Joe reeled in his tongue and took the car keys Violet held out to him. Considering the way she’d avoided him all day, he’d half expected her to answer the door in the dusty jeans and Texas Rangers cap she’d worn down at the corral. Or to pawn him off with some feeble excuse why she had to cancel. He’d expected damn near anything but that red shirt.
She strode around the far side of the car and climbed into the passenger’s seat while he was still trying to adjust his expectations, among other things. He managed to get in the car without slamming anything in the door—barely—but as he put the key in the ignition, Violet reached back for her shoulder belt. Everything lifted and shifted under the red silk and he lost motor function when the scent of warm strawberries washed over him. Screw oranges. He had a new favorite fruit too.
“You dropped the keys,” she said.
He nodded, but didn’t move to pick them up.
Violet fanned a hand in front of her face, wafting more strawberries his direction. “Kinda hot in here.”
He nodded. Then he realized she meant the actual temperature, which was about three hundred degrees inside the sun-baked car. He scrabbled around on the floor, found the keys, and got the car started. Violet reached over to crank up the air conditioner and Joe lost another thousand brain cells when the seat belt pulled tight across her chest.
Cross my heart, darlin’.
Violet frowned at him. “You didn’t get too much sun out there jogging, did you? You look a little…glazed.”
He blinked, forcing his eyes up and forward. “I’m fine.”
Providing he didn’t get distracted and run off the road. That would be bad, especially when the prospects for the evening were suddenly looking very, very good. He’d made his intentions perfectly clear and that shirt was Violet’s answer. Unless she’d worn it just to torture him. That brought his blood pressure down a notch.
She tapped the gear shift knob between them. “D is for ‘Drive’.”
Right. He put it in gear. “I was letting the car warm up.”
Because that was important when the outside temperature was pushing ninety-five. Geezus. Get a grip, Joe. It wasn’t like he’d never seen boobs before. Violet’s just had a habit of showing up when he least expected them. Catching him off guard. He frowned as he looped the car into a U-turn in the driveway. If he was going to stay one step ahead, he needed to focus on something besides that shirt.
He patted the steering wheel. “Nice car.”
“Thanks. I just bought it in June. I’ve barely been home enough to drive it.”
“Got a thing for Cadillacs?” he asked, thinking of her horse.
She smiled slightly. “They both have excellent safety ratings. Plus it’s easier to wipe apple juice off leather seats.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror. A booster chair stared at him from the middle of the backseat, radiating waves of disapproval. Joe tilted the mirror up so all he could see was the dust rolling off the road behind them. At the end of the driveway he stopped underneath the black iron gate with a big J set in the middle, then turned toward town. Half a mile down the highway, an identical entrance led to a house and barn nestled against the foot of the bluff, except this gate was shut tight and padlocked. He’d checked it out when he jogged past.
“What’s that place? It looks like part of your ranch.”
“It belongs to Cole.”
“He doesn’t live there?”
“Not since his family died.”
The declaration was like a bucket of ice water in Joe’s face. His foot came off the accelerator and the car slowed abruptly.
“His family?” he repeated. “As in…”
“His parents and his older brother.”
“How?”
“Car wreck.” Violet delivered the information in a monotone, as if she’d said it so many times the emotion was worn flat. “They were driving home from a Cowboys game in Dallas. A woman dodged an armadillo, lost control, and hit them head on.”
“That’s…” What? There wasn’t a word to describe it, so Joe didn’t try. He let the car roll to a stop on the shoulder of the highway as he studied the ranch buildings. Weeds had grown up around the barn and corrals, but the house looked like the owners had only gone away for the weekend. “How long has it been?”
“Fifteen years in November.” Violet’s eyes were as dark and flat as her voice. “I was thirteen. Cole was a sophomore in high school.”
Which made Cole around thirty years old, same as Joe. Younger than he looked. Or acted. “No wonder he’s so, uh…”
“It didn’t help.”
Joe cocked his head, curious. “He’s never been the sociable type?”
“Not really, but it got worse after the accident because, well, you know.”
Honestly? No. Joe couldn’t possibly know. He’d never had that much to lose. There was really only his mother, and she drove him insane sometimes, but he couldn’t imagine…
“We’re still recovering. Financially, I mean. The other, well…” The hitch of her shoulders held a pain too deep to express. “They were partners, our dads. Mine was the horse guy, the practical one. Cole’s dad was all about the bulls. The big dreamer. Always swore someday one of his bulls would buck in the eliminator pen at the National Finals.” She blew out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. “Dirt Eater is the last of the calves out of his cow herd.”
