The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (18 page)

* * *

Jill's gaze started at his eyelashes, which totally fascinated her. How could a thick bunch of dark hair be so seductive? Finally she let her eyes travel past his nose and to his lips. The music in her head wasn't haunting, but it wasn't upbeat either. It was like the background music to an old gospel hymn, peaceful with the promise of something eternal.

When she got to his slightly parted lips, the chemistry between them reached a brand-new height. His knuckles moved to trace her jawline, and then his hand splayed out, palm resting on her cheek, pinky teasing her ear, the rest holding her neck steady as his lips closed over hers.

Jill cupped his cheeks in her hands and took the first step to deepen the kiss. Desire fanned the fires of arousal until they were both panting. He moved from her lips to her neck, nuzzling, tasting, driving her crazy.

With one tug, all the snaps of his shirt popped open, and she buried her face in the soft black hair covering his bare chest. He groaned, and she shifted her weight until she was sitting in his lap.

It should not happen, but it was going to. Plain and simple. She wanted Sawyer. She needed him, and not even an act of God was going to stop what they'd started.

His hands circled her small waist and slowly made their way up under her shirt, massaging the tension from her muscles as he traveled upward. “You'd best say stop now if you are going to,” he said hoarsely.

“We'd be a hell of a lot more comfortable on your bed, and we wouldn't wake the children,” she answered.

Think
before
you
say
yes
, her inner voice said.

No
, she argued.
When
you
start
to
dissect
something
and
analyze
your
findings, it's already dead. And this feels so right.

He gave her one more chance. “Then you are not saying stop?”

She drew his lips down to hers and answered him with passion.

He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, and she shut the door so the kittens wouldn't disturb them. She slid down his frame and stood before him, eyes locked with his as she removed his shirt, undid his belt and zipper, and slid his jeans off.

“Commando.” She smiled.

He buried his face in her hair and said, “We call it goin' cowboy, not commando. That's for the military guys. Now it's my turn, darlin', and I open presents like I talk—real slow.”

His mouth started at her neck and moved down to the tops of her breasts, then suddenly the bra hooks were undone, and he slid both bra and shirt down her arms, covering every inch of her skin with kisses. She pressed her breasts against his chest, and her insides melted into a hot puddle.

Nothing was ever definite, but in that moment, Jill's soul had found a permanent home. And Sawyer was definitely a part of it. He removed her jeans, bikini underwear, and socks, and walked her backwards to the edge of the bed.

“I need you.” Sawyer reached for a condom and quickly put it on.

“Not as bad as I want you.” She fell onto the bed and pulled him down on top of her. She arched, and he slid inside, his lips never leaving hers. The world disappeared. She and Sawyer were wrapped in a cocoon inside a vacuum. She heard nothing but his hard breath and felt nothing but his body, lips, and hands. She wanted nothing but more and more of what Sawyer delivered.

She tried to hold back, but it wasn't possible. “Sawyer,” she moaned, and the cocoon unraveled, the vacuum exploded, and he collapsed.

She reached up and cupped his face. “That was amazing.”

His lips found hers once more and he moved to one side, wrapping both arms around her and keeping her near. He pulled the covers over them and whispered, “Stay with me all night, Jill. Don't leave.”

“My legs wouldn't let me even if I wanted to,” she said.

Jill stood under the shower, pulsating water rinsing the shampoo from her hair. For the first time since she'd arrived on Burnt Boot, she didn't want to get rid of the barroom smell. The smoke and beer mixed together reminded her of the amazing night she'd spent with Sawyer.

She wrapped a towel around her wet hair and slipped her arms into a thick emerald-green terry cloth robe. Shutting her eyes, she went back to the previous night. Now it was time for the awkward moment when they had to say that it was a one-night stand and start dissecting things. Number one: they had to live together, so it was a bad idea. Number two: they had to work together at three different jobs, so it was a bad idea. Number three: neither of them really trusted in lasting relationships, so it was a bad idea.

