Читать книгу Cowboy Crush - Liz Talley - Страница 11

3

THREE DAYS LATER Cal watched Maggie dip the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and scrub down the front door of the Triple J ranch house. Ten years of lightning bug and moth waste dotted the wooden door with the broken glass insets. Would have been easier to buy a whole new damn door, but Miss Maggie Stanton was tighter than Dick’s hatband when it came to letting go of cash.

She looked damned fine in a pair of cutoff shorts that cupped her ass, a loose tank top and sandals that allowed toenails of bright red to peek out. Her brown ponytail bobbed as she uttered indiscriminant curse words under her breath. Stepping back she tossed the sponge into the bucket, splashing soapy water onto the sagging porch boards.

“Damn it.”

He climbed the steps, avoiding the one with the loose board. “Looks better.”

“No, it doesn’t, but at least it’s clean.” She brushed her hands on her shorts. The waistband dipped giving him a glimpse of apple-green panties. She turned to him. “Did you call the guy about the leak?”

“Yeah. The roofing company’s sending a guy for an estimate.”

“The roof has to be fixed before we can do any other work inside. And there’s a lot of work to be done.”

Cal looked at the door and then pulled a small notebook from his back pocket. He added “paint front door” to the list. “I’m heading to physical therapy, but I’ll be back by five o’clock. The painters will be out in the barn. If you have a problem, call me.”

“So I’m supervising now?” Her eyes dipped down to his chest. He knew he’d sweated buckets and his T-shirt clung to him. He’d been helping Ray and his team tear out rotten boards and replace them on the west side of the barn. Her noticing the clinging material made something naughty rear up inside him. One thing he knew was when a woman was interested. He’d caught Maggie’s gaze on him more than once. Firm indicator.

Two mornings ago, he and Maggie had come to an agreement regarding the renovation of the Triple J over pancakes at the Barbwire Grill. He had no clue why he’d agreed to help Maggie. Okay, he did. Some of it was wanting to get away from living with his mom and her husband. After the wreck on Rasputin, his mother had resurrected her petition that he give up bull riding. And some of it was feeling bad his old mentor had allowed the ranch to fall into disrepair. But most of it had to do with the insane attraction he held for Maggie. It had been months since he’d felt any interest in a woman. Maybe longer than that. Occasionally when he won big and drank enough, he took advantage of the willing women who frequented the bars. Yet he never felt anything more than a passing attraction.

Until Maggie had walked in.

Of course, he was bored and depressed by the lack of healing in his shoulder. He’d spent the past two weeks in bed watching Divorce Court and champing at the bit to get back to competing for the million-dollar prize. So doing a little work would make the hours go faster and being able to eye the sexy Maggie Stanton while doing it would be an added bonus.

So he made the list and hired the crews to repair the outer buildings for a ranch he cared nothing about. After inspecting the buildings, he’d decided the barn was too big of a job to attempt alone. He’d asked around and found a crew of painters who’d had a job fall through. They’d started work that morning, prepping for repainting right after the county animal control had picked up ten full traps of angry, snarling cats. Cal had started working on repairing stalls, carefully using his bad shoulder, hoping the natural movement might do some good since the prescribed therapy hadn’t done what he’d hoped. Still hurt like hell, but the therapist said moving it was good for him.

Charlie had shown up midmorning and with a grunt started helping. Cal didn’t have much left for the old man...or at least that’s what he told himself.

Charlie had taken him under his wing when Cal had been a restless green buck set on causing trouble rather than being useful. The former rodeo star had taught Cal how to be a cowboy, watching Cal ride his first bull, teaching him how to position his hands and when to use the spurs. Once upon a time, Cal had worshiped Charlie. Until the curmudgeonly cowboy had started drinking too much...and hitting on Cal’s mother.

When Cal was in high school, his lonely mom had shared a few meals with Charlie. She’d seen it as casual companionship, two people who cared about Cal spending time together. But when she met Gary Whitehorse, Charlie got jealous. It spilled over onto Cal’s rodeo life. The dam broke when Charlie tried to play daddy, demanding Cal quit bull riding after a particularly dangerous ride. Cal and Charlie had clashed like only two hardheaded fools could and the result was a sixteen-year silence. But Cal supposed they could hand each other nails and measure two-by-fours without talking much.

“I told you I’d have to go to physical therapy twice a week,” he reminded her.

