Lori Wilde - [Cupid, Texas 02] Page 11

  “A man desperate to prove he’s still got it and a career-altering injury.”

  A flicker of hurt passed over his face but it quickly disappeared. “You’re just trying to make me back off.”

  “I’m serious about this, Pierce.”

  “Uh-huh.” He placed his legs on either side of hers. If he came any closer, he’d go through her.

  “Your ego can’t accept that there’s a woman who isn’t falling at your feet.”

  “You did once,” he said. “Fall at my feet. Remember when you dropped your books in the hallway and I helped you pick them up and our hands touched?”

  Boy howdy, did she remember! She’d thought of nothing else for months afterward. “When I was a very impressionable teenager. I got over it as I suppose most women do with you.”

  “Ouch.” Playfully, he rubbed his arm. “You can pull in your claws, kitten.”

  “Does anything about me look kittenish to you?”

  He tracked another gaze over her ample body. “Correction. Wildcat.”

  “This has been real,” she said. “And it’s been fun, but it hasn’t been real fun.”

  “You see.” He breathed. “I really like this fiery new spirit you’ve developed. Kudos. Sass looks good on you.”

  “Listen, I’m not going to be just another notch on your belt. Let it go already.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Really.”

  “Not even if I did this?” he whispered.

  Her body responded instantly, heating up in the center of her belly, liquid lava pooling into her pelvis. How many long lonely nights had she dreamed of this?

  One of his hands moved to her shoulder, the other slipped around her waist. Her bones liquefied. It was a miracle her legs held her up.

  He tasted of salted caramel. She loved salted caramel.

  Her breathing quickened and her glasses fogged. She tried to stay stiff, but her lips softened and she almost relaxed into the kiss and let the moment carry her away. Instead, she pumped steel into her spine. Once upon a time she would have spontaneously combusted if Pierce Hollister had kissed her. Now her control had tempered her reaction, akin to cookies left in the oven too long. Burned to a crisp.

  His tongue traced her lips.

  She was tempted to haul off and slap him across his smug mug like some spunky heroine from a 1940s movie, but then slapping him would mean that he had affected her. He had not affected her. So she held back her hand. Held her tongue. Held back everything inside her. Stood there unmoving. Resisting. Mentally reciting—connate, adnate, hypogenus, perigenus, epigenus.

  Wait a minute. All those terms had something to do with plant sex. Better knock that off. Except her determination was slipping away. His magnificent mouth was wearing her down.

  He was an expert kisser. She’d give him that.

  Do not give in.

  But her disloyal arms had a mind of their own, they wrapped around his neck and pulled his head down, knocking off his cowboy hat and practically forcing him to deepen the kiss. Her breasts were mashed under his hard chest. She could feel the entire length of him against her. All of him.

  It was the perfect kiss. Not too dry. Not too moist. Not too hard, not too easy. It was sweet and soulful and lusty and provocative. If he was that good at kissing, what would he be like in bed?

  Someone moaned, loud, needy, and wanton. Mortified, Lace realized that it was she.

  Without warning, Pierce abruptly broke the kiss and gently set her aside. He winked and picked up his fallen hat. “There now,” he said. “Put that in your fantasies and dream about it.”

  Chapter 8

  Germination: the beginning or resumption of growth.

  PIERCE drove home with a raging hard-on, more determined than ever to change Lace’s mind about him. Whether she’d intended to or not, she’d issue him a challenge and aroused his take-no-prisoners instincts that made him such a success on the football field. When Pierce put his mind to something, he always got what he wanted.

  Which was also why he was going to grow the best crop of pumpkins ever seen in Jeff Davis County and be back on the gridiron this year—if not by October, then by Thanksgiving, no matter what Dr. Hank said.

  You’ve a big checklist there, Hollister. Seduce Lace, grow prizewinning pumpkins, get to the bottom of Dad’s illness, and fully rehabilitate your leg in three months.

  “Piece of cake,” he muttered. He was used to juggling things, had in fact felt out of place and out of sorts these last few months with nothing to do but exercise and brood.

