.

“Are you going to stare at me all day?” She yawned. “Or are you going to join me?”

It was tempting.

All he had to do was take off his clothes, slide in, and peel off her shirt and whatever else she had on, and they’d be skin to skin.

“I can’t now, I’m on the clock.” He bit his upper lip and told himself he had a million things to do, but he couldn’t think of a single one. He turned to go.

“Suit yourself.” She yawned again. “I made you a sandwich, it’s in the refrigerator.”

He stopped and turned back around. She’d made him a sandwich. She’d thought of him. She’d made it and put it in the fridge for him for later. A sandwich was something so small and seemingly insignificant, but it was thoughtful. Kindness shouldn’t have caught him off guard, but it did. In the four years that he’d been married to Naomi, he couldn’t remember her making him anything. In truth, all she’d done was spend his money and sleep with his friends. Kindness wasn’t in her nature.

CanDee had made him a sandwich, which meant more to him than she could have known.

He unbuckled his belt, flipped the button open on his jeans, and unzipped them. They fell to the floor in a heap at his feet. The paperwork could wait. He could take an hour or so, he was the boss. He shrugged out of his T-shirt and tossed it on the floor.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a boxer-brief kind of guy, but they suit you.” Her voice was low and sleep-mussed. “You have an amazing body.”

Did he? He glanced down. He’d always thought of himself as kind of skinny. But CanDee thought it was nice. Her opinion was all that mattered.

He walked around the bed, slipped in behind her, and snuggled up to her back. “We’re just napping.”

“Okeydokey.” She wriggled in closer to him and pulled his arm around her. Apparently her shirt had ridden up, so his hand rested on a warm expanse of her stomach.

She yawned and stretched, her warm backside rubbing the front of his boxers.

“Sleeping only . . . remember?” He eased his hips back from her, putting a few inches between their lower bodies.

“Right.” Her backside wiggled over until it found him. The hard-on he’d had since pretty much the first time he saw her pounded painfully against his shorts. This was a bad idea.

He pulled away, but she held his hand on her stomach in place. He hesitated. “On second thought, I don’t have time—”

She rolled over and covered his mouth with hers. Her tongue roamed the inside of his mouth as she leaned into him.

He should set her on the other side of the bed and leave her, but her body felt so good against his and it had been a long time since Naomi. He wanted this . . . he needed this.

He rolled her on her back and his knee slid between her legs. His hands snaked under her shirt, one hand at her lower back pressing her hips to his, and the other finding her breast. With his index finger and thumb, he rolled her nipple and then cupped her breast.