Читать книгу The Prodigal Texan - Lynnette Kent - Страница 7

May

THE DAY STARTED WITH A FUNERAL.

By five o’clock, Miranda Wright had endured as much neighborly nosiness, listened to as many insinuations and waded through all the close-minded arguments she could stomach. With a slam of the door and a twist of the key, she abandoned her Wright for Mayor campaign office, skipped town without speaking to a single prospective voter and took the long way home. With luck, a breezy ride through the wide-open Texas countryside would restore her peace of mind.

Since the meandering back road she traveled led pretty much nowhere except to her farm, she was surprised to come over a rise and find a black truck parked on the shoulder at the bottom of the slope. Engine trouble, maybe. And no cell phone would work in the deep trough between the two hills.

Despite her mood, Miranda did the neighborly thing and stopped a few yards behind the tailgate of the black Ford 250. No flat tires evident, no smoking engine. Just the driver, sitting motionless at the wheel. Sick? Disabled? Dangerous?

Wishing she could replace her navy funeral suit and high-heeled shoes with jeans, boots and a rifle, she stepped up to the driver’s window. “Everything okay?”

Then she saw who she was dealing with.

“If it isn’t Ms. Mayor-to-be,” Jud Ritter said, giving her his one-sided smile. “How’s it going?” He took a swig from a half-empty whiskey bottle. An identical bottle lay on the passenger seat. Empty.

“Hey, Jud.” The man had attended his mother’s funeral this morning. He had a right to drown his sorrows, but not behind the wheel. “What are you doing out here in the wilderness? You should be at home with your dad and Ethan.”

He barked a laugh. “Not likely, Ms. Mayor-to-be. ‘Don’t bother coming back,’ was the phrase, as I remember it. ‘You don’t belong here.’” He helped himself to another drink, then held out the bottle. “Want some?”

“Sure.” Miranda took it, stepped back and poured out a golden stream of whiskey. The sharp tang of liquor rose from the pavement. As she handed him the empty bottle, Jud stared at her, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a straight line.

Finally, he shrugged. “That’ll teach me to be polite.” Groaning, he stretched an arm down into the foot well on the passenger side. “Good thing I know my limits.” He sat up again with a third bottle in his hand and proceeded to break the seal.

That was so like him—Homestead’s most infamous bad boy, a law unto himself, always finding a new way to flout the rules and make somebody mad. The citizens had heaved a collective sigh of relief when he’d left town after high school.

Miranda opened the truck door. “Come on, Jud. Get out. You can’t drive under the influence of two quarts of whiskey.”

“I know that,” he said, stepping down to the road. He staggered a little, then caught his balance. “I’m an officer of the Austin police department. I wouldn’t drive drunk, even in this redneck refuge.”

She gritted her teeth against the insult. “You can’t just park here until you’re sober, either. Who knows what could happen?” Why she even cared was a question Miranda couldn’t answer. She and Jud had squabbled and snapped and sniped at each other the entire twelve years they’d been in school together. The most humiliating moments of her adolescence had Jud Ritter’s name attached.

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” He looked at her, his brown gaze as guileless as a little boy’s. “I’m not bothering anybody as long as I’m parked on public property. I’ll spend the night under the stars, like a good cowboy should. Come morning, I’ll take my hangover and head back to Austin.”

Leaving the driver’s door open, he sauntered to the back of his truck, let down the tailgate and hitched himself up to sit on the edge. Miranda reached into the cab and took the keys out of the ignition, guaranteeing he wouldn’t be going anywhere till she decided he could. She’d give them back in the morning when he’d be suffering, but sober.

“Have a seat,” Jud said. “It’ll be a nice sunset in just a little while.”

Maybe if she humored him, he’d agree to let her drive him to Homestead’s only motel to sleep off the booze. Or she could take him home, dump him on the bed in the guest room. Her mom wouldn’t mind—she’d always had a soft spot in her heart for handsome, arrogant, uncontrollable Jud Ritter.

Still regretting the absence of comfortable clothes, Miranda shrugged out of her suit jacket and stowed it—along with Jud’s keys—in her truck.

“Aw, don’t go away,” Jud called. “We could have our own class reunion.”

