Two Cowboys in Her Crosshairs [Hellfire Ranch] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (10 page)

She shrugged very stiff shoulders.

He decided to drop it for now. “We met when I was five and he was six. We lived in the same neighborhood, went to the same school, and discovered we had a lot of the same interests.”

“Like what?”

Her sultry voice thumped over him like a sensual massage. Hudson tried to jerk himself out of his weird response to her. She was beautiful and exotic and hot as an August noon, but there was something else that set his body into a full gallop. He’d made a lifetime of flirting and was no slouch in the dating department, but he couldn’t remember this kind of gut-check reaction before.

“The usual,” he said and finally succeeded in putting a lid on himself. “Bugs. Bikes. Playing in the mud.”

She laughed. “That makes sense. I’ve noticed that Jake really likes the mud. The ranch was full of it, too.”

“Darling, that’s not mud. That’s horse shit.” He blinked and felt his cheeks go red. Hudson cleared his throat. “Pardon my French, ma’am.”

In his peripheral vision he saw her turn her body to face him. “Please don’t apologize. I’m in the military and lived with rough and tumble men for several years. I’ve heard and said just about every curse word there is. Invented plenty of my own, too. My name is Olivia,” she continued. “I’m only ma’am when I’m in uniform and on duty.”

He looked over at her. His breath caught at the beauty of her smile and the way it lit up her entire face. Her brown eyes danced with sassy humor. His hard-won self-control rattled. He was damn glad he was driving or else he might have hauled her into his arms for a long, wet kiss.

They crested the final hill before the small town of Freedom appeared before them.

“Duly noted, but you should remember you’re in Texas.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we treat our women right and that often includes calling them ma’am. And saying please, thank you, and opening doors.”

“Ah, that’s refreshing,” she murmured.

Hudson slowed the truck as he turned off the blacktop and onto the main drag. “This is our little town. It’s got about 3,000 permanent residents. We don’t count the outlying ranches and farmlands into the census ’cause the county does that. But we still claim ’em.” He pointed out her window. “That’s the pride of Freedom right there. We call it the Hex because it’s laid out like a giant hexagon. Back when the town was founded, somewhere around 1873, folks still traveled by horse and the occasional buggy, so getting around wasn’t an issue.” He chuckled as he shook his head. “When cars came along, I bet the city planners had a coronary trying to figure out right of ways.”

He spotted a parking space and cut across two lanes of traffic to nab it. A loud honk sounded from behind him.

“That guy doesn’t sound happy,” Olivia murmured.

“He’ll get over it.” Hudson hopped from the truck to open her door. To his relief, she waited for him. “See, you’re already getting the hang of this.”

“Uh-huh,” she said and smoothed her skirt down. She looked at the bustling town center. Her eyes grew wider with each scan. “Wow, this is really cool.”

Hudson nodded. “It is, isn’t it?” The outlying part of the Hex was lined with shops housed in near-original buildings from the 1870s. They’d been updated for safety codes and electrical needs, but overall, the town exuded old-West appeal that would have made a Hollywood set decorator drool. The inside of the Hex was a conglomeration of parking spots, a park and a multitude of benches, fountains and flowers. A lone building stood in the very center. He pointed toward it as he placed his hand on Olivia’s back and urged her forward. “That’s The Hitching Post. It’s the hottest spot in town. There is a stage and seating for three hundred on the inside as well as a full restaurant and bar. It’s for rent on a daily and nightly basis and always packed. A lot of in- and out-of-town weddings are held there.”

“It’s gorgeous.” She shaded her eyes and studied the building. “What kind of architecture is that? It’s quite a bit different than the ones across the street.”