“He gets my vote.”
She blinked, clearing the shadows from her eyes. “Really?”
“Sure.” Joe gave a shrug of his own, searching for a way to lighten the mood. “But what do I know—I’m just a bullfighter.”
She laughed, the sound a little forlorn. “Feel free to pass that vote along to the powers that be, would you? Then maybe I’ll get to stand on the back of the chutes in Las Vegas at least once before I’m too old to climb the steps.”
He should’ve taken the bitter edge in her voice as a warning and steered clear of the subject, but once again his curiosity won out. “Your parents were talking about the McCloud stock this morning at breakfast. Sounds like the deal fell through.”
“It never got off the ground. We can’t come up with enough capital to buy him out.”
“Sure you can,” Joe said. “You can sell Dirt Eater.”
Her jaw dropped, her expression as horrified as if he’d reached out and slapped her. “I…we…no! That’s insane. When you get a bull like him, you build on those genetics, you don’t sell it.”
“You do if you’ve got the opportunity to double up the quality of the rest of your herd.” Joe pivoted in his seat, bracing an elbow on the steering wheel as she continued to stare at him as if he’d suggested she put Beni up for auction. “Think like a cowboy, Violet. If you want to put on the best rodeos, you have to attract the best contestants, and they have a lot of options. Why would you choose one rodeo over another?”
“Prize money.”
Joe shook his head. “Too simple. You want the best chance at winning the money, which means the best odds of drawing a horse or bull that will take you to the pay window.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even close. As of now, you’ve got six solid pay-window bulls.” He listed them off, beginning with Carrot Top. “If you average thirty bull riders per rodeo, buck each bull twice, that’s less than a fifty-fifty shot at drawing a winner.”
Violet’s stare morphed into astonishment. “You’ve worked one rodeo and you’ve got our whole lineup memorized?”
“It’s my job.”
She gave her head a shake. “You forgot Dirt Eater.”
“When’s the last time someone won a check on him?”
Her chin came up, pride sparking in her eyes. “No one has made the whistle on him in two years.”
“So he’s not exactly a money bull, is he? Not at rodeos like yours. You ride that bastard, you should get paid thousands of dollars, not hundreds.”
Violet’s chin wobbled a touch. “Are you saying he’s too good for us?”
“He’s too good for anything but the top twenty rodeos in the country.”
She ducked her head. Joe breathed a silent curse. He wasn’t trying to be mean. Just practical. And this was a lousy way to start a date.
He made a deliberate effort to sound sympathetic. “I know it’s hard to part with a bull like him, but with the money you’d get for that one animal, you could step up the level of your entire herd. I’ve watched Dick Browning do this three different times over the past fifteen years and look where he’s at now.”
Exactly where Violet wanted to be. At the top. Or close. Dick hadn’t quite made that last leap, but with Joe’s help…
“He sold something as good as Dirt Eater?” Violet demanded.
“Ever heard of Lightning Jack?”
“Of course. He’s the leading bucking horse sire in the business.”
“Well, Dick Browning raised him—and sold him right after his first trip to the National Finals, for major cash. Enough to buy a brand-new semi.”
“Seriously?” Violet’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “He sold a potential Hall of Fame horse to buy a truck?”
Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best example. It still rankled that Dick had ignored every argument Joe mounted against the sale. He sure wouldn’t admit that he’d shed a few private tears when Lightning Jack climbed into someone else’s trailer.
“This is a business, not a petting zoo.” He thumped a finger on the console between them. “Dick needed capital and he didn’t let feelings get in the way. That’s how you grow.”
“You don’t sell your legacy.”
The set of Violet’s mouth was stubborn as she turned her head to gaze at the abandoned ranch, but he’d seen the flicker of speculation in her eyes. She was thinking about it. Imagining the possibilities. Now was the time to back off, let her come around on her own—not that he had any stake in her decisions. But he could feel the frustration, the wanting, rolling off her in waves. The least he could do was attempt to point her in the right direction.
He straightened in his seat and pulled the car back onto the highway. “Just an idea.”
Violet didn’t say anything. Joe counted off her silence in mileposts. One, two, three…
“Cole would never agree.”
Joe almost smiled, but she’d brought up an angle he hadn’t considered. “Does he own Dirt Eater?”
“No more than the rest of us.” Violet shifted, adjusting her seat belt, and Joe’s vision went red again. So much for distracting himself. “We had a mess on our hands after the accident. No wills, no life insurance, nothing. Once we were back on our feet, I persuaded Daddy to sit down with a financial planning firm. They set us up as a corporation, with the five of us as equal partners.”
