Somethin' Dirty: Country Fever, Book 4 (28 page)

The big red Ram truck Christian had borrowed from his best friend, Tucker, stood in the gravel lot, both headlights bashed out and so many divots in the hood and fender that it looked pocked.

A gush of air froze in his throat as a little gal in teeny cut-off shorts and cowgirl boots danced around the side of the truck. Swinging.

“Jeezus, lady!” Christian hollered as she landed the bat full force and smashed in the side mirror. He took off running, boots digging into gravel and heart thumping.
Tucker’s gonna wipe the floor with my ass.
He’d sent Christian on the beer run in his truck because it was parked in the way of Christian’s own vehicle.

Springy curls bobbed on the girl’s head as she cocked the bat for another blow. Christian caught the tip, ripping it from her hands before she swung.

She whirled on him, hands fisted, face pink with exertion. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He gaped at her. “Are you crazy, girl? Or don’t you realize that destroying a Ram will earn you three-to-five in these parts?”

With a growl, she lunged for the bat, but he flipped it behind his back, out of her reach.

“Not crazy and I don’t give a damn about jail sentences. I’m related to just about every man with a badge in Reedy. Now give me back my bat!”

He looked at her harder, noting the tears standing in her almond-shaped brown eyes and the way her lower lip trembled. What the hell was going on?

“You got a problem with this here truck?”

“No, I’ve got a problem with the owner of this truck.”

Ah. So Tucker had pissed her off and she was reaping revenge. Not surprising, since Tucker’s screw-’em-and-walk-away creed had gotten him into more than one jam.

She circled to Christian’s side to make another steal for the bat. “Uh-uh,” he drawled. “Give me your name.”

Shifting her weight to one hip, she dug her knuckles into her upper thigh. “Who wants to know?”

“Christian Davis, driver of this truck.”

Her eyes widened. “But…it’s Tucker’s truck. I know by that cross he has dangling from the mirror.”

Christian raked his gaze over her, starting at the curly roots of her dark hair, down her upper chest exposed by a white tank top, past the Daisy Dukes, and then lingered on her round thighs. Lightly tanned. Smooth. Perfect for tucking around a man on a cold autumn night.

Forget the Budweiser. He wanted to curl up with her. What the hell was wrong with Tucker that he’d walk away from this glorious little darlin’?

His fiancée’s what’s wrong with him.
Tucker’s fiancée had died in a car accident two years before and he couldn’t get past it. Couldn’t see the sun shining all around him because he walked in shadow.

Christian met her gaze, only to find a pained smirk twisting her pale pink lips.

“I can see you aren’t any better than Tucker,” she said.

Leaning against the door, still warm from the late afternoon sun, he clamped the bat under his arm. “That’s a broad statement from someone who doesn’t even know me.”

“Yeah, well, I see the way you’re looking at me, and it’s no different from your
friend.
” She dropped her gaze. “I thought he was the real thing.”

Christian scuffed a boot against the gravel and looked away.
Yeah, he does that to a lot of us.

Still, he’d like to believe he wasn’t as much of a hound as Tucker. And besides, this girl couldn’t very well run around looking like
that
and expect a red-blooded male to be immune.

A pickup bumped into the parking lot, spraying gravel and dust around them. Christian stole another look at the girl’s face. “Your name?” When she hesitated, he said, “So I can at least give you credit for your handiwork.”

Pivoting away, she started across the lot.

“Hey!”

“It’s Claire,” she tossed over her shoulder.

He watched her wiggle off, fighting the heavy ache in his groin. “Claire, you want your bat?”

“Give it to your friend as a souvenir.” With that, she yanked open the door of a midsize car that looked as if it belonged to an elderly person. The driver peeled out of the parking lot and lay rubber on the highway.

With a half sigh, half laugh, he tossed the bat into the truck bed and climbed behind the wheel.

