Turn and Burn, Page 9

  foot.

  “Omigod.”

  “Like that, do you?”

  Say no. But what tumbled out was a long, “Yes.”

  Those magic fingers kneaded and poked and rubbed the ball of her foot, across the center pad and over to her pinkie toe. Then back down the outside to her heel. The circuit he made became tighter and more focused on the center of her foot.

  God. Now she knew why some dogs’ legs shook when their tummy got rubbed in the right spot. But it wasn’t just her leg that wanted to shake uncontrollably.

  “Ever heard of reflexology?” he asked in that husky bedroom voice.

  “Right there. God. That feels good.” She lifted her head and squinted at him. “Umm. What did you say?”

  “Reflexology. It’s a practice where applying pressure to specific spots on your body directly fires certain synapses in the brain. Pressing one place can alleviate pain. Pressing on another spot brings pleasure.”

  “FYI. I’m not feeling any pain right now.”

  “Good to know. But to keep everything in balance I oughta work on your other foot too.”

  Tanna pulled her left foot free from where it’d gotten lodged in the cushions. She so wanted to slide her heel up the length of that muscled thigh and walk her toes up his broad chest. But that would send him mixed signals.

  And you moaning and sighing when he’s got his hands on you . . . isn’t?

  “I don’t think—”

  “Don’t think. Just close your eyes and let me do this for you.”

  She couldn’t argue with that.

  When he dug those marvelous thumbs into her instep she nearly purred with pleasure. Although she tried to concentrate on the foot massage, other things kept distracting her. The slow, steady sound of his breathing. She peered at him from beneath her lashes. Fascinating, the way the muscles in his forearms and biceps moved. His dark hair fell forward, hiding half his face. His lips, those perfectly full lips, were parted and she remembered how expertly he used his mouth.

  “Tanna?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Will you have coffee with me some night this week?”

  Tanna groaned softly when he hit a sweet spot.

  “Can I take that as a yes? We could meet at the diner in Muddy Gap. Or in Rawlins. Whatever works for you.”

  She looked at him. “You’re serious about us having coffee?”

  Fletch’s thumbs stopped moving. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know. Coffee seems pretty sedate after how we met.” Way to point that out.

  He leveled that wild man grin at her. “Shoot. I knew I shoulda gone with my first instinct and asked you to go skinny-dipping in the creek and then let me have my wicked way with you in the mud. Or over a rock. Or against a tree. Or better yet, all three.”

  Her belly fluttered. “Ah. Coffee is good.”

  “Excellent.” Keeping his eyes on hers, he angled his head and placed a soft kiss on her instep. Then he playfully bit down.

  “Fletch. Stop.”

  “I don’t think I can.” He rubbed his lips over the shallow indent below her anklebone. Twice. “You have the softest skin.” His palm followed her shinbone up to her kneecap. His smile dimmed when he saw the ugly red scar. “What happened?”

  Tanna stared at the side of his head as he inspected the gash. He really didn’t know her sad history and bad luck? She’d assumed someone in the Muddy Gap gossipy group of friends had told him.

  Why would they? Maybe Lainie, Hank, Celia, Kyle and Devin would talk about her injury and the fallout among themselves, but Tanna wasn’t part of their group, so it wouldn’t come up in casual conversation. It was just another reminder that she’d lost that hometown connection when her father rid himself of the burdens of his family and the family ranch.

  “Tanna?”

  Her gaze met his. “If I told you all the gory details now, what would we talk about over coffee?” She scooted back, and spun around to set both feet on the floor. “Thanks for the foot massage. It was awesome.”

  “I still don’t have your number.”

  She stood and retrieved her flip-flops from beside the coffee table. She pulled her cell out of her back pocket. “Give me your number.” He rattled it off and she poked at the keys. Then his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Now you’ve got it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll call you when I have a firmer grasp on my weekly schedule.”

  With that, she made her escape.

  Halfway back to her trailer she wondered what she was escaping from. Chances were high that coffee would lead to more. She should’ve said no.

  But the problem was . . . she didn’t want to say no to Fletch.

  Tanna and Harlow worked together at Wild West Clothiers on Monday.

  Tuesday she worked alone. Business was slow, giving her time to look over the merchandise—a lot of merchandise. Funky, cool, retro Western clothing, as well as some conservative pieces sprinkled in. Racks of accessories lined one entire wall. She figured out Harper’s coding system for when items arrived in the store and it looked to her like nothing was over six months old. Which meant she moved merchandise. That’d been Tanna’s biggest complaint working at Billy Bob’s. She swore some of the clothing had been on the racks since the place opened.

  On Wednesday blond bombshell Harlow popped in fifteen minutes before her bar shift started. She’d donned sedate black clothing as well as a jaunty fedora that she pulled off, in the way so few women can.

  “So, Tanna, I have to ask you a favor.”

  “What?”