Maggie silently regarded Cal. He knew her thoughts, namely the unstated question of why he went to a physical therapist. He hadn’t revealed he was a bull rider yet and he didn’t know why he withheld the information. All he’d accomplished was something to be proud of, but after years of buckle bunnies hopping after him and reporters haggling him, he was tired of the fascination. Being a regular dude felt good. Like pulling on an old pair of blue jeans.

“Right,” she said when she realized he wasn’t going to explain. “Oh, so you know, I checked out of the motel. I’m staying here tonight.”

“But the windows are still busted.”

“I found the screens in the attic. Cats are gone and I’m tired of motel life.”

“But it’s hotter than hell without AC.” His thoughts flickered to an image of her in a short nightie, sweat glistening between her breasts. Maybe no air-conditioning would be a good thing, especially since he’d pulled his trailer out this morning and had a nice view of the house. Of course, he wasn’t a pervert who’d sit around, peering out his blinds, trying to catch a peek. But if she did venture out to the saggy porch in her barely there nightie, he damned sure wasn’t looking away.

“I’ll manage. Just get those guys from the hardware place out here tomorrow to replace the panes. Oh, and call the roofing company again. No rain in the forecast, but if a storm blows up, I don’t want to have to get pans out.”

“I’ll put in another call, boss.”

“Are you staying here tonight?” she asked, looking down at the bucket and eyeing the door again.

“Are you asking me to keep you company tonight, darlin’? ’Cause I’m more than willing.”

Maggie’s head jerked up. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I was thinking about safety.”

“You can’t blame a guy for wanting to keep a pretty filly company.”

“Are you comparing me to a horse?” she asked, her brown eyes flashing. He loved her feisty spirit...which explained the teasing. Ruffling her feathers could become an addiction.

“You say it like being a horse is a bad thing. I like horses.”

She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Lincoln, our relationship is strictly a working one. I’m not in the market for being your...filly.”

“But you’ll settle for being my nag?” he cracked.

That made her lips twitch. “On second thought, I prefer filly. And hasn’t anyone ever suggested to you and to half of Texas that calling women baby, honey and filly is offensive?”

“If I kiss you and whisper ‘baby, you’re driving me wild,’ you’d be offended?”

Maggie swallowed. “Yes.”

“I’ll file that away for—”

“Not for future reference. We can’t... I mean, you are...” Maggie clamped her mouth closed, a faint pink creeping into her cheeks. He’d only known her for three days, but already he knew flustering Miss Priss was more fun than staring at Charlie’s sad ass all day long. Maggie pulled on her business face, but he sensed the flirting pleased her. Like she was a woman who needed a little teasing in her life.

“Relax, Mags,” he said, giving her a wink. “I never graze in a pasture if the gate ain’t open.”

Then he walked away at a slow ramble, knowing it would aggravate her. He’d bet his boots she loved cocky in a man and that’s something he held by the bucket load. He was short on a lot of things—manners, stature and patience at times—but knowing who he was and what cards he held had always been his best quality. Which was why this injury had thrown him for a loop. He’d done everything required of him to no avail. Everyone kept saying “give it time,” but that was something he didn’t have. He had to be back on a bull soon with an eye on the standings if he wanted a shot at the money and title.

When Rasputin had stepped on his shoulder, he’d shattered the bones along with cracking two ribs. Then he’d tossed Cal, puncturing a lung in the process. All ornery eighteen hundred pounds of snot, muscle and fury, Rasputin was up for Bull of the Year for good reason. And Cal knew he’d probably draw the bastard again in one of the last few events before Nationals. He finished the first half ranked number four, but the points were close this year. Come mid-August he had to be ready. But because the injury had been on his left side and his shoulder didn’t have good mobility, his balance was still shit.

He’d see about putting a bucking barrel in one of the stalls in the barn. He needed to practice and wasn’t ready to ride anything that breathed yet. Or maybe he was...just not a bull.

But until he could get back in the proverbial saddle, he’d head to therapy where he’d sweat buckets, cuss like a sailor and pray his shoulder’s flexibility improved. August wasn’t far away.

