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He nodded. “’Cause that’s my handle on the circuit. George ‘the Lizard’ Lizardi.”
“Okay.” She led him to a thick binder on a stand by the counter and flipped through it until she came to the reptile section. “You ought to find something here.”
Scott emerged from the back room with two mugs of coffee. “Y’all want coffee?” he asked.
“That’d be nice,” Kyle said.
“None for me,” George said. “I’m jumpy enough.”
“George is a little nervous about needles,” Kyle said.
Theresa nodded. “He’ll be fine once we get started. For most people the anticipation of getting a tattoo is a lot more uncomfortable than the tat itself.”
“What’s your name?”
The question was a reasonable one, but it still caught her off guard. She started to ask him why he was interested, then thought better of it. He was a customer, or at least a buddy of a customer, so she ought to be polite. “Theresa Jacobs,” she said. “And you’re Kyle.”
“Kyle Cameron.” He offered his good hand. “Pleased to meet you, Theresa.”
His hand was warm, his grasp firm but not painful, calluses scraping against her palm. A masculine hand, telegraphing strength and confidence. Her heart fluttered again, and she jerked away and fussed with the supplies on the cart, though her skin still tingled from his touch.
Scott returned with another mug of coffee, followed by Mick and Delilah. True to her name, Delilah zeroed in on the handsome cowboy and began rubbing against his boots, purring loudly.
Kyle regarded the cat with a half smile. “Cute cat.”
“She’s all right.” She nudged Delilah away with the toe of her boot, then moved to a supply cart and began laying out the materials she’d need for the tattoo—sealed packets of needles, fresh ink caps, gauze, sterile wipes, A & D ointment and the tattoo machine, still in its sealed packet from the autoclave.
“I’ve never been around cats much.” He followed her and leaned back against the workbench. “My sister has them.”
“These were my brother’s until he moved to Chicago.”
“What’s he doing in Chicago?”
“Going to school.” And falling even more madly in love with Jen Truitt. The thought still amazed her—her tough-stuff big brother all mushy in love with the police chief’s daughter. Who would have thought?
“I found the one I want.” George pointed to a page in the binder.
Theresa walked over and studied the drawing of a snarling monitor lizard. One of Zach’s designs. “All right. Have a seat in the chair and we’ll get started.”
Looking a little apprehensive, George stretched out in the chair. “You want me to hold your hand?” Kyle asked.
“Only if you want me to break the other arm.”
While she prepped George, Kyle settled on a stool across from them. “So what’s with the chapel meeting outside?” he asked.
She swabbed the freshly shaved section of George’s arm with disinfectant and positioned the tattoo transfer. “The Clean Up Austin campaign? Haven’t you heard of them?”
He shook his head. “Until I hurt my arm I was riding the circuit, trying to earn enough points to make the national finals.”
She began filling ink caps from larger bottles on the stand beside her. “This guy, Darryl ‘Clean’ Carter, is running for Austin City Council. His campaign platform is that he intends to make Austin—and particularly Sixth Street—more family friendly, which means no tattoo parlors, strip joints, sex-toy stores or loud rock-and-roll bars. Only nice, staid restaurants, suitably quiet taverns and fun for the whole family.” She rolled her eyes and unwrapped a fresh tattoo needle. “I think it’s ridiculous, but they’ve been out there every morning for the past two weeks.” She switched on the tattoo machine. “You ready, George?”
“Uh, yeah.” He blanched. “Sure.”
“Don’t worry, pard. When you pass out from the pain, I’ll help revive you.” Kyle winked at Theresa, who steadfastly ignored the way this made her stomach quiver and concentrated on the tattoo.
George made a gurgling sound in his throat when the needle first made contact. She kept a firm grip on his arm and continued working. “Take a deep breath. Relax. Focus on something else to distract you.”
Predictably his gaze zeroed in on her chest once more. “Th-that’s a real interesting tattoo,” he said. “Who did it?”
“My brother.”
“He’s a tattoo artist, too?” Kyle asked.
“He’s the one who taught me.”
“I was wondering how a pretty girl like you would get into something like this,” George said.
