Charming Texas Cowboy, page 14
“I’m fine,” she said. “Is my mom okay?… Why are you calling?… No, everything’s fine here. What makes you think it wouldn’t be? No, everything here is fine… What are you talking about? I spoke to her this morning… I’ll call her again… Why not?… Goodbye, Brock.” She hit end and put the phone back in her pocket and put both hands in her hair, pulling at it as she growled in frustration.
“Everything okay?” Tanner asked, though it was obvious that it wasn’t.
“That was Brock,” she said, as though that should make everything clear, but at his blank look, she said, “He’s the Joanie and Jennifer show manager/producer/asshole.”
“Is he the guy who—”
“Who insulted my perfectly adequate breasts? That’s the one.”
“Say no more. I’ll kick his ass,” Tanner said, only half kidding.
“He’s apparently moving in with my mom. Can you believe that?”
“And this relationship is a new development?”
“And not a good one, not at all. She was doing so well.” She paced a few steps, then came back. “My mom used to have these episodes of depression between relationships with major losers. But apparently ‘used to’ isn’t over anymore.”
“That sucks.”
“One of my first memories is of my mom sobbing because some guy she thought would love her forever and fix all of our problems wound up being a no-good loser who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—hold down a job, and who stole our grocery money and left us in debt.”
“Geez” was all Tanner could say.
“Except maybe it wasn’t my first memory, because maybe it was my third or fourth or ninth—they all kind of run together. I don’t even remember my dad. I was raised more by the families I watched on TV than any real parent.”
“What changed?”
She tilted her head at him.
“You said she was doing well, at least until recently. I assume something must have changed that made her break the cycle,” he clarified.
“Yeah. I got arrested for shoplifting poster board.”
“Poster board.”
“Yeah.” She laughed in a definitely unamused way. “I had an assignment for my seventh-grade history class. I was supposed to make a family tree, and I had this great plan where I’d substitute people on TV for my real family, which consisted of me, my mom, and sometimes my grandmother, who had her own issues with alcohol and gambling. Anyway, Mom’s last boyfriend—Chuck—had left a few days earlier and hadn’t come back, and I couldn’t get her out of bed. Which was fine. I was used to fending for myself, but this time I got to the little drugstore on the corner and realized I didn’t have any money. Mom had lost her job for being absent so much, and I was afraid to ask her for anything. So I had the brilliant idea to act like I was going to use the restroom, prop the back door open, then circle around and sneak in the back to steal the poster board.
“I didn’t think about closed-circuit cameras and observant shopkeepers. I think they would have let me go except they knew things were messed up at home. God knows they’d filled enough prescriptions for my mom over the years. So I was caught, they called the police, and Children’s Services told my mom to straighten up or they were going to put me in foster care.”
“You must have been terrified,” Tanner said.
“We both were. Mom didn’t have a job or any prospects of a new one. I think I outcried her that time, which really freaked her out.” Jen laughed, for real this time. “I said I’d help her find a job and we could sell stuff we made and make a TV show about it. I was all about living the TV life, right? And crazily enough, that’s what we did. We spent her last five dollars on chocolate ice cream, and we sat at the kitchen table with a notebook and markers and started making lists of things we knew how to do, and we started doing them. We made doll clothes out of thrift store stuff, and dishcloths out of recycled yarn, and started selling them all at a flea market. Meanwhile, Mom started seeing a doctor that the social worker set her up with, and she got better, and we turned all of those dishcloths and doll dresses into Homemade with Joanie and Jennifer.”
“Wow. That’s truly amazing,” Tanner told Jen, sincerely. “What an amazing kid you were. Are.”
“But then!” She thrust out her arms, the DVD case in one hand, waving around like a weapon. “I called my mom last night and Brock answered, and he was even smarmier than usual, insinuating that my mom was falling apart without me and has been crazy with worry over me, even though every time I talk to her I tell her everything’s okay, and she sounds fine. If she’s falling apart, it’s because that asswipe is screwing with her mind.”
The DVD case made a whistling noise as it flew past Tanner’s right ear.
“And then he was asking all these questions about how things are out here, insinuating that I can’t hack it out here because nothing’s going well, and telling me I should come home where it’s safe and where he can help me. He’s such an asshat.”
Tanner couldn’t help it; he started to laugh.
“What? Why is this funny?” She stood there in the dark, hands on her hips, DVD finally still.
“First, let me hold on to that movie before you kill me,” he said, taking the case from her. “Second, you called ol’ Brock an asshole, asswipe, and asshat. That’s a lot of asses.”
She ground out, “Well, he’s all of those and more!” But then she seemed to relax and let out a little laugh. “I’m not going to let any ass-butt jerkface ruin my night, though. Apparently it’s eighties movie night at Casa del Jen. Would you and Trixie like to join me for a screening of Gremlins?”
***
Jen awakened to a blank TV screen and an anxious Trixie pacing and whining softly.
