Reckless in Texas Page 6

  “Who told you?” Violet plunked the jug down hard enough to make milk splash out the top.

  He hunched a shoulder. “Oh, you know. People.”

  Yeah. And she could guess which people. Violet jumped up and grabbed a washcloth to swipe at the spilled milk. “I wasn’t with Joe. I sat by him at the bar while I took care of the tab.”

  “They said it looked like he was hitting on you.”

  They should eat shit and die. And since when did Delon give her the third degree? They’d always had an unspoken don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy when it came to dating. “He was just trying to mess with me.”

  Delon looked up, frowning. “Why?”

  “I’m not sufficiently grateful for his presence. His ego is dented.” She stomped to the sink, rinsed the cloth, and wrung it to within an inch of its life. “Don’t worry. After that disaster in Hickory Springs, I’m giving up men until my next reincarnation.”

  “I can see how that would put you off.” Delon’s lips twitched, just barely, but he flattened out the grin before she could snarl.

  Violet wandered over to the table to plop down opposite him. “Sorry. I’m a little out of sorts this morning.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  Tell her Joe was wrong, and Jacobs Livestock wasn’t a two-bit rodeo company, living off scraps that were too small for the big shots like Dick Browning? With every sneer, Joe reminded her that next year she’d be producing the same rodeos, in the same dusty, one-horse towns, while he strutted around on a stage bigger than she’d ever experience at this rate.

  “Just my usual case of end-of-summer blues.” She forced a smile. “Give me a few days to knock some road dust off, get out in the open space, and I’ll be good.”

  Delon knew her too well to fall for her flippant tone, but he only hesitated a beat. “If you say so.”

  Violet polished off her cereal and left Delon gathering up the belongings Beni had scattered in the few short hours since he’d been home. Outside the air still held a hint of morning freshness, but it would be weeks before the leaves turned from green to gold. Dust puffed around her feet as she crossed the driveway to her mother’s blocky frame house, shaded by oak and pecan trees. Past Violet’s house stood a bunkhouse that had been refurbished to serve as guest quarters, then Cole’s two-room cabin. When Violet had hired Shorty Edwards, it’d made perfect sense to put their temporary bullfighter up in the bunkhouse. Save a few bucks on a motel, win him over with her mother’s cooking. Now she had Joe Cassidy camped on her doorstep. This was so not going the way she’d planned.

  The ranch stretched south, over a series of low bluffs and plateaus, the draws choked with scrubby mesquite and tough native grass. The only real patch of color was Iris Jacobs’s yard: lush green set off by splotches of pink, blue, orange, red, and more. Otherwise, the landscape was painted in muted shades: mostly brown, plus the chalky pinks, reds, and whites of the bluff behind the ranch buildings. Not exactly paradise, but Violet wouldn’t trade the Panhandle for all the trees in the Piney Woods.

  She found her mother in the kitchen, leaning on the sink, head cocked toward the open window. Violet favored her in coloring and features, if not size. Iris’s brown hair was short and curly, her body strong through the shoulders but soft in the middle, just like her disposition. She made a shushing motion and gestured toward the window. Violet eased over to peek out.

  Beni sat on the picnic table on the covered rear deck, cereal box on his lap. Joe was perched on one side of him and Cole on the other. Cole was in his usual uniform of denim button-down shirt, jeans, and battered straw cowboy hat. Joe wore a Pendleton Whisky T-shirt and a Coors cap. With that lanky body and hair straggling past his collar, he reminded Violet of a major league pitcher—deliberate scruff, lethal speed, a deadly combination.

  Beni reached into his box, fished out a few chocolate puffs, and handed one to each of his companions. “Ready?”

  They nodded gravely.

  “Okay, go.”

  All three popped the cereal into their mouths and chewed. Beni scrunched his eyes shut as if waiting for a firecracker to explode. After a few seconds, he opened one eye to peek at Cole, who shook his head. Beni opened the other eye to check with Joe, who did the same.

  Beni heaved a mournful sigh. “It’s not working.”