“Right.” She switched colors and began outlining the lizard’s eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”
“I don’t know. Sounds like a pretty good job to me,” Kyle said. “Good hours. You’re pretty much your own boss.” He grinned. “And a chance to inflict pain on ugly SOBs like the Lizard here.”
“Don’t give her any ideas,” George protested.
As she worked, she could feel Kyle’s eyes on her. His stare wasn’t the rude ogling of some men but rather the studious gaze of someone who was trying to figure her out. Ogling, she could deal with—she didn’t much care for this kind of close scrutiny. “Do you mind?” she said, glaring at him.
“Mind what?”
“You’re staring.”
“No, I’m watching you.”
“Well, stop it.”
“You interest me.”
“Well, cowboys don’t interest me, so don’t get any ideas.”
“Darlin’, I’ve had ideas about you since the minute I laid eyes on you.”
The combination of a molasses-sweet drawl and a one-hundred-degree gaze was doing a number on her libido. She maintained her grip on the tattoo machine and continued working, the original Ms. Cool. “You and your ideas are going to be very disappointed,” she said, ignoring the pinch of regret the words sent through her.
He laughed. “You’ve done it now.”
“Done what?” Why did he look so pleased with himself?
“Saying that’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. There’s nothing a man like me enjoys better than a challenge.”
She bristled. “That wasn’t a challenge.”
“Sounded like one to me,” George said.
She looked from one man to the other. They were both wearing smart-ass grins. She had half a mind to slap sense into both of them. But that would probably only egg them on. She settled for a return to her ice-queen routine. “Think what you like,” she said. “You’ll end up disappointed.”
As someone who’d had her share of disappointments, she knew they’d learn to live with it.
KYLE WATCHED THERESA WORK. He couldn’t remember when he’d met a more intriguing package: sex appeal and sass wrapped up with a heavy dose of smarts.
He was glad he’d let George talk him into coming here this morning instead of sitting around in his borrowed apartment, moping the way he’d done ever since that side-winder of a calf had snapped the bone in his wrist and put an abrupt halt to this season’s rodeo competition.
All he had to look forward to now was six weeks of bumming around town or, worse, recuperating at the family ranch, listening to his sister’s lectures on responsibility and settling down, enduring her transparent attempts at matchmaking and sidestepping her pointed questions about his plans for the future.
“What do you do when you’re not on the rodeo circuit?”
Theresa’s question pulled him away from his fast slide toward a deep blue funk. She was focusing on the lizard taking shape on George’s arm, not looking at him, but apparently she’d decided to at least be friendly.
“My family has a ranch out near Wimberley,” he said. “I’m supposed to be living there and helping out, but right now I’m just hanging out around Austin. I’ve got a friend who’s working on an oil rig in Nigeria and he’s letting me stay at his apartment until he comes home.” He’d sent his horse to the ranch right after the accident, but he wasn’t exactly eager to set up headquarters there himself.
“Oh. So you really are a cowboy.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Kyle’s folks have been raising cattle and horses for at least four generations,” George said. “Ain’t that right?”
“Yeah. The Two Ks has been around just about forever.”
“I guess that’s a really cool thing,” Theresa said. “But I think I’d be bored out of my skull living way out like that.” She shut off the tattoo machine and blotted George’s fresh tat with gauze. “Guess I’m too much of a city girl.”
You and me both, Kyle thought, but he kept quiet. His current restlessness didn’t really have anything to do with this woman, though he couldn’t help wondering if she or someone like her wouldn’t be a good antidote to what was ailing him. Spending the next six weeks having a good time with a willing woman would be a damn sight more fun than moping around the ranch house dodging his sister’s nagging to persuade him to settle down.
“What time do you get off work?” he asked.
She looked up, the hard look erased from her face for a moment. For a split second she looked softer. Vulnerable even. Then the mask was back in place. “I told you I wasn’t interested.”
He let a slow smile form, putting every bit of sex appeal he could muster into the look. Women had told him before that he was charming. He only hoped Theresa agreed. “I think I could make things interesting…for both of us.”
