Texas Two Step

Texas
Two-Step

Cat Johnson

eBooks are
not
transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement of the copyright of this work.

TEXAS TWO-STEP

13 Perfect Strangers Collection

Copyright © 2011 CAT JOHNSON

Cover art by Amanda Kelsey

Edited by Trinity Scott

All Romance eBooks, LLC

Palm Harbor, Florida 34684

www.allromanceebooks.com

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever with out written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First All Romance eBooks publication: February 2011

Dedication

For the Makin’ 8 Maniacs who were alongside me on this project from its original conception, through the long and sometimes painful labor, right up to the final naming. This one’s for you, Tweethearts.

Chapter One

“Are you on that bleedin’ computer again? It’s the middle of the night.”

Maryann Morrissy cringed at her fiancé’s obvious annoyance.

“Yes. Sorry, luv. Did I wake you?” She’d been trying to hit the keys as quietly as possible, but in the dead of night, everything sounded horribly loud.

“Your racket didn’t help, but I can’t sleep anyway. I had a dodgy meal today. Not feeling quite up to snuff.” Robert rubbed his belly.

“Really? Where did you eat?” She frowned. “And I thought you had an important meeting. That’s why you couldn’t have lunch with me.”

“Uh, right.” He hesitated just a beat. “It was a working lunch. Probably the sandwiches we ordered in were a little past their time. I’ll have to remember not to order from there again.”

“Yes, do that. You should call to complain. Let them know. Which shop was it? You never did say.”

“Um, some new place. I’m not sure. The secretary ordered for us.”

“Well you be sure to ask her the name tomorrow. I don’t want to go there either. Not if they can’t be trusted.”

“Maryann. Honestly, what is this, an inquisition? I’m tired, I don’t feel well, and I don’t know the damn name of the shop. All right?”

“All right. Sorry.” Maryann’s brows rose. Robert always did get extra cranky when he hadn’t had enough sleep.

“Who in the bloody hell are you talking to on there at this hour?” He stumbled through the bedroom doorway and across the flat, scratching his willy through his boxers most of the way.

She dragged her attention away from his display of poor manners and back to his face. “My friends in the States. It’s still early there.”

“Your friends. Ha.” Robert let out a snort. “They’re not your friends, luv. They’ve never met you, never will and probably wouldn’t want to anyway.”

“That’s not true.” She scowled. It never ceased to amaze Maryann how he could call her “luv” and still say the most hurtful things to her, all in the same breath.

The people she talked to online were nicer than Robert in recent days. Why was she with him again? Lately she’d been having trouble remembering. It must have been the side effect of an extended engagement.

Robert paused next to the computer and frowned at the long stream of messages on the screen. “TXCowgirl? Luv2Ride? Who are these people?”

“They’re rodeo fans.”

“Rodeo?” His deep frown elaborated further upon his one word exclamation. Guess that showed her his opinion of her most recent interest. “What in the bloody hell do you know about the rodeo?”

“I’m learning.” Torn between hurt and anger, Maryann felt a pout coming on and quickly tried to erase the expression before Robert saw it. He’d only make fun of her for acting like a child. He’d done so before.

“Why? We live in a flat in London, not in effing Wyoming or wherever there are cowboys and rodeo. Leave it to you to find another way to waste time.”

I’m sure cowboys would be much nicer to me than you.

If only she had the nerve to say that out loud. “It’s not a waste. It’s interesting. And fun.”

Apparently a response to that eluded Robert. All Maryann got from him was a snort followed by, “I’m going back to bed.” He disappeared into the other room.

Maryann noted with not much regret that he didn’t inquire as to whether or not she was coming to bed or when.

They hadn’t had sex in what seemed like forever. That was fine with her. At the moment sitting in front of her computer, in spite of the chill in the air, seemed far preferable to being in bed with Robert in this mood.

Just pre-wedding jitters, for both of them, even though they didn’t have a date yet. That had to be it. They’d been fine when they’d simply dated for the past two years. It was probably just the change of choosing to move in together before setting a date and getting married. Change was stressful.

A soft chime from the computer startled Maryann out of her reverie. She glanced down and saw a new message.

TXCowgirl:
BritChick, you there?

A bittersweet feeling struck Maryann. Robert was wrong. These people were her friends. They cared about her. It didn’t matter if they were across the ocean and that they’d never met. She shoved the sleeves of her pajamas up and placed her hands on the keyboard.

Yes. Sorry. I’m here.
Maryann sent that message and then, after an idea struck her, she began typing again.
What’s the exact date of that Texas event? I think I want to come
.

TXCowgirl:
OMG Really? Could you come? You can stay with me!

She wanted to see a rodeo, live and in person, and she wanted to meet her new friend. Maryann had a bad feeling if she didn’t do both before she married Robert, she’d never get to. With newfound determination, she responded,
Yes. Definitely, yes!

As the sounds of Robert’s snores filtered out to her—apparently he could sleep with all of her racket—Maryann decided she wouldn’t mind meeting a few cowboys either.

*****

“This is the most asinine thing you’ve ever done. Flying to Texas to watch a bunch of men play at being cowboys. And that bull riding you were watching the other night, that’s not a sport. What kind of skill is required to get your head stepped on by a big dumb creature? Polo. Cricket. Rugby. Now those are sports.”

