Rand had agreed to have a drink with Branson Alexander because she was going to the Watering Hole anyway, and she wanted to hear his pitch. Sure, in high school she’d had a football-field-size crush on him, but that had ended the day he’d left a note in her locker telling her to meet him after school at his truck. She’d gone, trying to act cool, but when she’d shown up to find him making out with Kim in the front seat of his pickup, she’d cursed herself for her stupidity. She’d kept walking past his truck to hers and tried to ignore the laughter that followed her that last month of high school.
Afterward, she’d heard whispers about him getting into some trouble in college, and his dad hadn’t been happy with him. He’d been trying to get Branson out on one of his oil rigs, but Branson had avoided that fate so far.
Now here he was, looking nervously at her with those spring-leaf-green eyes and the black curls that fell just a little too long. He was still gorgeous, but even if Rand was willing to forgive the blow to her pride, she would never forget. And there was no way in hell she’d ever marry someone she trusted less than a coyote around a newborn calf.
She looked up past Branson’s shoulder and saw Jake walk in. As she watched him move around the bar, her mouth suddenly felt like she had a dozen cotton balls stuffed inside. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way he’d kissed her, hadn’t been able to figure out why any of it had happened. They had been friends for so long…
She’d handled the whole situation badly. She’d been embarrassed about the wrap and the kiss, but he was right. She had kissed him back…eagerly.
She looked back at Branson when he cleared his throat. He was obviously anxious about what he had to say, so she prompted, “So, you wanted to talk to me about something?”
Branson flashed a strained smile. “Yeah, Miranda, I just wanted to apologize about our senior year. Kim talked me into leaving you the note, and I just feel bad.”
She took a sip of her beer, pretending she was mulling over his apology. “Really? ’Cause your sorry is coming about seven years late.”
His smile disappeared. “Yeah, I know. I was just thinking…”
“That you’d marry me? Get your hands on the Double C and whatnot? We’d get a divorce and you’d get half? That’s not how this little arrangement is going to work.” She had the satisfaction of watching the eagerness leave his face. “See, the man I marry is going to sign a prenuptial agreement that states he will have no say or stock in the Double C.”
Abruptly, he threw some money down on the table and stood. “Well, that’s that, then. If you don’t mind, I’m gonna take off. Find something that’s not such a waste of time.”
“There’s the Branson I know. I was worried there for a minute you’d grown a conscience,” she said mockingly.
“Fucking bitch,” he snarled before stalking away.
Grabbing hold of her ponytail, she grimly ran her fingers through it. She had been out with four men since Tuesday, and not one of them was going to work out. Nasally voice, stutter, ego, and asshole. Both of the first guys were good men, but they were looking for a real wife. Someone to settle down and make babies with, and once she’d mentioned the name-only part, they’d pulled out. She hadn’t been able to stand Cody Underhill going on and on about how much money he’d put into his truck and how many speakers he had in his home theater system. And then Branson had been the cherry on top. She didn’t know how women actually did this all the time. Dating was exhausting.
“Looks like that didn’t go well.”
Her gaze snapped up to meet Jake’s laughing green eyes, and she tried to act normal despite the kangaroo hop her heart was doing.
“I don’t know. I think it went better than my other dates this week. Wasn’t as boring and only took half the time.”
He handed her another beer and sat down. “Yeah, I’ve never seen Branson move that fast. Even when he played football, he was slower than molasses.”
She took a drink, trying to think of something clever to say or a way to ease into her apology speech, but nothing came to mind. “Where’s Red?”
He shrugged. “Said he had something to do.”
“So you came here alone? No hot date? I thought you were much in demand with the single ladies.”
He grinned around his beer neck. “I’m keeping my options open.”
“Ah, well, I better not cramp your style, then.” She started to stand up and was surprised when he reached out and held her wrist in his hand.
“You’re not. Really.” He tugged her arm until she sat down again and added, “I’m sorry about Sunday. I was a jerk.”
“No, it was my fault. I overreacted.” She tried not to dwell on the fact that he still held her wrist.
“Can we just forget about it? Wipe the slate clean and hang out like nothing happened?” he asked.
A roller-coaster feeling had her stomach flopping to her knees. Why was she disappointed that the kiss hadn’t meant anything? “Are you sure?”
He downed the rest of his beer and said, “Hell, yeah. Let’s forget about it and get obnoxiously drunk.”
Good to know I’m so forgettable. “In that case, I better get another round.”
* * *
This was a bad idea.
Jake had been thinking that for the last half hour, having never seen Rand this drunk before. Normally, they’d hang out at her house, have a couple of beers, and then he’d go home. Rand didn’t really do the drunk thing, hating when people acted like morons in public. He’d been this drunk. Red had been this drunk. But Rand?