  So where did he start? After Lace’s lecture on gardening—of which he honestly hadn’t heard a word since he’d been so focused on that dynamite body of hers—he figured he ought to put the award-winning pumpkins at the bottom of the list, leaving the top three tasks at a neck-and-neck tie. He’d already made an appointment for his father with a well-respected internist in San Antonio, but the doctor couldn’t work his father in for an appointment for three weeks, so that goal was at a standstill. Healing his leg was of utmost importance, and as soon as he got back home, he’d join the Cupid gym and hire a trainer.

  That left the most pleasant goal on his list—seduce Lace—which was going to be a hell of a lot of fun. She might protest that she wasn’t interested in him, but her body’s response belied her words.

  Pierce licked his lips. He didn’t know how, when, or why she’d gotten under his skin. He only knew she was buried down deep and it was damn scary for a guy who for the most part kept his relationships light. It was easier that way. But there was something about Lace that made him want to jump headlong into the deep end.

  Watching her teach that class tonight, her face enrapt as she talked about planting beds and zones and timing and preparing the soil and … well … something had crept up behind him and boxed him the back of the head, reminding him of the big gaping hole right in the middle of his life that he’d managed to fill up with football because he was so terrified that without the sport there was nothing to him.

  Lace made him feel substantial in a way he’d never felt before, and that both intrigued and alarmed him. He wanted to feel more of it, but he was afraid she would change him too much. He loved being Pierce Hollister, quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys. It was every dream he’d ever dreamed and every dream his father had dreamed for him.

  But now his dreams were starting to shift. The ranch was calling to him in a way it had never called to him before. Whereas Cupid was once the one-horse town he’d run away from, it now beckoned like a shiny jewel tucked into the valley of the Davis Mountains. Called to him with its strong sense of community and family ties.

  Most of all there was Lace, compelling him as he’d never been compelled.

  Pull out all the stops. He knew how to woo a woman. He was going to pull out all the stops and, come hell or high water, Lace Bettingfield was going to be sharing his bed before the summer was out.

  LACE WAS NOT going to pretend she wasn’t still buzzing from Pierce’s kiss. Nothing lay down that road but bumps and potholes and she was not traveling the unrequited love highway again—no way, no how. So what if he’d given her the most amazing kiss known to womankind? She wasn’t going back for seconds.

  Besides, she had enough to worry about. Carol Ann had called at six A.M. asking Lace to meet her at La Hacienda Grill for breakfast. That was so out of the ordinary that the hairs on her arms had lifted.

  All the parking spots in front of the restaurant were taken, so she had to drive around and park in the back. She’d no sooner gotten out of her car than a brown King Ranch Ford pickup pulled in beside her.

  Pierce!

  Instantly, her throat constricted and her heart leaped. Frigging Venus flytrap, really?

  The temptation to stop and flirt with him was so strong that she ducked her head, pretended she hadn’t seen him, and started walking as fast as she could, without breaking into a run, around the side of the building. Wait a minute. If she ran off, that meant he was
getting to her. She couldn’t let him know he was getting to her, even though, dammit, he was.

  “Hey, Lace, wait up.”

  Not Pierce’s voice.

  Lace relaxed, while at the same time she felt ridiculously disappointed. She paused and turned to see Malcolm striding toward her.

  “Hi,” he said breathlessly.

  “Good morning.”

  “I borrowed Pierce’s truck,” he said.

  “I can see that.”

  “I came to buy breakfast for my dad. He wanted La Hacienda’s huevos rancheros and won’t eat the eggs our cook Hildy made. He probably still won’t eat them, but I’ve got to try something.”

  “Your father isn’t getting any better?”

  “He seemed to be. We thought he was, but he appears to have relapsed.”

  “I’m really sorry to hear that, Malcolm.”

  Malcolm massaged the nape of his neck. “Um. Listen.”

  She canted her head. “Yes.”

  “Um …” He stopped, moistened his lips. “I’ve got something to ask you.”