A phone rang, and she recognized her aunt Polly's ringtone, so she hurried out of Sawyer's bedroom. Kittens chased her toes peeking out from the bottom of the robe as she almost dived to the sofa toward her phone and answered it on the fourth ring with a giggle.

“What's so funny this morning?” Polly asked.

“Piggy and Chick.” Jill sat down on the sofa, and the two kittens climbed the tail of her robe all the way to her shoulder.

“And they are?”

“Kittens,” Jill said.

“Well, thank God you don't have pigs and chickens living in the bunkhouse. Where did you get kittens?” Polly asked.

Sawyer put a cup of coffee in her hands and kissed her on the forehead. “Good mornin',” he whispered.

“Do those cats talk?”

“No, that was Sawyer.”

“He's a good man—that Sawyer is. You'd do well to wake up and see what's right in front of your nose. Now tell me more about the kittens. Did y'all find that litter in Gladys's hay barn? Old mama cat must've been gone, or you wouldn't have gotten near them. She'll scratch your eyes out if you even look at her babies.”

“Quaid brought in Ollie. I named her that after the pig in a kid's movie about a spider and a pig. Then in a little bit, Tyrell brought in a yellow cat, and I named it Audrey after a chicken in another kid's movie. But Sawyer calls them Piggy and Chick,” she said.

Polly guffawed. “Don't tell Gladys. I want to tell her. The reason I called is to make sure you didn't get kidnapped again after that craziness last weekend. Are you going to church this morning?”

“Of course. Sawyer is cooking breakfast. How about you?”

“No, not today. We see the doctor this week, and if they say I can start to use crutches, maybe we'll try it next week. I hate this big boot thing on my foot, but Verdie keeps remindin' me that it damn sure beats one of them old plaster casts. She's coming over after church again, and we're going to set up a Yahtzee game. You and Sawyer want to join us?”

“No, ma'am. We're taking naps. Tell Aunt Gladys that we'll be glad to do the evening chores if y'all get into a heated game. Do you still bet on the games?”

“Hell, yeah. It wouldn't be any fun if we didn't put some money on the table. Call us when y'all wake up, and we'll talk about chores. Keep your head low and dodge any bullets in church. I heard the preacher went to both ranches, trying to set up a powwow to make peace, but neither Mavis nor Naomi is havin' a bit of it.”

“That's the gist of what I heard at the bar last night,” Jill said. “Things got tense, but no fighting.”

“Use that shotgun if you have to. That's what it is there for. Most of the time folks don't want to take a chance on whether or not you'll shoot 'em, and they calm right down.”

“Waffles are ready,” Sawyer yelled from the kitchen.

“Go on and eat. Any man who cooks is a jewel to be treasured. Don't keep him waiting,” Polly said.

The table was set for two, as usual, with one exception. Right smack in the middle was an old chipped crock cookie jar. Glazing cracks started at the bottom and wove their way in different directions, some on the sides, with others winding their way around in circles.

“Are we having cookies with our waffles?” Jill asked.

“Look at it closely.” Sawyer grinned. “Pay especially close attention to the lid.”

“Daisies.” She smiled.

“I would have gone out into the pasture and picked some wild ones for you, but it's the wrong time of year. That's all I could find with a daisy on it,” Sawyer said.

Rule number one, two, and three disappeared as she rounded the table and looped her arms around his neck. She rolled up on her toes and moistened her lips seconds before his mouth claimed hers in a scorching hot kiss that fried any remnants of future rules. He tugged at the belt of her robe, and his hands slipped inside to graze her rib cage and come to rest on her waist. Then in a flash, the kiss broke, and he picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and headed for the bedroom.

The towel fell off her hair, but she didn't care. For such an up-close view of his cowboy ass underneath those flannel pajama pants, she'd gladly air-dry her hair upside down on the way to the bed, where other delicious things might happen.

