The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (16 page)

“She looked cute.” Sawyer grinned. “I thought she did, and evidently Tilly did too. He not only let us into his house, he fed us breakfast and brought us to town.”

Gladys stuck her hand into her pocket and brought out a telephone. “Polly, don't you eat any more of those cookies. Sawyer made spaghetti, and I'm bringing you a plate. The kids are fine, but I've got a hell of a story to tell you.”

A pause and a couple of nods. “No, it's too juicy to tell over the phone, and, yes, I'll be there in the next fifteen minutes.”

She hit a button and shoved the phone back in her pocket. “Reckon I'll wrap up my plate too. She says if I don't get back, she's going to eat the whole bag of cookies, worryin' about what I won't tell her on the phone.”

“I'll get it ready,” Jill said.

“What should we do now?” Sawyer asked Gladys.

“Go on like nothing happened, and see what comes crawlin' out of the woodpile.”

“I'd rather set fire to both ranches,” Jill said.

“Nope, Fiddle Creek might suffer, since it's in the middle of them,” Gladys said. “Thanks for supper, and I'll see y'all tomorrow.”

Jill could not put her finger on it or figure it out, but the relationship had risen to a new level between her and Sawyer since they'd bared their souls the day before. Maybe it was what soldiers face in near-death experiences when one saves another's life. But whatever it was, she kind of liked it.

He'd been quieter, had a lot less to say or joke about, and now he was back there in the meat department, cleaning the saw like the health inspectors were due to come look at the store that very day.

The store was empty, and the shelves were dusted, the floor swept, the carts lined up, and the front glass washed on the inside. It was so cold outside that if she sprayed cleaner on that side, it would freeze before it hit the glass. She pulled her tablet out of her purse, hit the right button to bring it up, and went straight to her favorite site for a little retail therapy. She might not actually buy boots or a new bit of bling, but she'd look at it, and maybe that would help her sour mood.

An advertisement for a brand-new spice for chicken wings popped up on the side bar, and that's what gave her the idea. She quickly went to another site that promised overnight shipping if she was willing to pay for it, and she decided it was well worth the cost. She pulled the charge box up from under the counter and wrote the addresses for River Bend and Wild Horse on the edge of a scrap of paper.

The first order was for a case of pork rinds. She carefully checked the box that said it was a gift and not to send any information concerning price or sender to the recipient. On the gift card she wrote “Oink! Oink!” and signed it “Porky Pig.” That little prize went to River Bend to the attention of Mavis Brennan.

The second order was for three bags of Chicken Chips doggy treats. The gift card said, “For the Gallagher Bitches” and was signed “Chicken Little.” That present went to Naomi Gallagher at Wild Horse Ranch.

Guaranteed delivery by eight o'clock the following evening. She'd entered the pig war, and it put a smile on her face.

“Well, well, it smiles,” Sawyer said.

“This from a man who's hardly spoken to me all day,” she said.

“Hey, you started off the day real quiet.”

“So did you,” she shot back.

The bell rang as the door swung open, and there was Quaid Brennan standing there with a shoe box in his hands. He looked downright sheepish, holding a Prada shoe box with the price still written right there on the end. Jill hoped he could take them back, because she damn sure didn't wear a size nine narrow. She wore a six wide. He'd have done much better if he'd brought in a Lucchese box, and he'd have spent a hell of a lot less money to boot, pun intended.

He set the box on the countertop. “I brought you a present. I heard that you had a mouse or two in the bunkhouse over on Fiddle Creek.”

“And I'm supposed to catch them in this box? You want to explain the procedure to me?” Jill could feel the ice in her voice, but dammit, he was a Brennan.

“Open it,” he said.

She flipped the lid open, and a little gray kitten looked up at her with big green eyes. She picked it up and the purring began immediately.

“Kinsey's mama cat had babies, and this little girl looked like a good mouser to me.” Quaid smiled.

“Thank you. I'll take good care of her.” Jill cuddled it up against her face and talked baby talk to the critter.

“I'm glad you like her. Maybe I'll give you a call later this week, and we can plan something for Sunday?” Quaid said.

“Sawyer and I had plans for yesterday that got interrupted, so we'll be real busy next Sunday while we make up time. But thank you for the kitten,” she said.

Quaid blushed. “Well, then maybe the next week. See you at Polly's sometime.”

He was gone before Jill could say another word.

Sawyer reached over and scratched the kitten's ears. “Did you see the expression on his face? We might not be able to prove it, but we were right. That was the face of a kidnapper, right there.”

“You want to hold her?” she asked.