  Violet looked at her mother, who shrugged.

  Pushing open the screen door, Violet went out onto the deck. “Why the sad face, little man?”

  “There’s something wrong with this cereal.” Beni scowled at the box. “On TV, they said amazing things will happen if you eat it.”

  Violet had to work to keep an appropriately solemn expression. “What kind of amazing things?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ve been eating and eating it—”

  “And not one single monkey has flown out of my ass,” Joe drawled.

  Cole made a noise that sounded like a chocolate puff going down the wrong pipe.

  Beni giggled. “You said a bad word.”

  “Oh sh—I mean, shoot. I didn’t mean—”

  Violet strangled another laugh and gave Beni a stern look. “Sometimes big people say those words. Doesn’t mean you can.”

  “But, Mommy—”

  “No.” She turned to Cole before Beni could drag her into a debate about exactly which words were off-limits, requiring him to say all of them. “You still want to gather those two-year-old bulls?”

  “Not this morning.” Her father strolled out to join them on the deck. “Delon said he’ll take a look at that Jake brake on the Peterbilt if I can drop it by their shop by ten. Someone’ll have to follow along and give me a ride home.”

  Cole pushed to his feet. “I’ll come. We can swing by the feed store and pick up more mineral for the cows.”

  Violet mentally revised her schedule, bumping laundry and bookkeeping to the top of the list. “We can gather after lunch.”

  “Or I can help you now,” Joe offered.

  Four heads swiveled toward him. Joe met Violet’s glare with a bland smile and a gleam in his eye.

  “You have to be a cowboy to chase bulls,” Beni declared. “You’re just a bullfighter.”

  Violet choked down a snort of laughter at Joe’s thunderstruck expression. Just a bullfighter. God bless her son.

  “I know how to handle stock,” Joe said.

  “As good as Uncle Cole?” Beni asked.

  “Uh—”

  Beni patted Joe’s arm. “Don’t worry. Nobody’s as good as Uncle Cole, but you can borrow his horse. Mom says Dozer’s been working this ranch so long he can make any idiot look useful.”

  Cole laughed, a single, loud hah! Violet nearly had an aneurysm trying to gag herself. There was a strangled snort from her dad’s direction, but when she glanced at him, his face was impassive. Joe did not look amused.

  “That’s real nice of you, Beni,” Violet said. “But we’ll wait—”

  “If you think you’re up to it,” her dad said, his words edged with challenge.

  Joe didn’t blink. “No problem.”

  “But—” Violet began.

  “Okay then.” Her father glanced at his watch. “We’d better get a move on, Cole.”

  As the back door slapped shut behind them, Violet fired a glare at Joe. He smiled, mocking as always, but before either of them could speak, Delon stuck his head out the door. His gaze landed on Joe and cooled. “Joe.”

  “Delon,” Joe answered, in an equally flat voice.

  Violet looked from one to the other, catching a whiff of testosterone in the air. What the hell?

  “Ready to go, Beni?” Delon asked.

  “Yes!” Beni jumped up and ran to his father.

  Delon turned him around and gave him a nudge. “Hug your mom good-bye.”

  Violet leaned down and he threw his arms around her, pre
ssing his silky cheek against hers. “I’ll miss you,” she said, squeezing hard.

  “Miss you, too,” he said, and planted a smacking kiss on her face. Then he squirmed free and scampered through the door, dragging his dad by the hand.

  “See you Thursday,” Delon called over his shoulder.

  Then they were gone, and Violet was alone on the deck with Joe.

  He flashed a toothy smile. “Looks like it’s just you and me, darlin’.”

  Violet growled under her breath. Hell. Just…hell.

  Chapter 9

  Joe strolled down to the barn, grinning as Violet stomped ahead of him. Aggravating her was turning out to be a decent distraction. Nice of Delon to get the kid out of the way for a few days, so Joe didn’t have to watch his step. Or his mouth.

  Joe’s good mood deflated slightly at the reminder of Beni. Were all kids that wise at his age? Other than scribbling autographs and patting heads, Joe didn’t come into contact with many humans under the age of fourteen. He paused in the barn door. “Sorry about the swearing. I’m not used to being around kids.”

