Chapter Five
She waited until he was close enough to touch, then let her bag drop from her shoulder. Hot man in front of her, all but telling her he wanted her? No contest.
He took those final steps forward and she reached up to grab his shirt. Just like in her daydream, and she pulled him in. His mouth was on hers before she could adjust to the closeness of him. God, he tasted good. He felt even better, his hard body pressing against hers, gently maneuvering her until her back butted up against the brick of the bar.
“Damn,” he whispered against her lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”
“Since the first time you hit on me and I shot you down?” she asked with a smile.
“Busted. You remembered that, huh?”
“I did.”
“Not my finest moment. But I’m hoping to erase that particular memory.” He kissed her again, blazing hot. “Have I mentioned I’ve been dying to do this?”
She smiled and kissed him again. “And now you are.”
“Now I am,” he agreed and let one hand wander down to the hem of her tank top. If she’d been scheduled to work, she’d have worn the black polo uniform shirt. But she was glad she wasn’t when he tugged down until the scoop-neck of her tank slipped past her breast, exposing her lacy bra.
“Hard, tough woman on the outside, lace underneath, huh.” He looked amused, but no less turned on. One big hand covered her breast, squeezing gently, massaging, learning the shape and playing. Through the lace, he plucked at her nipple.
She sucked in a breath. God, she’d all but forgotten this was what it felt like to be with a man. To be completely wanted, desired. She turned her head until she could run her lips along his bristly jaw.
“Sorry, forgot to shave tonight.” He pulled back a little, but she made a sound and tugged him back.
“I like it. Different textures, they work for me.”
He traced the edge of lace where it lay against the swell of her breast. The skin under his touch rose in awareness. “I’ll agree to that. I’m enjoying the new discoveries myself.”
She nibbled at his ear. “Should we go upstairs and keep finding new ones?”
“I think that’s a—damn.” He muttered another curse and pulled back, reaching for his cell phone. “Sorry, normally I wouldn’t do this but—”
“It’s fine. Check it.” The sooner he answered that call or text message, the sooner they could head upstairs and pick up where they’d left off. She shivered again, this time from a chill, and looked down. Right. Her tank was still down and her bra was completely out in the open. She huffed out a laugh and readjusted the shirt so she was decently covered.
He could always start over in a minute.
“Shit. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
His tone caught her attention more than the curse and she turned to him. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to head home.” He tucked his phone back in his pocket and frowned. “They need me.”
“Horse emergency?” she joked. But he didn’t smile. “Oh.” Disappointment swelled in her, knocking loose the wall of lust and hope she’d started to build up block by block. “Okay.” She smiled, though it felt tight at the edges. “Drive safe.”
He stared at her a moment. “You think I’m lying.”
“I didn’t say that.” Didn’t believe it, either. Trace was man enough to say he wasn’t interested if he wasn’t. And if he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t have been waiting for her after closing.
He grabbed for her wrist and molded her hand over his zipper. Beneath her hand, his hardened erection twitched at the pressure. “That’s no lie. I want you, Jo. I want you like I haven’t wanted anything in a long time.”
“All right.”
His brows rose. “All right? That’s it?”
She smiled. “Not all city girls are complicated, Muldoon.” She patted his cheek and pushed his shoulder. “All right just means what it sounds like. Come on by next time you’ve got a night off. I’ll buy you a round.”
He stood rooted to the spot for a moment, searching her face as if waiting for the “Gotcha” or a hint of sarcasm or something to indicate it was a trick.
She shrugged a shoulder and bent down to pick up her bag. He got there first, their hands crashing together as they both reached for the strap.
“I’ve got it.”
“No, here.” He lifted the heavy tote with ease and helped her adjust it over her shoulder.
“Thanks, big guy.” She patted him again, determined to leave with her dignity—and pride—intact. “Guess I’ll see you around.”
She started to walk toward the stairs, but he caught her and pulled her in for one more long, indecently delicious kiss. When he was finished, they were both fighting to catch their breath.
“Damn,” he muttered once more, his forehead dropping to hers.