“Five?”
“Dad, Cole, Mom, Lily, and me.” Violet ticked them off on her fingers.
“You all have equal say?”
“In theory.”
But in practice, Steve had the final say. He was willing to listen, though, which was a novel experience for Joe. Versions of this afternoon’s discussion at the corral had played out a hundred times on the Browning Ranch, but Dick didn’t take suggestions or tolerate disagreement. He might eventually come around to Joe’s way of thinking. But by then it was always Dick’s idea.
He did come around, though. That’s what mattered, not who got credit. Not pats on the back and Atta boys, no matter how warm and fuzzy Steve’s approval made Joe feel. Dick Browning didn’t dish out praise. Joe had never needed it. But the stark contrast had stung enough to send him running, pounding out mile after scorching mile. His brain felt blistered by the constant friction of his thoughts grinding around and around and around inside his skull. If he didn’t find a way to stop them, he was going to bust an artery.
He took a deep breath full of warm, sweet female. Here. Now. For the moment, everything else was out of his control, and he couldn’t think of a better way to focus on the present than concentrating on how to get Violet out of that shirt.
* * *
Earnest, Texas, was a cluster of buildings ten blocks square, indistinguishable from any other wide spot on the plains. Violet pointed to a street ahead. “Turn left up there. The barbecue place is two blocks down.”
Joe followed her directions and parked outside the tiny, shingled building with a plywood sign that read The Smoke Shack. The place was even smaller than it looked from the outside, and the owners seemed to think the heavenly aroma of smoked meat was all the decor it needed. Two lopsided tables the size of checkerboards were shoved against cheap wood paneling. A window was cut into the wall opposite the door, with a counter below and a hand-printed menu above: brisket, ribs, and sausage, pinto beans and potato salad on the side.
The lanky, shaggy-haired teenager behind the counter tore his attention away from a television mounted in the corner of the kitchen. His eyes went wide beneath the brim of his cap and his mouth pursed into an appreciative whistle. “Whoa, Violet. Nice…shirt.”
“Shut up, Korby.” Her disgusted glare failed to register because his eyes were locked on her chest. “Any chance you could quit staring at my boobs long enough to get us some food?”
He blinked and dragged his gaze up to her face, then over to Joe’s. His jaw dropped another notch. “Hey, you’re Joe Cassidy. I thought Hank was filling me full of shit when he told me you were coming down here.”
“Are you a bullfighter too?”
“Oh, hell no,” the kid said.
“Korby thinks he can ride ’em,” Violet said.
“Hey, I qualified for the state high school rodeo the last two years!” Korby boasted. “Practice session tomorrow afternoon, right?”
“Every Wednesday till the weather turns.”
Korby puffed out his chest. “Then Joe can see for himself.”
Violet gave the menu a pointed glance. “Assuming he doesn’t starve to death first.”
“Oh. Right.” Korby grabbed an order pad. “What can I get you?”
Violet ordered brisket with the works and sweet tea. Assuming she knew best, Joe had the same. Korby poured the tea and set it on the counter, allowing himself another leisurely survey of Violet’s curves. “What are you all spiffed up for?”
“Dinner,” she said, a hint of pink sneaking into her cheeks. “And a movie.”
Korby glanced at Joe, then at Violet, then at Joe. His eyes widened again. “O-oh.”
Violet’s face went a deeper shade of pink. She grabbed her tea and stomped over to plunk down at a table. Korby gave Joe a thumbs up behind her back. Joe responded in kind.
“I saw that,” Violet said.
Joe slouched into the chair opposite her and grinned shamelessly. “What, you’ve got eyes in the back of your head?”
“Yep. They sprouted while I was in labor.”
Joe snorted. “Like I tell Roxy, childbirth makes you a mother, not Wonder Woman.”
“There’s a difference?”
Joe pictured Violet in that metal bra thing and felt a few more brain cells sizzle. “Now that you mention it…”
And she laughed. Whoa. That was some laugh. Low and husky, drawing his attention to her throat, and the way that soft, strawberry-scented skin would vibrate under his mouth if he made her laugh again. Or moan. He definitely had to find out where she was ticklish.
The door slammed open and a black-haired missile launched at Violet. “Moommmiieeee!”
Joe grabbed their drinks in the nick of time. As Beni landed in his mother’s lap, the rickety table landed in Joe’s. Beni gave her a huge, smacking kiss. “I missed you!”
