Читать книгу Texas Fever - Kimberly Raye - Страница 8

HOLLY FARRADAY made it a rule never to pick up men in bars. But when she saw the cowboy standing near the pool table that occupied the far corner of the only saloon in Romeo, Texas, she couldn’t help making an exception.

Cowboy, as in the real deal. There was no loud, blinding Western-cut snap shirt. No dark, stiff jeans. No polished ostrich cowboy boots or barely worn silver belly hat typical of the drugstore variety back in Houston.

Faded Wrangler jeans molded to his hips and thighs and accented long, sturdy legs that led to worn brown cowboy boots. An equally faded denim button-up shirt outlined his broad shoulders, the cuffs rolled up to reveal tanned forearms sprinkled with golden brown hair. A weathered straw Resistol, the front cocked down just a notch and the sides turned up, sat atop his head. Thick, dark hair curled down around his neck and brushed his collar. A rawhide leather choker clung to the tanned column of his throat. He had a strong jaw shadowed with stubble, a firm mouth and a strong nose.

But even more than his appearance, it was the way he carried himself that said he didn’t just talk the talk when it came to the big C. He leaned against the far wall, so cocky and self-assured as he sipped an icy bottle of Coors Light and surveyed the game of eight ball being played in front of him. He oozed strength and an air of raw sensuality that attracted her on a deep, primitive level.

He was a cowboy, all right. A man’s man. A make-your-hormones-jump-up-and-say-yee-hah! kind of man.

Just like the ones in all of the stories Holly’s mother had told her when she’d been a little girl.

Minus the hormone-jumping, of course. Holly was the one who’d added the last part after she’d watched Brad Pitt saddle a horse in Legends of the Fall. That’s when she’d started to cultivate a few stories of her own that were much more naughty than her mother’s G-rated versions about the rancher who defended his land against poachers or the sheriff out to save the town’s bank from robbers.

Holly’s fantasy cowboys were more sexy than noble. Wild as opposed to tame. Wicked instead of virtuous. Hot and unsettling rather than warm and comforting.

She couldn’t help but wonder if the man across the room would measure up to all of her erotic dreams.

As if he sensed her attention, he lifted his head. He tilted the brim of his hat back just a hair and his gaze locked with hers. An undercurrent of heat rushed between them. Awareness rippled along her spine and her senses came alive.

The scent of smoke and leather and beer teased her nostrils. The slow, seductive twang of a Kenny Chesney song filtered from the overhead speakers and slid into her ears. The sweet taste of Dr. Pepper lingered in her mouth and she flicked her tongue along the plump fullness of her bottom lip. Her breaths came quicker and she became acutely aware of the tight lace of her bra against her suddenly ripe nipples.

He grinned, just a slow, lazy tilt to his lips, but it was enough to make her mouth go dry. A burst of heat washed from her head to her toes, and left every inch in between panting for more. Her skin grew itchy and tight.

Forget measuring up. He’d already surpassed her expectations, and with nothing more than a glance. Understandable. He wasn’t just a face on a movie screen or a red-hot image spicing up her thoughts. He was flesh and blood, and he wanted her back.

Interest gleamed in his gaze, as vivid as the blue neon Bud Lite sign that hung just to his right. He was intrigued, all right. And turned on. And he definitely seemed as if he wanted her.

As much as she wanted him.

She took a long drink of her Dr. Pepper and tried to get a grip on the fierce lust raging inside of her. An emotion the likes of which she’d never felt before.

Then again, it only seemed fitting that what she felt right now would be different from anything in her past.

She’d expected different.

She’d anticipated it.

Because today was a new beginning for Holly Farraday.

It was her first official day in Romeo, Texas.

Up until last week, she’d been running her home-based gourmet dessert business, Sweet & Sinful, out of a sizable apartment in Houston’s Galleria area. She’d been right in the middle of lamenting her lack of oven space—she desperately needed a third commercial oven to accommodate her growing customer base—when she’d received the phone call informing her that her grandmother had passed away.

Her grandmother. As in a flesh and blood relative. A family that went beyond her own mother who’d died in a car accident when Holly had been eight years old.

Holly’s heart paused and disbelief rushed through her yet again. Her mother, while loving and caring, had been very closemouthed when it came to family. Jeanine Farraday had been a runaway, determined to break away from her own mother and her small-town past. She’d never spoken of either, despite her daughter’s endless questions.

And so Holly had always wondered. Why had her mother run away? Why had she kept running?

Holly had longed for answers. Even more, she’d yearned for even the smallest connection to anyone beyond her mother. Now she had one. Her ancestors had lived right here in Romeo for the past three generations after immigrating from Ireland.