“You can say that again.” She pressed a more innocent kiss to his lips and gently pushed him toward the truck. “See ya around, cowboy.”
He shook his head, as if reluctant to go, but go he did. After the truck pulled into the deserted street, she kicked the front step of the stairs.
Not how she wanted the evening to end up. She was no better off than when she’d started the day. Still no man to curl up with and get dirty with between the sheets. But at least now she had something to look forward to. Jo touched her lips with the back of one hand while she dug through her tote for keys with the other.
Now she had a hint of what was to come.
So maybe she was a little better off.
Trace thundered up the steps, not taking the ten seconds to remove his boots by the front door like Emma taught all the kids. Some things were more important.
“Bea?” he called halfway up.
“We’re up here.”
She sounded remarkably calm for someone who’d texted an SOS while babysitting his son. He forced his breathing to reach a normal level and walked the last few steps to the top landing. When he got there, he stopped short at the sight.
Bea, in a pair of ripped shorts and an oversized stained sweatshirt that looked like something of his she’d stolen from his hamper, walked the floor with Seth over her shoulder. He was quiet, but looked as miserable as Bea. Her cropped hair stuck out in different directions, and she was missing an earring. He prayed to God that wasn’t the reason she’d called him back home. If she’d let his son swallow a piece of jewelry, so help him . . .
She caught him from the corner of her eye and turned, her face a bland mask. No panic, no confusion, no worry. It was as if she was zoned out in front of the TV.
“I don’t understand why you left him with me.”
Trace walked over and gently removed Seth from her grasp. Her arms went limp at her sides.
“I’m not maternal. I don’t even own a pet. I don’t think I like animals. Or babies.” She stared in disgust at the sweatshirt. “Do you know what comes out of that kid?”
“Yeah. I’ve changed a diaper or two myself,” Trace said dryly, inspecting his son for damage. Now that he was being held by someone he recognized and trusted, Seth relaxed considerably, his face morphing from wary concern to a big smile. “Hey, little man. You scaring your Auntie Bea-Bea?”
“Scare. Yeah.” She blew out a puff of breath that ruffled her hair and flopped to the overstuffed armchair. “He has a rash.”
“A rash?” Trace looked once more at Seth’s arms and legs, his neck, his face, even his bald head. “Like, an allergy? Did you feed him something other than his bottle?”
“No. On his butt.”
Trace stared at his sister for a full ten seconds. “You sent me an SOS because of diaper rash?”
She threw up her hands and rocked back. “I don’t know! I’ve never babysat before! He woke up crying and so I got one of the bottles Emma left me in the fridge and I fed him. And that wasn’t too hard, but then he spit up on me when I burped him.” The disgust in her voice had him choking back a smile. “So I put on your sweatshirt in case he did it again. I figured it was too ugly for anyone to care if it got nasty.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. But then he started stinking so I checked his diaper and . . .” Bea turned a little green at the memory. “And it was disgusting, too. Did you know how gross your son is?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “And when I changed him, I noticed the rash. It looked painful and I wasn’t sure if I would hurt him if I put something on it, but then he started freaking out anyway because kids don’t like me—especially that one—and then I was afraid it was because I was hurting him and I didn’t know and Peyton’s in there with Red and I didn’t want to bother them—”
“So you bothered me.” He jostled Seth a little to settle him down. “You’re nervous and he’s reacting to it. Calm down a bit.”
Bea closed her eyes and started humming something nonsensical.
“What are you doing?”
“Meditating,” she said without moving her lips. “Try it sometime.”
“Yeah. Okay then. Let’s go to bed, little man. I think you’ve pushed Auntie Bea-Bea over the edge.”
Seth found this vastly amusing and clapped his hands in delight. Trace smiled and tapped his son’s little nose. “That shouldn’t be funny. It’s not nice to drive people crazy.” He lowered his voice and stage whispered, “Even if it’s Bea.”
“I heard that.”
“Go meditate something.”