  “I know I’m scheduled to work in here Friday and you’re in the bar, but could we switch?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have a date Thursday night. An overnight date, which means I’d have to leave Casper at six a.m. to be here to work by eight.”

  “So I have to suck up another two hours on shift so you can have a booty call?”

  Harlow cocked her head. “Yes.”

  “This is the first week on the job and you’re already asking for schedule changes. You don’t see anything wrong with that?”

  “I’d switch with you if you asked,” she said mulishly.

  Tanna tapped her fingers on the counter. “Fine. I’ll switch with you. But when I need to swap a shift, I’d better not hear you bitch. At all. You don’t get to pull that Oh, I’m sorry, I’d really love to fill in for you, but I’ve made plans bullshit. Understand?”

  “I understand. Geez. You’re a real hard-ass.”

  “No, I’m just older, wiser and I’ve worked with people like you before.”

  “People like me?” Harlow repeated snippily. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You skate by with the minimum amount of work, but you expect to be treated with the same respect as those of us who work our asses off and do our damn job.” Tanna realized how harsh that’d come out and backed off. “I like you, Harlow. I think we’ll work well together as long as you act like you need this job, not that you’re entitled to it.”

  “There goes my chance to fuck off and use the experience in my master’s thesis on how I spent my summer vacation,” she said breezily.

  Tanna rolled her eyes. “Get to work, smart-ass.”

  Harlow smirked and flounced off.

  God. If she didn’t throttle that kid it’d be a miracle.

  She’s not really a kid. Remember what you were like at that age?

  Worse than Harlow. Spoiled when she went home, pampered at events by her sponsors, hell on wheels on the road. Not giving a shit about anyone else’s issues. Doing whatever she wanted and answering to nobody.

  It was hard to stomach that she used to be like that. How long would she have gone on that way if her life hadn’t changed so drastically?

  Pointless to ponder . . . but she found herself thinking about it off and on all day.

  Late Friday afternoon she counted out the till and secured the money and the day’s receipts in the safe. After locking up, she exited out
the side door.

  The air had a bite—surprising for May—and she hustled down the hill to her trailer. So much for her plan to sit out on her deck and enjoy the end of the day. Texas had nothing on Wyoming when it came to how hard the damn wind blew.

  Inside her trailer, she grabbed a beer and settled on the couch. Déjà vu hit her. Then it occurred to her it wasn’t déjà vu—she’d done this exact same thing the last four nights. Parked her ass on the couch. Popped a top. Flipped through crap on the TV. Then she crawled between the sheets.

  Was this how her days would play out over the next three months? She’d work hawking clothes or booze, return to her quarters, knock back a beer, and eat a sandwich while she watched the boob tube and then toddle off to bed?

  Fuck that.

  She was Tanna Barker. She didn’t have to go balls to the wall crazy. No impromptu wet T-shirt contests. No dancing on the bar. No showcasing her pole dancing skills. But she could head to the closest watering hole. Soak up a little local culture. Check out the claim that Wyoming cowboys were a breed apart from Texas cowboys.

  You already know that firsthand. Didn’t one night with the good doc prove it?

  Yes. And he claimed he wanted to prove it over and over again.

  So why hadn’t Fletch called her about their coffee date this week?

  Tanna knew he was busy. She ought to cut him some slack.

  Then again, when had she ever waited for a man to make the first move?

  Never. And she wasn’t about to start that meek and mild routine now.

  She drained her beer and changed into a lace cami the color of ripe raspberries and a long-sleeved cream-colored Western shirt decorated with vines of hot pink roses. She slipped on her favorite pair of Miss Me jeans with the white angel wings on the back pockets and big rhinestones on the front. She opted not to wear one of her championship buckles. She shoved her feet in a short pair of orange and pink Old Gringo cowgirl boots decorated with cacti.

  Tanna fluffed up her hair—making it big, Texas style. She added more eyeliner, more mascara, more lipstick and spritzed on her favorite perfume. She debated on putting in a pair of colored contacts. Growing up with brown eyes, like everyone else in Texas it seemed, she’d wished for an exotic eye color. When she’d discovered colored lenses, she’d bought a set in every funky hue. Most people couldn’t tell when she had in her “fake eyes” and it amused her when they tried to figure out what was different about her.

  Ready, she hit the road. She didn’t need her GPS to find the closest bar—Buckeye Joe’s was the only one in town.

  Inside, Tanna saw one familiar face—Kyle’s mom, Sherry.

  The smiling redhead hugged her. “Tanna! I was hoping you’d come into the Buckeye for a drink. We didn’t get to chat much at the branding.”

  “That’s understandable since you were busy running the chow line.”

  Sherry smiled. “I appreciated everyone coming out and helping Kyle and Celia. The last two years I’ve seen firsthand how much hard work goes into running a ranch. So, what can I getcha tonight?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got Lone Star?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’ll take a Corona.”