A tradition that Holly intended to continue thanks to Red Rose Farraday who’d left her a small spread on the outskirts of town.

Excitement rushed through her and her heart pounded faster. A real home. A first for Holly who’d been on the run with her mother for the first eight years of her life, and in and out of the foster care system thereafter until she’d turned eighteen. She’d been on her own ever since. She’d worked her way through college and struggled to make something of herself.

It had taken her eight years and a lot of hard work, but she’d finally graduated from the University of Houston with a business degree. She’d spent the next two years working as a pastry chef and trying to save enough money to start her own business. She’d come up short, but with the help of a grant—she’d applied for so many loans and grants that she still couldn’t remember the source—she’d been able to buy her equipment and bank six months of living expenses. She’d quit her job and launched Sweet & Sinful. She’d started with five basic aphrodisiac desserts—Ultimate Milk Chocolate Orgasm, Warm Fudge Foreplay, Strawberry Sinsation, Cherry Body Bon Bons and Ooey Gooey Ecstasy—a simple, but tasteful Web site, and a desperate prayer for success. One that had been answered. In three years, she’d managed to add to her dessert list, expand her Web site and actually net a very substantial profit.

While Holly had made something of herself and come a long way from the days when she’d been cold and hungry and penniless, one thing hadn’t changed. The isolation she’d felt since her mother—her last living relative, or so she’d thought—had died. The loneliness. The strange feeling that something was still missing from her life.

Until now.

She’d spent the past five years building her business and now it was time to build herself a real home. She wanted to settle down, plant her roots and make some real friends for once in her life.

And so she hadn’t even considered the offer made by a nearby neighbor to purchase her grandmother’s place. Instead, she’d signed all of the appropriate papers just that afternoon and was now the official owner of the Farraday Inn, an ancient farmhouse that stood just outside of town on fifty acres of rich, green pastureland.

She’d learned from the lawyer that the house had sat empty for the past ten years—since her grandmother had checked herself into a nursing home because of the heart condition that had eventually claimed her life. But no amount of dust or cobwebs could dissuade Holly from taking up residence. She might be a big-city girl with an addiction to shopping, but she could forego easy access to Neiman Marcus and Saks in the name of home and hearth. She’d watched The Simple Life. Country living had its own charm and so she’d mapped out a viable plan for relocating her business and her life.

She intended to use the second story as her personal living quarters. She would operate her business from the first level, using the downstairs bedrooms for storage, packaging and shipping rooms. The cooking itself would be done in the monstrous kitchen that would be more than big enough to accommodate the extra commercial oven Holly intended to purchase just as soon as she set up shop.

A real home.

Definitely cause for celebration.

She’d meant to have herself a big piece of chocolate cake or maybe an extremely fattening hot-fudge sundae to celebrate. But the local diner had already closed and the only thing open in Romeo on a Friday night was The Buckin’Bronco Dance Hall, a crowded honky-tonk just this side of the railroad tracks, and the Dusty Saddle Saloon—a tin barn with a hay-strewn floor, a dozen mismatched tables and chairs, a big-screen television, a pool table, a juke box and an ancient-looking bar. She’d opted for the smaller, more intimate setting of the saloon and a soda.

She hadn’t counted on the cowboy or the need that blindsided her and turned her upside down and inside out.

She wanted him.

Twenty-four hours ago she would have acted on the feeling. Before Holly had washed her hands of temporary relationships. She’d had too many people come and go in her lifetime and she wasn’t about to add one more to the list.

But man-o-man… He was hot.

“Now there’s a hottie if I ever saw one,” a voice echoed as if reading Holly’s thoughts.

Holly’s hand stalled an inch shy of her Dr. Pepper as a six-foot-plus woman with mousy brown hair pulled back in a much too-tight ponytail bumped shoulders with her before settling on the next stool.

The woman wore a red T-shirt and blue jean overalls. Her face was devoid of makeup except for the faint smudge of mascara beneath her eyes, as if she’d cried off the little bit she’d worn. She shimmied on the bar stool and tried to find a comfortable position. Not an easy mission for someone who’d obviously had a little too much to drink.

“Second-best-looking man in Romeo,” the woman went on, her voice slightly slurred. She took a swig from a half-empty bottle of Lonestar beer before motioning across the room to the hot, hunky cowboy near the pool table.

The player controlling the table aimed for a difficult shot. Balls clicked and the eight ball hit the corner pocket with a loud thunk. A round of cheers went up. The cowboy grinned, took the pile of cash sitting on the edge of the table and stuffed it into his pocket. He clapped the winning player on the back and exchanged a few words before turning to the loser and shaking the man’s hand, as well.

“Second-best?” Holly took another sip of Dr. Pepper and prayed for the ice-cold liquid to cool her hot body. “Who’s the first?”