He walked a few laps around Seth’s room in the dark and sang a country lullaby in a low tone, barely mouthing the words. Seth’s eyes drooped enough to put him down in his crib easily. After closing the door and waiting a few moments to see if he woke back up, Trace walked over and stretched out on the couch.
“Did I ruin something for you?”
“Maybe.”
Bea sniffed. “Good. Don’t you dare pull a stunt like that again, Trace Muldoon.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Seth seemed to have fun torturing you.” He laughed when Bea threw a pillow at him. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad. You get better the more you do it.”
“Pass, thanks.” Bea was quiet for a moment. “Do you wish his mom was around?”
“No.” Easy answer. “We’re a duo.”
“Who was she?”
“Nobody you’d know.”
“Where is she?”
“Nowhere important.”
“Wow, big brother. Don’t talk my ear off. Please, stop with the oversharing.”
Trace smiled at Bea’s dramatic tone. She was destined to be an actress, even at an early age. “Don’t worry about his mother. We’re doing fine on our own.”
“I know you are.”
The softness of her voice had him looking up. She smiled. “Hey, I tease, but you’re good with him. Way better than I would ever be. It’s cute, the two of you. Two boys hanging out. Dad would have loved him.”
Trace settled back down and stared at the ceiling. “Think so?”
“Oh, yeah. Another male to carry on the Muldoon tradition of roping and riding? Right up his alley.”
The bitterness took him by surprise. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She stood and flopped one long sleeve at him. “I’ll throw this in your hamper in the morning. Though, if you ask me, you should burn it.”
“I didn’t.”
“Sadly, I know.” She stared at his jeans. “Still can’t believe you managed to find a woman who would be attracted to you dressed like that.”
He raised a brow. “And you think I was with a woman, why?”
“You were too annoyed at being called back to have been alone.” She smiled knowingly, aware she had him there. “I’m too tired to hoof it back to my own place. I’m crashing in my old room. ’Night, big brother.”
“’Night, Bea-Bea.”
Her door closed, and a few moments later the light went out from under the door frame.
Trace stared up at the ceiling once more. Yeah, he was annoyed, though less so than he thought he might have been. Seth was safe, Bea was going to survive, and that’s what mattered.
But damn, why tonight? He’d been so close. Since the first night he’d caught sight of Jo, he’d wanted her. That curvy body packed into jeans and those polo shirts everyone at the bar wore haunted his dreams. Her long hair, that thick rope of black silk, begged for his hands to wrap themselves in it. And though he’d never have guessed it before, the piercings even intrigued him.
Where else was she sporting some metal?
He needed to investigate. He smiled a little at that. Ah, the mysteries of women. Kept a man happy and healthy.
He’d have another chance. Though he had no clue when, since he’d gone out twice in a short time, and wasn’t comfortable just leaving Seth with either of his sisters again. They weren’t last-minute nannies, and he tried hard to remember that whenever he got the itch to do something or go somewhere.
So he’d bide his time and wait. Hopefully, when he got the chance, Jo would be ready.
Jo grabbed her shoes and started lacing up. She was running way too late to count, thanks to sleeping late. At least, late in Jo’s world, which was really about half an hour early. But was it her fault restless dreams kept her up most of the night?
No, it most certainly was not. The blame there would rest solely on the shoulders of one Trace Muldoon, and whatever it was that had pulled him away the night before.
After both shoes were ready to go, she stood and grabbed her cell phone, shoving it in her back pocket. But as she was grabbing her keys to lock up the apartment and open the bar, her apartment phone rang. She debated for two seconds, then answered.
“Hello?”
“Josephine, how are you?”
Resigned, she sat back down and mentally deleted at least three tasks she normally completed before the lunch crowd came through. “Hey, Mom.”
“Oh, no, no, no. What did we talk about?”
Jo sighed. “Hey, Regina.”
“Ah, that’s better. So much more mature, don’t you think?”
No. She didn’t think. Mature would be a woman of her mother’s age realizing it was okay to be called “mom” by her own daughter, rather than wanting to pretend they were sisters and BFFs. But then again, when one was constantly between meal tickets—oh, sorry, husbands—one couldn’t stand to appear one’s real age. “What’s up? I’ve got to open the bar soon.”