  Violet snagged a pair of halters from a hook. “When Beni isn’t behind the bucking chutes, he’s hanging around the shop at Sanchez Trucking. He can probably cuss circles around you.”

  “In English and Spanish?”

  “Delon isn’t Hispanic.” She snatched up a pair of leather gloves and fired them at Joe.

  He caught them in self-defense. “But…Sanchez?”

  “Their grandfather took his stepdad’s name. They’re dark because Delon’s mother is Navajo.”

  “So that makes Beni—”

  “An American.” She slapped a halter into Joe’s hand and pointed at a stout sorrel gelding. “That’s Dozer. Use the saddle on the first rack. It’s the only one that fits him.”

  The horse was built like his namesake and moved with about as much finesse. Straddling him was not going to feel good on Joe’s sore thigh. “I can handle something less idiotproof.”

  Violet tossed a smirk over her shoulder as she haltered Cadillac. “Better safe than sorry.”

  “Expecting trouble?”

  “With bulls? Always. Too much testosterone…makes them stupid.” The bite in her voice made it clear her opinion applied to males in general.

  Joe grinned. Say what she wanted, he’d felt the answering flash of heat every time he touched her. His blood still hummed when she got close.

  “I’d like to get this done sometime today,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He gave her a lazy salute before letting himself into Dozer’s stall.

  When both horses were saddled, Violet handed him a rope and slung one over her own saddle horn. At her whistle, Cole’s red heeler, Katie, popped up out of the patch of shade where she’d been keeping a close eye on the proceedings. Joe followed Violet out the back of the barn, through a corral, and down a long, wide lane flanked with square pens, built of heavy oilfield pipe that could take anything a one-ton bull—much less a horse—dished out. The pens were empty now while the rodeo stock enjoyed a few days of well-earned pasture time.

  “You said you graduated from college,” Joe said as he mounted up. “Where?”

  “West Texas A&M, in Canyon.”

  “They teach Pickup Man 101 there?”

  One corner of her mouth twitched. “I have a business degree. You?”

  “I worked my first pro rodeo before I graduated from high school. Couldn’t see how sleeping through another four years of classes was gonna improve my career prospects.”

  She snorted, almost a laugh. “You and Cole.”

  At the end of the lane, Violet pushed the heavy steel gate wide before swinging aboard her horse. Beyond the corrals, barbed wire angled out to either side, forming a funnel that would guide the bulls into the lane. Dust billowed around them as she led the way up through a gap in the rocky bluff and onto the flat above. From there, the land stretched to the horizon on all sides, the neighboring homesteads distant glints of glass and metal in the sunlight.

  “I suppose this is pretty barren compared to where you’re from.”

  Joe shook his head. “The high desert is basically like northern Nevada. Not much different from here except the hills are bigger.”

  She looked at him with a smidgen of curiosity. “Did you move there to work for Browning?”

  “Nope. Born and raised.”

  “You have family there?”

  He shook his head again. “Both of my parents moved away.”

  “Separately?”

  “Yeah.”

  For a few minutes there was nothing but the dull clop of hooves on baked earth and the crunch of dry grass. The sun beat down on Joe’s shoulders, hot but not unbearable. The aroma of the mesquite was sharp like sagebrush. The hawk circling overhead was probably a different species, but its cry pierced the air in the same way as those back home. If it weren’t for the slightly higher humidity and flatness of the landscape, he could almost imagine he was on the High Lonesome. Close enough to stir up the longing so it swelled inside him until it felt as if his rib cage would explode from the pressure.

  Today should’ve been the first day of his treasured fall break between Pendleton and the circuit finals in Redmond. Weaning day, one of Joe’s favorites of the entire year, seeing the future wrapped in coats that were still downy, shining from eyes that held that certain gleam—a spark of wildness bred into their bones. Joe could trace it back through their mothers, fathers, even grandparents. He knew every colt’s breeding by the shape of its head, the slope of its shoulder. This was his family tree—planted in borrowed ground.