  Sherry reached into the cooler, then popped the top on the bottle and slid it over. “First one is on me.” She lowered her voice. “But keep that under your hat or the locals will think I’ve gone soft.”

  Tanna grinned. “Thank you.” She took a sip of the icy brew. “You own this place?”

  “Part owner. I bought in when I knew Kyle was settling here permanently. Owning a business has been more work than I’d imagined, but I love it.”

  “Do you see much of Celia and Kyle?”

  “As much as I can. They don’t go out much anymore and in a few months it’ll be even less.”

  “This baby stuff is so exciting. They’ll make great parents.”

  “And I’ll be one of those annoying grandmas who goes on and on about the precious grandchild.” Sherry wiped a spot down the bar. “How’s it going up at the Split Rock?”

  “So far, so good.”

  “And . . . here they come. That didn’t take long.” Sherry’s eyes twinkled. “Don’t turn around, sweetie, but a few guys are headed this way.”

  Tanna groaned. “The ‘see a single woman in the bar and assume I want company’ type of guys?”

  “No, they’re friends of Kyle and Celia’s you met at the branding.”

  Butterflies took wing in her belly. Was Fletch with them?

  Ike, the fast-talking cattle broker, sidled up and offered her a sly smile. “If it isn’t my favorite Texas transplant.”

  The man was so easy on the eyes. Blond-haired. Tall and lanky. Dressed casually, but impeccably. Blue eyes, which wavered somewhere between devilish and intense. Tanna knew there’d be no leading this guy around by a string. “Ike, you slick operator.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Alls I do is say hello and I’m slick?”

  “Dude. You’re a salesman. You’re always selling something.”

  “But I’m not,” came from behind her.

  Tanna faced the darker-haired man. Shorter, stockier. More mellow. “Heya, Holt. You flying solo tonight? Or are you Ike’s wingman?”

  “Both. Come sit with us. Max secured a table. Damn crying shame we didn’t get to talk to you much at the branding. But Devin, Fletch and Eli hogged our newest, most beautiful resident.”

  “Lordy, lordy, darlin’ . . . You sure you’re not a salesman?” she asked Holt.

  “If you’re buying it, then I’m a better salesman than I thought.”

  She laughed.

  “We’re your captive audience, hanging on every word that comes out of your mouth,” Ike said. “I could listen to you talk all night with that hot accent. But if you just wanna sit there and look pretty, that’s good too.”

  She wasn’t immune to flattery from two attractive guys. She winked at Sherry and picked up her Corona. “Check on me in an hour to see if I’m drowning in their sweet bullshit.”

  Chapter Nine

  Fletch had intended to ignore Ike’s voice mail that asked if he was around Muddy Gap and had time for a beer. He’d had a long day. Two horse surgeries—one a major repair job on a colt that’d tangled with a mountain lion. All he wanted was to hit the road for home, jump in the shower and wear clothing that didn’t reek.

  But he had neglected his friends lately. Most of the guys in their group had paired up and married off. Between his unpredictable schedule and the demands on his friends’ time, it was a rare night they were all in the same area at the same time, so Fletch agreed to meet them at the Buckeye if he finished his last call before eight o’clock.

  Despite his buddies being used to his “fresh from the farm” scent, he scrubbed himself up as best as he could and switched out his sweaty, stained ball cap for a summer-weight cowboy hat.

  More people crowded the bar than he’d anticipated—then he remembered it was a Friday night. Man, this week had been such a time suck he didn’t even remember what damn day it was. Kyle’s mom was busy mixing and pouring at the opposite end of the bar. He saw Ike, Max and Holt at their usual table.

  His heart leapt at seeing Tanna sitting with them.

  His sarcastic side pointed out that of course Miss Sexy Thang would be here on the night he looked like shit. His practical side reminded him that Tanna liked to have a good time and her bar-hopping choices were limited in Muddy Gap, so he should’ve expected to run into her. And guaranteed a beautiful woman like her would be surrounded by male admirers.

  So why did he have an immediate flash of jealousy and the urge to rip her away from the guys who’d been his friends for years?

  Rather than curbing that urge, he gave in to it. After the cocktail waitress brought him a beer, he sauntered over, taking note that Ike hung on her every word. Max’s attention was firmly focused on Tanna’s cleavage. Even Holt, a confirmed bachelor, seemed mesmerized by her.

  Join the club, guy
s.

  Tanna’s surprised gaze hooked his as he took the empty chair right next to her, causing a little hiccup in her conversation with Max. Then she was back to telling whatever story required her hand gestures and beautiful smile.

  She finally acknowledged him. “Dr. Fletcher.”

  “I know I told you to call me Fletch, darlin’. No need for formal titles between us, is there, Miz Two-Time World Barrel Racing Champion?”

  She cooed, “Would it be bitchy of me to point out I’ve won three world titles?”