Texas Fever Read online

  She’d turned him down. At the same time, just seeing her had turned him on. And hearing her say the word orgasm… That hadn’t helped the situation even if she had been talking about a dessert.When he pictured a woman who baked for a living, the first image that came to mind was his great-aunt Lurline. She’d made the best peanut butter cookies this side of the Rio Grande. She was also eighty-two with a soft, plump body and a steel-gray perm.

  Holly Farraday, on the other hand, had a body made for hot, sweaty bumping and grinding. Long legs that wrapped around his waist and refused to let go. A soft, round ass that fit his hands just perfect. A smooth belly that felt whisper soft against his lips. Perky breasts that plumped in his hands and red nipples that ripened at the flick of his tongue.

  His fingers flexed on the steering wheel. Restlessness clawed at his insides as he turned the truck onto the main road and pressed down on the accelerator. The engine roared to life, eating up gravel and dust at a frantic pace that matched his heartbeat.

  He’d had a hunch she wouldn’t sell the moment she’d suggested dinner on Friday night after they’d had sex. Dinner meant tomorrow and tomorrow meant next week, and next week meant that he was shit out of luck. But he’d promised his grandfather, and himself, and so he’d swallowed his skepticism and driven out to the Farraday Inn today and made his offer.

  And then another. And another.

  And the whole friggin’ time, the only thing he’d been thinking of was, not how much he wanted the land, but how much he wanted her.

  Under him, surrounding him, squeezing his cock with her sweet heat until he couldn’t think anymore.

  Not about the past and his own mistake that still ate away inside of him. Not about the present and fixing his grandfather’s mistake. And not about the future and the guilt that would stay with him for the rest of his life if he didn’t make amends right now and put the Iron Horse back together.

  He might not be able to do it.

  Before he had a chance to dwell on the realization, his cell phone rang.

  Josh checked the caller ID and pressed the talk button.

  “How’s it hangin’, bro?”

  “It isn’t.” Mason McGraw’s voice floated over the line. “It’s gone into permanent hiding.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve got a pissed-off father on your tail.”

  “Worse.”

  Josh started to ask about a pissed-off husband, but he knew better. While he and his brothers had varied tastes when it came to women—Josh went for the temporary beauties who steered free of commitment, Mason had a thing for party-hearty, blue-eyed blondes with big breasts, while Rance liked them tall and classy—they all lived by one rule. No married women. “Two pissed-off fathers?” he asked instead.

  “I wish. Try a kindergarten teacher with a really loud biological clock.”

  “Since when do you do schoolteachers?”

  “I didn’t do her. We’re just friends. At least, I thought we were up until last night when she asked me if I liked the name Jason. I said yes and she said good because it’s the name she’s picked out for baby number one. I haven’t even kissed her and she’s talking babies, for chrissake. I can’t have a kid right now. I mean, someday, sure. But now? And when I do, I’m sure as hell not going to name him Jason. It’s an all right name, but my boy is going to be a junior—”

  “Whoa, back up a second. You and this teacher are just friends? As in order a pizza, watch the game and share a few beers?”

  “This is the Black Hills, bro. I’m smack-dab in the middle of a five-thousand-acre ranch centered around a small town, population eight hundred. The closest pizza place is a good three hours away. She offered to cook.” When Josh let loose a loud whistle, Mason added, “Look, it’s not like that. At least I didn’t think it was like that. I see her every now and then when I go into town. She knows I’m from Texas and she likes the Houston Texans. We talk football. At least we did talk football until last night.”

  “What did she cook?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “Well, if she served you a Hungry Man, I’d say you’re probably overreacting. TV dinners don’t require the same commitment as real food.”

  “She made stew.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “And home-baked rolls.”

  “You’re totally screwed,” Josh told him. “Unless you clean the slate right now. Turn down the next dinner date.”

  “That’s not an option.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I already said yes. I started to say no, but then she looked like she was going to cry and I buckled. Christ, I need to hurry the hell up and get out of here.”

