Texas Thunder (13 page)

She wasn't. He'd gone through dozens of women that could put Callie Tucker to shame. Women with boobs out to here and legs up to there. Buckle bunnies who practically ripped their short-shorts off and begged him to do them.

Yep, he'd seen better-looking women. He'd had better-looking women. And it was just the exhaustion making him think such idiotic thoughts.

He steeled himself and stared down at her, his Costa sunglasses shielding his eyes from the sun and hiding the lustful gleam he knew would give him away. “So what you're saying is that you want my family's half of the Texas Thunder recipe?”

“Technically, it's not me that wants it. It's Foggy Bottom Distillers, and they're willing to pay ten thousand dollars for it. And a royalty once the recipe goes on the shelf for sale.” She went on to tell him how James had been working on re-creating the missing half when he'd blown himself to smithereens. How he'd used all of their tax money to buy supplies and now she had exactly twenty-eight days to come up with the money.

What a sonofabitch.

Brett couldn't imagine his own pappy ever doing something so low. Then again, that's exactly what the old man had done, albeit unwillingly. He'd screwed the ranch over by getting sick.

That was the difference between the two men. The two families.

Blood was everything to the Sawyers. No Sawyer would ever intentionally screw over another.

But the Tuckers?

It was every man for himself.

Brett barely resisted the urge to pull Callie into his arms and tell her he would help. That he wanted to help. Because he'd thought about her too often, and regretted their terrible encounter more than anything else in his life. But he wasn't going there with her. Even more, he couldn't help her when he could barely help himself.

He had cows missing and bills piling up and, hell, he was screwed. Completely and totally
screwed
.

No, he couldn't fix her problems any more than he could fix his own. Not without money. And plenty of it.

“Ten thousand dollars?” He eyed her. “Seriously?”

She nodded and pulled the yellowed piece of paper from her pocket. “This is our list of ingredients. There are a few extra on here that James figured were in the original, but there's no real way to know without the other half of this paper.” Her green gaze found his again. “Your great-great-grandfather's half.”

The tiny slip of yellow paper that he'd seen stuffed between the pages of his great-grandmother's Bible when he'd been a child. She'd recorded every major event in that book, from births to deaths, marriages to divorces. She'd even scribbled a few lines about the time her favorite grandson—Brett's dad—had killed his first deer. She'd been long gone by the time Brett had come along, but he'd seen her careful handwriting in the old book, along with the clippings from various newspapers, and the yellowed half of the infamous recipe.

The last time Brett had seen the Bible, it had been stored away in the safe behind his grandfather's prized picture of a black-and-white drawing depicting the vintage 1920 Oldsmobile that had once belonged to Elijah Sawyer himself. The very car that he'd used to haul shine in during Prohibition.

“You can call the guy yourself if you want to check it out.” She handed him a business card.

“They're really willing to pay ten thousand dollars for a recipe?” he asked, eyeing the company's information.

She nodded. “That means five thousand for your half and five thousand for mine.” She stared up at him, her eyes reflecting rays of sunshine and gleaming an even brighter shade of iridescent green. “So what do you say? Are you willing to sell your half? I really need this money,” she added.

So did he. He was ten cows shy. Short of going into the safe—which is why he'd headed into town in the first place—he had no backup plan to make up the money. He'd come into Rebel to see his grandfather's lawyer, get a copy of the combination, and see about selling his grandmother's bracelet or something equally valuable.

A tough decision that had kept him tossing and turning all night. Among other things, he reminded himself as he stared down at Callie.

She looked so hopeful that he couldn't help himself. He nodded. “I'll see if I can find it.”

But first he had to see the lawyer and get the combination to the safe. And then he had to hightail it back to the ranch to meet with the cattle buyer. Short or not, he still had a mess of steers to sell.

“I've got a cattle buy and a few things to do right now, but we could meet out at the ranch later this afternoon,” he told her. “Give me your cell and I'll text when I'm done. Then we'll take a look and see what we can find.”

“Really?” Something stronger than hope joined the gleam in her eyes. There was no mistaking the surprise. The delight. The pure gratitude.

His own chest hollowed out and a strange warmth whispered through him. “It's been a long time since I've seen it and I'm not making any promises, but it's definitely worth a look.”

Especially when it made her face light up as if she'd just won the lottery.

He just hoped like hell he didn't disappoint them both. He'd done more than enough of that where Callie Tucker was concerned.

*   *   *

“It's not here.” Brett stared at the empty interior of the safe located behind the framed black-and-white of Gertie, the infamous 1920 Oldsmobile. He eyed the black interior and disbelief washed through him. “Nothing is here.” The safe had been cleaned out. No jewelry. No birth certificates. No family Bible. No mementos from his childhood like his bronzed baby boots and the tiny white child's Bible Karen had held in her hand on her confirmation day.

No recipe.

“Are you sure it was in there?” came Callie's familiar voice from behind him. He'd seen it himself the last time he'd been home, five years ago. He'd stored his first buckle inside the safe, with all of the other family valuables. He'd set the buckle right on top of the Bible.

The buckle was gone, too, just like everything else.

Wiped out.

Stolen?

Hell's bells, there really was a thief at the ranch.

He shook his head. “Sonofabitch.”

“Maybe someone moved it.” Callie's soft words slid into his ears and he turned to see her standing nearby. She wore a sundress and a pair of flip-flops. Much more casual than her buttoned-up look from earlier that day, and even more dangerous to his peace of mind.

The soft cotton molded to her curves. Her long blond hair was still pulled back in a ponytail, but the edges had come loose and framed her face. Her forehead wrinkled in worry, mirroring the emotion that rushed through him as he turned back to the empty safe.