* * *

MAGGIE WIPED THE sweat from her forehead and surveyed her efforts. The screens were in place and she’d managed to give the kitchen, living area and one bedroom a decent scrubbing. She’d ordered a new mattress but until it arrived, she’d make do on one in a bedroom that had been closed off. She found sheets in a linen closet and ran them through the washing machine that, praise Jesus, still worked. Currently they flapped in the hot Texas breeze, pinned to the old-fashioned wash line she’d found and strung up on the two old poles behind the house.

She glanced out at the barn, relieved to see the painters had accomplished a good bit in one day. Thankfully, they’d primed over the rude graffiti so she didn’t have to stare at the rendering of the giant penis.

Waving at the men who loaded into a van, she went back into the oven, aka the house, to fix something for dinner. A knock on the door stopped her.

Charlie stood on the porch, wiping his face with a faded bandana. “I’m leaving now.”

“Okay,” she said.

“How many days I gotta put in to satisfy you?” He looked grumpy as an old bullfrog.

“As many as it takes to get this place back to where it was when Bud entrusted it to you.”

Charlie wiped a hand over his face. “Goddamn it. That could be next year. I ain’t got time for this. I got my own shit to do.”

“Like supporting the local bars? Don’t you feel remorse for letting this place fall apart?” She crossed her arms and gave him her best boardroom stare. Yeah, there were times she had to be Bud’s junkyard dog...in heels, of course.

“I did what I was hired to do. You can’t blame me.”

“Then whom shall I blame?”

“I don’t give a damn. Blame Bud. I told him I needed more money.”

“There was plenty of money in the ranch accounts.”

Charlie frowned. “You don’t understand the cost of running a ranch, but you’ll see. Everything’s expensive. Wait till you get the first vet bill. Bud only gave me so much and I took care of the animals first. Then I maintained the fence lines. I left the house for last. Wasn’t nobody here no how. Every time I replaced the glass in the windows, those damn kids broke them again. I painted over the graffiti twice. Started seeming like a waste if you asked me.”

The older man had a point. “Why not get to the root of the problem? Call the sheriff and put up cameras.”

Charlie’s mouth tipped into a smirk and she could see he’d once been a handsome man. “Think I didn’t? Sheriff can only do so much. This is Texas and there’s a lot of land to cover for his deputies. They came by and ran off some kids every now and again. And so you know, I set out game cameras. The one video feed I got was so grainy I couldn’t tell if it was kids smoking pot or aliens.”

“So you gave up?” Maggie asked.

Charlie shrugged. “Them kids beat me. But I’ll help you out even if I have to put up with Cal bustin’ my balls. Guess I owe Bud that much.” Charlie shuffled back off the porch.

At that moment, Cal’s truck bumped down to the barn. Charlie didn’t say anything else. Just hustled toward his American flag truck, passing Cal without a word. Made her wonder why the older man didn’t like Cal. Cal didn’t bother acknowledging Charlie, either.

As he climbed the porch steps, Cal doffed his hat. She pushed outside onto the porch and sat down on the steps she’d swept off earlier to mostly get rid of spiders. Cal eased himself down so he sat on the same step. He smelled like the heat that surrounded them and faintly like menthol. “Painters gone?”

“A few minutes ago,” she said, easing away from him, telling herself it was because he needed more shoulder room but knowing it was because she didn’t want to be any more tempted than she already was. She had a hang-up for a cowboy. Never in a million years would she have guessed boots and a cowboy hat were such crack.

“Looks like they got a good bit done. On the way to McKinney I called about the septic system, AC and the wells. We need to get those checked and repaired,” he said, setting his hat back on his head. Guess he took it off when greeting a lady. They sure were strange in Texas. But she was glad for it because she liked his hair. The locks were thick and shaggy. Perfect for running a woman’s hands through.

What was he talking about? Oh, yeah, wells and septic systems.

Everything was so overwhelming, and she had much to learn about a ranch and Texas and...snakes. She’d seen one of the native reptiles coiled in the middle of the road today. She needed a book to help her out. Like How to Run a Ranch for Dummies. Or maybe there was a YouTube video. Seemed to be one for everything. She’d learned how to fold sheets and fix a vacuum cleaner on there.

Her face must have portrayed her frustration because Cal patted her thigh. “Just one forkful at a time.”

His hand on her bared skin made heat slither into her belly. Correction. It made more heat slither into her belly. She was already hot as hell from her day of cleaning. And none too attractive she had to add. Maggie hadn’t sweated this much since she’d tried hot yoga. “What?”

