The Sex Solution (13 page)

Austin grinned. “I’ve got three fences down on the far west corner, and a nail gun with your name on it.” His expression grew serious. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re welcome to stay out at my place.”

“And be that much closer to Miss Marshalyn?” Houston shook his head. “That woman’s driving me nuts, not to mention ruining my social life. She actually announced to her choir group that I came back to town to find a wife. Since then I’ve had at least a half dozen women knocking on my door over at the inn. Not the walk-away kind of women, either. These are the ones determined to stick around the morning after, and every day from then on. I’ve even got one in particular following me around town.”

“So now the truth comes out. You aren’t so interested in helping out as you are in hiding out.”

Houston gave him a level stare. “Actually, I’m interested in both. You’ve got a pretty nice setup here. I’m real proud of you, bro.”

“Thanks.” He glanced around before meeting Houston’s gaze again. “And about Miss Marshalyn. Cut her some slack. She’s just worried about you.”

“I’m a grown man now.”

“You’re a
single
grown man.”

He grinned. “And I’m staying that way.” He gathered the reins and steered the horse around. “I’ll head back in, pick up the supplies from the barn and get started on the fence.”

Austin nodded and watched his brother ride off before he limped over to his own horse and retrieved the liniment from his saddlebags. Gathering his strength, he turned toward the wounded cow. She’d quieted down, easing the pounding in his temples.

He stepped toward her, his approach as easy as his voice. “Look, I haven’t had more than an hour’s sleep. I’m tired and hurting and I’ve had just about enough.” Of the cow, that is.

He hadn’t had nearly enough of sexy-as-hell Maddie Hale, which was the cause of his headache and his lack of sleep. He was the king of one-night stands, as in
one
night. That night was now over, but damned if he didn’t want another.

A realization that confused the hell out of him. One night had always been just fine with him.

But now…he wanted more, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

He knew what he
wasn’t
going to do about it.

He wasn’t having sex with her again. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life, but he had the gut feeling that that would be his biggest. Better to curb his appetite before he really developed a taste for her, because, like it or not, Maddie was strictly temporary with her big-city job and her big-city life and her big-city ideas.

He may have seen glimpses of the shy, uncertain girl he’d once known, but she’d definitely changed. She wasn’t the marrying kind.

Not anymore.

M
ADELINE HAD SEEN
many things in her lifetime. After all, she was a worldly woman who lived in a major metropolis. Not much could shock her.

Except walking into her hometown Piggly Wiggly—the size of most convenience stores in Dallas—and smelling the scent of cinnamon rolls baking in a nearby oven.

An oven?

“Things just haven’t been the same since they expanded with a bakery,” Camille Skeeter told her. The old woman had been picking up some lemons—Skeeter’s had many things but fresh produce wasn’t part of the inventory—when she’d spotted Madeline and waved her over. “But the folks in town were desperate.” A cough punctuated the sentence and she shook her head. “I hope this lemon tea works for my danged old croup. I’ve got an appointment with the doctor first thing Monday, but I’d hate to spend the rest of the week in misery. Ben’s got a dinner over at the new nursing home on Friday night and I was hoping to go with him.” Another cough and she cleared her throat.

Madeline followed the smell of cinnamon to a small counter at the rear of the store. Stacks of clear plastic containers holding freshly baked cinnamon rolls covered the top. Beyond stood a large silver oven and a preparation table. A man worked diligently to box more rolls. “They’re actually
baking
back there.”

“More like reheating. We haven’t had any homemade baked goods in this town since your folks closed up shop and moved to the Coast. Except for Marshalyn. But since her eyesight’s fading, she hasn’t had much business. She’s got folks running scared.” At Madeline’s questioning glance, Camille added, “For Norman Crater’s retirement party over at the Elks Lodge, his wife ordered a double-chocolate-fudge layer cake with dark fudge filling.”

Madeline’s stomach grumbled at the thought and Camille smiled.

“Exactly. There isn’t a person alive can resist all that chocolate. But Marshalyn mixed up her baking chocolate with her stress relief—the chocolate chewable kind that works in twenty-four hours—and the Elks had to have one of their bathrooms completely redone after that. Folks started to make do with the Piggly Wiggly stuff after that, but they still complained and so the manager, that nice Mr. Connally, responded to customer demand. He put in an oven and started heating up frozen stuff. The rolls are good for about the first ten minutes. Then they cool and you can taste the staleness.”

Despite Camille’s warning about the boxed goodies, Madeline was lured by the smell. After she said goodbye to the woman and promised to drop by some new lotion samples, she bought a dozen. She tore off a bite as soon as she walked out of the store.

Yep, Camille had been right.

No melting in your mouth. No watering taste buds. No craving for more. That’s what her daddy’s homemade chocolate éclairs, along with the rest of his offerings, had done for the town of Cadillac.