“Mostly Neoclassic with some old West tossed in. It was designed by a German architect named Alfons Huber,” he said with pride. “Apparently, he and his family were on a trip and ended up stranded in Freedom in 1876, just a few years after the town was founded. Back then it was a motley collection of shanties and one-room cabins. Nevertheless, the townspeople welcomed him with open arms and a lot of good ole Texas hospitality. They took care of Huber and invited him back anytime. He repaid their kindness by purchasing the land, designing the building, and then footing quite a lot of the construction himself. He also designed all five of the city buildings, including Tag’s jail and office space. Huber stayed in Freedom for over a year to accomplish the work. Too bad the guy didn’t survive long enough to return.”

“What do you mean?” Olivia asked.

“His wife died shortly after they left Freedom. She caught some sort of illness on the return trip to Boston. Huber didn’t make it another two years without her. Distraught, he sent his children to live with relatives then wandered the country. He died in 1881 during a train robbery.”

“That’s horrible,” she murmured.

“Yeah. Lots of tragedy in that man’s life.”

They made it to the intersection across from the Tin Star. Hudson took hold of her arm. “There are no walk signals here, so you’ve got to watch the roads. People generally drive decent enough, but every now and again some smart-ass teenager likes to show off.”

“Benevolent architects, surly teens, and a whole lot of cows. You live in an interesting city, Hudson.”

He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. He guided her up and over the curb. “It’s a town, not a city. That implies way more politicking than we see here in Freedom. But we
are
a nice gathering place for the oddballs. Stick around long enough, and you’ll get to know them.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Sorry, Hudson, I’m only here for a couple of days. As long as it takes Jake to figure out the importance of what Shag sent.”

He ruthlessly squashed his disappointment. “Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself while you’re here, does it?”

Her brow knitted for a second, and then she shook her head. “No, I guess not.”

“Good,” he said. “And we can start right here.” He pulled open the rustic door of the restaurant. The heavenly aroma of brisket, corn bread, and sweet baked beans enveloped them. He sniffed in appreciation.

“Wow,” she whispered. “Maybe I am hungry again. Smells amazing in here.”

“Mr. Walker. Welcome back.”

Hudson nodded to Maljib al-Mubi as he hurried forward. The slight man sported luxurious dark hair with an ever-widening bald spot in the center, a long sharp nose that crooked just to the left, and the biggest smile this side of the Red River.

“Maljib, good to see you.”

He turned to introduce Olivia and found she’d slipped back into her wary military stance. She stood stiff and alert.

“Relax,” he murmured. “Maljib’s a good guy.”

She started, and a slow flush colored her cheeks.

“Who is your lovely lady friend?” Maljib asked, black eyes glittering with delight.

Hudson knew the man was at least as big a gossip as Betty, who ran Beauty Bob’s down the street. He’d bet his best saddle Maljib would be on the phone to her before their server even made it to the table.

Hudson wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer. “This is an old friend of Jake’s. Meet Miss Olivia Martinez. Livvie, this is Maljib al-Mubi, chef extraordinaire. He’s responsible for the mouth-watering aromas coming from the back.”

“Oh, Mr. Walker, you hush now. Too much. It is. Too much. Oh, now. Come, Miss Olivia, I will give you the best seat in the house.”

The little man tittered and blushed like a schoolgirl caught by her first crush. Olivia relaxed beneath his arm, and Hudson released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He watched as the man charmed Olivia away and down the hallway.

When Maljib first arrived in town two years ago, Jake had been just as wary and distrustful. Though he was of Tajik descent, Maljib was just as American as any of ’em. Well, except for that whole growing up in Tajikistan part. His father insisted he learn about his heritage and experience it firsthand. Each year until he turned eighteen, Maljib, his two brothers, and lone sister would fly to Tajikistan where they lived for three months before returning to Boston. It didn’t help he spoke with that distinctive Bostonian accent, either. Marked him as a Yankee as soon as he opened his mouth.

Hudson followed Maljib and Olivia as they wound through the nearly full restaurant. He nodded to folks he knew as he passed but didn’t stop to chat as he normally would. He was too intent on sitting down with Olivia and finding out more about her.