“No, you go on and spoil her. It's your cat. What are you going to name her?”

“Ollie,” she said quickly.

“I can see you've given this cat idea a lot of thought. Why Ollie?” he asked.

“It's the pig's name on a kid's animated movie called
Home
on
the
Range
.”

His dark brows drew down into a single line and then shot straight up. “You are wicked, Jillian Cleary.”

“But I'm in a much better mood. A little retail therapy and a new kitten works wonders on me.” She grinned up at him.

“So what did you buy? Oh. My. God! Is that a misprint or did whatever come in this box cost that much?” He pointed.

“Oh, yeah. I expect Kinsey wears them to work. And eight hundred dollars for Prada is on the low end of the scale,” Jill said.

“Do you…?”

She shook her head before he could finish the sentence. “Not on your life. I could buy two pair of Lucchese boots for that price, and they'd last a hell of a lot longer and never go out of style. You sure you don't want to hold Ollie?”

He reached out, and she put the kitten in his hands. “Here piggy, piggy.” He smiled. “Your real name might be Ollie, but I'm going to teach you to come runnin' when I holler piggy, piggy, instead of kitty, kitty.”

“And you call me wicked,” Jill said.

Sawyer leaned across the counter and brushed a sweet but hot kiss across her lips. “To be so open with each other yesterday, we sure clammed up this morning, didn't we? Aren't people who sleep together supposed to talk more?”

“We aren't sleeping together,” she argued.

“Yes, we are. We aren't having sex, but we are sleeping together. Every Sunday so far, and I liked it,” he said. “You can sleep with us, little piggy, if you want to.” He scratched the kitten's belly, and she rolled over in his arms like a baby and shut her eyes. “Right now, I need to stir a pot of chili I've got going on the stove. You can go with me if your new mommy trusts me.”

“I'm not that cat's mommy, and, yes, I trust you. Here, take her box in case you need to put her down while you stir,” she said.

She went back to her tablet and was busy plotting her next move in the pig war when the bell rang again, and there was Tyrell. At least he didn't have a shoe box in his hand, or roses either, so that was a good thing.

“Hey, Jill. I missed seeing you in church yesterday,” he said.

I'm sure you did. I bet you even looked for me and Sawyer when you got to your destination and the back of that van was empty
, she thought.

“Sawyer and I went for a hike,” she said.

“Well, I overheard Gladys telling Polly that you had a mouse problem at the bunkhouse, so I went out in our barn and rustled up a kitten for you.” He pulled a yellow ball of fur from his pocket and handed it to her by the scruff of the neck. “You'll have to tame her. She's a little wild.”

The kitten spit at her and growled, but after a minute of gentle petting, it was as tame as Ollie.

“So do you like her?” Tyrell asked.

“She's cute as a newborn chicken,” Jill said.

“She's a cat, not a chicken.”

Jill pushed the issue. “But her fur is the same color as a fresh-hatched chicken.”

“I guess it is. Well, I've got to go. Hope she's a good mouser,” Tyrell said. “You got time for a picnic lunch anytime this week?”

“Looks like a busy week on Fiddle Creek, but thanks for the kitten. I'm sure she'll love the bunkhouse.”

“You might want to ask your roommate if he's allergic to cats. If he is, I'll take the kitten back to the barn out on Wild Horse.”

Jill smiled up at Tyrell. Was he the one who had been wearing a mask and had taken them from one van to the other? Or had he been one of the first kidnappers? She couldn't tell. It had been dark, and they were all tall men wearing cowboy boots.

“Sawyer loves cats even more than I do. He might even claim this one for his very own,” she said.

Tyrell frowned. “I brought it to you.”

“And I really do thank you.”

“See you at Polly's sometime this week.”

“I'll be the one filling pitchers behind the bar,” she said.

He shut the door behind him when he left, but a gust of cold air breezed across her face all the same. “Now that's fitting, isn't it, Audrey? Kidnap me and then bring a present to cover it up. Pretty damn cold, if you ask me.”

“Did I hear someone talking?” Sawyer asked.

She held up the yellow kitten. “Her name is Audrey because…”

“I watched that movie with Finn's kids. Audrey is the name of a chicken, right?”

She nodded.

“So Quaid brought a playmate for Piggy here?”

“No, Tyrell did.”

His laughter echoed off the walls. “Well, come on over here Chick and meet Piggy. We'll see if the Gallaghers and Brennans can get along in feline form.”

They set them on the floor behind the counter, and the two sniffed each other. Audrey reached out and swatted Ollie, who promptly swatted back, and then they jumped three inches straight up and landed in a bundle of fur, kicking and biting each other.