  Yikes, was he going to ask her out again? She better beat him to the punch before this got any more awkward than it already was. “Listen, Malcolm, I like you, I truly do but—”

  “You’ve got me wrong.” His face turned the color of borscht and he plastered a palm to the nape of his neck. “I’m not trying to ask you out.”

  The tips of her ears burned. Ego check! “Oh.” Her voice squeaked like a rusty hinge.

  He raised an apologetic hand. “It’s not that you’re not attractive, because damn, let’s face it, you’re beautiful, but I think I gave you the wrong impression the other day when I asked you to the symposium.”

  Lace shifted her weight. What a relief that he wasn’t interested in her. “Okay.”

  “I invited you to the symposium because I wanted to ask Shasta out but I was too afraid she’d turn me down.”

  She smiled softly. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

  “I’m saying so now. She’s quirky and funny and even though she’s really young, I like her a lot.”

  Lace touched Malcolm’s upper arm. “I don’t know the details, but Shasta’s had a hard life. She could do with a steady guy who has his head on his shoulders.”

  “Does she have a boyfriend?”

  “I don’t think so, but I do get the impression she likes a guy who doesn’t like her back.”

  Malcolm blew out his breath. “That seems to be the story of my life. Why am I attracted to women who aren’t attracted to me?”

  “As you say, she’s really young. Give her a chance, Malcolm.”

  “So you think I should ask her out?”

  “You never know where it might lead until you do.”

  “Thanks, Lace.” He smiled. “I appreciate it.”

  She crossed her fingers, held them up for him to see. “Good luck.”

  “I’m just gonna”—he jerked a thumb at the side door labeled with a “Takeout Only” sign—“pick up Dad’s breakfast.”

  Lace waved good-bye and scooted off to the front entrance. The smell of rich French roast, bacon, and huevos rancheros scented the air as she walked inside the restaurant. Big-bulb, old-fashioned, multicolored Christmas lights were strung in loose loops from the ceiling. At this time of the morning, the garish decorations were annoyingly cheerful. Piñatas hung between the holiday lights—a pink pig, a green toad, a purple horse—Tex-Mex kitsch to the max.

  Carol Ann sat in a booth at the far back of the corner. She waved a hand. Lace weaved her way around the tightly packed tables, saying hello to everyone she knew. Sometimes that could be a chore for an introvert, but she had to admit the cocoon of Cupid was more a safe haven than a straitjacket. By the time she reached her aunt, she had a goodwill buzz tamping down the alarm that Carol Ann’s early morning call had roused.

  “Please have a seat,” Carol Ann said tightly.

  She took one close-up look at her aunt and her stomach turned over. Not only had Carol Ann neglected to put eye shadow on her right eye, the shadow on the left was haphazardly applied, and she was also wearing mismatched shoes. One black. One brown. Carol Ann was nothing if not a clotheshorse. She never set foot outside her house without looking as if she’d stepped from a bandbox.

  Lace wondered if she should call attention to her aunt’s disheveled appearance. “Your shoes—”

  “I know. I put them on in the dark. I’ll go home and change later.”

  Lace pressed a hand over her heart and her mind immediately went to dark places. “What is it? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Mom and Daddy?”

  Her parents were out on the road, attending cutting horse competitions with their prizewinning quarter horses.

  “Your parents are fine.” Carol Ann placed a finger over her lips. “Sit down. Order. Act like everything is normal.”

  “You’re freaking me out.”

  “We really shouldn’t be doing this here.” Carol Ann looked over her shoulder, which was unnecessary because there was a wall behind her.

  “Doing what? Having breakfast?”

  “I thought about coming over to your house, but honestly, I needed to be around activity to quell my nerves.”

  Lace didn’t understand that at all. Tranquility—and plants—quelled her nerves, not people and activity.

  “And I’m suspicious of that girl of yours.”

  “Shasta?”

  “She pops up in the most unexpected places at the most unexpected times like a stray cat.”

  “I admit that Shasta is different but she’s got a good heart.”

  “Please, sit.” Her aunt waved again.

