Texas Thunder (18 page)

To want him regardless.

Otherwise, she would end up hurt. And angry.

And he wouldn't do that to her.

Not again.

“But I thought…” Her words trailed off and he waited. For her to issue the invitation. To make the next move. Instead, she caught her bottom lip and nodded. “I need to be up early, too.”

Brett gathered what little control he had left to keep from reaching for her, to saying to hell with right and wrong and simply feeling for the next few moments. Instead, he nodded. “We can keep looking tomorrow evening. Same time.”

She nodded and then reached for her purse.

Brett followed her down the attic stairs, watching her as she made her way to the front door.

“See ya,” she murmured, and then she walked out onto the front porch, down the steps.

The old truck rumbled in his ears as he slammed the door shut and headed for the kitchen. He was just reaching for a beer when his cell phone rang.

“Long time, no speak, cuz,” came the voice on the other end of the line when Brett said hello.

“Tyler?”

“The one and only.”

“What do you want?”

“My agent managed to get a sit-down with the Wrangler people. Rumor is that you're not going to sign with them, so they're looking to step up their game with yours truly.”

“There is no stepping up with you, McCall. You're sloppy seconds if anything.”

“Whatever helps you sleep better at night.”

“Did you call just to gloat? Because I'm not in the mood.”

“I just thought you should hear it first before the press gets wind of it.”

“More like you're trying to psych me out, but it's not going to work. I've already got the contracts in hand. There's no legal way they can change their mind and sign you instead.” The power rested in Brett's hands. All he had to do was sign and it was a done deal.

“If they're calling you,” Brett went on, “it's strictly because every Lone Ranger needs a Tonto. You're second place, Tyler.”

“Maybe, but I'm not giving up without a fight. You're on your way out, Brett. Just make it easy on yourself and call it a day. No one can stay on top forever. Better to go out at the height of your career than to slip up and lose your shit in front of thousands of fans. Besides, you've got enough to keep you busy at home. My momma said she talked to Dolly and Pappy's not doing so good.”

“He's fine,” Brett snapped. “He just needs a little time.”

“Is that so? 'Cause the last I heard, he had Alzheimer's. You do know what that is, don't you?”

“Is there a point to this call?”

“Just wanted to keep in touch and let you know that while you're on pause, I just won first place in Tulsa. Point wise, that pushes me up the board. We're almost dead even now. Another rodeo or two, and you'll be eating my dust.”

“This conversation is done.”

“Bye, cuz,” Tyler's irritating voice called out a split second before Brett hit the off button.

Brett hauled open the refrigerator and reached for a beer. Tyler was a jackass. A mouthy jackass. While the call didn't come as a surprise—the man consistently rubbed every success in Brett's face—the timing did.

What type of cowboy called another cowboy out while he was at home dealing with personal issues?

A cowboy who wanted to win, that's who. Brett knew the game. He'd mouthed off a time or two himself, boasting and bragging to get in the other guy's craw. Personal issues aside.

No, it wasn't the call that bothered Brett so much as what Tyler had said—that Wrangler was starting to doubt Brett's commitment to them.

Then again, he hadn't sent in the contracts or so much as e-mailed to say they were on the way. It had been three weeks and he'd yet to do anything.

Hell, he should just sign them and be done with it.

He would. First thing tomorrow.

Right now, he needed to calm down and cool off.

He popped the top on the beer and took a long swig before heading down the hallway toward his room. On the way, he caught the sound of his sister's voice as she sat by Pappy's bedside and read from an old book from their childhood.

The Little Engine That Could.

Brett had loved that book so much that he'd begged Pappy to read it to him over and over, and the man had obliged every time. He'd never been too busy or too tired.

He'd given the little engine a voice, one that didn't sound as soft, as soothing, as
different
from the familiar grumble that Brett remembered so well.

Everything was so damned different now.

The ranch.

His pappy.

His Callie.

