Red-Hot Texas Nights Read online

  Not that his mother had concerned herself with either. She’d been too busy ignoring their problems during the day, and hiding from them in her damn spiked coffee every night.

  “I’ll find the mask. Just close your eyes and get some sleep right now. Everything will be okay.” He tucked the edges of the blanket around her and killed the small light that burned on the warped nightstand.

  Closing the door behind him, he walked back into the living room. Picking up his mom’s discarded cell, he typed in her password—Sawyer—and scrolled through her calls, searching for any communication from Coop. There was nothing since last week when he’d left a voice mail telling her that he was fine and he would be home soon.

  But soon had come and gone. He’d missed freshman orientation already. If he didn’t get his shit together, he’d be out for good. Stuck.

  Tyler hit the CALL BACK button and listened as his brother’s familiar voice came over the line.

  “You’ve reached Coop. I can’t take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.” Beeep.

  “This is your brother. Again. Call me. I mean it, Cooper. Time’s wasting.” He stabbed the OFF button and tossed the cell to the couch. His gaze snagged on a ragged throw pillow, the edges frayed, the expensive brocade fabric marred by several cigarette burns.

  He could still remember the day his mother had bought it. She’d come home from Fancy Designs, an elite shop owned by her second cousin Liza Sawyer, with a crisp black shopping bag stuffed full of gold tissue, the store’s trademark logo embossed on the side. He’d been a gangly thirteen, his feet too big for the worn cowboy boots he’d picked out of the donation bin at the local church, the toes scuffed and the soles worn down to practically nothing. Cooper’s boots had been in the same condition, squeezing his eight-year-old feet to the point that he was nursing blisters. The fridge had been empty and the cabinets bare. But none of that had mattered when his mother had plopped down their last forty dollars for the genuine cowhide pillow.

  “Liza has one just like this at her place,” his mother had declared. “She says it’s the latest.”

  He hadn’t been too sure what that meant at the time. He just knew that he’d hated the crisp, ripe smell of cured hide and fancy fabric.

  The thing was but a shell of itself now, pungent with the stench of cigarette smoke and spiked coffee. Just like his mother.

  Like the entire trailer.

  The walls seemed to close in on him in that moment. The air stalled in his lungs. He reached for the bottle of Jack and took a long swig. It did little to ease the anxiety knotting his muscles. There was only one remedy for that.

  He set the bottle down and reached for the doorknob. The fresh night air hit him, pulling him out of the stench and the past, and into the present. The door slammed behind him. He breathed deep and hit the steps before crossing the distance to his truck. Climbing inside, he keyed the engine. A Luke Bryan song blasted on the radio, and the air conditioner stirred the new-car scent.

  “Any word?” Duff glanced up from his own phone and the text he was reading.

  “Nothing.” Tyler took one last look at the sad-looking trailer and shoved the truck he’d won six months back at a rodeo in Arizona into reverse.

  A few seconds later, he hit the road that led into town. He dropped Duff off at the Rebel Quality Inn then headed for the rodeo arena and the small apartment that sat just above the foreman’s office.

  The place was reserved for long nights when the events ran late and the arena boss, Jack Gallagher, needed a place to crash that was closer than his spread, which sat a good fifty miles past the county line. Since Jack and Tyler went way back, the man was more than happy to let him bunk there whenever he came to town. A habit that had started out of necessity because Tyler had been tight on funds the first few years and desperate to steer clear of the trailer and all the bad memories it held.

  One that continued because the apartment had come to feel more like home than any other place in Tyler’s life.

  Like hope.

  It wasn’t big or fancy, but it had a double bed, a set of clean white cotton sheets, a private bathroom with a shower, a small kitchenette, and a bay window view of the arena where Tyler had first started to make something of himself.

  Even more, there wasn’t a damn throw pillow in sight.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Where are you?” Jenna Tucker demanded when Brandy set aside the loaf of dough she’d been kneading and picked up her ringing cell. “Shark Tank is about to start. I made the queso and you’re supposed to bring home an extra bag of Doritos. We’re almost out.”