  “How much longer?”

  “We’re inseminating the last batch of cattle next week. After that, it’s just paperwork and planning. I should wrap everything up in about three to four weeks. Five at the most. What am I going to do?”

  “Get used to the name Jason.”

  “Kiss my ass.”

  Josh laughed. “It’s good to see the stress hasn’t affected your charm.” An idea struck just as he said the words. “That’s it, bro.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re stuck in this situation because you’re not looking at this woman as a woman. I’m assuming she’s nowhere near Triple B status.”

  “She’s a brunette. Brown eyes. Good sense of humor. Smart. I’m not sure about her figure because she wears these loose, overall type dresses like Ms. Crenshaw.” Ms. Crenshaw had been their third-grade teacher. She’d worn thick, chunky black shoes and said, “Sit up straight!” in a voice that had made even the McGraw brothers snap to attention. “She might have a decent chest. I don’t know. I don’t think of her like that.”

  “So start. She obviously thinks you’re this nice, professional, mild-mannered sort of guy who likes animals. While you do like animals, you’re also capable of acting like one.”

  “I never really thought about it like that. It’ll take some effort—she actually told me to sit up straight at dinner last night—but I can do it.”

  “And do it fast.”

  “You anxious to leave already?”

  “I’m anxious for a good night’s sleep. I’ve got Uncle Eustace and Aunt Lurline arguing down the hall every night.” And one sweet, sexy-as-hell woman now haunting his thoughts.

  “Just keep your pants on and I’ll be there soon.”

  Too late, Josh thought as he punched the end button and slid the phone onto the dashboard. Too friggin’ late.

  A HALF HOUR after closing the door on Josh, Holly eyed the rich fudge dessert she’d just removed from the oven. She’d run out of flour halfway through the recipe and so the cake had turned out more ho-hum than extreme. The edges sagged and the middle had caved in enough to give it a lopsided look. She pinched the edge and popped it into her mouth.

  Rich chocolate exploded on her tongue and tantalized her taste buds for a long, heart-pounding moment. Not bad for ho-hum. Then again, she wasn’t an adequate judge at the moment, not with her senses still buzzing from a certain tall, dark and delicious cowboy.His image pushed into her mind and heat swept through her body. Her hands trembled and her insides went all tight and itchy.

  She turned toward the mixing bowl where she’d whipped up the concoction a half hour ago. Rich batter still coated the sides and her stomach growled. She grabbed a spoon and scraped one side before taking a bite. Where one was usually enough to kill any frustration eating away inside her, she had to scrape the entire bowl and lick both beaters before she felt even marginally satisfied.

  She ate another spoonful for good measure before setting the empty bowl and beaters in the sink. The doorbell rang just as she turned to her computer to track her supply order.

  “Finally,” she breathed as she hauled open the door to find a handful of women standing on her front porch.

  “Welcome to Romeo,” they announced in unison.

  “I’m Lolly Mae Langtree,” sai
d the thirtysomething blonde standing in the middle. “President of the Juliets. We’re the organization for the single women in town. We coordinate with the Elks and the other men’s groups to plan mixers and give our members a chance to get out and meet Mr. Right.” She handed Holly a large, white, wrapped box decorated with a big, pink bow. “On behalf of everyone, I’d like to welcome you to Romeo.” She gave Holly a fierce hug. “We are so excited to have Rose’s very own granddaughter with us. It’s such a shame how the townsfolk used to treat her—the women, I mean—but you don’t have to worry a thing about that. This isn’t the Dark Ages anymore and we don’t sit around doing needlepoint and blaming Rose for the lack of commitment-minded men in town like the Juliets before us.”

  “That’s right. We’re really into quilting now, and we aren’t the least bit threatened by your know-how.”

  “What Marcia Renee is trying to say,” Lolly offered, “is that we respect you on a professional level.”

  “That’s right,” one of the other women chimed in. “We know you’re not here to drain the pool of available men.”