She took another shot and yelled, “Yeah!” A group of men were crowded around her, watching her with mixed variations of awe and fascination. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who had never seen Rand act so out of character.
Someone put on Jason Aldean’s “Take a Little Ride,” and she yelled, “I love this song.” She reached up and took out her ponytail, letting the long brown waves fan out over her shoulders. She grabbed the first man next to her as she jumped off the bar and yanked him behind her. “Come on, let’s dance!”
Bubba Phillips’s eyes were as big as saucers but he let her lead him out to the honky-tonk’s wooden dance floor. Jake should have been amused at seeing Rand letting loose, but he was distracted by the way the men’s eyes were following her and Bubba on the floor.
Her hands went to the zipper of her sweatshirt, and she threw the black hoodie into the crowd. Clad in a T-shirt and jeans, she started to shake her ass and hold her hair up off her neck.
Holy hell! Every move she made was sexier than the next, and his dick hardened painfully as he watched her.
Bubba reached out and pulled her against him, probably assuming she wouldn’t punch his lights out for touching her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and moved suggestively, and Jake’s hands clenched into fists. He didn’t like the way Bubba’s hands started to travel.
He should get her out of there and let her sleep it off.
Fred Meyer stepped out and spun Rand out of Bubba’s arms, then started two-stepping with her across the floor. Several men drifted off to dance with other women, but several remained, taking turns spinning Rand around. Her bright laughter traveled over the music. It was carefree, charming, and so not like her. Even the look she shot her dance partner was flirtatious and welcoming.
Wait, when had that happened? Rand didn’t have a flirtatious bone in her body.
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” a mocking voice said next to Jake.
Jake looked over at Branson’s smirking face and scowled. “I thought you left.”
“I got a text that Princess Miranda was making an ass of herself and decided to come watch.”
Jake had never liked the guy, and right now, he was tempted to take one of his tight fists and wipe that smirk off the asshole’s face. “You do realize that she’s a friend of mine.”
Branson didn’t respond but kept watching Rand in a way Jake didn’t like. He wanted to walk out onto the dance floor and block Rand from Branson’s leering. Before he could say more, though, Branson moved away from him and cut in for a dance with Rand, who made a face at him. When he said something to her, she laughed and let him put his hands on her waist.
Jake’s jaw clenched as he watched her sway along with Branson. Whatever the arrogant son of a bitch had said to her must have been damn charming with the way she was smiling. Jake’s expression darkened when Branson dropped his head like he was going to kiss her.
Rand turned her face away and pushed against Branson’s chest. Jake could hear her angry “Let go of me” as she struggled against the bigger man.
Several men in front of Jake stepped forward, but Jake was already across the floor. “Let her go.”
Branson dropped his hands in disgust. “She’s a tease anyway.”
Rand tried to lunge past Jake and hit Branson, but Jake wrapped his arms around her slim waist, holding her back. “I wouldn’t kiss you to save my life, you no-good son of a bitch!”
Jake held on to Rand as she struggled to get to Branson, and finally said, “Damn it, Rand, I’m taking you home!”
She opened her mouth to say something, but he caught the greenish pallor to her skin seconds before she jerked away from him. With a gag, she pushed past the crowd of people at a run, fleeing toward the door.
Jake turned to a smirking Branson and said, “I don’t want to see you bothering her again.”
Branson held up his hand in surrender. Satisfied, Jake grabbed Rand’s jacket from Bubba and chased after her.
He found her puking on the driver’s side of his truck, one hand on her hair, the other on the truck for support. Jake reached out and took her hair in his hands. “I got it.”
He slid the long tresses into one hand and rubbed her back with his other while she cried and retched. “It’s okay, Rand, we’ve all been there.”
“I’m never drinking again,” she moaned in agony.
He smiled in spite of her misery. “Yeah, I’ve said that before too.”
When the retching ceased, she leaned against the side of his truck and whispered. “I puked on the front of my shirt.”
He grimaced. “You have any attachment to it?”
“No, why?” she asked tiredly.
He took out his pocket knife. “Because I’d rather not stink up my truck.”
She didn’t protest, which told him exactly how out of it she was. He cut through the back of the T-shirt, praying she wouldn’t move and noticed she was still wearing the wrap. “Okay I’m going to open the truck. Slide the shirt off and crawl inside.”
“What if someone sees me?” Her words were slurred, and impatience took over.
“Rand, you’re wearing a sports bra and some kind of wrap thing. You’re more decent that most of the women in that bar.”
She didn’t say anything else, just slid the shirt off and opened the truck to crawl in.
“Do you need anything from your truck?” he asked as he pulled his keys out of his pocket and climbed in behind her.