Shaking his head, Christian pulled out and headed straight for the Quickie Mart. Two chili cheese dogs were in order. He wasn’t about to face an irate best friend on an empty stomach. And after shoveling gravel for eight solid hours on the road crew, he was starved.

Gathering up his dogs and a giant soda, he turned the truck back toward Tucker’s ranch. As he passed the wide open fields and the blue smudge of mountains on the horizon, all he could see were Claire’s eyes, bright with anger. Swimming with tears.

“Man,” he murmured and cranked the wheel to avoid two human-sized potholes in front of the driveway leading to the ranch.

As he bumped up the lane, he horked down the second chili dog and slurped the remainder of the soda. Tucker was gonna be pissed. Not only had he returned his truck with three thousand dollars’ worth of damage, he’d left The Hellion without the six-pack.

Dammit, he couldn’t help but think Tucker deserved it.

Leaving his trash for his friend to take care of, Christian mounted the three solid wood porch steps to the front door. The ranch was picturesque against the satiny blue sky. Dark wood with real working shutters and a glass door, the old homestead of the Langley family had been restored by Tucker’s own hand. He’d spilled a lot of blood and sweat on this land, making his ranch one of the finest horse farms in the county.

Christian pushed open the door and clomped across the mudroom. In the living area, Tucker was kicked back in the recliner with the remote in hand.

Christian’s c*ck stirred at the sight of his friend in this position. How many times had they sat in this same space, watching porn and jacking off together?

For two years, they’d been enjoying this intimacy. Watching, urging on the other. But their rule was hands off, and Christian wanted nothing more than to jump that gap from friends screwing around to more.

He was work boots over hard hat in love with this guy.

Tucker met his gaze. The shoulder-length hair that Christian longed to run his hands through covered one smoldering eye. “Got the beer? I’ve got the movie.”

Christian’s c*ck reacted instantly, stretching, battering his fly. Last night they’d shared a woman, not a self-love session. Actually, Tucker hadn’t participated, just stood at the bedside with his c*ck in his fist, watching Christian love on the woman. And now that he thought of it, he realized this was most likely the reason for Claire’s fury.

The scent of pine woods and strong coffee filled Christian’s head as he drew a deep breath. He sank to the edge of the couch. “Not exactly.”

“What’s that mean? You get the beer or not?”

Christian raked his fingers through his short hair. “I paid for it but left without it.”

Confusion creased Tucker’s brow. “Not followin’, friend.”

Plow on.
“I ran into someone at The Hellion.”

“Yeah?” That rough, drink-nails-for-breakfast voice ripped through Christian’s senses. The same voice drove him wild as Tucker pumped out his pleasure.

“Yeah, a hot little number by the name of Claire.” He drew her name out on his tongue, testing its flavor. Hell, it even tasted like her. Decadent with a hint of quirkiness.

And violence.

The corner of his mouth tipped up.

Tucker stared at him hard. “What the hell happened, man?”

Was that jealousy he read on Tucker’s face? “It seems Claire was mighty upset by something. So upset, in fact, that she beat the hell out of your truck.”

At that, Tucker laughed out loud. “She weighs a hundred and ten pounds dripping wet. How much damage could she have done?”

Christian scraped his fingers over his scalp. “Quite a bit with a baseball bat.”

Tucker’s eyes bugged out, and in a flash, he was on his feet and storming out the door. Christian didn’t budge from his spot, one ear cocked, waiting.

A howl of rage drifted in. A few seconds later, Tucker’s violent footfalls preceded the man.

“Holy—”

“I know,” Christian cut him off. “Question is what did you do to her?”

Tucker dropped abruptly to the sofa arm and buried his head in his hands. “I stood her up last night.”

Just as Christian had suspected. Instead of staying with one girl who he might fall for, Tucker ran out and found one to share with Christian.

“You’re runnin’ again.”