“The feuding blood runs deep,” Jill said.

“Not necessarily. They're playing, not fighting. They think they are sisters,” Sawyer said.

They stopped, flopped down beside each other, and fell asleep with Audrey curled up in the middle of Ollie's stomach.

“Aha,” Sawyer said. “And the pig and the chicken shall lie down behind the counter in peace. Think we'll live to see the day the Gallaghers and the Brennans make friends?”

“I wouldn't hold my breath. I don't look good in that shade of blue, and don't be getting too close to me after almost blaspheming the holy word.” Jill laughed.

He started around the counter. “Why is that?”

She backed all the way up to the far end, beside the cash register. “Because if lightning shoots out of the sky, I don't want to be the one it gets instead of you.”

“Here comes lightning.” He pinned her hands behind her back.

She barely had time to moisten her lips before his closed in on hers. He was dead right. It was electrifying, sending jolts of pure desire shooting through her whole body. She wanted Sawyer, plain and simple.

“Ouch,” he said when he broke the scorching kiss.

“I didn't bite you.”

He pointed to his leg. Audrey was climbing it like it was a tree.

She reached down and picked the yellow kitten from his jeans and held her close. Did fate intervene in the form of a kitten, so they wouldn't take the kissing business to the next level? Was it trying to tell her to pay more attention to the Gallaghers, since it was Audrey who had put a stop to things?

“I had no idea that chicks could claw like that,” he said.

“They can't, but cats can,” Jill said. “And now it's closing time. We'd best load up enough of that chili for our supper and put the rest in the refrigerator for later. We have to take these critters home before we go to the bar. I won't have them inhaling all that cigarette smoke. I'll get a bag of litter and a couple of cans of food from the shelves if you'll take care of the chili.”

“I'll do it,” he said. “That was a fine kiss, ma'am. It flat-out weakened my knees.”

“Sawyer O'Donnell, you are full of shit.”

“No, ma'am, I'm speakin' the absolute guaran-damn-teed truth.”

The aroma of coffee wafted through the bunkhouse that Tuesday morning. Sawyer picked up his cell phone and found that he had no missed calls, that it was six o'clock in the morning, twenty-one degrees outside in Burnt Boot, Texas, and that it was January twentieth, his sister's birthday. He would need to call the florist after he finished the morning chores, or there would be plenty of calls, starting with his mother fussing at him for missing an important day in their family.

He was on his way to get a cup of Jill's strong coffee but stopped to take in the picture before him. Holding a mug, Jill sat on a worn rug in front of the woodstove. Piggy—she had a name, but Sawyer couldn't remember it—danced across the rug sideways, and then Chick grabbed her by the tail, and the fight was on. They made Monday night wrestling look tame, right up until they got tired at the same time. Then they were friends who needed each other to sleep.

Just
like
you
and
Jill
, his inner voice said.

I
slept
fine
by
myself
last
night
, he argued.

Not
as
well
as
you
did
on
Sunday.

Sawyer let the voice in his head have the last word. There was no arguing with the truth. He did sleep better when Jill was next to him.

She was gorgeous with the first morning light glimmering in her hair. Her green eyes sparkled as she watched the kittens play, and suddenly he was jealous as hell that he hadn't been the one who brought them to her. Every time she looked at them, she'd think of Quaid and Tyrell, maybe even going back and reliving what their kisses felt like.

“Hey, you are awake,” Jill said. “Coffee is ready. There's a breakfast casserole in the oven, and the girls have been fed.”

“You cooked?” he asked.

“Be thankful. Not grouchy.”

He poured coffee into a mug and sat down on the sofa. “I'm not a bit grouchy.”

“Your words say one thing. Your attitude says another. How can you be grumpy when these two kittens are so entertaining? Even when they are asleep, they make me smile.”

“You want honest?”

She nodded. “What's your problem?”

“What do you think about when you look at those kittens?”

She sipped her coffee, a smile covering her face.

His heart grew heavier and heavier. Dammit! He didn't want to be right this time.

“Well, when I look at Piggy Ollie over there, I think of pork rinds. And when I look at Audrey Chick, I think about Chicken Chips. Never knew the latter existed until I found them online yesterday. They are doggy treats, and I guess they taste like chicken. And that makes me smile. No, it does more than that. It makes me giggle like a little girl who found a way to get even with a smart-ass on the playground.”