“We didn’t graduate together,” she said, walking toward him. “I got held back twice, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, we’re both graduates.” He toasted her with the bottle. “To dear old Homestead High.” Another swig. “So I hear you’re going to save the town single-handed. Like the Lone Ranger.”

She hitched herself onto the tailgate beside him, then took a second to pull her skirt down as far as it would go. “Not single-handed, but I’ve got a plan that could bring people and opportunities back to Homestead.”

“Some kind of land swap?” He was drinking steadily, and she almost wished she could join him, relax a little. Jud had always made her nervous. He’d been everything she wasn’t—handsome as sin, with the physical grace of an athlete and the charisma of a politician. An encounter with Jud in the school hallway had usually left her feeling as stupid and confused as most people thought she was.

She took a deep breath. “A giveaway, actually. People must agree to build on the property, or renovate an existing building, live there for a year, and then they can sell it or continue in residence as the owner.”

“Where do you get the giveaway land?”

That was the touchy part. Miranda swallowed hard. “When the K Bar C Ranch went bust, the county seized the property for back taxes.”

Jud chuckled. “So that’s why my dad is so pissed about you running for mayor. He merged his ranch into that K Bar C investment deal. Now he’s lost the family plot, so to speak.”

“I know.”

“Considering the Ritters have held that land for over a hundred years…” He shook his head. “I think that’s one vote you won’t be getting.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Nah. I gave up any right to the Ritter legacy when I left home. They’re right—I don’t belong here. Thank God.”

He didn’t say anything else for quite a while. The sun dropped behind the hills around them, bringing a quick, cool twilight. Stars popped out one by one, white sparks in a purple Texas sky.

“See, I told you it would be a nice night.” Jud chugged from his whiskey bottle, then let himself fall back in the truck bed. “Great for stargazing. You ever go stargazing, Ms. Mayor?”

“I live on a ranch,” she said without thinking. “I see the stars all the time.”

“No, I mean real stargazing.” His grin was white in the near darkness. “With a guy.”

She felt her cheeks flush with heat. “Not recently.”

“Ever?”

“None of your business.” She scooted forward on the tailgate. “I’m going home.”

Strong fingers closed around her wrist. “Aw, come on.” He pulled backward, but she resisted. “I’m not talking about anything besides watching the sky.”

“I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Most of ’em,” he said, and took another swig.

But never to her. Miranda figured she was the only female in Homestead anywhere near his age that Jud Ritter hadn’t gone out with. He’d asked once, or so she’d thought at the time. What a travesty that had turned out to be.

“Relax,” Jud said, his voice now definitely slurred. “Lie back and look at the sky.” He tugged on her wrist again.

Miranda flattened out on the truck bed, feeling every ridge in the liner on her back. “This isn’t a very comfortable place to watch the sky.”

“You get used to it. Sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I have to drive home.”

Jud shrugged. “Up to you.” He took a noisy gulp of whiskey, then handed the half-empty bottle to her. “Do whatever you want to with that. I’m done.”

She held the bottle for a while, fighting the urge to take just one swig. Her experience with liquor consisted of eggnog punch at Christmas and champagne for New Year’s Eve. Plus the occasional long neck beer at a party. But she caught the rich oak aroma from Jud’s breath on the air, and her mouth watered for a taste. Just one.

Finally, though, she put the bottle at her side.

“Not tempting enough?” Jud rolled to face her, elbow bent and head propped on his hand. Full darkness had fallen, but they were close enough that she could see all the details of his face—the straight slant of his nose and the angle of his cheekbones, the shape of his mouth, the spark of laughter in his eyes. “What does tempt you, Ms. Mayor?”

“Pecan pie. Fast food cheeseburgers.”

“Guess you don’t get too much fast food out here in the sticks.”

“Just Bertha’s kolaches.”

“She’s still cooking?”

“Breakfast every day but Sunday.”

“Nothing ever changes.” After a silence, he said, “Do you have weaknesses for something besides food?”

She was beginning to feel drunk herself, listening to his voice, whiskey warm. “Horses. Never met one I didn’t love.”

He rubbed his knuckles up and down her lower arm. “Men, Miranda. Don’t you have a weakness concerning men?”

“Nary a one,” she lied, as goose bumps broke out all over her body. “Haven’t found a man yet I couldn’t live without.”

