Cowgirl Crazy (#2, Cowboy Way) (19 page)

She missed him more every day, wondered if he
was making time with the bunnies again after he’d made love to her
like he had. If she knew that was the case, it would be over for
sure. But they weren’t committed. She was as free to date anyone
she wanted as he was. The problem was she didn’t want to date
anyone else. Hadn’t ever wanted to be with anyone else. Unless she
changed her attitude on that, she probably never would be over Ryan
Easter. She’d spend her life alone pining for him.

Her lips wobbled as she shucked the crinkly
wrapper from the yellow cake in her hands. She crammed it in her
mouth and tossed the wrapper over the side of the sofa. Another
dead soldier. She quit counting how many she’d had in the last two
days. It didn’t matter really if she ended up weighing two hundred
pounds or not. No man wanted her anyway. Would ever want her. At
least she wasn’t a virgin anymore. But that made things worse,
because now that she’d had sex, she wanted more. With Ryan. Twyla’s
nose burned, and she rubbed it. She was not going to cry
dammit.

Of course her feelings could be exaggerated,
magnified, because on top of all that she started her fucking
period this morning. Twyla definitely wasn’t feeling up to dancing
tomorrow. Leon would probably fire her.

Hell, today was her day off and she didn’t
feel like doing anything other than laying here on this ratty
pullout loveseat, the only piece of furniture in her new
furnished
apartment, which consisted of one room with a
hotplate on a vanity, and stare at the dingy walls, while stuffing
her face full of Twinkies. A Twinkie pity party is what she was
having, and this time it wasn’t making her feel better. She
actually felt a little sick. Twyla reached for another Twinkie, but
someone knocked at her front door.

She groaned wondering if it was her
pinched-face little bald landlord coming to perform one of his
‘surprise’ inspections’ he informed her he performed occasionally.
She hadn’t even been here two weeks, but she wouldn’t put it past
him. The only person who needed to be inspecting this rat hole
apartment was the fire marshal. Or the health inspector maybe. Her
eyes fell to the nasty carpet, which she thought used to be olive
green. Now, it was a puce color. In places anyway. Lord knew what
was growing in the long shag strands.

The knock came again and she glanced at the
deadbolt, saw it was locked, and breathed a sigh of relief. He
couldn’t get in with the spare key. Maybe if she just kept quiet
he’d go away. Twyla slid down on the sofa so her head was below the
back, but that just meant her legs hung further over the arm at the
end. If he looked in the window beside the door, she knew he would
see her. This loveseat was definitely not meant for a person over
five foot four, and she was six inches taller.

“
Twyla I know you’re in there, I
see your damned truck parked out here!” Heather shouted at the top
of her lungs. “Open the door!”

With a groan, Twyla sat up and shoved her feet
into her boots, because there was no way she was walking across
that carpet barefoot until she could have it cleaned. The knocking
became banging by the time she got to the door and flipped the
locks. Heather stood there dressed like she was ready for a concert
at the Grand Ole Opry in a rhinestone studded black shirt with red
rose embroidery and fringe on the V across her bosom, with a snazzy
black fringed skirt, and high heeled studded black boots. On her
head she wore a black felt hat with a rhinestone band. This was as
close to formalwear as a country girl could get. She must have a
gig tonight.

Twyla couldn’t help but laugh, even though it
came out a little rusty. “Damn girl, you look like you hit a garage
sale at Loretta Lynn’s place.”

“
Very funny. I have a gig,”
Heather said as she brushed past her into the apartment. “Ugh…” she
said walking further inside. “What the hell is that
smell?”

“
The landlord said the tenant
before me had a ferret. I’ll get the carpet cleaned when I get my
check. I need the money to get my pistols for the competition this
weekend.”

“
You need that pistol to shoot the
damned landlord you mean?” Heather turned around. “That bastard
should’ve cleaned the carpet, before you moved in. I’ll talk to him
for you. And you need to get your priorities straight. Food other
than Twinkies, a decent place to live, and then pistols.” Heather
looked at the floor in front of the sofa, then put her hands on her
hips. “What’s up with the Twinkie fest?’