  “I appreciate you setting Hank straight yesterday,” Violet said abruptly. “He won’t listen to any of us.”

  “He’ll grow out of it eventually. I did.”

  She raised her eyebrows, a silent really?

  “Hah. Funny.”

  “I didn’t say a word.” But she smirked and Joe smirked back at her. She broke off the eye contact, twisting in her saddle to search for any sign of the bulls.

  She’d opted for the man pants and a baggy T-shirt. Whatever she wore underneath had some serious squashing power to hide those mouthwatering curves. She must do it on purpose. What she’d worn at the bar would be a major distraction on the ranch or in the arena. Hell, twelve hours later, Joe was still seeing pink.

  “Why isn’t it Violet Sanchez?” he asked.

  Her gaze jerked back to him. “Excuse me?”

  “You and Delon act more married than half of the married people I know. Why not make it official?”

  “We don’t feel that way about each other.”

  “He stays in your house.”

  She fired an irritated look at him. “Why do you care?”

  “Before I buy you that shot of tequila, I want to be sure I’m not trespassing.”

  Her chin came up, her cheeks flushing. “I’m not a piece of property.”

  “Looks like Delon’s staked a claim.”

  “We share a kid and a friendship. Nothing more.”

  Right. That explained the Step the fuck away from my woman look Delon had given him. Delon had a pretty sweet deal as far as Joe could see. He got to do whatever he wanted on the road, no questions asked, and still come home to his cozy little family. “Not even an occasional booty call?”

  She made a sound of disbelief wrapped up in anger. “Are you always this…”

  “Curious?”

  “Not quite the word I was looking for.”

  He grinned. She huffed out a breath.

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, no booty calls. It’s not worth the risk. There would be feelings, and someone would get hurt, and Beni would be the one who suffered most.”

  Yeah. Joe knew all about that. His parents had splattered feelings all over the place before,
during, and after the divorce. Proof positive that getting married because you were knocked up wasn’t such a great plan, either.

  “How’s your future husband gonna feel about Delon camping in the spare room?”

  “That’s not an issue.” She shot him an assessing glance. “What about the woman in the Corvette?”

  “She’s Wyatt’s problem. I’ve already hit my quota of incredibly high-maintenance redheads.” When Violet raised her eyebrows, he added, “My mother.”

  “Oh.” She jerked her gaze away, holding a hand over the bill of her cap to shade her eyes as she scanned the horizon in search of their prey. “There isn’t exactly a stampede of eligible bachelors looking to relocate to Earnest, Texas. And besides, Beni’s at a tough age.”

  “It won’t be any easier when he’s ten or eleven.”

  Her gaze shifted to him, sharpening. “Is that how old you were?”

  Hell. He hadn’t meant to let that slip. He nodded tersely. “Ten the first time they split. Eleven when they got back together. Twelve when they did everybody a favor and made it permanent.”

  “Why?”

  “Personality conflict.” As in his mother claimed his father had none, but Joe didn’t intend to share that charming detail.

  “It was better after they split?” Violet asked.

  Joe shifted in the saddle to take pressure off his sore thigh, stretched to the limit by Dozer’s broad back and jarring walk. He preferred not to think about those days. Roxy, with her stereotypical redheaded temper tantrums. His dad, the king of the silent treatment. And Joe, left hanging between them like a human piñata, taking all the emotional whacks even though he wasn’t their target.

  “It wasn’t worse,” he said.

  Violet’s eyes darkened with sympathy. Joe braced himself for more questions, but she tilted her head toward the next draw. “Come on. As slow as Dozer walks, we’ll be out here until dark if we don’t kick up into a lope.”

  * * *

  It figured Joe would sit a horse like he was born to it. He was bound and determined to be everything Violet ever wanted in a man—except available for anything beyond the next two and half weeks. Not that she was looking for permanent. Between Beni, Delon, Cole, and her dad, her life was so full of men she wasn’t sure where she’d cram another one in.