Читать книгу Texas Outlaws: Jesse - Kimberly Raye - Страница 9

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WAIT A SECOND.

Wait just a friggin’ second.

That was what Gracie wanted to say. She’d envisioned this meeting about a zillion times on the way over, and this wasn’t the way it had played out. Where was the gratitude? The appreciation? The desperate embrace followed by one whopper of a kiss?

She ditched the last thought and focused on the righteous indignation that came with violating about ten different city ordinances on someone else’s behalf. Leaking private city business to civilians was an unforgivable sin and the memo from the production company had been marked strictly confidential.

But this was Jesse, and while she’d made it a point to avoid him for the past twelve years, she couldn’t in good conscience sit idly by and let him be broadsided by the news crew currently on its way to Lost Gun.

Not because she cared about him.

Lust. That was all she’d ever felt for him. The breath-stealing, bone-melting, desperate lust of a hormone-driven sixteen-year-old. A girl who’d dreamed of a world beyond her desperately small town, a world filled with bright lights and big cities and a career in photojournalism.

She’d wanted out so bad back then. To the point that she’d been wild and reckless, eager to fill the humdrum days until her eighteenth birthday with whatever excitement she could find.

But then she’d received the special-delivery letter announcing that her older brother had been killed in the line of duty and she’d realized it was time to grow up, step up and start playing it safe right here in Lost Gun.

For her sister.

Charlotte Stone was ten years younger than Gracie. And while she’d been too young—four years old, to be exact—to remember the devastation when their parents had died in a tragic car accident, she’d been plenty old enough at nine to feel the earthquake caused by the death of their older brother. She’d morphed from a happy, outgoing little girl, into a needy, scared introvert who’d been terrified to let her older sister out of her sight.

Gracie had known then that she could never leave Lost Gun. Even more, she’d vowed not only to stay but to settle down, play it safe and make a real home for her sister.

She’d traded her beloved photography lessons for finance classes at the local junior college and ditched everything that was counterproductive to her new safe, settled life—from her favorite fat-filled French fries to Jesse Chisholm himself.

Especially Jesse.

He swiped a hand across his backside to dust off his jeans and her gaze snagged on the push-pull of soft faded denim. Her nerves started to hum and the air stalled in her lungs.

While time usually whittled away at people, making them worn around the edges, it had done the opposite with Jesse. The years had carved out thick muscles and a ripped bod. He looked even harder than she remembered, taller and more commanding. The fitted black-and-gray retro Western shirt framed broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Worn jeans topped with dusty brown leather chaps clung to trim hips and thighs and stretched the length of his long legs. Scuffed brown cowboy boots, the tips worn from one too many run-ins with a bull, completed the look of rodeo’s hottest hunk. The title had been held by local legend Pete Gunner up until he’d proposed to the love of his life just two short years ago. Since then Jesse had been burning up the rodeo circuit, determined to take the man’s place and gain even more notoriety for the Lost Boys, a local group of cowboy daredevils who were taking the rodeo circuit by storm, winning titles and charming fans all across the country.

Wild. Fearless. Careless.

He was all three and then some.

Her gaze shifted to the face hidden beneath the brim of a worn Stetson. While she couldn’t see his eyes thanks to the shadow, she knew they were a deep, mesmerizing violet framed by thick sable lashes. A few days’ growth of beard covered his jaw and crept down his neck. Dark brown hair brushed his collar and made her fingers itch to reach out and touch.

“If I were you, I’d stop staring and put my tongue back in my mouth before somebody stomps on it.”

The voice startled her, and she turned to see the ancient cowboy who came up beside her.

Eli McGinnis was an old-school wrangler in his late seventies with a head full of snow-white hair that had been slicked back with pomade. His handlebar mustache twitched and she knew he was smiling even though she couldn’t actually see the expression beneath the elaborate do on his top lip.

“You’d do well to stop droolin’, too,” he added. “We got enough mud puddles around here already. A few shit piles, too.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Drooling?” he cut in. “While I ain’t the brightest bulb in the tanning bed, I know drooling when I see it and, lemme tell ya, it ain’t attractive on a fine upstanding public servant like yourself. Then again, you ain’t actually the mayor yet, so I guess I should be talking to your uncle when it comes to serious public-health issues.”