Crunching truck tires on gravel brought him to an abrupt stop. She slid off, out of his arms, and her bare feet hit the floor in a hurry when a heavy door slammed. By the time someone was walking across the porch, Jill had picked up the towel and hurried off to her room.

She'd barely shut the door when she heard Sawyer's voice coming from the kitchen. “Good mornin', Gladys. You are just in time for breakfast. I was about to put the waffles on the table. I've got maple syrup and buttered pecan. Name your poison.”

“Maple sounds good. I'll get out an extra plate. Where's Jill?”

“She's on her way. I yelled at her a few minutes ago. Did you hear about the tension in the bar last night?”

Jill hurriedly wrapped the towel back around her head, removed the robe, put on underpants and a bra, and then added pajama pants, a sleep shirt, and a pair of socks. “I thought I heard voices out here. Good mornin', Aunt Gladys.”

“Good mornin' to you. I'm glad to see that you are both safe this morning and not wandering around with Tilly, like you were last week. Where'd the cats come from?”

“The clashing cowboys gave them to her. The gray one is Piggy and the yellow one is Chick,” Sawyer said.

“I wasn't supposed to tell you, but then I didn't, Sawyer did, so Aunt Polly can't be mad at me,” Jill said.

It took Gladys a minute, but when she caught on, she slapped a hand over her mouth and giggled like a schoolgirl. “Piggy Brennan and Chick Gallagher, right?”

“You got it.” Jill nodded. “You goin' to church this mornin'?”

“No, I don't want to leave Polly alone that long. Y'all keep your ears and eyes open. Something is brewing. After that stunt with the pork rinds and the dog treats this week, I can feel it in the air. I'll pour the coffee.”

Jill glanced over her shoulder toward the end table where she'd left her cup, but it was gone. When she looked back at Sawyer, he winked.

“I'll get the butter and syrup,” Jill said.

“Y'all got cookies in that old jar?” Gladys asked.

“No, I found it in the cabinet and put it on the table,” Sawyer answered.

Jill touched the lid. “I might make cookies in the store tomorrow to fill it up. Last week when we were making chili in the back room, lots of folks bought chili meat and beans. If they smell cookies, maybe they'll buy chocolate chips and sugar.”

Gladys set three cups at the right places and pulled out a chair. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. I bet folks do buy more when the store smells like food. Bring on the waffles, Sawyer. You reckon you could make up another batch, so I could take some to Polly?”

“Got plenty of batter already made up,” Sawyer said. “Just before you leave, we'll get them ready for her.”

* * *

The kittens entertained Sawyer that morning as he waited for Jill to get dressed for church. He could hear her mumbling about something through closed doors, but he couldn't understand a word she said. When his phone rang, the kittens shot under the sofa and peeked out cautiously.

“Good mornin', Mama,” he said when he'd looked at the Caller ID.

“Are you all settled in and ready for church this morning?” she asked.

“Yes, I am.”

“Then why haven't you called?”

He sat up straighter. “Been busy gettin' settled in.”

“Oh, is that the story? Well, Finn's mama has called me several times, so don't give me that tall tale. I don't care if you are thirty or forty or ninety. As long as I'm alive, I should not have to hear about you through relatives. And now that I've fussed at you, tell me about Jill Cleary. Callie says she's quite a woman and that she likes her. I trust Callie's judgment.”

“Jill is Gladys's great-niece,” he started.

His mother cut him off immediately. “I know who she is. I know what she looks like. I want to know what you think of her, and if this is going to be a…” She paused.

“They call it a relationship, Mama.” He laughed.

“I couldn't think of the word. Is it?”

“I don't know. We haven't gone on a date. We hardly have time for anything but working from daylight to midnight.”

“That's a crazy job you've taken on, Son.”

He shut his eyes and could visualize her sitting in her rocker, waiting for the time to go to church. Her black hair had a few gray streaks nowadays, and her round face was showing signs of raising four kids, but the way his father looked at her, well, he wanted that kind of relationship when he did find someone to trust his heart with forever.

