Love Drunk Cowboy (8 page)

“You ready to dye eggs?” Rye asked from the doorway.

“Are they cooled?”

“I put them all in the sink, ran cold water on them, and dumped in two trays of ice. I think they’re ready but you might want to get dressed to keep from ruining those cute little pajamas.”

She fought the impulse to cross her arms over her braless breasts, even though they were discreetly covered by pink knit and he’d already seen her. Hell’s bells, they’d had breakfast together so it was too late to be covering up her boobs now.

“I’ll find some work clothes and meet you back in the kitchen.” She stood up, raised her arms high over her head, and stretched.

Rye couldn’t take his eyes from her. He really needed to step back but he couldn’t move from the spot and she was coming toward the door. When she opened the old-fashioned screen door, he managed to move to one side and she brushed against his side. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to grab her right there in the doorway and kiss the living daylights out of her. As it was, he felt like just the brush of her hip against his was setting him on fire. He cleared his throat and she looked back at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he lied. He couldn’t tell her what effect her body had on him, not after less than twenty-four hours. What he needed was a shot of tequila to calm his nerves and a lime to bite on to wipe the constant smile off his face.

Austin headed down the hallway to her bedroom. She vowed she’d never ever let herself fall for Rye because if his touch was an indication of how hot things would be, one night in bed with him and they’d both burst into flames. How was that man not married? There wasn’t a woman on the face of the earth who wouldn’t fall backwards on the bed if he so much as laid a little finger on their cheek.

If I don’t stop thinking about him, I’m going to need to dip my whole body in that ice bath for the eggs. But I do wonder what a kiss would be like. Would I have lips left after he kissed me or would they melt right off my face? Hush! I can’t go back out there with naughty thoughts like this.

She flipped through the hangers in the closet while she removed her pajamas and put on a bra, but she’d brought nothing to wear while dying Easter eggs. She took a pair of khaki capris from a hanger and had one leg in them before she remembered that they cost too much to ruin with dye. That’s when she saw Verline’s faded overalls hanging in the closet.

She and her grandmother were both five feet ten inches and there probably wasn’t ten pounds difference in their weight so the overalls should fit fine. She stepped into them. They
were
comfortable. She found a sleeveless chambray shirt, put it on and buttoned it up the front, then flipped the galluses over her shoulder and fastened them. She rolled the legs up to right under her knees and slid her feet into an old pair of rubber flip-flops she found on the closet floor. Then she secured her shoulder length hair up into a ponytail and giggled at her reflection in the long mirror. “Farmer Jane. Mother would be appalled. I should have Rye take a picture of me with my cell phone and send it to her. She would either drop dead with a heart attack or fly down here and jerk me back to Tulsa so fast I’d think this was all a dream.”

Mismatched coffee cups filled with six different colors of egg dye were sitting on the table. Two crates of eggs were cooked, cooled, dried, and waiting. Rye was working on another crate when she walked in the kitchen. His mind went stone cold dead. Not one word would form and all he could do was stare. Dressed up she was stunning. In pajamas she was sexy. In those adorable overalls, she took his breath away.

He started across the floor with a crate of eggs, stumbled, and had to do some fancy footwork to keep from dumping two dozen eggs right at her feet. Only four fell out, but he managed to step on all four in his attempt to get his balance.

“I bet you say you can’t dance,” Austin laughed. “Only messed up four. That’s a miracle.” She rolled off several rounds of paper towels and bent down to clean the smashed eggs from the floor.

He started at the back of her long legs but his gaze stopped at her rounded rear end just inches from his fingertips. He was glad he still had a crate of eggs in his hands or he would have patted that fanny even if it cost him a hard slap on the face.

“I can dance. Want to go honky tonkin’ with me?” He set the eggs down, grabbed the paper towels to help her, bent down, and butted heads with her as she was standing up.

The woman would think he was a klutz. Thank goodness she didn’t know about him forgetting to change out of his best clothing. Or that he’d actually forgotten the feed yesterday. Or that he’d come close to burning down the house the night before when he was thinking about her.

He sat flat down in the floor. “I’m sorry.”