He ditched the thought. She wasn't
his.
She never had been and she never would be. Even if they did have sex. Because sex didn't mean anything. It was one moment in a lifetime of many. Just a blissful escape from all of the problems that weighed them down. Just physical.

If only he could make Callie understand that.

While Brett Sawyer had never been one to shy away from a challenge, he started to wonder if maybe, just maybe he was in over his head this time.

With Callie. With the ranch. With Pappy.

Karen's voice followed him, prompting him to never give up, to keep going and trying, the words feeding the anxiety that skimmed his nerves and wound him tight.

Taking another swig of his beer, he bypassed his bedroom and headed for the back door.

It was time to get the hell out of Dodge.

If only for a little while.

 

CHAPTER 20

She should text Arnie.

That was Callie's first thought as she drove away from Bootleg Bayou. She should get in touch with him and request an emergency acupuncture session.

At the same time, Arnie called bingo at the VFW on Sunday nights after church, which meant she was out of luck. That, and the first session had failed miserably.

These things take time.

That's what Arnie had told her, but she had the gut feeling that all the needles in the world couldn't fix what ailed her. She wanted Brett Sawyer in the worst way.

She'd been this close to falling at his feet tonight and begging him to make love to her. To finish what he'd started so long ago.

But it wasn't the sex act itself that posed the threat. It was the begging. The need. The last thing Callie wanted was to need Brett Sawyer—or any man for that matter—to crave more than a few moments of carnal bliss to the point that she stopped thinking of her priorities and needed only him. Callie Tucker didn't
need
anyone.

She stood on her own two feet. She always had and she always would.

“You ate my pie.” Brandy's voice drifted from the kitchen doorway and Callie turned to see her sister wearing a pink T-shirt, the Sweet Somethings logo spelled out in white frosting, and a pair of sweats. “I was this close to dissecting Miss Nona's recipe. A few more bites and I would have had it.”

“I ran out of cupcakes. It was either Miss Nona's or the apple pie that Little Jimmy dropped off the other night, and I really needed chocolate.”

“I figured. What I can't figure out is why you still need the cupcakes. Unless the gossip floating around town is true.”

“Gossip?”

“My assistant Ellie said her cousin said that her aunt's brother-in-law saw you talking to Brett Sawyer out in front of the feed store yesterday.” Brandy pinned her with a stare. “Since when do you talk to Brett Sawyer?”

“He came home a few weeks ago and I saw him in town the day of James's funeral.” She shrugged. “He stopped me to tell me that he was sorry about what happened. So where's Jenna?”

“Vaccinating horses out at the Bensons'. They're so far out of town that she's staying overnight since it's a two-day job.”

“Horses, huh?”

“Her favorite. It's a wonder she hasn't brought one home along with the stray dogs. So the whole condolence thing explains the meeting in town,” Brandy went on, obviously not about to be distracted, “but it doesn't explain why you went out to Brett's place tonight.” Callie's head snapped up and Brandy gave her a pointed stare. “Yeah, I know about that, too.”

Callie shrugged and averted her gaze. “He's selling off some of his property and Les is getting the listing. I just went out to take a few pictures.” Not quite the whole truth, but then Brandy didn't have to know about the recipe. Or the taxes. Or the fact that Callie had forgotten both while she'd been grinding on Brett's lap. “So how do you know about tonight?”

“Jimmy Eubanks saw you pass him on the interstate. He saw you turn off on County Road 1450. Everybody knows the only house off that road is the Sawyer spread.”

Callie braced herself for the inquisition that was sure to follow.

Did you see Brett?

Do you still like Brett?

Did you get naked with Brett?

“I heard at the bakery today that Karen's home. Haven't seen her myself, but folks in town have. She's got this new haircut and everything. How's she doing?”

O-kay. Callie slid a glance toward her sister, but Brandy had turned away to retrieve a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator and Callie sent up a silent thank you. While her sister didn't know the details of that one disastrous night, she knew that Callie had liked Brett and that, for whatever reason, he'd dumped her.