  “I’m sorry, Jenna. I completely forgot. I’m still at the bakery.”

  “Surprise, surprise. You’re a workaholic, you know that, right?”

  “Look who’s talking. I haven’t seen you in three days.”

  “I’ve been inoculating cattle out at the Browns’, but that doesn’t mean I was doing it twenty-four/seven. I did stop to eat. And sleep. And talk to this really cute cowboy named Tim. He’s from El Paso and he’s got blond hair and green eyes and the cutest dimples you’ve ever seen. And don’t even get me started on his butt.”

  “What about Jason?” Brandy mentioned Jenna’s current squeeze.

  “Jason and I are on the outs.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “Not yet, but he will just as soon as he picks me up tonight. He invited me back to his place later for a quote—special romantic dinner—end quote, and you know what that means.” She said the words with the same enthusiasm she reserved for telling pet owners that they were about to lose their loved one. “He’ll pull out the ring and I’ll tell him it just wasn’t meant to be.”

  “That’s what you’re going to say?” Brandy added the loaf she’d just finished to the dozen others spaced out on the large metal tray.

  “Of course.”

  “You’re sure?” She headed for the sink and shoved her hands beneath a warm stream of water. A quick squirt of antibacterial soap and she washed the flour away before cutting off the faucet and reaching for a hand towel. “You’re not going to tell him that you’re allergic to platinum and that’s why you won’t wear his ring, are you?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it, but now that you mention it, that is a pretty clever excuse.”

  “It’s terrible.” She set the towel aside. “And it’s sure to get you into trouble and stuck with a stalker just like the time you told the last guy that you needed space. He thought you were claustrophobic and now we’re still fielding phone calls from that hypnotist who swears he can help you with your issues.”

  “I don’t have issues. I just hate killing someone’s dream. You know me. I’m an optimist.”

  “You’re a wuss.” Brandy grabbed the tray and slid it into the warm oven to let the dough rise overnight.

  “I’m an optimistic wuss. It isn’t my fault if these guys are so in love that they don’t want to let go. It’s not like I encourage them. I do exactly the opposite.”

  “You think you do, but you don’t say it outright, and most men, in case you haven’t figured it out, can’t exactly take a hint. No games. Just break it off. Straightforward. To the point. Drop the ax.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “I mean it, Jenna. If you’re through with this guy, nut up and let him go. Fast and clean.”

  “Will do. You sure you can’t take a few hours off to make Shark Tank? You need a little fun in your life.”

  Brandy knew that. She felt it in the steady trembling of her body and the ache in her nipples. And all because Tyler was back in town and she couldn’t stop thinking about that all-important fact, no matter how many loaves of bread she rolled and kneaded until her elbows ached.

  Not that she was admitting as much to Jenna. Or anyone for that matter.

  That was the thing about her “arrangement” with Tyler. They weren’t an item. They didn’t gab on the phone. Or go out on dates. Or swap stories over ice cream cones at
the Dairy Freeze. They hooked up. No talking about it. Not to each other. Not to other people. No talking, period.

  Which meant she shouldn’t be the least bit irritated that he hadn’t alerted her to the fact that he was back in town. He didn’t usually give her a heads-up. Rather, he rolled back into Rebel, they spotted each other, and bam she showed up or he showed up, and they hooked up.

  It was no frills. Easy.

  “Tonight’s episode is going to be super good,” Jenna went on, pulling her from her thoughts. “They’ve got these guys who make flour out of actual crickets. It’s supposed to be really healthy and I imagine there’s a market for it, but just the thought of biting into a strawberry-flavored cricket cupcake gives me the heebie-jeebies. What do you think?”

  “I think you’re going to have to record it and give me a rain check. I’m working on this new recipe and I might be out a little later than usual.”

  “Late as in an hour or two? Because Jason’s working until nine, so we’re doing an after-hours supper. I could hit the PAUSE button and wait for you.”