She joined him, holding her head. “It was my fault. I should’ve said I was standing up.”

“Let me see.” He pushed back her hair and checked her forehead with his fingertips. There was the heat again, boiling up from deep inside his body. He looked into her eyes and time stood still for what seemed like eternity. He knew this was a bad idea but a tractor trailer and a team of six horses couldn’t have stopped him from leaning in for that kiss, especially when Austin gulped and then nervously licked her lips. He just about pounced right then, but used every ounce of his willpower to move slowly. He could hardly wait to kiss her, but then the phone rang. He froze, and she stared at him for a beat, but the moment was over so he took a deep breath and sat back.

Austin had wanted that kiss—she was just about drawn to that man’s lips like flies to honey—and then the blasted phone rang. She didn’t even care if his kiss did melt her lips off her face. She’d hire a plastic surgeon to build her some new ones.

He helped her up with one hand.

She grabbed the kitchen phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Is this Austin Lanier?”

“It is. Who is this?”

“Your lawyer. I will be about thirty minutes late. Is that a problem?”

“No, sir. That’s fine,” she said.

“Then I will see you at ten thirty. Good-bye, Miss Lanier.”

She didn’t even have time to say good-bye before the line went dead. She put the receiver back on the base and turned around. Rye had cleaned up the egg mess, tossed the paper towels in the trash, and was sitting at the table.

“That was the lawyer. He’ll be here at ten thirty instead of ten. He sure was curt. It’s been at least twenty years since I’ve dyed Easter eggs so I’m not so sure I remember how.”

“All lawyers are like that, so don’t worry about it. Dying eggs is like riding a bike. It’ll all come back to you.” He had come so close to kissing her that it was scary. A kiss that quick would scare her right back to Tulsa for sure. He had to remember to take things slow. Sure, he had the hots for her but maybe she didn’t feel the same way. After all, he was pure country and she was a city girl.

“It is coming back to me right along with the smell. Haven’t they figured out a way to make it where you don’t have to use vinegar?” She put an egg in a wire holder and held it down in the purple dye.

“Granny said that this kind works better because it sets it better.”

“She never was one much for change. This one has color. Now what?”

“Decals or glitter or paint pens. Decorate to your heart’s desire.”

She picked up a decal of a butterfly and read the directions. She held a wet cloth against the decal and counted to ten using the
one-Mississippi
method and then gently peeled the paper away to show a lovely yellow and hot pink butterfly.

“I hope a little girl finds this one.”

“If she doesn’t, I bet a little boy will peel it and cram the whole thing in his mouth. They have contests among themselves to see who can eat the most boiled eggs. That’s something you can’t do with plastic eggs.”

One second he couldn’t talk; the next his mouth flapped like laundry hanging on the line on a windy day. Austin would think he was the dumbest old redneck cowboy she’d ever met up with if he didn’t get it together any better than that.

“Do they really have an egg eating contest?” She dipped the next one into pink dye and affixed a white bunny decal to the side. “I’d forgotten how much fun this is.”

“Not a sanctioned egg eating contest. They don’t get a prize for it but it happens every year. Granny thought it was a hoot. Their mommas would have a hissy if they knew, but they hide over behind the stage and lay bets as to who can eat the most in three minutes.”

“How do you know so much about it?”

“I watch. One of Kent’s boys has won the past two years with more than ten eggs. And that’s after a big Easter dinner.”

“Good Lord. Ten eggs! Does it make him sick?”

“I don’t know what happens when he gets home.”

He picked up the wire holder and sunk an egg down into the yellow dye after he’d drawn a smiley face on the side with the wax crayon. He brought it out and set it on the drying rack for a few seconds and then outlined the smiley face in bright orange with a fine tipped paint pen.

“So you raise cattle, take care of a bunch of mean old rodeo bulls, and you are an artist to boot. I’m impressed,” she said.

“Enough to sell me this place after you get through taking out Granny’s personal things?”

She cut her eyes around at him. “Is that what this is all about? Buttering me up to steal the place out from under me?”

“No, this is about Easter eggs. I’m real good at buttering women up though if that will work.”

