Trouble in Texas (18 page)

So what had made a rational woman act so irrational?

The answer came quickly enough. Shifting in his sleep, Brant’s fingers brushed the
lower swell of her breast, and every nerve ending in Elizabeth’s body tingled to attention.

It seemed that while the mind could be rational, the physical body had no such ability.
It functioned only on its senses.

And the man who lay next to her knew how to cover all five. He looked delectable even
with morning stubble. Smelled as good as freshly baked bread. Tasted better than Josephine’s
rhubarb pie. Touched her in a way that made her mindless. And whispered naughty sweet
nothings that could have the strongest woman melting at his feet. Elizabeth couldn’t
help but wonder if this was how Miss Hattie had started her life of sin. With one
very sexy cowboy who knew his way around a woman’s body.

Except Elizabeth wasn’t an uneducated, seventeen-year-old farm girl with no money
or means to support herself. She was an intelligent woman who refused to let her physical
body rule her logical brain. An intelligent woman who had a good job and a comfortable
life. A comfortable life she wanted to get back to.

For a brief moment, she thought about shaking Brant awake and asking him to leave.
But then she realized that if her nerves tingled from just an accidental brush, there
was no telling what would happen from an intentional one. The man was an expert at
seduction, something he had demonstrated over and over again the night before.

Innocent fun.

There was nothing innocent about what they had done. She still had her maidenhead,
but her innocence had been lost the first thirty minutes of being in Brant’s arms.
The man knew every trick under the sun for finding satisfaction without actually having
intercourse. And she couldn’t blame what happened totally on him. She had been a willing
student, participating in his lessons with the enthusiasm and dedication she had applied
to all her schoolwork.

Now that the lessons were over, she had nothing to show for them but sore muscles,
humiliation, and a bed hog.

Glaring at the bed hog, Elizabeth carefully eased out from under his arm. Once her
feet were firmly on the floor, she breathed much easier. She tiptoed around the bed
and tripped over Atticus. The cat opened his eyes and sent her a look that was both
hostile and accusing.

“Don’t judge me,” she whispered, “you liked his petting as much as I did.” She hurried
to the bathroom, planning to be all showered and collected before Brant woke up.

Unfortunately, plans don’t always work out.

Elizabeth had just started soaping up when the shower curtain was jerked back. The
soap slipped from her fingers, and she released a squeak of surprise as Brant stepped
into the bathtub.

“Mornin’,” he said as he pulled the curtain closed.

Stunned, all she could do was stand there with her mouth open.

“Geez, woman,” he growled as he bent to adjust the faucet. “Is it hot enough for you?”
He bent down and picked up the bar of soap, sniffed it, then proceeded to run it over
his chest and armpits.

Elizabeth followed his sudsy hands until they got to his penis and testicles, and
then she didn’t know where to look. Naked male skin seemed to fill every nook and
cranny of the small shower.

Brant was oblivious to her embarrassment. He just continued to wash and rinse off
as if he showered with a woman every day. And he probably had. Not only had he been
married, but there was little doubt that he was one of those men who attracted women
like the clusters of bubbles that clung to his shoulders.

“I think I must’ve breathed in about half-a-cat’s worth
of hair last night,” he said before he rinsed out his mouth. “What is it with single
women and cats, anyway?” He took the razor from the shower caddy. “Why don’t you get
yourselves a nice dog to protect you?”

After searching through the products on the shelf, Brant reached for the soap again
and lathered his face. “Of course, my dog, Max, wasn’t exactly what you would call
a guard dog. He was too busy chasing squirrels. I swear that animal would chase anything
that moved—trash, leaves, the neighbor kids on their bikes.”

He tipped his head back to shave his throat. “I had this laser on my key ring and
that dog would go crazy trying to catch the beam of light I flashed around on the
floor. And the crazier he got, the louder B.J. giggled—” His hand stilled in mid-stroke,
but it only took him a second to recover. “Anyway, dogs are a lot less hairy than
cats.” He handed the razor back to her and rinsed off, and, just that quickly, the
curtain was jerked back and Elizabeth was alone.

Before she could even get her mouth closed, he peeked his head back in. “I realize
that women like to take long showers, but I’d sure appreciate it if you hurry things
up a little. I’m so hungry I could eat the ass out of a bear.”