“But the crazy thing, Mama, is I like it. Of course, I like ranchin' best, but I like all of it,” he said.

“Here's your father. You call me more often, or I'll show up on your doorstep long before spring,” she said.

“Maybe I won't call then,” he teased.

“Sawyer O'Donnell! It's just that I miss you, Son. I know you are old enough to make your own decisions, but a mother is allowed to miss her son.”

“Love you, Mama. Tell Daddy I'll talk to him this week.”

Jill's bedroom door opened, and she flat-out took his breath away. Her hair was twisted up, showing off that long, slender neck he liked to bury his face in. She wore a denim skirt slit up the side and pointed-toed black boots with red stitching that matched the sweater that hugged her curves.

“Wow. Just plain old simple wow,” he said.

“Thank you.” She smiled and handed him a long denim duster with fancy red shiny stones scattered across the collar.

“You should model for Western-wear catalogs,” he said as he helped her into the coat.

“I'm way too short to be a model, but thank you again. Did Aunt Gladys call? I heard you talking to someone other than the cats.”

“It was my mama. She misses me,” he said.

“Do you miss her?”

“Sure, I do, and if you are askin' if I'm a mama's boy, the answer is probably yes.” He grinned. “Not so much that I have to talk to her every day, but…”

Jill touched him on the shoulder. “Never trust a man who doesn't love his mama. My granny told me that.”

“Smart granny.” He slipped his arms into his Western-cut sports jacket. “Finn and Callie have been talkin' about us to my folks.”

* * *

Seating was snug in church that morning. While the Brennans' side and the Gallaghers' side had several empty spaces on their pews, the center section was packed completely full.

With Sawyer's and Jill's sides plastered together all the way from shoulder to knees, Sawyer had a choice: scrunch up his shoulders or drape his arm over the back of the pew. He chose the latter to make a little more room. Quarters so close meant that all he had to do was tip his head slightly to see any part of her, and he liked that very much.

First he studied her profile. Pert little nose, big green eyes with lots of eyelashes, lips made for kissing, and a neck just right to nuzzle. A hint of thigh showing from the slit down to the top of her boots reminded him of the power in those legs the night before, when they were wrapped around his body. A stirring behind his zipper said he'd best be paying attention to the song they were singing from the hymnal they shared, or it was going to be a long, painful church service.

Finn turned slightly in the pew in front of him and whispered, “Y'all should come to Salt Draw for dinner.”

Sawyer's head bobbed once. “I'd love to. I'll ask Jill soon as church is over.”

“Verdie is going to Polly's right after church, but she left a roast in the oven, and we'd love to have you.”

“Thank you,” Sawyer mouthed and went back to singing.

He was determined not to look at Jill's lips or her eyes or those cute little freckles that makeup couldn't quite cover, so he let his eyes drift on down. Big mistake!

The red sweater stretched across her chest and hugged her midriff to her waist. With no effort at all, he could visualize what was underneath that soft material. He blinked, but the picture didn't fade, not even when he forced his gaze down farther to the slim denim skirt and boots. It grew more vivid when he thought of her bare feet dangling when she'd been thrown over his shoulder like a bag of chicken feed.

He shut his eyes and let his chin drop enough that Jill would think he was dozing, and replayed the night before in slow motion. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and looking back, it wasn't probably the best of ideas for them to have sex after knowing each other only a few weeks. But he'd be a complete jerk to tell her that they shouldn't let it happen again because they worked together, because they were such good friends, because they lived in the same bunkhouse. Besides, he didn't want to tell her that, because he wanted it to happen again, and the sooner the better.

In all of his thirty years, no one had ever made Sawyer feel the way Jill did. The chemistry was so hot and so real that it couldn't be genuine. It might be a flash in the pan that would burn itself out quickly, but he didn't want to miss a moment of the heat.