“I bet you are and no, it will not work.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying. We’d better work faster if we want to get these finished before your lawyer gets here. Granny said he was the fanciest thing in Wichita Falls in his three-piece suits, alligator boots, and driving that Caddy.”

“Are you saying I should change before he gets here?” she asked.

“No ma’am. I think you are sexy as hell in that outfit. Just don’t be surprised if he hits on you and it won’t have a thing to do with the money Granny left in the trust fund for you. He’s already rich.”

“What money? We always figured she barely got by from one year to the next. I mean, all she did was grow watermelons.”

Rye chuckled. “I’ll let the lawyer explain it all, but honey, raisin’ watermelons is like finding gold. She told me part of it but I don’t have the whole story. She played her cards close to her vest. Speaking of which, if a couple of old girls from up at Ryan call and want to come down here for a poker game and you need a fourth hand, call me.”

“Greta and Molly?”

She grinned and his heart did a flip, skipped a half-beat, then raced like he’d run a mile on an uphill slope.

“Don’t let those two old gals fool you into thinking they’re lousy at poker. Me and Granny played with them about once a month. They’ll clean out your bank account and laugh all the way out to Greta’s 1958 Chevrolet truck.”

Her grin widened. Who would have thought those little blue-haired ladies would be crackpot poker players? Jefferson County was just full of surprises.

Crates of colored eggs lined the bar and the table was barely cleaned up when ten thirty rolled around. Austin pulled the ponytail holder from her hair and shook loose a mane of dark hair to fall around her shoulders. She started toward the front door at the same time Rye headed for the back door. They collided in the middle of the kitchen floor. He wrapped both arms around her to keep her from falling and she grabbed him firmly around the neck. He looked down into her blue eyes, which were looking up at him. Once again time stood still and Rye felt like he was moving in slow motion. He leaned in and she rolled up on her toes. When their lips met it was like nothing he’d ever experienced before—hot and sweet, brand new and like destiny that had been waiting for him forever, and as he touched the tip of his tongue to hers, he felt his whole body respond with a rush of steaming need and raw desire and heavenly heat. That kiss came close to frying a hole in the kitchen linoleum.

It set off bells in her head and fire down low in her gut that only a romp between sheets could put out and Austin was not that kind of woman. She did not fall into bed with a man just because he tickled her fancy. Casual sex was for other people; not Austin. The doorbell rang again but she thought it was the crazy music in her head. When it rang a third time she took a step back. “I don’t do that. I’m not that kind of woman. I don’t kiss a man.”

His heart fell to down to the kitchen floor. “You aren’t straight?”

“Yes, I’m straight!”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“I’m not loose legged, Rye. I’m pretty old-fashioned.”

“Well, you better get your old-fashioned butt over there and answer the door because I think I saw the shadow of your lawyer giving up.”

She took off for the door and he slipped out the back door, through the garage, and around the side of the house. He slid down the rough bark of the old shade tree in the backyard and put his head in his hands. He felt as if he’d known Austin Lanier for ten years but nothing had prepared him for the emotional roller coaster set loose in his heart and mind when he saw her in those overalls. Barefoot she was even sexier than she’d been in the fancy business suit down on the river when he’d first seen her and his world tilted ninety degrees to the left.

Austin opened the front door and yelled in a breathless voice, “Are you Verline Lanier’s lawyer?”

He was dressed in a three-piece suit that left no doubt that it had not come right off the rack at Sears but had been custom tailored to his slim build. His light brown hair was feathered back and his blue eyes luminous behind wire-rimmed glasses.

“I’d given up on you being here.”

His smile reminded her of a wolf approaching a helpless newborn lamb. It had none of the warmth of Rye’s boyish grin. There wasn’t one thing about Mr. Fancy-pants that made her want to kiss him or even dye an Easter egg with him. She touched her lips to see if they were actually as hot as they felt and was surprised to find them cool.

“My neighbor and I’ve been up to our ears in Easter eggs. Granny had already ordered them so we went ahead with her plans.” She held the door open for him. “You can set your briefcase on the table. There’s only a little bit of stain from the dye.”