It took the door clicking closed for Elizabeth to snap out of her trance. She blinked
and tried to figure out what had just happened. When it finally dawned on her, anger
replaced shock. Just who did he think he was telling her to hurry? She jerked back
the shower curtain, almost ripping it from the hooks. And how had he gotten in when
she was positive that she’d locked the door behind her? Even if she hadn’t locked
it, a mannerly man would’ve knocked before barging in. Not only on the bathroom door,
but on the front door.

Of course, a woman who cared about mannerly behavior
should’ve pointed that out, instead of allowing him into her shower—and into her bed—without
saying one word to stop him.

By the time Elizabeth was dried off and dressed, her hands were shaking so badly from
anger she couldn’t even get her wet hair up in its usual bun. It only got worse when
she walked into the living room and discovered the Sunday paper spread out on the
couch and her computer booted up.

A cupboard door slammed in the kitchen, and Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.

She found Brant squatted down next to Atticus, who had gotten over his annoyance at
being evicted from the bed and was rubbing against Brant’s legs. More than likely
because the man held a bag of cat food.

“Hold on there, boy,” Brant said as he poured the food into the bowl. “No need to
be a glutton.” Once the bowl was brimming with more food than an overweight cat should
have, Brant gave Atticus a good scratch and rose to his feet. He walked back over
to the pantry to put the bag of food away, the muscles of his bare back rippling as
he set it on the upper shelf.

Elizabeth must’ve made some sound, possibly from the steam releasing from her ears,
because Brant turned. His gaze slid over her suit, and a slight smile tipped up the
corners of his mouth.

“Please tell me you have coffee. All I could find was about a hundred boxes of herbal
tea.” He reached out and lifted his blue shirt off the back of a chair. “And do you
have an iron? This sure needs it.”

It was the final straw.

Marching across the kitchen, Elizabeth ripped the
shirt from his hand and tossed it to the floor. “No! I will not iron your clothes.
Or make you breakfast. Or go buy you coffee.” She whirled and headed out into the
living room where she lifted up a section of newspaper and shook it at him until it
rattled. “And did you ever consider the fact that some people prefer to read the newspaper
when it’s all neatly stacked?” She tossed it to the couch and moved over to the computer.
“Or that a computer is as private as mail and snooping around on someone else’s should
be a federal offense?”

He tipped his head and squinted at her. “Are you into something that you don’t want
people to know about?”

She scowled at him. “That’s not the point. It’s none of your business what I’m into.
You have no right to be on my computer.” She pointed a finger at the kitchen. “Or
count my herbal tea boxes. Or feed my cat.” She poked herself so hard in the chest
it hurt. “My cat. Mine!”

Elizabeth was about to move on to his shower etiquette when the doorbell rang. All
anger fizzled right out of her as her gaze went to the door and then back to Brant,
who was leaning against the doorway to the kitchen with his arms crossed and a semi-smile
pinned on his face. If she hadn’t been so terrified by the possibility of her mother
standing at the door, she might’ve slugged him.

Instead, she started racing around like a chicken with its head cut off. Not a hen.
Never a hen.

“Quick!” She grabbed up the newspaper and shoved it into his hands. “You need to hide.”
She pushed him back toward the bedroom. “But not in the bathroom. Mother always checks
to see if I’m cleaning my toilets properly.” She shoved him inside the bedroom and
closed the door in his face just as the doorbell rang again.

With her heart thumping, she smoothed back her hair and headed for the door. It wasn’t
her mother who stood on the other side. But her visitor was almost as bad.

“Well, good mornin’, Ms. Murphy.” Wilma Tate nodded her head, causing the plastic
cherries on her purple felt hat to bounce. “We were startin’ to think you weren’t
at home.”

Elizabeth glanced over at Elmer, who stood off to the side, looking tired and hungover.
No doubt from a Saturday spent at Bootlegger’s Bar.

“Good morning,” she said as brightly as possible. “Are you two on your way to church?”

“Of course. What else would a person do on Sunday?”

An image of Brant sprawled across her bed flashed in Elizabeth’s mind, but she quickly
pushed it out again.