She righted the table with one hand and clutched the neckline of her shirt with the other as Beni’s weight tugged it downward. “Missed you too, bub. What are you doing?”
“Me and Daddy been in Amarillo checking out a new Freightliner for Grandpa. It’s black and has a computer and the sleeper is totally awesome.”
Delon paused just inside the door, his gaze bouncing from Violet to Joe and back again. He got hung up for long beat in the front of Violet’s shirt, same as Korby, but the way Delon’s eyes narrowed, Joe didn’t expect another thumbs up.
“We saw your car outside,” Delon said to Violet, patently ignoring Joe. “I assumed you’d run in to pick up dinner.”
Combined with the tight set of his jaw, it verged on an accusation.
Violet’s face went from pink to red. “We’re going to a movie. Anything good showing in Dumas?”
“Dinosaurs!” Beni declared.
Delon put a hand on the back of Violet’s chair, staring down at Joe, protective as hell. Of his woman, or his kid’s mother? Maybe Delon figured they were the same thing. If so, he’d done a piss-poor job of letting Violet in on the secret. Plus there was that barrel racer.
Beni bounced on his mother’s knees, tipping the wobbly table almost into Joe’s lap again. “Can I come to the movie with you? The dinosaur one? It is so cool!”
“And you know this how?” Violet asked.
“We went yesterday.” Delon scooped Beni up and gave him a gentle swat as he deposited him on the floor. “You don’t need to go again.”
“But I want to see that part where they poop out the eggs—”
“Hush.” Delon put a firm hand on each of Beni’s shoulders to hold him in place.
“Dinner for two!” Korby plopped a tray onto the counter, then got all bug-eyed when he saw Delon and Beni. “Oh. Hey. Delon. You’re um, here.”
They all tried not to look at each other for a couple of beats, except for Korby who appeared to be memorizing the moment for retelling. Finally, he said, “You want food or, um, something?”
“No thanks,” Delon said. “We ate already.”
“Oh. Okay.” Korby’s eyes darted to Violet, then Joe, then back to Delon. He stayed at the counter, watching them all like he expected the fireworks to start any second.
Joe got up, pried their dinner out of Korby’s grasp and set it on the table. “I’m starving. How about you, Violet?”
She gave a stiff little nod. Delon didn’t budge. Son of a bitch didn’t take a hint for shit. Joe settled into his chair and took a bite of his brisket. The smoked meat melted in his mouth. He didn’t have to fake a groan of approval, but he gave it some extra oomph.
“Good stuff.” He smiled at Violet. “Better eat up if we want to make it to the early show and get you home in plenty of time to tuck you in.”
Delon’s jaw clenched and his eyes went slitty, but before he could say anything, Beni piped up. “How come you can tuck Mommy in but Daddy can’t?”
Crap. Joe had forgotten the kid. “Uh—”
Beni folded his arms and glared, suspicious. For the first time, Joe saw a distinct resemblance to Steve Jacobs. “Grandma Iris says only married people tuck each other in. Like her and Grandpa.”
Joe opened his mouth, then glanced at Violet, who gave him a look that shut it again.
“Joe was kidding,” she said. “We’re just going to a movie. Then home. Alone. I mean, we’re driving home together, but then I’ll go in my house and he’ll go in the bunkhouse…” She trailed off, her face red and her eyes desperate.
“Why do you want to go to the movie with him?” Beni’s face squinched up and his voice pitched higher. “Why can’t you go with Daddy so I could come, too?”
“You haven’t seen Daddy for almost a month. You’re having man time, remember?” Panic leaked into her voice, and into the pleading look she gave Delon.
Delon gave them a look that suggested Violet might be the one who wanted man time, but he backed toward the door, tugging Beni with him, the potential for embarrassment outweighing the need to stick around and thump his chest.
Beni nailed Violet with a pathetic look. “Can I call you at bedtime and say good night?”
A muscle popped in Delon’s cheek, like he was grinding his teeth at the thought of what that call might interrupt. “Uh, Beni, it might be late—”
“Sure,” Violet said.
Delon shot Joe a glance. So there, asshole. Joe gave it right back to him with a cocky We’ll see about that smile.
“Okay. We can go,” Beni said, with tortured sigh.
Violet kissed her fingertips and reached over to tap his cheek. “Talk to you later.”
The door slapped shut behind them and the room went silent except for the tinny echo of the baseball commentators from Korby’s television.
“Well, that was fun,” Joe said brightly.
If looks could kill, there would’ve been nothing but a pile of smoking ashes on his chair. Yep, now he remembered why he didn’t do this dating thing.