Tucker snapped his head up and he leveled his glare at Christian. Gaining his feet, Christian stared him down. Dammit, it was time to intervene. If Tucker wouldn’t come around and accept a relationship with Christian, he needed to at least set up house with a sweet little gal and have a string of horse-riding babies.

His friend clenched his hands into fists. “And you’re crossin’ a line.”

“Man, you can’t keep doing this. Running from these girls who might change your world.”

Christian’s stomach bottomed out at the memory of Claire’s words.
I thought he was the real thing.

“Shut up, Davis. You don’t know what you’re talking about, and it’s none of your goddamn business.”

None of my business that you didn’t join in last night because your heart is in a relationship, even if your hard head won’t allow it?

“Yeah,” Christian said, brushing past Tucker on the way out, “it’s never my business.”

Sometimes, a girl has to take more than one bull by the horns.

Boots and Buckles

© 2013 Myla Jackson

Ugly Stick Saloon
,
Book 6

Mona Daley has had her fill of rodeo cowboys. Especially after Grant Raleigh and his partner blew through town three years ago. A torrid affair, a promise to return, then...nothing.

Chalking it up to girl-in-every-town syndrome, she swore off buckle-bearing cowpokes and never looked back. Now she’s working nights at the Ugly Stick Saloon to make enough money to save her beauty salon.

Grant has plans for his return to Mona’s life, plans that include groveling at her feet for another chance. Except his roping partner, Sam Whitefeather, gets to her first—and it looks like they’ve hit it off.
 

If he thought Mona didn’t harbor feelings for him, Grant would be the decent guy, step aside, and let her be happy. But one look, one touch on the dance floor and he finds himself falling all over again. He’s determined to prove his sincerity and that he’s the better man for her. Even if it means squaring off in the hottest arena imaginable—the bedroom.

Warning: The rodeo’s coming to town and there’s nothing two hot cowboys can’t do with a rope, a willing woman, and a lot of imagination.
 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Boots and Buckles:
 

Grant saw her as soon as he stepped through the door. Just like it had been when he’d seen her for the first time, he’d been drawn to Mona’s smile and the way she moved with a sexy flare she wasn’t even aware of.

The three years since he’d last been to Temptation hadn’t changed her much. Perhaps she was a little thinner, but she was just as beautiful as the day they’d met at the Ugly Stick Saloon during Tri-County Rodeo week. He and his then-partner, Dalton Faulkner, had been there for the rodeo. She’d been helping out at the Ugly Stick, waiting tables and serving drinks to rowdy cowboys fresh off the adrenaline rush of roping steers, riding bulls or broncs.

He chose the table in the back of the saloon because it
wasn’t
one that Mona was servicing. His waitress, Kendall, was a sweet young thing he didn’t recognize from his last visit to the saloon. She wore a diamond engagement ring on her finger and didn’t take any lip or advances from the horny men raising hell after a tough day in the saddle.

“This place is great.” His new team roping partner, Sam Whitefeather, tipped his long neck and swallowed the last of the beer in one gulp, slapped the bottle on the table and pushed to his feet. “You stickin’ around for a while?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Could you order me another? I’m gonna hit the latrine.” Sam reached for his wallet.

Grant held up his hand. “I’ll get this round. Go.”

He’d skipped the last two years’ rodeos here because he couldn’t bring himself to face Mona. The first year, because his life had been a mess, his career as a team roper at an end when he and Dalton had parted ways, and his bronc riding on the verge of collapse.

If not for Sam, he’d have found some bottle to crawl into and given up on everything. It took him the next couple years of total focus and concentration to regain his credibility and top rating in the competitions. Only then had he felt like he could return and see if there was anything left to salvage between him and Mona.

The woman foremost on his mind walked by carrying a tray of beer mugs and long necks, and his heart flipped over, reminding Grant of everything he’d lost and all the mistakes he’d made. He tipped his hat lower over his forehead, not ready to let her see him. Not sure what he expected to get out of coming back to Temptation. Would she ever forgive him for making promises he didn’t keep?