“No. Not that way! Get out! Get out!” Tanner’s shouts were nearly drowned out by the raging storm. The thunder that had been a low rumble an hour ago had progressed into a series of fierce explosions, which must have triggered the nightmare that had Tanner in its grip. He thrashed, fighting the afghan they’d snuggled under to watch the movie. As soon as his arms were free, he grabbed Jen by the arm, yanked her over his body and rolled with her, taking them both to the floor in a tangle of limbs and bedding.
She didn’t fight, understanding instinctively that whatever was happening in the recesses of his mind, Tanner was trying to protect her. Instead, she said, “It’s okay, Tanner. I’m okay. We’re okay,” as lightning flashed and the rain beat on the metal of her camper’s roof.
“No! No, you dumbass, we’re—” He broke off, blinking, staring down at Jen as if he’d never seen her before.
“It’s okay,” she repeated, hoping—
“Fuck.” He let her go and scrambled away, as far as the tiny floor of the trailer would allow. “Fuck!” He slammed a fist into his thigh. Hard. Once, then again.
“Tanner, no!” Jen tried to reach him, but he was on his feet.
“Get away from me!” In two steps he was at the door, then the door was banging behind his disappearing form.
“Damn it, Tanner, come back here!” Jen shouted into the night. She ran barefoot into the storm, searching for him in the darkness.
There he was. Next to the barn, slamming his fist into the rotting wood again and again.
“Stop it,” Jen said, reaching him, trying to grab his arm, but he shook her loose and turned away, breath heaving in and out, hands fisted in his hair. Rain mixed with blood and ran darkly down his arms, streaking his white T-shirt gray in the nearly nonexistent light.
He stood that way for a long time. Jen didn’t move, either—uncertain how to help him, not even knowing if she should try. At least he wasn’t hurting himself now.
A soft whine drew her attention down. Trixie had followed them outside, her body appearing to shrink as her fluffy coat became soaked. “It’s okay,” Jen said for what seemed like the hundredth time, lifting the little dog into her arms and stroking her head.
“Go back inside,” Tanner said, turning to look at her.
“You too,” Jen said, unmoving.
He looked away, nostrils flaring as he prepared to protest, then blew out a breath and nodded.
Good. He seemed to have figured out that her stubborn streak ran as deep as her determination.
Jen led the way into the camper, holding Trixie under one arm to keep her from jumping onto the couch and doing the wet dog shake over everything, stopping in the doorway of the bathroom. Reaching into the cabinet with her free hand, she tugged at a pile of towels, which tumbled to the floor. She cursed and tried to pick them up without losing Trixie.
“Here.” Tanner stood inches away, holding his arms out for the dog.
He gently took Trixie as Jen picked up the towels. She put two on the edge of the sink and spread one to cover the dog in Tanner’s arms. Together they worked to get the drippiest of the rain out of Trixie’s fur before she wriggled away to hide under the table, but that was okay. When she wound her little body up to let go with a good shake, she barely misted her own little cave.
Jen handed one of the remaining towels to Tanner and picked up the other for herself. The tiny space was suddenly even smaller than normal with Tanner so close, watching her, waiting for…what? As though he knew she was feeling awkward, he looked away and backed up until he stood next to the door.
“I–I’ve got some sweats you can put on,” she stammered, and stepped into the main room. She grabbed dry clothes and thrust a pair of sweatpants at him. “Here. I’ll be right back.”
Jen’s skin pebbled in the air-conditioned chill as she ripped off her soggy clothes and toweled off. She wrapped her wet hair in the towel and wrestled her way into a dry T-shirt and jeans.
She opened the bathroom door a crack. “Can I come out now?”
“Yeah.”
She stepped out and found Tanner was not only dressed but had mopped up the floor and had his wet stuff in a pile. “Here. I’ll add that to my stuff in the shower.”
She heard him rummaging in her kitchen.
“You have tea bags in here somewhere?”
“Behind the pots and clean socks,” she said.
Her sweats rode low on his hips, and she could see the patches on his torso where skin had been harvested to repair his burns. It was like a map of his pain, only she didn’t know how to navigate that map.
The fun, easygoing guy making wry comments about the movie was gone, replaced by a distant stranger.
He pulled his head out of the cabinet and looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Pots and socks?”
“It’s where they fit. You gotta use every inch in these things.”
She combed the tangles out of her hair while he heated water in the microwave and rearranged the skillets and pans until he found a box of green tea bags. Neither spoke until the microwave dinged and he’d put a steaming mug on the table in front of her. His tension was back, that intensity that both drew her forward and worried her at the same time.
He moved to the other side of the table, crossed and uncrossed his arms. “I’m sorry—”
“No.” She cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I don’t know what else to be,” he said. At that moment he looked so bleak—his eyes were so dark and deep, and he seemed so lost—that she wanted to touch him, to take him in her arms, but suspected that if she touched him, he’d disappear in a puff of smoke.
Chapter 19
The storm had let up and was now only a drizzle. A cool, rain-scented breeze flowed through the camper’s open windows, but Tanner was suffocating. “I, uh, I should go,” he said, looking outside. “It’s not pouring anymore.”