Twyla huffed a breath and shut the door, then
walked back around the sofa. Bending she pulled the last Twinkie
from the box, then stood to hold it up to Heather. Her Twinkie
party or the reason for it was none of Heather’s business. Twyla
was getting damned tired of people telling her what to do, butting
in her damned business.

“
You should try it sometimes. If a
girl has enough Twinkies, she can solve most any problem.” Twyla
jerked open the end and shoved the wrapper down then bit off half
of the cake. She shoved it into her cheek. Tilting her head, she
asked sharply, “You dress up to come over here to talk about my
eating habits? Or did you need something?”

“
Damn girl, who pissed in your
corn flakes this morning?” Heather asked with a laugh. “Can’t I
come over just to see how you’re doing?”

“
I’m doing fine.” Twyla said
around the knot in her throat that was her Twinkie. She walked to
the mini-fridge and opened the door to take out the pint of milk
she’d bought last night with her Twinkies. Unscrewing the cap she
took a big swig, shock rocked her and she blew it right back out.
Wiping her arm over her mouth, she spit a few more times while she
tried to keep her Twinkies from reappearing. She took a deep
gasping breath once she was sure that wasn’t going to
happen.

“
Are you okay?” Heather asked
walking over there.

“
Damn milk I bought last night is
clabbered,” Twyla said gagging again. She took another deep breath
and waited as her stomach rolled yet again.

Heather walked to the tiny refrigerator and
opened the door to stick her hand inside. “This thing probably
hasn’t worked in ten years or so.”

Twyla sighed heavily, then got a glass and
filled it with water at the tiny sink beside the vanity. After a
long swallow, she said, “Guess that’s what I get for two-hundred
dollars a month furnished. I probably should’ve looked around
more.”

“
Ya think?” Heather asked with a
laugh, then her eyes took a tour over Twyla’s holey gray
sweatpants, her now stained white t-shirt. Paired with her cowboy
boots and haphazard braid, Twyla knew she had to look absurd. But
she really didn’t give a shit.

How she looked was exactly how she
felt.

Heather shook her head, and grinned.
“Girlfriend you are a hot damn mess. You been in this place since
yesterday?” Heather’s eyes took another tour around the room, and
her face looked a little disgusted.

“
Where the hell else do you think
I’ve been?” Twyla replied gruffly.

“
Didn’t you have a shooting lesson
yesterday?”

“
Canceled it. Didn’t feel like
going. I’m sure Randy didn’t mind, he thinks I’m a stripper.” Twyla
walked back to the loveseat and sat down to rest her head in her
hands.

“
Why would he think you’re a
stripper?” Heather asked in amazement.

“
Because Ryan told him I was a
stripper.”

“
Why the hell would he do that? He
knows you’re not a stripper. He saw you dance!” Heather said
angrily. “What was he doing out at the barn anyway?”

“
He followed me evidently, saw me
at my lesson with Randy and decided there was something going on
that needed his interference.”

Twyla heard her gasp. “That sonofabitch was
jealous.”

“
Not jealous. He was standing in
for my obsessively over-protective older brother, which he thinks
is his role when Zack isn’t around. He ran off Randy just like Zack
has done with any other man I was interested in since I hit
puberty.”

“
Honey, I don’t know where you
grew up, but where I’m from brothers don’t look at their sister the
way Ryan Easter looks at you. And they surely don’t—”

“
Leave it, Heather!” Twyla
shouted, shooting up to her feet. “I really don’t want to talk
about it.” She pushed Heather toward the door. “And you need to
leave. You don’t want to be late for your gig.” And Twyla didn’t
know how much more of her friend’s mothering she could take before
she broke down. The last thing she wanted to do was that. If she
broke, it would be when she was alone. And the odds were as soon as
she flipped that deadbolt, that is exactly what was going to
happen.

Heather pushed back, before Twyla could get
her over the threshold and spun to face her. “You need to get out
and do something. Drowning yourself in junk food isn’t going to
help a damned thing. I’ve got a gig at a very nice bar in town. Get
your ass dressed and you’re going with me.”