  Brandy glanced at the full oven ready and waiting for tomorrow morning. “I’m afraid I might be a while.”

  “Want me to swing by before Jason gets here and bring you some food?”

  “No,” she blurted so fast that she startled herself. “I mean, I already ate a few leftover muffins to tide me over until I get home. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. So what’s up with Callie? Did she call you about the dress?”

  “Yes, and I’m scheduled for a fitting next week. Have you seen it?”

  “No. She says it’s a surprise that we’re going to love.”

  “It’s a bridesmaid’s dress. I seriously doubt there will be anything even close to love involved. You remember that last dress I wore in Katie Peterson’s wedding? Neon yellow, puffy sleeves, parasol to match. I swear I looked like a giant banana. Stop it, Jez.” Jenna said to the yapping dog in the background. “That’s my Dorito.”

  “I picked up doggy treats yesterday. They’re in the pantry.”

  “She hates those, but give her a ranch-flavored Dorito and she’s all over it.”

  “She’s spoiled.”

  “She’s picky.”

  “She’s you.”

  “Only when it comes to men. Don’t work too hard, sis,” Jenna told her. “Gotta go. The show’s starting.” The line went dead and Brandy hit the OFF button.

  She reached for a towel and some cleaner and spent the next few minutes wiping down the cabinets as Luke Bryan drifted from the small iPod dock that sat in the corner, crooning about lost love and stripping it down and getting back to the way it used to be.

  And as much as she tried not to, she found herself thinking about Tyler. Wanting him.

  Wanting it, she reminded herself. She was only human, after all. A normal, red-blooded female with wants and needs.

  She turned, her body shifted, and her nipples rubbed against the lace of her bra. An ache shot through her and she caught her breath.

  Okay, so maybe she was a little more worked up than the average female. She thought of all the rumors that had circulated about her courtesy of all the boys she’d turned down during high school. Boys too embarrassed to admit the truth for fear that they were the only ones not getting any action. And so they’d lied, and her reputation had grown.

  But then Tyler McCall had peeled off her clothes and made her realize she wasn’t that far off from the sex-crazed girl the boys had always painted her as. So desperate, in fact, that her hands trembled and her knees shook as she moved about the kitchen. It would be so easy to let her need get the best of her. Just like her mother, who’d fallen hard and fast for Brandy’s father and, in the process, forfeited her own dreams.

  She gathered the strength her mother had never had and steeled herself against the unsettling thought. She wasn’t going to drop everything just because Tyler was back in town.

  Sure, she was wound up and due for a little stress relief.

  But first she had to finish up here.

  Nothing was more important than her bakery, and so she forced herself to slow down, take a deep breath, and focus on cleaning with the same painstaking care that she always did before finally putting the last of her supplies away. She double-checked that she had enough petty cash for the morning stream, restocked extra bakery boxes and bags near the register, and wrote the upcoming specials on the decorative chalkboard that sat propped atop the glass display case.

  She made one last pass through the kitchen before stepping inside the walk-in pantry situated near the oven. A careful inspection of the five-gallon bucket and the mash that bubbled and popped, fermenting in the warmth of the small area, and she closed the door.

  Killing the iPod, she hit the lights and headed for the front door. Locking up behind her, she walked toward her car parked near the curb and slid behind the wheel. Firing up the engine, she glanced at the dark street in her rearview mirror and shifted into drive. Tires ate up pavement as she pulled out onto the road and headed down Main Street. Her heart beat double time as she neared the first stop sign and gave herself a mental shake.

  She forced her grip to relax on the steering wheel. It was just another night. Just another drive through town to the outskirts and a sharp right at the Farm Road that led to the Tucker spread.

  Only when she reached the turn and hung a left in the opposite direction did she finally give in to the anticipation that whirled fast and potent in the pit of her stomach.

  There was a time and place for everything.

  And it was time for Tyler McCall.