She popped up agilely and sat down beside him on the sofa. “They also make me think of Quaid and Tyrell, and remind me of the fear I felt in that dark van. I've never been afraid like that before. I've always been able to take care of myself. But I had no gun and not even a hairpin to pick a lock with. I wasn't strong enough to kick down the doors or to get away from the two of them, as big as they were, and they had guns. If you hadn't been there, I'd have been a blubbering, quivering bundle of nerves, but I had faith in you, Sawyer. I knew you'd figure a way to get us out.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his side. “Don't underestimate yourself, darlin'. Once you got over the fear, and the anger set in, you'd have kicked ass. How can you love those kittens if they remind you of the fear?”

“It's weird, but they are so cute and funny. Maybe they are the sign that I definitely do not want to get mixed up with either family,” she said.

“They won't quit,” he said. “And what's this about pork rinds and doggy treats? I love pork rinds, and my sister buys those chips all the time for her spoiled little rat of a dog.”

She fit in his arms perfectly. He shouldn't fight the urge to take it past a few kisses to the next step. It wasn't like he'd forgotten how to date. He'd gone out lots of times and even considered a serious relationship once.

The timer on the oven sounded, and for a split second, Sawyer thought his phone was ringing. They both hopped up at the same time.

“Breakfast is ready. I'll get the plates if you'll make the toast,” she said.

“Why? Do you burn toast? I'm not surprised that someone as hot as you can burn bread by touching it,” he flirted.

She slapped at his arm, deliberately missing. “That's a pickup line. Not a bad one, either. How many women have heard that?”

“Well, there was Delilah, Gloria, Letitia, Julie, Darcy, should I go on? I'm not sure I can recollect how many women have burned bread for me.”

Jill pushed him into the kitchen. “Well, scalding-hot cowboy, get on in there, and let's see if you can burn toast.”

* * *

He had asked about pork rinds and Chicken Chips, and Jill had managed to dodge that bullet by changing the subject. But now he was probably thinking of all those tall, beautiful blonds and brunettes he'd dated and wishing that he was having breakfast with them instead of a spitfire redhead that had admitted she had been scared shitless.

That's what friends do. They tell each other how they feel
, she thought, hoping it might quiet the voice in her head before it ever got started. But the voice had to throw its two cents into the ring.
You
went
past
the
friend
stage
the
first
time
he
kissed
you. Deal with it. You are attracted to him, and he's definitely been flirting
, she argued.
But
Sawyer
could
have
any
woman
anywhere. Right now he could move to Wild Horse or River Bend, ranch to his heart's content, and have anything he wants. They are both beautiful women, and, dammit, I'm working myself up into a jealous rage.

The irritating voice didn't have a comeback, which aggravated Jill even more. She pulled the oven omelet out and set it on a hot pad in the middle of the table, put out plates and silverware, and refilled their coffee cups.

Sawyer winked at her when the second round of toast popped up. “I must have lost my power. It's perfectly browned, not burnt. Hey, you mentioned retail therapy yesterday. Have you ever ordered flowers online?”

Dammit to hell and back on a rusty old poker. He'd decided to send flowers to one of those hot women of his past.

“Yes, I have. I send them to my mom in Kentucky all the time,” she said. “It's easy peasy. You key in your credit card numbers after you pick out what you want, tell them the date you need it delivered, and hit send.”

Suddenly, she wasn't hungry and even the coffee tasted horrible.

“Can they even get flowers to Comfort, Texas?” he asked. “That's pretty far back in the woods.”

His old flame was about to get a second chance.

“Don't know the logistics of the whole business, but they get them there when they say they will. I expect they pick out the nearest florist, and believe me, for the price you pay, they can afford to cough up the delivery fee.”

He set the plate of toast on the table and hurried to his room, returning with a laptop. “Okay, show me the place you use.”

He'd already gotten online, so she went straight for the site, and he picked out the biggest bouquet of red roses offered, typed in all the information, and hit the “send” button. “Wow, that is fantastic. My sister is going to be so surprised when they arrive at her house in a couple of hours.”

“Your sister?” Jill spit out.

“Today is her birthday. Let's eat before it gets cold. I'm starving, and there's chores waiting for us to do.” He dipped deeply into the egg casserole and picked up two pieces of toast. “It's already buttered, and there's apple butter and grape jam in the fridge if you want it. As for me, I'm planning on a second helping of this scrumptious-lookin' casserole rather than having extra toast with jelly.”

Sawyer's sister and Jill were two happy women.

“So is your sister younger than you?”