She shook her head and lay down across the seat, her head resting on his thigh. The little brain in his pants jumped to attention at the contact, and he cursed as he started the truck. Backing up slowly, he pulled out onto the highway, then reached down to run his hand over her hair, the strands soft as rabbit fur against his palm. Of their own volition, his fingers trailed over the contours of her face, and she moved against him with a moan.
His erection danced again at the feel of her warm breath against his jean-clad thigh. Damn it, he should not be having this reaction to Rand, especially after watching her puke her guts out. He heard her soft breathing over the sounds of the truck engine and almost turned the radio up, but her voice stopped him. “Thank you for taking me home.”
“Hey, you’ve taken care of my drunk ass enough times. It was about time I returned the favor.” He smiled in the dark as he rubbed her back.
There was quiet again briefly before she apologized. “I’m sorry for drinking so much.”
“Its fine, Rand. Just take a nap.”
The drive back to the Double C was quiet, and when he parked the truck in front of her porch, she didn’t even stir. He tapped her arm lightly. “Hey, you’re home.”
She started to sit up but grabbed her head about halfway with a groan. “Shit, Jake, stop the truck, please.”
“Is the world turning too quickly for you?” he asked, chuckling. Opening the door swiftly, he caught her wince as the dome light hit her. “You okay?”
“Ugh, bright.”
He laughed again and hopped out of the truck, coming around to the passenger side. He opened the door in time to catch her as she stumbled out. “Whoa,” he said, holding her up with an arm around her waist. “Come on, drunky, let’s put you to bed.”
He took a few steps and just gave up helping her walk, finally resorting to picking her up in his arms. For a tall girl, she wasn’t as heavy as he was expecting, and he marched across the drive and up the porch, reaching awkwardly for the doorknob. He made a beeline for her room, ignoring Scout’s high-pitched meows until the damn cat almost tripped him.
“Stupid cat, get out of the way,” he said as he lightly kicked the door open. He tried to lay Rand on the bed gently, slowly pulling his arms out from under her and flexing them. She might not be that heavy, but dead weight was a killer to lug around.
When she moaned again, he walked into the bathroom and dampened a washcloth in warm water, hoping to clean her up a bit. He turned on the light in the bedroom and reached into her drawer for some pajamas and came up with a flannel night shirt that snapped in the front.
He moved back to the bed, sat down next to her, and started to remove her clothes. She stirred, but her eyes didn’t open as she quietly asked, “What are you doing?”
He dropped her boots to the floor and went to work on her socks. “I’m just going to clean you up and get you ready for bed.” Once the socks were gone, he reached to unbuttoned the top of her jeans.
Her response was a soft snore, and he unzipped the rough denim, sliding the jeans down over her hips and long, long legs. He tried not to look at her simple cotton briefs, or the soft skin of her thighs, as he pulled the jeans all the way off, but damn it, her legs were amazing. Shapely, pale limbs of hard muscle that he knew from experience could wrap around a man.
He lifted her to a sitting position and took the edge of her wrap, unraveling the fabric until the sports bra was all that was left. Trying to distract himself, he started listing everything he needed to order for the store as he reached out and lifted the white cotton bra up and over her breasts. He glanced down, and his throat tightened as he got a look at what Rand had been hiding from the world.
Her breasts were perfect, just full enough to fill a man’s hand, and firm, the pink nipples hard against the cool air. Looking away, he tried concentrating on the bra again. It was stuck on her arms. A sweat broke out over his skin as he pulled the bra all the way off and threw it with a curse. Keeping his eyes on anything but her chest, he took her arm and slipped it into the flannel shirt, then pulled her forward so he could wrap it around her back and slip her other arm through the sleeve. He quickly snapped the front closed and laid her back down, drawing a ragged breath of relief.
Picking up the washcloth, he gently cleaned her face. She weakly protested the coolness of the rag, and when he finished, he stood up to see what she had in the kitchen. When he stopped by the cat’s bowl to dump some food inside, the ungrateful creature actually growled at him.
“See if I ever do anything nice for you again, furball,” he said, opening the fridge. He pulled out a red Gatorade and went back down the hall.
He grabbed a couple of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet and set them and the Gatorade on her nightstand.
“Night, Rand. Feel better,” he whispered, leaning over to kiss her forehead.
Before he could stand back up, she grabbed his hand, her voice so soft, he had to lean down to hear her. “Stay with me…”
Bad idea, bad bad bad idea. No. Do not.
He ignored his better judgment and lay down on top of the blanket next to her, kicking his boots off onto the floor. Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think about the warm, womanly body breathing deeply next to him.
You’re only staying to make sure she’s okay. That she doesn’t get sick again. Any friend would do the same.
He kept telling himself the lie over and over, hoping if he said it enough times, it would make it true.