A Match Made in Texas (23 page)

He fell back to the pillows and glared at the television. The two whores were still at it. Although now they had moved from foreplay to oral sex, and the blonde was nearing orgasm. It was the worst overacting Josiah had ever seen in a porno. Her face was contorted like she was in pain, and her breasts heaved with each pant. He reached for the remote and turned up the volume to her loud groans and moans. When she finally came, her facial expressions and loud scream were almost laughable.

Except Josiah wasn’t laughing. He was turned on. So turned on that with only a few strokes he came along with the whore. When his breathing returned to normal, he opened his eyes to find the porno over and the movie menu back up.

He turned off the television. Obviously, it didn’t matter how bad the acting was as long as the viewer was pulled into the fantasy.

Josiah’s hand froze on the remote.

The viewer pulled into the fantasy
.

The words had him jumping to his feet and pacing at the end of the bed.

“Of course,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if it’s real or not as long as the viewer is pulled into the fantasy.”

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. Especially when his entire ministry was based on smoke and mirrors. All it took were a few tricks and people fell for his “miracles” hook, line, and sinker. Mostly because he gave them what they wanted to believe—that miracles really did happen. That cripples could walk again. And the blind could see. And the sick could be healed.

And if it worked with his ministry, and pornos, why couldn’t it work for a whorehouse?

He stopped and rubbed his hands together. “Now all I need to do is get together the cast.” He headed back for his phone. A shard of glass bit into the heel of his foot, but he was so intent on his plan, he barely even noticed. He found the number he wanted and pushed it.

“Hey, Frankie, it’s Josiah,” he said with a gleeful smile. “You still know that guy who owns that strip club in Houston? Well, I need some of his girls for a night.”

Chapter Twenty-four

B
RI FINISHED CLEANING OUT THE SINK
and added the sponge to the pile of towels before carrying them to the washing machine that was located next to the small bathroom. It had been a long day. Not only had she given two women highlights, but she’d done two haircuts, one perm, and shaved a number 1 on the heads of the entire defensive line of Bramble High’s football team.

Yes, she was tired. But it was a good kind of tired. And as she placed the towels in the washing machine, she couldn’t help humming along with the country music that came from the radio. It was a Miranda Lambert song. The same song that had been playing during her car chase with Dusty. But now it didn’t fill her with the desire to do something reckless. In fact, she didn’t feel antsy at all. She just felt… content.

And when she glanced up and saw a handsome sheriff standing in the doorway, the feeling only intensified.

“Hi,” she said, the word coming out all breathless and sappy.

Dusty didn’t answer. He stood there staring at her, the lenses of his sunglasses reflecting back at her.

Suddenly feeling shy and nervous, she turned and reached for the laundry detergent. “So how was your day? My day was crazy busy. I had one customer right after the other. My last one was Cindy Lynn. It seems she’s broken out in some kind of rash and wanted a facial. I was terrified to put anything on the red welts, so I just gave her a shampoo and trim. Personally, I just think the woman needed someone to talk to. Halfway through her rinse, she started babbling and didn’t stop until she walked out the door. I now know all there is to know about the folks of Bramble. Some things I could’ve lived without knowing.”

She flashed a smile toward Dusty. But when he remained standing by the door with a somber expression, her smile drooped. “So I guess you’re mad about what happened this morning? But you really don’t know my family. If I hadn’t lied, you’d still be at the Henhouse getting interrogated. Or recovering from the injuries Brant inflicted. Believe me when I tell you that it’s for the best if my family doesn’t know what is going on between us.”

“And what’s going on between us?”

His direct question put a halt to her rambling, and she struggled to find an answer in her suddenly empty brain. She’d told Beckett that it was only a fling. But standing there looking at Dusty with her heart racing and her tummy all airy, it didn’t feel like a fling. It felt like more. Much more.

She turned to the washer and fiddled with the dials. “I don’t know exactly. Do you?” She had just pushed in the knob to start the machine when warm hands slipped around her waist and pulled her back against a hard body.

Dusty nosed her hair out of the way, and his lips settled on the spot behind her ear. Just that quickly, desire welled up and her knees turned to jelly. She grabbed on to the edge of the washing machine and tried to remember how to breathe as his hand slid up to cup her breast.

“No,” he said against her neck as he strummed her nipple with his thumb. She whimpered with need, and he turned her around and silenced the sound with a deep kiss that took the rest of her sanity. When he finally pulled back, she felt like she was seconds from melting into a puddle at his boots. Her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself staring up into mossy amber heat.

“All I know,” he said in a low whisper, “is I’m not ready for it to end.”

Bri woke to brilliant morning light streaming in through the window. She blinked and focused on the most glorious of images: Dusty stretched out before her completely naked. Unfortunately, he slept on his stomach, but the view was still mighty fine. Starting at his feet, which hung over the end of the mattress, her gaze traveled up the lean muscles of his legs to his pale butt. There was a tan line that ran along his waist and high up on the back of his thighs. Since she couldn’t picture Dusty walking around town in a pair of short shorts, she wondered if he ran like Beckett. That would certainly explain the running shoes and his well-developed calves and lean physique.

She reached out and ran her fingers up his back, over the bumps of his rib cage, to the thick muscles of his shoulder. He shifted in his sleep, his head turning so he now faced her. His hair was mussed, and a lock fell over his forehead. In the sunlight, it looked even blonder, like the eyelashes that rested against his cheeks. His nose was straight with a ridge at the very top that was more than likely caused by the sunglasses he always wore. In sleep, his lips were soft and much less stern. And Bri couldn’t help leaning over to brush a kiss across them.

His eyes opened, and he stared at her for a moment before recognition slipped in. “What time is it?” His voice was craggy with sleep.