Sawyer shook his head, swallowed, and sipped his coffee. “Oh, no. She's the oldest of four, and bossed us boys around like she was the Queen of Sheba. She was twelve when I was born, so she thought she had as much power over me as Mama. She still likes to boss me, since I'm the only single one left in the family. And believe me, if I forgot her birthday, the sun would fall from the sky.”

“Her name?”

“Martina, and my brothers are Hugh and Kevin. Mama is Latino. Daddy is Irish. They made an agreement that Mama could name the girls with names from her heritage, and Daddy could give the boys Irish names.”

“And Sawyer is Irish?”

He grinned. “No, it's English. If Daddy hadn't loved his daughter so much, I would probably be Seamus, or maybe Tomas, but Martina cried when I wasn't a baby sister. Mama had been reading Tom Sawyer to the kids, and if Martina couldn't have a sister, then she wanted a brother named Sawyer. Daddy tried to talk her into Tom, but she'd have no part of it. So he gave in to her tears, and I'm Sawyer.”

“It fits better than Seamus or Tom,” Jill said.

“Well, thank you for that and for this delicious breakfast. You think we should call a babysitter for Piggy and Chick, or can they stay by themselves until we come back from chores?”

Jill looked at the sleeping kittens. “They'll grow up fast. We'll have to make a medical decision, Sawyer. Do we have them spayed or let them have kittens?”

“We can decide that later. Right now, let them be babies,” he answered.

* * *

It had been a slow afternoon at the store, and both Sawyer and Jill wished for the kittens to entertain them. He propped his feet on the counter, dropped his cowboy hat down over his eyes, and started to snore. She sat on the counter, back to the cash register, and went through emails from her mother and her best friend back in Kentucky. She replied and told them both all about the kittens and what they'd named them. She didn't mention, nor did she intend to tell them, about the kidnapping business.

Her phone rang immediately, and she fished it out of her purse and headed to the back so the conversation wouldn't wake Sawyer.

“Okay, young lady, talk. I can always tell more from your voice than those sterile emails. Two cowboys brought you kittens?” her mother, Barbara, asked.

“It's two of the three that kissed me that day,” Jill said.

“The other one did not bring you a kitten. What's the matter with him?”

“He's smarter and does less to irritate me than the other two.”

“Please tell me you aren't going to stay in Burnt Boot permanently. Those people in that part of Texas are crazy. Gladys and Polly should act their age and sell all that property to the highest bidder. They are not spring chickens anymore, and it's time for them to retire,” Barbara said.

“I think that's what they're trying to do.”

Jill got a long martyred sigh for her answer.

“I don't mean retire and put you in charge. Dammit! Jill!”

“It's okay, Mama. I can take care of myself.” Jill went on to tell her more about the feud and the way things were happening, leaving out the part about Sawyer's kisses and how they affected her. “And now I have a customer, so I have to go. You should come see me in Burnt Boot.”

“No, thank you. You come see me, and we'll go up to Lexington and spend the day in the spa, stay overnight, and shop until we drop.”

“We'll talk about it later. Got to go,” Jill said.

“Tell your aunts hello for me. I can't believe you're living in that backwater place, but you've always been strong willed and liked boots better than high heels.” Barbara's tone was scolding as she ended the call.

“What customer?” Sawyer asked.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Jill asked.

Sawyer shook his head slowly. “But I could hear her all the way over here. I didn't know she was that much against your being here,” he said. “Now where's the customer?”

The little bell at the top of the door dinged, and Jill pointed to Verdie. “Right there.”

Verdie started talking the second the door shut behind her. “Hey, y'all, looks like it's a slow day. I figured more folks would be in town, what with all the gossip flyin' around. I heard that the pig war tried to do something else over the weekend and failed. Some folks saw Tilly out with two unidentified people in the back of his wagon. It's bein' rumored that a Gallagher was shot, or else that a Brennan and a Gallagher were up to hanky-panky and got caught.”

“And what would Tilly have to do with that?” Sawyer asked.

“He'd be bringin' them into town for a price. Gladys done told me the real story, but I ain't breathin' a word of it. Let them think a Brennan shot a Gallagher if they want to.” She pushed a cart toward the meat counter. “I need three pounds of shaved ham, a pound of bologna, and a pound of summer sausage. Got that?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Jill said.

“What brought you out in the cold this Tuesday afternoon?” Sawyer hung his hat on the rack and headed to the meat market. “I'll take care of your order back here. Jill can help you with the rest of it.”

“Lunch makings for the kids. I'm going to pick them up at school while I'm in town. Y'all hear about the new kink in the pig war?” She put three loaves of bread in the cart and added two five-pound bags of apples.