“Maybe.” The thing was, no one had the combination. Pappy had long since forgotten it. The only other person with access was the family lawyer, and he was off the suspect list. Merle had plenty of his own wealth, including a brand new fishing boat he'd christened
The Reel Deal.
Merle didn't need a few pieces of jewelry and an old Bible.

“What about another storage location?”

“The only other place is the attic. There are tons of boxes up there, but nothing of value.” At least, there'd never been valuables up there before. But things had changed so much over the past few years that anything was possible.

“It couldn't hurt to look.” She looked so disappointed that he had the sudden urge to reach out, pull her close, and tell her everything would be okay.

But everything wouldn't be okay.

Not for either of them.

Brett was short several thousand dollars, he had bills pressing down, and the safe was empty.

Even worse, Callie Tucker was standing there in her white-and-red polka-dotted sundress, the setting sun streaming through the floor length windows behind her, highlighting her long legs through the sheer material. He'd always been a sucker for great legs.

No, everything was far from okay.

Heat firebombed his gut and rushed like a heat-seeking missile straight to his cock. His balls clenched. His muscles all but shook as he fought off the urge to forget everything and reach for her.

She shrugged. “I should have known.” She shook her head. “It would have been too easy to just waltz in here and find the recipe, and God knows nothing is ever that easy. At least not for me. Not that you need to hear any of this.” She caught her bottom lip and his breathing paused. “I should really get going.”

But the thing was, he didn't want her to go. And while he knew there were a dozen reasons why he should let her walk away right now—hell, why he should join in and push her out the door himself—suddenly he couldn't think of a single one.

The only thing that came to mind was how he should have kissed her last night when he'd had the chance. And how he'd be a bona fide idiot to let the opportunity pass him by a second time.

His legs ate up the distance between them and suddenly, he was right there in front of her, so close he could feel the heat coming off her luscious body. And then he did what he'd been dreaming of for far too many nights over the past ten years. He hauled her up against his chest and dipped his head.

One kiss, he promised himself. Just one kiss to see if she tasted as good now as she had back then, and then he was done. End of story. Bye-bye!

*   *   *

He was going to kiss her.

The truth should have sent a bolt of nervousness through Callie. Instead, anticipation sizzled along her nerve endings. Excitement blossomed in her chest as he lowered his face to hers. His breath brushed her lips a split second before firm, hungry lips slanted so perfectly across her own.

His tongue probed and stroked and tangled with hers. Strong, purposeful fingers came up to cradle her cheeks and tilt her face so that he could deepen the connection.

He smelled of leather and horses and a touch of wildness that teased her nostrils and stirred a rush of memories. But the past didn't pull her back. For all his expertise back then, the way he kissed her now was different.

He'd been a boy back then. Desperate. Impatient.

He was all man now, and he kissed her like he meant it. Like he wasn't a Sawyer and she wasn't a Tucker.

Like he was just a man and she was just a woman, and the weight of the world wasn't pressing down on them.

The thought struck and realization zapped her like a lightning bolt sizzling through the blinding fog.

Because nothing could be further from the truth.

He wasn't just a man, and she wasn't just a woman. And she wasn't setting herself up for another heartbreak where he was concerned. She'd trusted him way back when, so sure that he really and truly wanted her, and she'd been wrong. He'd rejected her when she'd been about to give him her virginity, and while that wasn't at stake now, it was the principle that mattered.

She refused to be disappointed yet again.

She tore her lips from his and stumbled backward, putting some blessed distance between them.

“I really should get going. I've got a ton of things to do tonight and an early morning tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday.”

“Yeah, well, no rest for the weary. I've got a full day. There's the church picnic and then I promised I'd help Les with a few walk-throughs in town. And then he wants me to get a few pictures of your place.” She wasn't sure why she told him. She'd taken brochure shots for Les before and never once worried about breaking the rules.

But this was different. This wasn't standing on a public sidewalk, snapping a few harmless pics while she walked by. This was trespassing.

“He said Bootleg Bayou is close to foreclosure and he wants to get the scoop on Tanner Sawyer. He figured if we had some shots of the land, he could get a head start on putting together a brochure.”

“No one's foreclosing on my family's ranch. Not while I have something to say about it.”

“I'm sorry,” she blurted as a dark look passed over his face. “I didn't mean to pick a wound. I just thought you should know.” She glanced behind her. “I'll just let myself out.”

“You could still snap a few pictures,” he said, stalling her in the doorway. “I'm not letting this place fall into foreclosure, but I might consider selling off a few acres up on the east side.”

“Really?”

It was his turn to nod. “We need to increase our cash flow and selling a few acres makes the most sense.” His gaze caught and held hers. “Put together a brochure. If I like it, you can have the listing.”

“It wouldn't be mine personally. I don't have a Realtor's—”

“—license,” he finished for her. “You already told me that. Just get everything together and we'll go from there.”

A smile played at her lips as she envisioned the possible bonus Les might give her when he heard the news. One she desperately needed since the recipe was still MIA and her chances of finding it now looked slim to none. “You won't regret this. Les is really good at what he does.”

“It's not Les I'm thinking about. You're really good, Callie.” His gaze darkened and heat whispered across her nipples. “In fact, you're pretty amazing.”

If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn his words dripped with innuendo.

If only.

But he'd abandoned her all those years ago, and just when things had been really heating up. She couldn't have been that good, otherwise he never would have turned his back and kicked her out of his pappy's Caddy.

She stiffened at the sudden memory and squared her shoulders. “I can hold my own.” She gathered up her purse. “I'll head out tomorrow morning and get a few shots.”

“I'm sorry about the safe.”

“Me, too.” And then she turned and walked away before she gave in to the need churning deep inside and kissed him once more.