“
I started and I don’t feel like
it,” Twyla replied with a frustrated breath.

Heather’s chin cocked up and she crossed her
arms over her chest. “Well, if you don’t want me to call big
brother and give him a report on your situation, you’ll get dressed
so we can go. Now hop to it. I’m going to be late.”

“
Ryan called again?” Twyla asked
and dammit if her heart didn’t do a little dance in her chest.
Mentally, she slapped it and it stilled.

“
Yeah he called, and wants a
report. It’s the last time I’ll be giving him one though. I told
him if he’s that damned concerned, he needs to come and check on
you himself.”

A little satisfaction flowed through her. “He
was worried about me?”

“
Sounded pretty damned worried to
me, and not in a brotherly kind of way either.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
I think he’s worried that his
little trick with Randy didn’t stick, and that you might be dating
him.”

Twyla snorted. “Fat chance of that. I don’t
think he’s the type of man to date strippers.”

“
You’re not a stripper,” Heather
reminded.

Twyla sighed. “He thinks I am. That’s all that
matters.”

“
No, what matters is you found out
what kind of man he is before you got involved with him. Anyone who
judges you like that without cause, based on someone else’s
off-the-cuff words doesn’t deserve you. And a man who sleeps with
you then takes off when you get a little pissy with him, instead of
sticking around to duke it out doesn’t deserve you
either.”

Heather made sense, but Twyla’s heart still
wasn’t convinced. “Where’s your gig?”

“
The Red Rooster Saloon,” Heather
replied. “My agent got me the gig. It’s downtown in the hob knob
section. That’s why I’m dressed like this. Spent five hundred bucks
on this outfit,” she said with a shrug.

“
Oh my God, Heather,” Twyla said
breathless. “Five hundred bucks?”

“
I figured once they see how great
I am, they’ll call me again, so I can use it again
later.”

Heather grinned widely, but Twyla saw the
doubt in her eyes. Her friend had been trying to break into the
music business, since she left the rodeo. Road block after road
block had prevented that. But Heather was determined. And she was
damned good. She deserved a break. She also deserved Twyla’s
support. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Twyla smoothed her blue jean skirt then yanked
the hem down a little more, as she walked back to the table with
her beer in her hand. Heather was up on stage talking to the backup
guitarist and the drummer, who were up there with her. She looked
like a star up there with the lights reflecting off of the
rhinestones on her shirt and hat. Twyla hoped something broke loose
soon for her on the career her friend had been working so hard to
achieve for so long. Even when she rode rodeo, Heather was singing
at every open mic night she could find at every stop. When they
finished riding, she was running for her truck to go sing
somewhere.

From her lackluster performance in rodeo, it
was obvious her passions laid elsewhere. Dancing was a little
better for her, but it too was just a device to get her where she
wanted to be. Up on that stage singing. Twyla had gone to watch her
several times after races. That’s how they’d become friends. The
rest of the barrel racers had other things to do, or were jealous
of her, but Twyla was in awe of her talent.

It was still early and a Monday, so the crowd
was thin. Twyla had her choice of tables up by the stage. She took
one at the center, so she had a good view and sat down. She crossed
her legs then took a long sip of what would probably not be her
only beer. She was glad Heather had made her come now. With a
shower and getting fixed up to come, she felt about fifty-percent
better than she had in that dreary apartment. She imagined with
another couple of beers that would be up to seventy-five percent.
Or she hoped anyway.

She raised her bottle to take another sip of
her beer, but stopped when someone sat down in the chair across the
table from her. A tall, handsome cowboy in a black hat and black
shirt with a very sexy grin. He looked quite a bit older than her,
but he was extremely good looking. Maybe she needed an older man
who wasn’t so immature he couldn’t accept she could make her own
choices, and let her make them. Someone who wouldn’t play childish
games with her for ten years while they kept her on the hook
chasing them. Someone who had no desire to be her brother, or
anything like him.