  “What Cookie Michelle is trying to say,” Lolly added, “is that we know you’re here in a purely professional capacity.”

  “I make aphrodisiac desserts,” Holly said. “That’s my profession.”

  “Of course, it is,” Lolly told her as she moved past her into the living room, a look of awe on her face. “So this is it.” She turned. “It doesn’t look a thing like I expected.”

  “There isn’t an ounce of crushed red velvet anywhere,” another of the women said, her gaze open and excited. “Jennifer Susan Fitch,” she told Holly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her attention traveled the room. “I always thought there’d be crushed velvet. There’s always crushed velvet in all of the old Mae West movies.”

  “True, but how can you tell it’s red crushed velvet?” another woman asked. “It could be orange or purple or even blue. The films are all in black and white, so there’s no way to really know.” She perched on the edge of the plastic-wrapped sofa just delivered yesterday.

  “Red is risqué,” Jennifer said as she followed the woman’s lead and seated herself. “It has to be red.”

  “You only say that because you just redecorated your bedroom in red and you’re hoping it’ll work on Charlie.”

  “I am not. First off, Charlie and I have only had two dates. He certainly hasn’t seen my bedroom at this point. But when he does, he’ll be swept away with passion because red is a sensual color. Red says sex. Hot, vibrant, exciting sex. The apple in the garden of Eden was red.” Her look said so there.

  “How do you know it was red? Maybe it was a Granny Smith?”

  “What woman would forfeit eternity for a Granny Smith?”

  “Maybe it was a Gala,” another woman offered.

  “I’d believe a Gala before I’d believe a Granny Smith. At least they’re sweet, and they’re red.”

  “They’re a pale, washed-out red.”

  “Girls, girls,” Lolly chimed in as she perched on the arm of an overstuffed, plastic-wrapped chair. “I’m sure Holly doesn’t want to hear us debate the merits of apples.”

  “Actually, it’s sort of fascinating.” Holly had never had real friends of her own—she and her mother had moved too much and later, when she’d been stuck in the same city in foster care, she’d still gone from family to family. She’d always wanted to join in on the conversations in the girls’ locker room or at lunch, but she’d learned early on to hold back.

  Getting too friendly only made leaving that much harder.

  Not anymore.

  “You’re sweet. Isn’t she sweet, girls?” A dozen heads bobbed in agreement. “I know you’ve got bigger things to worry over. Moving from a new town has got to be exhausting.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “Good, because the girls and I were hoping you could make time to attend our monthly luncheon. It’s always the third Tuesday and we have some really great speakers. We’re primarily focused on topics that appeal to single women.”

  “Namely men,” one of the other women chimed in.

  “Definitely men.”

  “How to find them. How to keep them. How to please them. That’s where you come in.”

  “I’m not sure I’m following you—” Holly started, her words lost as Lolly linked arms with her.

  “Why, where are my manners? You don’t just hand over a gift and then talk a woman’s ear off. You have to open it!” She ushered Holly over to the sofa.

  The two women on the sofa scooted apart and patted the spot between them. Holly adjusted her grip on the heavy box as she found herself steered into the spot between them.

  “Go on,” one woman said.

  “Open it,” came another encouragement.

  With a dozen interested gazes hooked on her, she pulled off the bow and tore off the wrapping paper. She eyed the colorful patchwork quilt nestled in white tissue paper and a memory pulled at her.

  She’d been in the second grade, sitting in the back of Mrs. Klatt’s room, watching the entire class sing happy birthday to one of the other students. A girl with long blond hair and pink Barbie boots. The most popular girl at Chicago’s Wallaby Elementary. Mrs. Klatt had presented the girl with a cupcake sporting a blazing pink candle while the kids had piled dozens of handmade gifts onto her desk. It was a tradition repeated for every student in Mrs. Klatt’s class.

  Everyone except Holly.

  Her birthday came and went the following week, but there was no cupcake or candle or presents, or even a birthday song. Because Holly came and went herself, too fast for anyone to learn her birthday, much less remember it.