“Uncle E.J. already left for Port Aransas. He and my aunt just bought a house there.” Her brow wrinkled as the impact of his words hit. “A public-health issue?” The notion killed the lingering image of Jesse and snagged her complete attention. “What health issue?” A dozen possibilities raced through her mind, from a city-wide epidemic of salmonella to a flesh-eating zombie virus.

Okay, so she spent her evenings watching a little too much cable TV since Charlie had moved into the dorms at the University of Texas last year. A girl had to have some fun.

Anxiety raced up her spine. “It’s mercury in the water, isn’t it?” Fear coiled and tightened in the pit of her stomach. “E. coli in the lettuce crops? Don’t tell me Big Earl Jessup is making moonshine in his garage again.” At ninety-one, Big Earl was the town’s oldest resident, and the most dangerous. He came from a time when the entrepreneurial spirit meant whipping up black diamond whiskey in the backyard and hand-selling it at the annual peach festival. Those days were long gone but that hadn’t stopped Big Earl from firing up last year to cook a batch to give away for Christmas. And then again at Easter. And for the Fourth of July.

“You got bigger problems than an old man cooking up moonshine in his deer blind, that’s for damn sure.”

“Big Earl’s cooking in his deer blind?”

Eli frowned. “Stop trying to change the subject. We’ve got a crisis on our hands.”

“Which is?”

“Fake cheese on the nachos. Why, the diner used to put a cup of real whole-milk cheddar on all the nacho platters, but now they’re tryin’ to cut costs, so they switched to the artificial stuff.”

“Fake cheese,” she repeated, relief sweeping through her. “That’s the major health concern?”

“Damn straight. Why, I was up all night with indigestion. As the leader of this fine community—” he wagged a finger at her “—it’s your job to clean it up.”

O-kay.

“I’ll, um, stop by the diner and see what I can do.”

He threw up his hands. “That’s all I’m askin’, little lady.”

Her gaze shifted back to Jesse, who now stood on the other side of the arena talking to two men she didn’t recognize. They weren’t real working cowboys but rather the slick, wealthy types who flew in every now and then to buy or sell livestock. With their designer boots and high-dollar hats, they probably intimidated most men, but not Jesse. He held his own, a serious look on his face as he motioned to the black bull thrashing around a nearby stall.

“That boy’s too damned big for his britches sometimes,” Eli muttered.

Her gaze dropped and her breath caught. Actually, he filled out said britches just right.

She watched as he untied his chaps and tossed them over a nearby railing, leaving nothing but a tight pair of faded denims that clung to him like a second skin, outlining his sinewy thighs and trim waist and tight, round butt—

“It’s mighty nice of you to come out and warn him.” Her gaze snapped up and she glanced at the old man next to her. “Even if he don’t realize it.”

“It’s fine.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I stop by every day.”

Not anymore.

But for those blissful three weeks before they’d graduated, she’d been a permanent fixture on the corral fence, watching him every afternoon after school. Snapping pictures of him. Dreaming of the day when she could leave Lost Gun behind and turn her hobby into a passion.

She’d wanted out of this map dot just as bad as he had. Then.

And now.

She stiffened against the sudden thought. She was happy with her life here. Content.

And even if she wasn’t, it didn’t matter. She was here. She was staying. End of story.

“Still, you didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” Eli went on.

“Just looking out for my soon-to-be constituents.” No way did Gracie want to admit that she’d come because she still cared about Jesse. Because she still dreamed of him. Because she still wanted him.

No, this was about doing the right thing to make up for the wrong she’d done so long ago. She’d had her chance to warn him the first time, and she’d chickened out for fear that seeing him would crumble her resolve and resurrect the wild child she’d been so desperate to bury.

She’d lived with the guilt every day since.

“Tell him to be careful.” She took one last look at Jesse, fought against the emotion that churned down deep and walked away.

* * *

“THAT MAGAZINE ARTICLE was right about you. You sure put on one helluva show.” The words were followed by a steady clap-clap-clap as Billy Chisholm, Jesse’s youngest brother, walked toward him. Billy was four years younger and eagerly chasing the buckle Jesse had won just last year. “I particularly liked that little twist you did when you flew into the air.” He grinned. “Right before you busted your tail.”

Jesse glared. “I’m not in the mood.”

“I wouldn’t be either if I’d just ate it in front of everyone and the horse they rode in on.”

But Jesse wasn’t concerned about everyone. Just a certain buttoned-up city official with incredible blue eyes.