She outlined his bottom lip with her finger, pressing into the plumpness. “I’m not sure.” She gave him another kiss. This one deeper and much wetter.

He participated for only a moment before pulling back and glancing up at the window. His eyes widened. “Shit.” He rolled to his feet. “I need to get going.”

Hoping to entice him back to bed, Bri pushed the sheet off and rolled to her side, striking a seductive pose. “Going? I thought you said you had Saturdays off. Or are you worried about my brothers showing up? I told you that Beckett isn’t a tattletale.”

Dusty barely glanced her way as he pulled underwear out of the top drawer. “He might think differently when he gets up this morning and discovers that I didn’t bring you home last night. But this isn’t about your brothers, Bri. I need to be in Houston by this afternoon for my visitation with Emma.”

His words took all thoughts of seduction right out of her, and she sat up and covered her breasts with the sheet. “How long will you be gone?”

“I’ll be back by tonight. I only get a few hours every couple weeks.”

“Just a few hours? That’s all you get to see your daughter?”

Dusty turned to her. “I told you. My wife’s lawyers did a great job of portraying me as the bad guy.”

“I just didn’t realize that judge only gave you a few hours with her.” Bri swung her legs over the bed. “Why, that’s criminal. And your ex should be ashamed of herself for even attempting to keep your daughter away from you.”

He shot her a sardonic look. “I seem to remember another woman trying to sway the decision of a judge by using her family’s clout.”

Bri felt her face heat up. He was right. She had been willing to use whatever it took to stay out of jail. Even when she’d deserved to be incarcerated. Which explained why Dusty had hated her so much at first. To him, she was just another little rich girl using her money and family power to get her way. And she could tell by the look in his eyes that he still thought so. And was he wrong? Wasn’t she still trying to avoid taking responsibility for her own actions by hiding the truth from her brothers? Still trying to do what she wanted to do with no regard to how it would affect other people?

She looked away from his direct eyes and stared down at the blue paint on her toes. “You’re right. I should’ve spent more than a few days in jail for my actions, instead of using my family to get out of my punishment.” She blinked back the tears that formed in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dusty. You must really hate wealthy, spoiled women.”

There was a long silence, then Dusty was there, pulling her up in his arms and covering her mouth in a heated kiss. Once her head stopped spinning, she opened her eyes to find him looking down at her with a solemn expression.

“Who said that you’ve gotten out of your punishment?” he said. “Just because we’ve started having sex doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven and forgotten.” He tapped her nose. “No, your time of punishment is coming, Miz Cates.”

“It is?” she squeaked. Heat filled her entire body, her nipples stiffening against his bare chest. Her reaction set off a chain reaction in Dusty. He hardened, and his eyes turned hot and needy.

Unfortunately, he seemed to have much better control over his body’s demands than Bri did. After taking a deep breath, his hands dropped and he stepped away from her. “But it will have to wait. I’m late as is and still need to drop you off at Miss Hattie’s.” He turned and headed for the bathroom.

It was hard to pull her gaze from his firm butt. And harder still to act as if she wasn’t about to tackle him from behind and demand he give her his punishment right then and there.

Instead, she picked up his wrinkled sheriff’s shirt and slipped it on before walking to the kitchen to make some coffee. By the time he was showered and dressed, she had a cup waiting for him.

“You don’t need to drop me off.” She handed him the travel mug, smoothing his damp hair off his forehead. “Beckett or Olive can come pick me up. You just worry about getting to Emmie.”

Dusty studied the cup in his hand, and then her, and his eyes filled with something she couldn’t read. “You sure?”

She nodded. “Beckett will look for any excuse to leave the Henhouse.” She followed him out the door, watching as he walked to the older model truck parked next to his cruiser.

“Drive safely,” she said.

His hand froze on the door handle of the truck, and he turned back. The crooked smile he sent her made her heart thwack hard against her ribs.

“I’ll call you later.”

Bri stood there with her arms tightly wrapped around her body until the truck disappeared. The feeling of contentment returned. Like she was exactly where she should be, doing exactly what she should be doing. Waiting for Dusty. It was an absurd thought. One she tried to push out of her mind as she walked back inside.

Her stomach growled, but while making coffee, she’d discovered that Dusty’s cupboards and refrigerator were as bare as her behind. She thought about calling the Henhouse and having Beckett come get her, but instead she walked into the other bedroom. The bedroom with the cans of pink paint and the playhouse castle.

With a determination Bri didn’t know she had, she picked up a paint can and gave it a good shake. She might’ve hated her interior design classes, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t learned a few things.

Enough to make a dream room for a little girl.

And her loving father.

It took most of the day to finish the room. Of course, she had some help. Beckett showed up in the Smart Car around ten and painted while Bri wallpapered. At noon, Olive stopped by. Once she discovered there was no food in the house, she left and returned with groceries and all the hens in tow—along with a couple of federal agents.

Without guests, the hens were bored silly and were just itching to have something to do. Baby cooked enchiladas for lunch and then made a variety of freezer dinners that Dusty could easily heat up in the microwave. While she cooked, Sunshine and Starlet cleaned, proving to be much better at windows than Bri had been.

Minnie had Olive lower the ironing board so she could sit in her wheelchair and iron while she directed everyone. Once she heard about Dusty’s daughter, she sent Olive and one of the agents back to the house to retrieve an antique bed and dresser from the attic.

The white French provincial furniture was the perfect match for the pink-and-white-striped accent wall Bri had papered. As were the frilly curtains and bedspread Olive thought to bring along. It was well past six by the time the hens packed up and left. Beckett and Bri stayed to put on the finishing touches.