  She blinked back the hot tears that sprang to her eyes. “It’s really beautiful.”

  “Jennifer made it,” Lolly said. “She sells them at her shop in town—Quilts and Stuff. She also sells the most divine candles…” The woman’s voice faded as Holly’s attention shifted back to the gift. Her fingers stroked the soft embroidery as she read the sentiment in bright pink stitch…

  Home Sweet Home.

  Something soft and warm unfolded inside of her, and she smiled.

  “So you’ll come then?” Lolly was saying. “To the luncheon?”

  “I don’t usually take time off during the week,” she started. Usually. But Holly was doing away with her usual routine. She was starting fresh. Planting roots. Making friends. “I’d love to be there.”

  “Wonderful,” Lolly said as she pushed to her feet.

  “We can really use your help,” Jennifer told her. “Your grandmother was the guru when it came to pleasing men and heaven knows we need all the help we can get.”

  “That’s right,” another woman chimed in. “Charlene Singer—she’s the resident sexpert—is always preaching the same old, same old about inner beauty and emotional attraction and clicking on a psychological wavelength, but she doesn’t give us anything really solid to work with.”

  “Like positions,” one of the women chimed in.

  “And techniques,” another offered as they all moved toward the doorway.

  “We think it’s so cool that you’re continuing the family tradition,” Lolly told her as she pulled open the front door. “Why, when we heard you specialized in ultimate orgasms, I activated the phone tree right away. Every Juliet in the county knows you’re here and they’ll be thrilled to hear that you’re going to speak.”

  “Speak? But I thought it was a luncheon?”

  “You’re the luncheon speaker.” Lolly beamed. “It’ll be our most informative meeting yet. It’s about time the women in this town learned how to really please a man.”

  “But I cook for a living.”

  “That’s what we’re counting on.”

  “But—” Holly started, only to bite back the rest of her protest when Lolly turned expectant eyes on her. Holly’s hands tightened on the soft quilt. “But I’ll need some time to prepare.” Okay, that wasn’t the no cotton-picking
way she’d intended, but she couldn’t very well be rude. They’d come all this way outside of town and brought her a really great present and they were so nice.

  “The luncheon isn’t for three weeks. We meet at the community center off of Main Street. Cookie does the decorations, Jennifer provides the linens and we have the food catered in. This month is barbecued venison, so don’t wear anything light-colored. Last time, Jill Marie Smith wore shell-pink. She’s still trying to get the stains out of her lap. We’ll see you then,” Lolly rushed on. “And before then, I’m sure. It’s such a small town.”

  “But—” Holly started again. The protest fell on deaf ears as she found herself passed from one woman to the next in a series of loose, informal hugs before the door slammed quickly shut.

  As she stood in the center of her living room, the quilt in her hands, and tried to catch her breath, the truth of what she’d just done came barreling at her like a semi with bad brakes.

  A luncheon speech. About pleasing a man.

  A luncheon speech. About pleasing a man.

  First off, the closest she’d ever come to a speech had been a ninth grade book report at school number eight. But that had been different. It didn’t matter that she’d had to read verbatim from her paper or that some of the kids had snickered when she’d mispronounced tyrannosaurus because she’d known there would be another science class down the road, and she’d been right. Five months later, she’d changed schools again, and families.

  But this… This was different.

  This was home.

  Home Sweet Home.

  As for the man-pleasing part… The only person she usually pleased was herself—with a scrumptious dessert or an intense session with her favorite vibrator.

  Up until Friday night, that is. She’d pleased Josh and he’d certainly pleased her, but there’d been no formula to it. It had just happened. She was a baker, for heaven’s sake.

  But the Juliets didn’t seem to realize that. She was Rose Farraday’s granddaughter and, therefore, a chip off the old block when it came to men and pleasure. Adding to the misconception was the fact that she did profit from sex, what with the sensual nature of her desserts.