“Oh, sweetheart. I just needed to let you know I’ve moved.”
“Moved, past tense? As in, already happened?” Most kids might be shocked to hear about such a thing after the fact. Jo was just asking for clarification.
“Yes, about a month ago. I met the nicest man from Oklahoma City and . . .”
Jo tuned Regina out. What was the point? Same song and dance. In fact, Jo could probably tell it better than Regina herself. Met a nice guy, who just happened to be rich—how shocking!—and was willing to move her in with him. Or, even better, find her a sweet apartment just around the corner where she could do whatever she wanted. Of course, this meant uprooting her sweet daughter, but that’s okay. A new city was a great place to start over. Again. And cities were just full of educational opportunities, weren’t they?
“Don’t you think?”
“Hmm?”
Regina blew out a harsh breath. “Honestly, Josephine, were you even listening?”
Not really. “Sorry, Mo—Regina. Something distracted me. What were you saying?”
Her mother gave a long-suffering sigh, as if mentally asking why was I saddled with such an ungrateful child?“I was simply saying that I think Rich will make a wonderful husband. He’s got all the qualifications.”
Wealthy, not hideous looking, wealthy . . .
Actually, Rich was a perfect name for someone her mother would target.
Regina laughed, a well-practiced little trill that sounded something close to a cross between a nightingale singing and angel wings fluttering. Well-practiced, indeed. “After all, fifth time’s the charm!”
“Seventh,” Jo muttered, looking for something to throw without damaging property.
“That’s not right.”
“I guess if you choose to not count those two annulments, then, hey—your math works.”
“What has gotten into you?” Regina snapped. “Your attitude is horrible.”
“Sorry.” Jo rubbed between her eyes with her thumb. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Oh, dear.” Regina tsked. “You need sleep if you want to look your best. No man wants to deal with a woman who has bags under her eyes.”
“Right, well, owning a bar doesn’t always lend itself to restful nights.” Nor do lusty dreams about unfulfilled promises from damn sexy cowboys.
“You could just work at a bar. Owning something is so complicated.” Regina’s goal in life was to avoid complication.
“I manage, somehow.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
“Nope,” she lied without a second thought. Lying had become a way of life with her mother. If Regina hated complications, then really, Jo was just giving her mother what she needed. She never felt guilty about it. Regina would just stop contacting her altogether if Jo took a hard line.
“Did I tell you the story about that horrible woman who worked at that bar with us in Dallas?” Regina’s disgust was telegraphed loud and clear. “You must remember her. She was the one with all that hair like that snake woman from those stories. Anyway, I heard through the grapevine—”
“Mom?” Jo said loudly. “Regina? Can you hear me?”
“Josephine?” her mother called back. “What in the world—”
“Regina? Reg—damn,” she muttered, as if to herself.
“Must be a poor connection. If you can hear me, I’ll let you go now so you can go back and get to your . . . work.” Regina said the word “work” the same way some people might say “spiders” or “taxes.”
“Okay then. Let me know if I should be looking for a wedding invitation.” Which she would RSVP a big fat no to, but would send a nice gift. Just as she had the last four times.
Oh, sorry. The last two. Apparently two of those four weddings didn’t count in Regina math. Funny how those gifts never got returned though. Regina math was very one-sided.
“Will do. Love you, baby!” Regina blew noisy air kisses and hung up without waiting for a response. The only thing Regina was truly interested in was her next season’s wardrobe, and whatever adoration she could scrape out of the current cash cow.
Whoops. Husband.
Jo set the phone back down and made her way to the door. No point in dwelling on the Cleaver-esque mother-daughter relationship she would have killed for as a kid. The hand she was dealt would suffice. Besides. She was thirty years old. Did she really need her mommy’s approval and unconditional love at this point?
No. But it would have been nice....
Jo walked down the stairs with heavy steps. Sometimes, life was just too complicated to even think about.
No wonder people drank.