“So we were just curious about that truck,” Wilma said as her gaze shifted to Beau’s
SUV that was parked out in front. “Do you know whose it is?”

Elizabeth stared at the vehicle and showed the appropriate surprise. Until that very
second, she hadn’t given a thought to how Brant had arrived at her house. Now she
would have to do some quick thinking if she wanted to avoid becoming the main item
of gossip in town. But before she could come up with a good lie, Wilma continued to
ramble.

“If I listened to other folks, I might think you had yourself a boyfriend, Ms. Murphy.”
She laughed so hard her cherries jiggled. “But like I told Rachel Dean, that’s just
pure foolishness. What would an old maid do with a boyfriend? At our age,” she winked,
“all women need to keep them warm at night is a heatin’ pad and a tube of Ben-Gay.”
She looked back at the truck. “No doubt it belongs to someone visitin’ across the
street. That teenage daughter of Delia’s is as wild as a March hare.”

Elizabeth didn’t know why Wilma’s words bothered her. They weren’t anything she hadn’t
heard before. And maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t the only one who had heard
them. Even though she had told Brant to hide, something told her he wasn’t the hiding
kind. This was confirmed when a hand slipped around the door, and Brant appeared in
all his shirtless glory.

“Why, Elizabeth, honey,” he said, his voice dripping with a smooth, east Texas drawl.
“You didn’t tell me we had company.”

Wilma’s mouth dropped open so wide that Elizabeth thought her false teeth might fall
out and hit the cement porch. It certainly wasn’t funny that Brant was standing half-naked
in front of one of the biggest gossips in Bramble. Which didn’t explain why Elizabeth
giggled.

Brant looked down at her, and his own smile turned into something more real.

“And just who are you?” Wilma asked.

Brant shot her a look that could only be described as annoyed. “Bra—”

“Brad Murphy,” Elizabeth jumped in. “He’s my cousin who is visiting from Amarillo.”

Wilma’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t know you had family besides your mama.”

“Distant cousin.” Elizabeth didn’t know why she lied. After this morning, Brant wasn’t
exactly on her good side. Still, bad manners didn’t justify a tar and feathering.

Elmer stepped up and held out a hand. “I’m Elmer Tate. It’s a real pleasure to meet
you, Brad.”

One of Brant’s eyebrows popped up. “The Elmer who forgets where he lives?”

For a man who spent most of his time in a bottle,
Elmer was no dummy. He quickly took Wilma’s arm and pulled her toward the porch steps.
“Come on, dear. We don’t want to be late for church.”

Before the Tates could even make it to the front gate, Brant called out. “I’d make
sure I have the right house next time, Elmer. I’m real protective of…” he glanced
down at Elizabeth, “my cousin.”

Elmer nodded and struggled to open the gate for his wife. Elizabeth watched them hurry
down the sidewalk and had little doubt of what the gossip would be at church that
day.

“You should’ve stayed in the bedroom,” she said as she turned and walked back inside.

“The woman annoyed me.” He followed her and closed the door. “Why do you let her talk
to you like that when you won’t even let me mess up your newspaper without throwing
a tantrum?”

Her mouth flapped a few times before she could speak. “I did not throw a tantrum.”

“I don’t know what you’d call it.” He tipped his head and studied her. “Somethin’
wrong, Beth?”

The nickname caused her stomach to hurt. Not a bad hurt, just a needy one. Although
she didn’t have a clue what Brant could have that she possibly needed. To hide her
discomfort, she walked over and picked up his shirt from the floor. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He had her in his arms before she could finish placing the shirt on the back of the
kitchen chair. She had forgotten how warm his skin was and how good he smelled. Even
masked by her feminine soap, he reeked of virile male.

“Tell the truth, Beth,” he said. “Are you regretting the fun we had last night?”

Was he right? Was that why she was so angry? Did she regret allowing him such sexual
liberties? She thought back to the night before, from the first kiss to the last tingle
of orgasmic sensation.

“No,” she said, “I don’t regret what happened last night. It’s just…” She tried to
put her thoughts into some kind of logical order. “It’s just that, when I woke up
with you lying in my bed, I guess I got scared. I’ve never had a man stay the night
before, and I was worried that my life had suddenly changed forever.” She looked up
at him. “And I like my life, Brant.”