“That would be the most wonderful man in the world. My husband, Bert Wayne.” The name ended on a sob. Tears brightened her eyes and spilled over.

“Are you okay?” Holly set her soda on the bar and touched the woman’s arm.

“I’m f-fine.” The woman tried for a smile that failed miserably. “Better than fine. I’m free—or I will be once Bert Wayne goes through with the divorce proceedings. That’s why I’m out living it up on a Saturday night.” She motioned around her. “Bert Wayne ain’t the only one who knows how to have himself a good time. It’s my turn.”

“You’re entitled.”

“That’s right. I deserve some fun. I am fun.” She sniffled again. “Even if Bert Wayne doesn’t think so.” She caught another sob before shaking her head. “I still can’t believe it.” Her watery gaze met Holly’s. “He said I was boring. That’s why he left me for Trana Lee Jenkins—she’s the new French manicure technician down at Miss Kim’s Nail Salon. He said I just didn’t excite him anymore and that he had to move on to greener pastures because mine had dried up and withered away.” More tears spilled over and she slapped at them with the back of one hand. “I’m so sorry. You probably don’t want to hear any of this.”

“It’s okay.”

“But you don’t even know me.”

“I know what it’s like to be alone.” She’d spent most of her life alone. Lonely.

Holly shook away the last thought and smiled. It was a new day. A new life. She’d finally come home. “My name is Holly Farraday.”

“I’m Sue Jack—did you say Farraday?” At Holly’s nod, she added, “As in Red Rose Farraday?”

Holly nodded. “She’s my grandmother. Well, she was my grandmother before she passed away. She left me her place. First thing tomorrow, I’m packing up my business and moving everything here.”

“You’re setting up shop out at Rose’s place?”

Holly nodded. “I’ve been operating from Houston, but the city is so crowded and my place is too small to accommodate all of my customers.” When the woman’s eyes widened, Holly realized what she must be thinking. After all, Red Rose Farraday hadn’t just been Holly’s grandmother. She’d also been one of the most notorious madams in Texas history who’d plied her trade at none other than the Farraday Inn.

Oddly enough, her grandmother’s notoriety hadn’t come as near a shock as the news that she’d had a grandmother in the first place.

“I make desserts for a living,” Holly explained. “I sell through a mail-order catalog and on the Internet. Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back.”

Sue teared up again. “I always thought I knew how to satisfy Bert Wayne, but then he up and left. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Not really.” She sniffled. “I mean, it is terrible, but I don’t blame him. He’s right. I am dried up. I’ve been sitting here for three hours and not one man has tried to pick me up. I’m a total loser. I’m a jawbreaker in a candy store full of mouthwatering chocolate. No one in their right mind picks a jawbreaker when they’ve got wall-to-wall Hershey’s Kisses.”

“You’re not a jawbreaker.”

“Yes, I am. I’m a big, fat, round blue jawbreaker.” She hiccupped. “On top of that, I’m drunk and I can’t drive home.”

“You don’t have to,” Holly said as she climbed from her bar stool. “Let’s go.”

Sue shook her head. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t have to leave and ruin your Saturday night just ’cause of me. I’ll just walk. It’s not far. Just a few miles up the—whoa,” she said as she tried to slide off the bar stool. She teetered and would have fallen flat on her face if Holly hadn’t caught her by the arm.

“I think walking is out of the question.”

“That’s funny,” Sue said as she leaned against Holly. “My legs were working just a few minutes ago. It’s probably arthritis.” She sniffled and sobbed. “That happens when you get old and dried up.”

“It’s not old age. It’s the tequila,” a deep voice said.

Holly glanced up just in time to see Mr. Hot and Hunky Cowboy walk up next to her. He gave Holly a smile and a wink that stalled her heart before turning to Sue.

“Hey there, Josh,” Sue said, a smile warming her face as she glanced up.

“Hey there, Sue. You look mighty nice tonight.”

“You’re just saying that.” But she smiled anyway. “Josh McGraw, have you met Heidi. Or is it Hominy? Or Hailey?”

“My name is Holly,” she told Josh.

“Nice to meet you, Holly.” The name rolled off his tongue, so deep and husky, and heat rushed through her body. Her nipples pebbled and pressed against the lace of her bra. “You need a lift home, Sue?”

“Hannah’s takin’ me.” Sue beamed at Holly. “She’s my new friend.”

“That’s right,” Holly said. “Let me just pay for my soda and—oomph!” she groaned as Sue teetered, threatening to pull them both to the ground if the cowboy hadn’t reached out and steadied the woman again.

“I’ll help you get her to the car,” Josh told Holly. He motioned to the bartender. “Put everything on my tab.”