Jen held up her phone, which displayed a red flashing WARNING notice. “This is just a little break. There’s more coming.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
“Don’t make me chase after you again,” she said, both eyebrows raised in a not-very-threatening threat. “I’m out of large sweatpants, and you’ll have to sit around here naked until everything is dry. For that matter, I’m completely out of any clean dry clothes. We might both have to sit around here naked.”
He felt a smile crack through his misery. “Is that supposed to keep me from going back out in the rain?”
She smiled back, little crinkles at the corners of her eyes. God, how could she be so cool with him right now? She should be shoving him out the door and locking it behind him.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you, you know, earlier. Are you okay?”
“Yep. I’m pretty sturdy,” she said. “You were trying to protect me from something, not beat me up. Was that a flashback?” she asked curiously, but not in the way his friends back home had asked about things, not like they were rubberneckers passing a wreck on the highway, but like she actually cared.
Which was somehow worse. Worse because if she cared, she would wind up disappointed.
“It was just a nightmare. A…bad nightmare. I’ll be okay.” Which was what he’d told his mother over and over again until she’d packed him in the car and delivered him to the ranch. Where would the guys send him off to if he couldn’t keep it together here? A rubber room at the VA?
“I really do need to go,” he said, his skin suddenly too tight, and not just where he had scars. He shivered. When had it gotten so cold in here? “Come on, Trixie.”
The dog didn’t come out from beneath the table. When Tanner looked underneath, he found her cowering behind Jen’s legs.
“She’s shaking,” Jen said. “She doesn’t like the storm, either.”
As he reached beneath the table, he realized Jen wasn’t including herself in the either; she’d recognized that he was struggling. His hand wasn’t steady, and he missed the dog’s collar, lost his balance, and fell back, barely missing the refrigerator with his head.
He tried to laugh and shrug it off, but Jen didn’t laugh along. Instead, she was on her knees, straddling one of his legs. She’d grabbed the shaky hand and was peering at him closely. “You’re white as a sheet.”
“I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to pull his hand away. “I’m not some old grandma.”
Now she laughed, still holding his hand between hers, where it was warm and soft. “I don’t think of you as anything near an old grandma.” Her cheeks were pink, but her gaze was steady as she regarded him.
It was suddenly much warmer here on the floor than it had been a minute ago, and his shiver wasn’t so much from cold fear as it was from desire.
Her eyes moved over his face, and for once he didn’t freeze, though he worried about what she’d see. His instinct to turn away, make a joke, and deflect her interest wasn’t gone exactly, but it was hiding.
He returned her gaze, hoped she didn’t look down, because if she did, she’d see—aaand there went her eyes.
“I was beginning to wonder,” she said, her voice husky and low.
His voice cracked. “Wonder?”
“If you like me back the way I like you.” Now she was smiling at him, a wry twist to her pink lips. “I’m about out of signals to send.”
“Signals?”
She sighed dramatically. “I think I’ve done everything but twerk in your direction.”
He cleared his throat, but was still raspy when he said, “So you’re saying you’re into me.”
“I’m saying that if you’re into me, I’d like very much if you took some action, because if I make another move on you, it will seem very much like desperation.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I dunno. I’d like to see you twerk.”
She snorted, and he laughed, pulling her down so she was half lying on him, supporting herself on one elbow next to his shoulder, her legs intertwined with his. He turned them so they were mostly on their sides, though there wasn’t much room to maneuver.
He cupped her cheek and brushed his rough, scarred thumb across her bottom lip as softly as he could. He felt the whisper of her breath over his skin, the tip of her tongue as she touched it to him, reaching nerve endings deep in his soul.
How had he gotten here, on the floor of a run-down camper, with this beautiful, vibrant woman pressing her lithe, amazing body against his? He didn’t know, and for once he didn’t question it, just said, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
***
He was taking his damned sweet time with it.
Jen was about to implode, waiting for him to close that final centimeter gap between them. She’d done her share and made it clear she wanted him; it was up to him to make it happen.
She must have sighed, or wriggled, or done something else to telegraph her impatience because he whispered, so close now that she felt the words as he said, “Kissing you now.”
And then he was. Kissing her. His lips met hers, which had become so hypersensitive she felt everything like a long, firm stroke to her core. She arched into him, no longer caring who was kissing whom, just knowing she was on fire.
His tongue ran over her lips, and she opened her mouth to him, tasting him back. Teeth scraped over sensitive skin, nipping, soothing, making the rest of the world disappear.
He had one arm behind her head, the other hand cradling her face, and she’d never felt so safe, so protected, so wanted before. She touched him, the arm that wasn’t trapped beneath her running over his torso, feeling soft skin and rough scars, hard muscle. His breath stuttered when she stroked his stomach, traced his hip bone.
Her body ached for him, her breasts dying for the pressure of his hand, which he moved from her face to her hip, where it stayed for way too long.
And still they kissed.
He stroked his hand up her side, taking her T-shirt with it, until her breasts were free, and then he finally touched her, squeezed, stroked, and yes, tasted.
Her hands were in his hair then, and her legs shifted restlessly, needing to soothe the ache in her core, until she found his erection between them, and somehow, incredibly, he pressed through layers of fabric, just barely against the apex of her thighs, right there, almost, not quite, but definitely there.