“Aw, come on. Are you two going to sit there making goo-goo eyes at each other, or are you gonna finish my tattoo?”
George’s whine effectively broke whatever had been building between them. Lips pressed together in a thin line, Theresa bandaged George’s arm and gave him a list of instructions for caring for his tattoo.
While George paid his bill, Kyle looked around. A sign by the cash register announced the hours of business as eleven to eleven weekdays. That meant he had about ten hours to kill before he could make his next move.
2
THERESA CHECKED HER WATCH as she turned the key in the dead bolt of the shop. Almost midnight. Time for Cinderella to turn back into a scullery maid. Time for her to head home.
To what? Not even a cat waited for her at her apartment. No one would call to make sure she’d arrived safely. No one would ask about her day or be ready to keep her company in bed.
She’d never minded her solitary life before. She had friends, and though she hadn’t had a serious relationship with a man in years, she hadn’t really wanted one. She never lacked for companionship whenever she was interested. But since Zach had moved away, there was no one she was really close to.
Suddenly the last place she wanted to be was that empty apartment. She turned in the opposite direction from the lot where she’d parked her car and headed back up East Sixth.
At this hour the protestors were gone, but the crowds were thin even for a weeknight. How much of this was due to Clean Carter’s campaign? What would happen to the businesses on the street if this kept up?
She was probably worrying over nothing. She’d grab a bite to eat, wind down a little, then head home. A good night’s sleep would pull her out of the bad mood she’d been in all day.
She pushed open the door to the Library Bar and went inside. “Hey, Pete.” She greeted the bartender and took a seat at the bar. “Any pizza left?”
“Couple of slices.” Pete took a glass from over his head and filled it with ice. “Diet Coke?”
“Yeah. And a slice of pizza.” She looked around the room. Two couples occupied tables across the room and three college-age guys sat at the other end of the bar watching a television with the sound turned down.
“Quiet in here tonight,” she said as he set the drink in front of her.
“It’s been quiet in here a lot of nights lately. People don’t want to deal with being hassled by a bunch of sign-waving, pamphlet-pushing busybodies. What about at your place?”
She shrugged. She’d had less than a dozen customers all day, all regulars except for George and Kyle.
She shifted, trying to get more comfortable on the hard bar stool. She’d been thinking about Kyle off and on all day. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had gotten her attention the way the handsome cowboy had.
Some of her friends had accused her of being too picky; she preferred to think of it as particular. If she was going to spend her time and energy on a man, she wanted to be sure he was worth the trouble.
Kyle had definitely sparked her interest. He had a cocky self-assurance that challenged her to tame him and enough of a sense of humor to hint at fun along the way. In her experience, the combination could be incendiary in bed—and impossible out of it.
Pete delivered her pizza and she began to eat. As she chewed, she couldn’t help thinking that a dinner that was the equivalent of rubbery cheese on cardboard was a sure sign of a miserable social life.
“You don’t look like you’re enjoying that much.”
Startled, she dropped the half-eaten pizza slice and stared at the man who’d slid onto the bar stool next to her. “What are you doing here?”
Kyle tilted his hat back on his head. “I’m looking for you.”
Whatever appetite she’d had deserted her at those four words. She pushed her plate away and took a long drink, careful not to look at him, though she could feel his gaze burning into her. “Why would you be looking for me?”
She waited for some flirty or suggestive answer, but he remained silent. She held out for a full minute, but after that she had to look at him. He wasn’t smiling—in fact, he looked far too serious.
Pete approached. “What can I get you?”
“Bourbon and Coke.” Kyle turned to Theresa. “Do you want anything else?”
She shook her head. What she wanted was to get out of here. Away from him and the shaky, unsettled way he made her feel.
“How long have you been a tattoo artist?” he asked.
The very ordinariness of the question surprised her. No innuendo or playfulness, just ordinary conversation. What was he up to? She shifted slightly away from him and stirred her drink with the straw. “About seven years now. I apprenticed a couple years before that.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve been on the rodeo circuit ten years. A long time to be smelling horse shit and wrestling ornery cows.”
“If you don’t enjoy it anymore, why don’t you quit?”