Sue’s eyes teared up again as Josh slid an arm around her and hefted her to her feet. “You’re so nice,” she told the cowboy. “Bert Wayne was nice, too. But then he got bored and I got fat and…” She rambled on as Josh steered her after Holly who headed for the exit.

A few minutes later, Josh settled Sue into the passenger seat of Holly’s champagne-colored Lincoln Navigator. He clicked her seat belt into place, closed the door and rounded the front.

“Nice wheels,” he said, trailing his hand over the hood as he rounded the front of her SUV.

“Thanks. I got it in Houston.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

She nodded. “Thanks for the help,” she told him as he came around to the driver’s side where she stood. “I don’t know how I would have done it without you.”

“No problem.” He stopped just inches shy of her. So close she could feel the heat coming off his body and smell the faint scent of beer and leather that clung to him. “Sue’s not usually like this,” he went on. “She’s just having a hard time. She’s been pretty torn up since Bert Wayne moved out and filed for divorce.”

“I know the feeling.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “You know what it’s like to have a cheating husband?”

“I know what it’s like to be alone. I’ve been that way most of my life.” Until now.

She had a home now. And she intended to plant roots and make friends.

Starting now.

“So you don’t have a husband, cheating or otherwise?” he asked her.

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Not at the present time.”

“Girlfriend?”

She grinned. “No. How about you?”

“No girlfriend or boyfriend.”

“A wife?”

“I don’t have one of those, either.”

“That’s good.” The lust she’d felt inside the bar returned in full force and she forgot all about her vow to hold back and take things slow and… Permanent. Her nipples throbbed and heat flooded between her legs and she had the sudden urge to lean up on her tiptoes and touch her lips to his to see if he tasted half as delicious as he looked.

She leaned up and he leaned down and—

“The car is spinning,” Sue said from inside.

Holly froze, her mouth just inches shy of touching his, and licked her lips. “I, um, think I’d better be going.”

“Let’s go.”

“I thought I was driving her home.”

“Do you know where she lives?” When she shook her head, he ducked his head to glance in at Sue who’d tilted her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. She murmured something incoherent and whimpered. “I don’t think she’s going to be much help. I’ll drive.”

Holly handed him her keys and climbed into the backseat. She settled into the soft leather as Josh McGraw climbed behind the wheel of her Lincoln Navigator, started the engine and pulled out of the gravel parking lot.

The drive took less than five minutes, but it was the longest of Holly’s life. He was too close, too tempting, his gaze too disturbing every time he glanced in the rearview mirror and eyed her.

Awareness rippled along her spine and heat fluttered over her nerve endings. Her stomach hollowed out and a hunger, fierce and demanding, settled inside. It was one thing to watch him from afar, and quite another to have him just an arm’s reach away.

So close all she had to do was reach out and…

She wouldn’t. Not really. But in her mind’s eye, she leaned over the edge of the seat and touched the soft strands of dark hair that brushed his collar. Her fingers dipped beneath and grazed the hot flesh of his neck. Her palm trailed over the leather strap of his choker, tracing it toward the front. She undid the first button of his shirt. The hard muscle of his chest met her palm as she leaned over him and moved lower, down his rippled abdomen, around the indentation of his belly button to the waistband of his jeans. With a flick of her wrist, she eased the button open and urged his zipper over his erection. She tugged at the elastic of his briefs and slid her fingers beneath and—

“We’re here.” His deep voice drew her from her thoughts. Her head snapped up and her gaze collided with his. A fierce light gleamed in his blue gaze, as if he knew where her thoughts had almost taken her. As if he were already there, waiting and burning and wanting.

She cleared her throat and slid from the backseat as Josh climbed out of the car and went to help Sue from the passenger’s side.

It took fifteen minutes to get Sue settled inside her house before they finally climbed back into the Navigator, Josh back in the driver’s seat. He keyed the ignition, gunned the engine and pulled out of the gravel driveway. A few seconds later, they reached the stop sign at the end of Sue’s street.

“What are you doing?” she asked him when he just sat there, engine idling, as if he didn’t know which way to turn.

He stared straight ahead at the quiet expanse of road. “Wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“If I should head back to the bar, or if I should head for the interstate and the nearest motel.”

The bar, her conscience whispered. The last thing she needed was to start the permanent phase of her life with a one-night stand.

Then again, a one-night stand was someone that you slept with and never saw again. This guy was obviously local. In a town this small, she would be seeing him again. And again.

A problem in and of itself.

Her head knew that and it started to send a warning south to all of the relevant body parts.

But then his gaze caught hers and there was no mistaking the heat that burned in the dark depths. Her breath caught and her body throbbed and the words were out before she could stop them. “I could use a good minibar right about now.”