“Karen, huh? I had no idea she was back. I didn't see her. Then again, I wasn't at Bootleg Bayou for a visit. I was busy taking pictures.” And busy
getting
busy. “You say she cut her hair?”

Brandy nodded. “Myrtle Sullivan came in for brownies. She said her daughter saw Karen at the Quick Pack and she has this really short bob now. What a shame, right? I mean, she had the prettiest hair back in high school. I can't believe she would cut it…” Brandy poured herself a glass of tea and sank down at the table to debate a bob versus a shag while Callie focused all of her energy on making a peanut butter sandwich.

It did little to sate the hunger gnawing inside her. She even chased it with a glass of milk, but no luck. She still felt empty. Needy.

“Here,” Brandy said as she pulled out a pink bakery box from the back of the fridge. “After I found the half of a pie missing this morning and Ellie told me about you meeting up with Brett, I figured you could use this.” She opened up the box to reveal a jumbo-sized cupcake. “It's my newest s'mores cake with homemade marshmallow frosting.” When Callie smiled, Brandy added, “Not that I'm advising you to feed your troubles with a zillion calories, but if you're going to gain a few pounds, it might as well be because of the good stuff instead of that store-bought crap. That, and I took Little Jimmy's apple pie to the bakery. Ellie makes a mean apple pie and I wanted her to taste it. To see if she can figure out what makes Jimmy's mama's pies so darn good.”

“Thanks, Brandy.”

“I know there's more that you're not telling me, but I'm here if you want to talk.” Callie nodded and watched her sister yawn. “I guess I better hit the sack. I'm on bread duty in the morning. That means I'm out of here before sunup.”

“I thought you were closed on Mondays?”

“I am, but the chamber of commerce is having a dessert reception after its monthly meeting and I'm providing the goodies. That includes loaves of cinnamon bread for everyone to take home after the event. It's not a huge gig, but I'll take anything I can get right now.”

Callie watched her sister head to bed and summoned her courage. If Brandy could stay focused on what was really important, so could Callie.

That meant no more fooling around with Brett. She needed to find that recipe.

And if she couldn't?

Then it was on to plan B.

*   *   *

“Do I look like I'm made of money?” Les Haverty's voice carried from the open doorway of his office on Monday morning and stalled Callie at her desk. “You might be able to pull the wool over everyone else's eyes, but I keep track of my money. I ordered three boxes of Thin Mints.
Three.
That's it.”

“But I've got you down for a box of Tagalongs,” came the soft female voice.

“That spiel might work on some other bozo, but I keep track of my money. Now here's my twelve dollars and not a penny more.”

A few seconds later, eight-year-old Savannah Sawyer and her ten-year-old sister, Saylor, filed out of the office wearing Girl Scout uniforms and matching frowns.

“What a cheapskate,” Savannah huffed.

“A serious tightwad,” her sister agreed as they headed for the door.

“Can you believe those girls?” Les demanded a few seconds later when he stormed out of his office. “Why, they tried to scam me. They tried to sneak in an extra box of cookies on my order. As if I would ever willingly buy a box of Tagalongs. Selma hates them. If I brought those cookies home, she would think I ordered them just because I got distracted by Saylor and Savannah's mom, who wears those tight yoga pants to the chamber of commerce meetings. Not that I do get distracted. Even if they are mighty flattering. So?” Les nailed Callie with a stare. “You left a voice mail last night saying you wanted to talk to me about something?”

She wasn't going to ask. Les had gone off on a pair of Girl Scouts. He would rip her a new one for sure.

At the same time, nothing ventured, nothing gained. “I, um, am having a little financial trouble what with all the funeral expenses and I was thinking that maybe you could give me a loan. I mean, I might not need it. I'm working on a few other things. But if those don't pan out, I was hoping that you might be able to give me a loan.”

“How much are we talking?”

“Three thousand dollars. If everything else falls through.”

Les shook his head. “I'm afraid there's no way I can do that.”