“That’s how they say you eat an elephant, right? One forkful at a time.”

“Who eats an elephant, anyway?”

“Dunno.”

“Why are you going to therapy?” she asked.

He rubbed his hands against the worn denim of his jeans and stared out at the sun hovering over the horizon. “Shattered some bones in my left shoulder. Had surgery mid-May to fix it.”

“That sounds painful,” she said, wanting to peer around him to look at his shoulder as if she could see through the cotton fabric. “Was it a wreck?”

“Actually it was.” He smiled. “But it wasn’t in a car.”

“Motorcycle?” He’d look fine straddling a hog. She could see him riding with mirrored sunglasses and a badass smile. No clue how he’d manage to keep the cowboy hat on, though.

“Nah. Bull.”

“Bull? You ran into a bull?”

“More like it knocked me out cold and then stepped on me,” he said.

“Were you working with it? Like on a ranch?” Maybe he’d been a ranch hand. Or a real cowboy who drove cattle. But where did they drive cattle these days? From field to field? She hadn’t a clue. Another thing she needed to learn.

“Actually I was riding it,” Cal said, clasping his hands together between his spread knees.

“As in a rodeo?” Maggie asked, turning toward him. “That’s, like, superdangerous.” And it explained why he lived in a trailer on his mother’s land. She didn’t know much about rodeo, but she knew the cowboys who went town to town in search of rides didn’t have much money. She’d listened to Garth Brooks’s songs when she was a kid. Rodeo was a hard life.

“Yeah, it’s dangerous. I’ve been gored, tossed, stepped on, and I’ve had stitches. Look—” he pulled off his cowboy hat and showed her a white puckered scar near his hairline “—that came from Nitro II. Threw that big head back and nailed me good.”

“So you ride the bulls?”

“I ride the bulls. Well, some of the time.”

“Huh,” she said, lifting herself from the step. “I guess I shouldn’t ask if you’re any good after looking at those injuries. You want to join me for supper?”

He looked up, blue eyes amused. She hadn’t a clue why. He was the one who admitted to doing a completely asinine thing like climbing onto the back of a huge beast with horns. “What you having?”

“Well, you can have a ham sandwich, a turkey sandwich or Kraft mac and cheese. The Stop-N-Go had very little to offer in way of variety, though I did consider the wieners on the wiener-go-round.”

Cal stood. “Wiener-go-round?”

“You know, that little thingy that rotates the wieners,” she said, holding open the door.

“Is this sexy talk?” he asked, his eyes moving down her body.

“You sure you didn’t get kicked in the head? ’Cause I’m pretty sure overcooked hot dogs are not sexy. Never have been, never will be.”

Cal moved toward her. His previously damp T-shirt had been replaced by a short-sleeved polo that hung up on his biceps, and she’d be willing to bet he’d showered somewhere because his dark hair curled beneath the cowboy hat, glinting clean in the sun like a new penny. He moved like a man who was accustomed to taking what he wanted. A flare of something ignited in her stomach and suddenly she couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth. He had a thin upper lip, but that bottom one was so sensual. Gave her an urge to lick it, maybe bite it.

“I know, but you know what is sexy?” he asked, stopping right in front of her.

Could he hear her heart beating? Or maybe smell how turned on she was? Because she was. Like a light switch flicked. “You’re defining sexy now?”

“I think we should,” he said, shifting even closer. She could see the buttons on his polo had four holes. He smelled vaguely of lemon and, yeah, some kind of liniment. Even that turned her on.

He dragged one finger across her lips. And just like that, the smiles were gone. Because that was the single sexiest move she’d ever experienced. “These lips.”

Maggie swallowed hard. “Uh...”

“No, don’t say it,” he said, running his finger lightly back across her bottom lip. “I know you think it’s a bad idea to mix business and pleasure, Maggie. Thing is, I don’t really care.”

He slid his hand across her jaw and cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the hair pulled tight in the ponytail. Tilting her head back, he studied her face.

And she studied his. Long dark eyelashes totally wasted on a man framed eyes the color of a Caribbean surf. His broad cheeks angled down and she bet his nose had been broken more than once. Lean jaw, firm chin and those damn lips she wanted to feel on her body...everywhere.

“I don’t need this job, Maggie.”

She inhaled deeply. “So why did you take it?”

“For this,” he said, lowering his head, his lips covering hers.