She wasn’t sure if it was the strange sense of loneliness that stole through her or her craving for a homemade blueberry muffin, or maybe a little of both. But instead of heading back to her car, she walked the half block to her parents’ old shop.

Most of the windows had been boarded up from the inside. A For Sale sign hung on the front door, the contact a local real-estate investment company who’d bought the place from her parents because of its prime commercial location. There’d been rumors of a diner opening up, but the buyer hadn’t been able to get a loan approved and so the place still stood, waiting for a new owner, the ovens cold and silent inside.

It was so unlike the place she remembered, filled with lots of noise and sweet smells and warmth. Her favorite place where she’d learned her father’s secret recipe for everything from cream puffs to blueberry muffins.

She could remember those Saturday nights when she and Sharon would strap on aprons and help her father prepare for the Sunday-morning rush. They would mix up dough, laugh and bake and sample goodies late into the night. It hadn’t been the typical Saturday night, but it had always been fun. A wave of nostalgia rolled through her and she had the sudden urge to pull the For Sale sign from the window.

Crazy.

Madeline wouldn’t be caught dead purchasing the run-down bakeshop. She didn’t go near a kitchen anymore—not for baking purposes anyhow—much less a jelly doughnut or an apple fritter or a blueberry muffin.

Sure, she indulged with the occasional Oreo, but it was a purely creative necessity. A new craving she’d developed after she’d left her old life behind. But the craving didn’t control her. She controlled it. When she wasn’t in the lab, she walked the straight and narrow road of self-control, far removed from the frumpy, muffin-baking, overweight girl who’d once considered continuing the family business.

She needed noise and buildings and
life.

Already she was feeling nervous and anxious and caged in. The sudden trembling in her hands proved as much.

“Hey, there, Maddie!” a woman’s familiar voice called to her from across the street and drew her attention from the haunting images.

Madeline turned to see Eden Hallsey Weston standing in front of the Pink Cadillac, the bar and grill situated directly across from her parents’ shop.

At one time, the petite blonde had been quite the wild child. But since marrying Brady Weston, ex-captain of the football team and the All-American cowboy who headed his family’s boot-making business, she’d traded her bad-girl ways for domestic bliss. Instead of short shorts and a tank top, she wore white capri pants and a baseball jersey that read Go Weston Wranglers! She had her arms overloaded with a pair of matching blond-haired, blue-eyed toddler boys.

Adjusting the boys in her arms, she glanced both ways before crossing the street and approaching Madeline.

“I saw you at Cheryl Louise’s wedding, but I didn’t really get a chance to catch up. How have you been doing? You look so good!”

“Thanks. So do you.” Despite her obvious load, she was as pretty as ever. But even more than pretty, Eden looked happy.

The woman beamed. “It’s hectic with these two underfoot, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Brady and I like the whole parent thing so much we’re working on number three.” She shook her head. “Can you believe it?
Me?
A wife and a mother?”

“I bet you’re great at both.”

“I don’t know about that, but I love being both. Go figure. So what about you? You have anybody special right now?”

The question stirred an image of Austin Jericho with his shirt pushed up and his fingers twined in her hair and his dark eyes glittering down at her while she suckled him.

“I’m too busy for a serious relationship.”

“That’s right,” Eden said. “You’re a big-time scientist with that cosmetics company. That must be very exciting.”

Not half as exciting as the image of Austin.

She forced the notion aside and smiled. “It’s more work than excitement, but I like it.”

“I know what you mean. Running the bar was always that way for me until Brady.” She glanced at her watch. “Speaking of which, Brady’s company’s softball team is playing the Kerrville Kangaroos in fifteen minutes and I promised to pick up sandwiches. I hired this really great cook and he makes the best brisket po’boys.” At Madeline’s questioning expression, she added, “With Brady and the kids, I had to cut back my hours at the bar. I only go in two days a week to oversee the books and the inventory. I’ve got a manager who runs things now.”

“A manager?”

She nodded. “She’s a godsend. Gotta run, but it was good seeing you. Good luck with your job!”

“Good luck with the whole mom and wife thing.” Madeline watched Eden cross the street and disappear into the Pink Cadillac, and did her best to ignore the strange sense of longing that suddenly filled her.

Longing?

Because Eden was a mom and a wife?

Actually, the longing was more because Eden was a mom and wife and she seemed so happy about it. She’d even given up much of what she’d spent years working to build.

Not Madeline. She had plans. Goals. She wanted to go somewhere in her life, to move all the way to the top of V.A.M.P.’s research and development, and she was this close.

She gave the shop one last glance before starting back up the street. She’d wasted too much time with silly reminiscing. She was all about getting things done now. In store for the evening was another test. And another round of sex so that she could work Austin completely out of her system.

She prayed they were both a success.

“A
RE YOU READY
?” Austin ducked his head in the doorway of Miss Marshalyn’s house late Tuesday afternoon, fully expecting to see her wearing one of her nice polyester pantsuits and matching accessories. Her “going out” clothes. Instead, she wore a purple housedress and matching Keds. The sleeves were rolled up and she was submerged up to her elbows in a sink full of suds.