  Lace eased down on the edge of the orange vinyl seat. She saw Cousin Natalie and her fiancé Dade canoodling in a corner booth. She waved at them, but they only had eyes for each other. Still, if Carol Ann went completely off her rocker, it was good to know there were reinforcements in the room.

  “Spill it,” she said.

  “Order something first,” Carol Ann insisted.

  “Don’t pussyfoot around, Auntie. I’m a rip-the-Band-Aid-off-quick kind of person.”

  “You are indeed,” Carol Ann mused. “You think that thing in high school had anything to do with that?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with wanting the bad news up front,” Lace said. “Best to just take the dodgeball to the gut and hit the ground because the only place to go from there is up. If you string out the bad news, the imagination goes nuts with anticipation, making it all that much worse. I don’t like to wallow. I’m not a wallower. For heaven’s sakes, just tell me what’s going on.”

  Carol Ann handed her unopened menu to the waitress who’d strolled over. “I’ll have an egg white omelet, hold the toast, black coffee, and a side of fresh berries.”

  “Lace?” the waitress asked. Her name was Joleen—with a name like that waitressing seemed her destiny—and she was distantly related to Lace by marriage. After “the incident” in high school, Joleen had been among a group of girls who’d teased her mercilessly. They’d spray painted “PATHETIC FATSO LOOSER” on her locker in yellow neon. Yeah, maybe so, but at least she knew how to spell.

  Lace smiled to show she didn’t hold a grudge. Bygones were bygones, right? And after four kids, Joleen herself was now rocking a size fourteen. “I’ll have the breakfast special.”

  “Sausage or bacon.”

  “Both,” Lace said.

  “Whole wheat or white toast?”

  “Could I have biscuits and cream gravy?”

  “You got it,” Joleen offered a tenuous smile and scurried off.

  Lace braced, waiting for Carol Ann to lecture her on her food choices. She had a quip ready, but her aunt didn’t say anything, giving her even more cause for alarm. She’d ordered all that stuff just to get a rise out of her.

  “Let’s have it.” Lace folded her hands on the table and squarely met Carol Ann’s eyes.

  Her aunt snatched a napkin from the dispenser on the t
able and slowly began tearing it into thin strips. “I don’t know how to say this.”

  Lace blew out a little chuff of air. Her mouth was dry and her throat hot. Was she coming down with something?

  “I feel so badly about this. I’m the one who talked Winnie Sparks into staying on until you got your doctorate. I lured you back here when you should have taken that job at the Smithsonian.”

  “I wanted to come home,” Lace pointed out, but the sick sensation in her stomach expanded.

  “It was selfish of me. I know. But Lord, with Melody off living in New York, I couldn’t help wanting the rest of you girls to stay close to home.” Little tufts of paper were flying in the air as she finished off that napkin and reached for another. The nail of her pinky finger had broken off and had not been filed down, further proof of Carol Ann’s mental state.

  Lace reached across the table, laid her palm on the back of her aunt’s hand. “What is it? What’s happened? Please tell me.”

  Joleen set the food down, but neither of them made a move for their plates. “Y’all need sumpthin’ else?”

  “We’re fine,” Lace said.

  Carol Ann shook her head. Her eyes misted. She hovered on the verge of tears.

  Good God, what on earth could it be? Did her aunt have cancer? Was she leaving Uncle Davis? Maybe something bad had happened to Cousin Melody.

  “Look, I can’t help unless you tell me,” Lace said softly.

  Carol Ann glanced around like a Navy SEAL on a reconnaissance mission, looking left, right, in front and behind her. Lace half expected her to look underneath the table. Finally, Carol Ann leaned forward, almost dragging her bracelet through her egg white omelet.

  At this point it was all Lace could do not to grab her arm, shake her, and yell, Just tell me already!

  “Remember how your paychecks were late?” Carol Ann whispered.

  “Considering it was just this past Friday, yes.”

  “Shh, keep your voice down.” She darted another glance around the room.

  “Do we need to go someplace private?”

  “This is fine as long as we’re careful.”

  “Okay then, let’s have it.”

  “The paychecks weren’t a banking glitch.”