His fingers touched her cheek. “You just haven’t met the right guy.”

“I’ve met all the men I’m likely to here in Homestead.”

She should sit up, get down, go home. Jud Ritter was bad news, as at least one girl in Homestead had learned the hard way. He was drunk enough to seduce Miranda, for lack of anyone better, but she wasn’t drunk enough to succumb. She didn’t think she could get that drunk without passing out first.

Then he kissed her.

She gasped, tasting the liquor on his breath. And there was more…the firmness of his lips moving gently and deliberately over hers, the faint lime scent of his aftershave. She put up a hand—to stop him?— which came to rest on his shoulder, square and solid under his shirt. Without thought, she lifted her other hand to his hair, running her fingers through the short, sleek strands, pausing to cup the nape of his neck, the curve of his head.

And now they were both involved in the kiss, as he coaxed her response with patience and persistence and—dammit—expertise. She wouldn’t have him thinking she was a total novice, though that might not be far from the truth. By the time she was finished with him, he’d know he’d been kissed….

Somewhere along the way, though, her intentions grew wispy, then evaporated altogether. Mouths fusing, releasing, the clash of teeth. Hands exploring with long, savoring strokes or desperate clutches at sweat-slicked skin. Night air cool on heated bodies pressed ruthlessly together. Tension building, desire pounding in her veins. This, this was the reason she’d waited. He was the reason….

“Jud.” She whispered his name, and he stopped his exquisite torture of her breasts to look into her face. She saw his eyes focus.

In the next instant, he took his hands off her body and jerked away. Choking, growling like a rabid wolf, he partly fell, partly jumped out of the truck bed, hit the ground on his hands and knees and stayed there, swearing.

Miranda lay on her back where he’d left her, staring up at cold stars in a black sky, her mind an absolute blank.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jud dragged himself to his feet using the edge of the tailgate. “You let just any sonofabitch maul you?”

He grabbed her hands and drew her to sit up, like a rag doll who’d lost half her stuffing. “Any woman with half a brain would know better.”

She put a hand to her head, where her brain used to be. “I didn’t—” Past and present swirled together…she might have been sixteen again, standing at the door to the high school gym where she was supposed to meet Jud for the homecoming dance. He’d said to wait for him there, in the note she’d found in her locker.

“Are you crazy?” he’d demanded, when she stepped out to claim him. She showed him the note, and he laughed. The crowd of kids watching them laughed, too.

“If you had half a brain,” he’d said, “you’d know better.” Then, with his arm around his date, he’d walked past Miranda into the dance.

“Pull yourself together,” he ordered, with a wave at her wrecked blouse and wrinkled skirt. “Go home, before you get tarred with the same brush they used on me. That’d ruin your election chances, for sure.”

When he reached for the whiskey, Miranda focused enough to grab it. “No. I’m not leaving you a single, solitary drop.” Scrambling on her knees to the other side of the truck, she launched the bottle into the darkness beyond her vehicle. The satisfying crash of glass shattering on asphalt announced her success.

Jud swore again, even more fluently.

Still kneeling, Miranda fixed her bra and drew the edges of her blouse together. One of the buttons had popped—or been torn off. She’d have to wear her jacket into the house and hope her mother didn’t notice.

When she scooted to the end of the tailgate, Jud held out a hand. Miranda told him what he could do with his hands, his truck, and the rest of his life before she hopped down without help.

He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her around to face him. “Look, I—”

As she pivoted, Miranda slapped him with the full force of her turn. “Don’t talk to me. I don’t care what you think. I was stupid—gee, that’s a surprise. But I’ll get over it, all the easier if I never see your face again.”

She’d reached for the door handle of her truck before she remembered that she had his keys. “I’ll send the sheriff out in the morning,” she yelled. “He’ll have your keys.”

“Hey,” Jud shouted, and started running. “You can’t—”

But Miranda was behind the wheel with the motor roaring before he’d covered half the distance. She backed into a plume of dust, skidded onto the pavement and gave Jud a wave as she passed him, already doing forty-five.

She didn’t slow down until she reached the driveway at the farm. And only then did she acknowledge the tears running down her cheeks and dripping off her chin.