“Why aren’t you ready for choir practice?”

“I’m not going.” She pulled her hands free and grabbed a dish towel.

“But you never miss practice.”

“I am today. I’m tired. I was out late bowling last night.” She folded the used towel and set it back on the counter. “You’ll never guess who was there.”

“Spur Tucker.”

“Spur Tucker, of all people,” she went on as if she hadn’t heard him. “He was going around to all the women, eating their nachos and taking bites of their frito pies. It was positively scandalous.”

“Did you give him a bite of your pie?” His eyes twinkled.

“I was eating a hot dog, and the only thing I gave him was a piece of my mind.”

Austin glanced at his watch. “So what about choir practice? Time’s wasting.”

“I already told you, I’m not going,” she said again. “I hate choir.”

“You love to sing.”

“I hate the old biddies I sing with.”

“They’re your best friends.”

“Some friends.” She snorted. “I told them all last night I was bringing my special recipe fudge pie today.” She indicated the dessert sitting on her kitchen table. A strange aroma filled the air. “I had just pulled it from the oven when Arsell Jenkins called and said she was bringing her coconut cake. She said the girls took a vote last night after I left and I’m out of the dessert rotation. They said that I can’t bake to save my life anymore.”

“What does baking have to do with choir? You love to sing.” Not to mention, singing was safe for someone with poor eyesight. No walking involved. Just standing in the same spot, clapping and tapping every now and then.

“I can’t go to choir practice without bringing something.”

“So buy something.”

She pinned him with a stare. “Are you implying that they’re right?”

“No one bakes like you.” He gave the pie and its funny smell a wide birth as he rounded the table. “It’s not your baking.” He came up to her, took her hand and said the one thing they both already knew. “It’s your eyesight, sugar.”

“My eyesight is perfectly fine,” she huffed, snatching her hand away. She sank down at the kitchen table and Austin had no choice but to take the seat she motioned him into.

The smell grew stronger and his eyes started to water.

“Do you know what else Arsell said? She said that the girls think I have Old Timer’s, and that my baking mistakes were because I’m starting to lose it upstairs.” She tapped her temple. “Can you imagine? Me? With Old Timer’s? Why, I can recite every scripture Pastor Standley has ever read at Wednesday night Bible study. I do not get mixed up. I simply made one itsy-bitsy mistake with Cheryl Louise’s groom’s cake. Sugar and salt. Both white. It was just an honest mistake. People make them all the time.”

“If it’s just a mistake, chances are it won’t happen again. You shouldn’t go making any rash decisions about quitting choir based on one honest mistake.”

“True, but Arsell and the others think I have Old Timer’s, and if I happen to make another mistake, then they’ll make a big deal. I refuse to have the entire town wagging their collective tongue. I’d rather sing at home. At least then maybe they’ll feel bad.”

He folded his arms and eyed her. “Or you could talk to Dr. Bartlett about the eye surgery he mentioned during your last appointment.”

“My sight is just fine for a woman my age,” she insisted. “Speaking of which, I haven’t seen you out and about with anyone lately. You’re not dating, are you?”

“I’m working on it.”

“My going-away party is the weekend after next. You’d better work a little harder. Unless you’ve changed your mind. In that case, I could give that real estate man a call and put this old place up for sale to some anonymous stranger who’s never even set foot here and will no doubt bulldoze everything. Maybe even put up a few condos.”

“We’re out in the middle of nowhere. Nobody puts up condos in Nowhere, Texas.”

“Maybe they’ll open up one of those dude ranches and have all sorts of people coming and going, and they’ll still have to bulldoze because they’ll want modern lodging and probably a spa and a golf course and tennis courts—”

“Nobody’s bulldozing anything.” He frowned and turned. “I’ve got a woman in mind.”

“Who?”

“If you’re not going to choir, then I’ll get back to work.” He pushed to his feet.

“Who?” She followed him out onto the front porch. “Come on. Say something.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t let a bunch of gossips keep me from doing something I enjoy. Go to choir practice anyway. Show those old women that they can’t keep a good woman down.”

“That’s not what I wanted you to say. Tell me her name.”

“Have a nice day, Miss Marshalyn.” He tipped his hat and stepped off the front porch, his boots eating up dust as fast as his legs could carry him before he had to admit the truth—that he still hadn’t decided on any one suitable woman in particular.

Now if they were talking a hot, brazen, totally unsuitable woman…well, he’d found her, all right.

Talk about bad luck.

F
ORGET BAD
. His luck was plumb rotten.

Austin came to that conclusion when Madeline met him at the door wearing a thin white silk blouse tucked into a tight black skirt. She hadn’t bothered to wear a bra and her nipples made mouthwatering points beneath the flimsy material. Her breasts trembled with every breath she took.