“There you are now.” Maljib held out her chair and handed her a napkin. “Just for you, Miss Olivia, I will give you my recipe for potato salad.”

“Um, okay. Thank you?” She looked at Hudson with a question in her big, expressive brown eyes.

He sat down across from her. He snapped out his own napkin. “That’s high praise right there, darlin’,” he said. “Maljib’s potato salad is famous in these parts. Everyone who tries it asks him for the recipe.”

Olivia winked and leaned back to smile at the still-hovering Maljib. “Thank you. I’ll look forward to it.”

He bowed. “Excellent, excellent. Catherine will be here in a moment. Please, enjoy.”

The noise around them swelled and ebbed as people rose from their tables. Hud caught many speculative glances and grinned at each one.

Hell, why not fuel the rumors?
It was a little harmless fun, and he liked fun.

“He’s very nice,” Olivia said. She picked up a yellow packet and turned it in her fingers. She studied it for a long time then sighed and raised remorseful eyes to his. “I shouldn’t have judged, and I’m sorry for how I reacted.”

He took her hand. “Hush, Olivia. After all you’ve been through and seen, it’s more than okay. I hate to say it’s expected, but even Maljib would tell you that.” He pulled a grimace and looked back toward the kitchen. A rueful smile broke out on his face as he caught sight of the little man weaving back and forth in the hallway with a cell phone plastered to his ear. “He hasn’t had it easy growing up as he did.”

“How’s that?” she asked.

“Muslim-American and gay,” he said flatly. “When he came out to his family, they were shocked but accepted him. His culture and neighbors were not as understanding. They forced him out of the community. He came here with a broken heart and spirit.”

She frowned and shook her head. “Damn, I hate that. What changed for him?”

Hud was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t react at all to Maljib’s sexuality. “He ran into Bosco Evans while they were both out on the river fishing. The Tin Star used to be Bosco’s before he retired. No one really knows what was said out on the river, but legend says it involves that recipe for potato salad.”

Her eyes widened, and she laughed. “Legend, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, stud muffin, where you been? It’s been a week since I heard from you.”

* * * *

The half-squeaky, half-smoky, rasped voice brought Olivia’s head around. From the sound she’d expected a wizened old lady with gray curls and a cigarette dangling from overly red lips. Instead she came face to face with a willowy blonde whose blue eyes lasered into her with a hundred questions.

Hud shrugged. “Sorry, Cat, I was laid out with the flu.”

The blonde looked at him and frowned. “Poor baby. Too sick to even pick up the phone?”

“Pretty much. Hell, I was sleeping twenty hours outta the day.”

She took a step back with her order pad raised like a shield. “You’re not still contagious, are you?”

“Nah. It’s gone. Just have a cough hanging on.”

“Good,” she said. “I’ve got a gig up in DFW this weekend, and I don’t want to blow it getting sick by you.” She winked.

“Gee, thanks for your sympathy.”

“As if, you rogue.”

The blue eyes turned back to her and Olivia straightened in her chair. Olivia shifted uncomfortably under the stare. The woman was lovely. She had an elegant, patrician kind of face that made her think of bygone movie stars like Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn.

“Hi, I’m Catherine. What can I get you to drink?”

Obviously the woman was going to keep her questions at bay for the moment. Olivia figured she would hit Hudson up when they were alone.

An unexpected hot flare of annoyance burbled in her chest. She was flabbergasted by the sudden surge. She was in town for two days, for God’s sake, and she had bigger fish to fry than Hudson Walker and his girlfriend.

But the discomfort lingered.

“Cat, this is
my
friend Olivia. She’s here visiting me and Jake for a few days.”

Olivia looked at him across the table. She’d caught the slight emphasis he’d placed on my. Had Catherine noticed? Would she care?

Get a grip, Martinez
.

“Nice to meet you,” Olivia said and held out her hand.

Catherine shook it firmly. “Likewise.” Her blue gaze roamed over Hudson. “Friend, huh?”