  CHAPTER 7

  There’d been no doubt in Tyler’s mind that Brandy would show up now that she knew he was back. Under the cover of darkness, away from prying eyes and wagging tongues.

  He just hadn’t counted on the sucker punch to his gut when he opened the door to find her standing there in her bakery T-shirt and jeans, her ponytail hanging limp after a long day’s work, her cheek still smudged with flour.

  Seriously. Hard. Fast. Right below the belt.

  Ooomph.

  The air stalled in his lungs. His heart slammed to a stop. His throat tightened. And just like that, his dick snapped to full attention.

  Talk about bat-shit crazy.

  It wasn’t as if she’d dressed to the nines in a leather bustier or a red bikini or something equally trashy and sexy as hell.

  It was a soft cotton T-shirt, for Christ’s sake. A simple pair of jeans. Sneakers. Hell, she hadn’t even bothered to take down her hair or wipe her cheek.

  Then again, it had been two years.

  Two years was long enough to make a man find even the simplest things sexy. Like the silky strands of hair that hung loose and framed her delicate jaw and flushed cheeks. The faintest smudge of mascara just below her eyes that gave them that sultry bedtime look.

  He swallowed against the sudden tightening of his throat and cursed himself for not turning the air conditioner a few degrees cooler. Damn, but it was hot.

  Tyler stepped back and let her precede him inside. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

  She was here, the warm scent of sweet blueberries and powdered sugar filling his nostrils as she eased past him. A bolt of need shot through his body and his muscles rolled and bunched. He barely resisted the urge to haul her into his arms, back her up against the massive window overlooking the rodeo arena, and take her hard and fast with the last few straggling cowboys watching from below.

  He fought the crazy urge because he wasn’t in any hurry to fuel the rumor mill that already circulated in Rebel, Texas. Not because he cared a lick about what people thought, but because she did. She always had.

  And like it or not, he cared about her.

  Not her, specifically, he reminded himself. He cared about their unspoken arrangement. Down-and-dirty sex. No strings attached. No awkward morning after. No expectations. Nothing but the two of them in the moment. Here. Now.

  Which meant there
would be no fast and furious with the world watching.

  But without the world watching?

  It could be fast. Furious. Slow. Easy. Any way he wanted it because Brandy Tucker liked it all. She was the most sensual woman he’d ever met and damn if he didn’t lose his breath when he drew the shades, shutting out the wranglers closing down the pens below, and turned back in time to see her pull the hot-pink T-shirt up and over her head.

  The pale-yellow glow from a nearby table lamp pushed back the shadows and bathed her in a warm light that made her skin seem almost translucent. She didn’t spare a glance at her surroundings as she tossed the shirt to a nearby chair.

  Not that first time when he’d taken her virginity on top of the king-sized bed not two feet away from him, and not now that he’d had her practically every which way in this very room.

  But as many times as they’d met right here, as many positions as they’d tried, as much pleasure as they’d found, he still felt a renewed sense of anticipation. More so because he knew what was about to happen and just how fucking fantastic it could be.

  His blood rushed even faster as he watched her peel off her jeans until she wore nothing but a pair of lacy red panties and a matching bra.

  “I hope this is a good time,” she finally murmured when he didn’t step forward, toss her down, and get the party started. The hesitant light in her gaze faded into a wave of bright-green heat as she took the initiative and stepped closer. “I mean, if it’s not I can come back later.” Another bold step and her nipples kissed his chest. Desire fired in her eyes. “If that’s what you want.”

  “The only thing I want right now is to be inside of you.” He pulled her close, his tongue thrusting into the heated depths of her mouth, devouring her as if he might never get another taste.

  And maybe he wouldn’t.

  He knew the sex would eventually stop. It was inevitable. She would find someone and settle down or he would shoot to the top of the leader board and make enough money to buy a sweet little place far, far away from the Not-So-Happy-Times Trailer Park. Or both. Either way, she would stop coming to him and he would stop coming home and it would end. But not just yet.