Trace checked his watch, sighed, then stared out the window behind Peyton’s desk. The desk—and the office it graced—had once belonged to their father. Though their father had been less of a businessman and more of a horseman himself, which explained a lot of why the ranch had been in such dire straits when it was passed to the three Muldoon siblings in equal shares. He’d tended the stock, not the books, which gave their mother free rein to run the numbers into the ground.
By the time their father was gone and Sylvia had full control, the debt had been impressive. After she’d had her way, it had become monumental.
But Peyton had definitely put her stamp on the place since. The dark wood would have seemed masculine if not for the touches of Peyton everywhere. More pictures than before. Books on animal husbandry and genomes dotted the shelves next to tomes of business marketing, capped by a few fiction best sellers.
And a pretty little figurine of a young girl with two braids riding a horse sat in a place of honor next to the computer. Trace knew Red had given the silly thing to her for Christmas. A year ago, Peyton would have scoffed at it and hidden it in some dark corner of a bookshelf. Instead, she’d gotten all teary and kissed the guy.
Figured.
“Where’s your sister?”
Peyton rolled her eyes. “I thought she was your sister this week.”
“Please. I can’t keep track of her for five seconds. Why does she have to be mine?”
Peyton kept typing an e-mail, using the time wisely. Trace couldn’t say the same for himself, but then again what was he supposed to do? He was a figurehead for the company, not involved in the business end. Nobody wanted him answering e-mails, not if they wanted to sound professional.
“Hello, little people.” Bea breezed in on a swirl of fabric. The skirt she wore was an impractical number—as usual—with strands that looked like silk scarves hanging all over it. Her top was gauzy and almost see-through, though she wore a tank top under it, thank God.
Why couldn’t she just dress like a normal person?
“You’re late,” he said flatly.
“I am? Oh.” Zero remorse. She sat down and gave Peyton a hurry up look, as if she were the one who’d been kept waiting, rather than the other way around.
Peyton merely kept typing, holding up one finger for a moment to indicate she’d be done in a second.
“Do you know what this meeting is about?” Bea asked in a loud whisper, leaning over toward him.
“I’m assuming it’s where Peyton kicks you off the ranch.”
Trace expected her to smile and say that was fine with her, she was done with the place anyway. But Bea’s eyes widened for a moment, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she calculated the possibility of that being a real threat.
Interesting. For a woman who claimed almost daily to miss Hollywood and her soap star friends and the fast life and who couldn’t stop ranting about how much Marshall and the state of South Dakota sucked . . . she looked rather frightened to be kicked out.
Something to think of later.
Peyton slammed the laptop closed and shoved it back by the desktop. “Sorry, finishing up an e-mail I started waiting for Tardy Pants here.”
“I resent that.”
“Then stop being late,” Peyton said simply. “The meeting is to discuss the business of the ranch. I know neither of you particularly enjoy that topic, but it’s got to be dealt with.”
Bea rolled her eyes and inspected her nails. “As I’ve said before, you may simply cut me a check for the price of my portion.”
“And as I’ve told you, currently that’s going to be squat. You want a check made out to squat?” Peyton smiled. “Plus, I’d like to remind you we have this nifty thing these days called the mail service. It carries letters all over the world. I could easily slip a check into the mail when it’s ready. Nothing is keeping you here.”
Bea simply sighed, her chest heaving with the effort. “I’d hate to think what my leaving would do to this family. The damage it might inflict. Emotional trauma, and all that.”
“Yeah. Heartbroken.” Peyton turned to him, sensing he was the only one bothering to listen. “We’ve made some serious ground since last year, thanks to both you and Red. But that doesn’t even put us back at even. Mama screwed us badly when she ignored the business side of the M-Star.” Her face ticked. “No, actually I wish she had ignored it. That would have been better than her thinking she knew a damn thing about horses and just randomly throwing money all over the place and losing it hand over foot.”
“But we’re heading in the right direction.”
“Nowhere to go but up,” Peyton said cheerfully. But he could see the strain in her eyes.
“Peyton,” Trace said, and her smile slipped. “Just give it to us straight.”