He barely resisted the urge to steal one last look at her. Not that he hadn’t seen her over the years when he’d happened into town—across a crowded main street, through the dingy windows of the local feed store. It was just that those times had been few and far between because Jesse hated Lost Gun as much as the town hated him, and so he’d kept his distance.

But this was different.

She’d been right in front of him. Close enough to touch. To feel. He could still smell her—the warm, luscious scent of vanilla cupcakes topped with a mountain of frosting.

Sweet.

Decadent.

Enough to make him want to cross the dusty arena separating them, pull her into his arms and see if she tasted half as good as he remembered.

Want.

Yep, he still wanted her, all right. The thing was, he didn’t want to want her, because she sure as hell didn’t want him.

He’d thought so at one time. She’d smiled and flirted and rubbed up against him, and he’d foolishly thought she was into him. He’d been a hormone-driven eighteen-year-old back then and he’d fallen hard and fast.

He was a grown-ass man now and a damn sight more experienced. Enough to know that Gracie Stone was nothing special in the big scheme of things. There were dozens of women out there, and Jesse indulged in more than his fair share. And while they all tasted as sweet as could be at first, the sweetness always faded. The sex soon lost its edge. And then Jesse cut ties and moved on to the next.

“...can’t remember the last time you bit the bullet like that,” Billy went on. “What the hell happened? Did someone slap you with a ten-pound bag of stupid?”

Okay, maybe Gracie was a little special. She’d been the only woman in his past to break things off with him first, before he’d had a chance to lose interest.

He would have, he reminded himself.

Guaran-damn-teed.

From the corner of his eye, he watched her disappear around the holding pens. The air rushed back into his lungs, but his muscles didn’t ease.

He was still uptight. Hot. Bothered.

Stupid.

He stiffened and focused on untying the gloves from his hands.

“Alls I can say is thanks, bro,” Billy went on. “I bet a wad of cash on your ride just now. My truck payment, as a matter of fact.”

Jesse arched an eyebrow. “And you’re thanking me for losing your shirt?”

Billy clapped him on the shoulder and sent an ache through his bruised body. “I didn’t bet on you, bro. I bet against you.” He winked. “Saw that little gal come round the corner and I knew things were going to get mighty interesting.”

Forget stupid. He was pissed.

“She came to warn me,” Jesse bit out, his mouth tight. “They’re shooting a ‘Where Are They Now?’ special next week,” he told his brother. “A follow-up to Famous Texas Outlaws.”

Billy’s grin faltered for a split second. “You okay with that?”

Jesse shrugged. “I can handle my fair share of reporters. You know that.”

“True enough.” Billy nodded before sliding him a sideways glance. “But if you want a little peace and quiet, you can always send them my way.” He winked and his grin was back. “I like getting my picture taken.”

Billy had been fourteen at the time and excited about being in the limelight. He hadn’t been the least bit unnerved by the endless questions about their father’s death six years prior, because he’d been too young to really comprehend the gravity of what Silas Chisholm had done. Too young to remember the police and the accusations and the desperate search to recover the money that their father had stolen. Rather, he’d seen the media circus as a welcome distraction from an otherwise shitty life.

“Gracie wants me to lie low,” Jesse added. “She thinks it’ll help the town.”

“And here I thought she came all the way out here because she wanted a piece of PBR’s reigning champion.”

If only.

Jesse stuffed his gloves into his pocket and fought the longing that coiled inside of him.

Gracie Stone was off-limits.

She’d broken his heart and while it was all water under the bridge now, he had no intention of paddling upstream ever again.

Then again, it wasn’t his heart that had stirred the moment he’d come face-to-face with her again. Despite the years that had passed, the chemistry was still as strong as ever.

Stronger, in fact.

And damned if that realization didn’t bother him even more than the fact that he’d just landed on his ass in front of an arena full of cowboys. Since Tater Tot had been the ornery bull responsible, he’d just become that much more valuable to the two buyers now waiting inside Jesse’s office in a nearby building.

So maybe Gracie’s visit wasn’t a complete bust after all.

“I’ve got papers to sign.” He motioned to the glass-walled office that overlooked the corral. “Get your gear and get in the chute if you want a turn on Tater Tot before they pack him up and ship him out. And you’d better make it quick because we’ve got a tuxedo fitting in a half hour and the clock’s ticking.”

“Sure thing, bro.” A grin cut loose from ear to ear. “After that piss-poor display, somebody’s gotta show you how it’s done.”