Maryann sat and listened to Robert’s diatribe in silence. She’d thought the free ride to the airport would have been worth what it cost her in mental anguish. That was up for debate at the moment, but she had to grin and bear it considering she’d already paid a small fortune for the airplane ticket and didn’t have much money in reserve to hire a car.

Of course she’d lied to Robert and told him the flight had cost her half of what it actually had. He’d still complained about her spending the money. Not that it was any of his business. It was her money.

He’d insisted they maintain separate bank accounts and share the bills for the apartment 50/50 even though as a solicitor he made double what she did as an administrative assistant. She figured as long as she paid her share, the rest of what was in that account was hers. After all, her name and hers alone was on it.

When she got back from this trip she had some serious thinking to do about a lot of things, such as her future and Robert’s place in it.

He pulled up to the curb and looked down at his watch with a frustrated huff of breath.

When he glanced up, Maryann asked, “Will you make your meeting in time?”

Robert shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe if I get going right now, I might.”

“I’ll just grab my bag from the back and let you get to work.” She gathered her small carry-on and reached for the door handle. Looking back, she realized Robert wasn’t getting out of the car. She leaned across the car. “Thank you for driving me. I’ll call when I get to the States.”

“All right.” Robert leaned in enough to allow her to plant a quick kiss on his lips, before he pulled back and glanced down at her feet with a frown. “Are those new boots?”

Maryann’s guilt had her laughing. “These? No, luv. I’ve had them since school. Just dug them out of storage for the trip.”

“Oh.”

As Robert continued to study her shiny new footwear with suspicion, Maryann hustled for a distraction. “I better go and you need to get to that meeting. Love you.”

“Love you too.” He pulled his lips into a small smile that didn’t last, before his focus was back on his wristwatch again.

She’d been dismissed, which was probably a good thing since she wasn’t quite sure she’d remembered to peel the price sticker off the sole of her new purchase. Maryann managed to wrestle her bag out of the back seat herself, and then said goodbye to Robert before she slammed the door. With mixed emotions she watched him pull away from the curb and then turned toward the entrance to the airport.

The trip of a lifetime lay before her, and she had every intention of enjoying every moment of it.

Chapter Two

“Please, please, please, you
have
to do this one favor for me.”

“Why?” Wes Griffin cocked a brow and waited for his sister Ellen to come up with a good enough reason for him to have to drive all the way to the airport to pick up some woman he didn’t know.

In fact, Ellen didn’t even know her. It was someone from England she’d met and talked to online. It could be some mass murderer pretending to be a little old lady from Great Britain for all any of them knew. Ellen didn’t seem to care about that though.

“You have to because you’re my brother and you love me.”

Wes let out a snort at that logic. Oh, he knew he’d do it for her, but he wasn’t going to make it easy on Ellen. That’s what being a brother was all about. “And…”

“You’re my roommate.”

He laughed. “Which I pay half the rent for the privilege of. What else ya got?”

“I, uh… Dang it, Wes, just tell me what you want.” Ellen’s frustration was clear. Wes enjoyed it immensely.

“I want a twelve-pack of beer. The good stuff, not what you usually buy for yourself.”

“Done. Let me give you the information. She lands at five-fifty-five today.”

Damn. She’d agreed so fast, he should have asked for a case instead of just a twelve-pack. Oh well. Too late now.

“Hang on. I’m not ready yet.” Wes sighed. Cradling the cell phone between his ear and his shoulder, he felt in his pocket for something to write on. He came up with a crumpled receipt and then searched his truck for something to write with. He finally found the stub of an old pencil on the floor between the seats. That’d work. “All right. Give me the information.”

“You’ll have to go inside and meet her at British Airways arrivals—”

Wes groaned. “I want parking money too.”

“Fine. Just make sure you write down the time. Five-fifty-five. I don’t want you to forget. And you’ll have to make a sign on a piece of paper or cardboard or something with her name on it so she knows who you are.”

This was just getting better and better. First of all, it was doubtful she would actually land at five-fifty-five. Why airlines bothered trying to be so precise, he’d never understand. They were never on time. Then, though he’d never flown out of the country, he figured he’d probably have to wait for her to get through some sort of US Customs inspection. Then she’d need to wait for her luggage.  On top of it all, he had to stand there with a sign in his hand like an idiot.

Annoyed at both his sister for asking and himself for saying yes, he let out a loud breath.

“Stop that!” Her voice came through his cell, loud and clear.

“What?” Wes frowned. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear you being annoyed from here. She’s a very nice woman and I’m really excited to have her visit, so be nice.”

“I’m always nice. I just… Do I really have to hold up a sign?”

“Yes, you do. She’ll be looking for me to pick her up, not you. My supervisor just threw this extra shift on me last minute.”

“So just tell her it’ll be me, the tall handsome guy in a black cowboy hat and a—” Wes glanced down at himself, “—blue shirt and jeans.”

“I can’t tell her. She’s in the air already and her phone is turned off. I can’t be sure she’ll check her messages when she lands or that her cell will even work here in the States. Maybe it’s some kind of British cell phone and won’t have signal here. I don’t know. You need the sign.”

Wes didn’t know shit about British cell phones, or British chicks, but he supposed he’d learn soon enough.

“Fine. I’ll make a sign.” Now he needed paper too. Wes spied an old parking ticket. Not big enough. He glanced into the rearview mirror. The old beer can box kicking around in the bed of the truck might work, turned inside out so he could write on the plain cardboard part. “What’s her name? Probably something weird like Pippy McDougal, right?”