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“Come on, girls,” Cheryl Louise said. “Madeline needs to find a guy and our yapping isn’t going to help her concentrate.”
“So who wants her to concentrate?” Sarah asked. “Sorry, Madeline, but I want to win.”
“It’s just a game,” Cheryl Louise said, fingering the makeshift veil one of the girls had made for her. “A silly little game that’s supposed to be fun.”
“Girl, you say that because you’re about to trade in your bad-girl status and promise not to be bad, but there are those of us who’d like to keep our reputation.”
“You don’t have a reputation,” Cheryl Louise pointed out to Janice. “And you never had one. The only one who had anything remotely bad going for her was Sarah, and even she’s as boring as they come now. No offense, Sarah,” she said to the quiet redhead. “You’re just anxious to win so you don’t have to pick up Uncle Spur from the airport.”
“Uncle Spur’s coming to the wedding?” Madeline asked, her mind rushing back to her childhood and the ornery old man who’d come to visit Cheryl and Sharon every Christmas. He’d sat in the living room with his chewing tobacco and a soda can and offered an opinion on everything from making strawberry jam to the state of world politics. Uncle Spur had liked to talk. Even more, he’d liked being right.
“Of course he’s coming,” Cheryl Louise said. “He’s my oldest living relative. I couldn’t get married without Uncle Spur.” As though she just noticed the effect of her news, her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with Uncle Spur?”
“Nothing,” Madeline said. “It’s just…he’s quite a character.”
“An obnoxious character,” Brenda added.
“He spit on me the last time I saw him,” Janice said.
“He was just showing off,” Cheryl Louise explained. “He was the Waller County Spit-Off champ back then. But then the cataracts set in and he came in third to his two brothers. He never spits now. Besides, I would pick him up myself, but I don’t have time.”
“Don’t you worry about it,” Madeline told her. “One of us will do it.”
“Yep,” Janice said. “The loser gets the privilege.” She turned on Madeline. “Pick someone, or forfeit and let Sarah take her turn. She’s next in line with points if you don’t pull this off.”
But Madeline wasn’t forfeiting. It wasn’t so much about winning—while Uncle Spur wasn’t the most pleasant person, Madeline could endure a two-hour drive from the airport with him if it meant helping out a friend. Rather, this game was about conquering her fears and living life. About proving to all of her friends, and herself, that she truly had changed when she’d left the comfort of her small town for the excitement of the big city. About picking the hottest, hunkiest guy in the honky-tonk and approaching him as bold as you please.
Something the old Maddie would have been too frightened and embarrassed to do because she’d been more content to fantasize about life than actually live it.
No more.
She glanced around, found her target standing just inside the doorway and summoned her courage. Her moment of truth had finally arrived.
THIS WAS A BIG WASTE of time.
The truth echoed in Austin Jericho’s brain the minute he stepped inside Cherry Blossom Junction, the one and only dance hall in Cadillac, Texas.
Not that Austin had anything against dance halls, particularly this one. The place had character. Once a train depot near the turn of the century, Cherry Blossom Junction was far from the typical Texas honky-tonk. Beers were served up from behind the original hand-carved ticket counters. Instead of a mechanical bull, the very first engine to chug out of the station sat in the far corner. Train schedules graced the walls rather than the typical neon beer signs. And when the band cranked up the “Orange Blossom Special,” an authentic train whistle blew along with the music.
Nope, it sure-as-shootin’ wasn’t the place itself Austin had a problem with.
It’s just that if a man had set his mind to add more fruit to his diet, he certainly wouldn’t mosey over to the Dairy Freeze for a double-dipped. Likewise, if a gambler had decided to save his money rather than throw it away, he would damned sure stay far away from Pete, the numbers runner at the bingo hall.
Since Austin had decided to find himself a nice, quiet, conservative woman to settle down with him on his ranch, Cherry Blossom Junction was definitely at the bottom of his potential meet-market list. He needed to stick to church picnics and bake sales to find the kind of filly that would make him happy for the long haul, a goal he’d been working on for the past three weeks.
He’d narrowed it down to a handful of prospects—Debbie the kindergarten teacher, Christine the registered nurse at the retirement home, Angela the church choir director, Jennifer the head of the local Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and Claire who ran the town’s only day care. They were all nice. Pretty. Wholesome. The trouble was, they all sort of blended together with their freshly baked apple pies and their show-me-the-ring-and-I’ll-show-you-some-lovin’ smiles, and he didn’t have a clue which one to choose.
But he’d given his word to Miss Marshalyn Simmons and he aimed to keep it. Miss Marshalyn had been the town’s librarian and expert cake baker for special events. She was also the most stubborn pigheaded woman ever to wag a finger at him and the closest thing to a mother he’d known since his own had passed away when he was five years old. He’d promised her that he would slow down and settle down in time for her going-away party—she was moving down to Florida to live with her sister. While the old woman wanted proof that he’d changed, she didn’t expect him to find and marry someone before she left. She merely wanted to see him with a serious, suitable candidate. In return, she’d pledged one hundred acres of prime pastureland.
While he was more than willing to buy the land, she’d refused to sell it to him. She wanted peace of mind, not money, and so she’d made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
The land wasn’t the only reason for his decision. While he’d reached a brick wall in his professional life—he needed that land to expand and beef up his herd—he’d also hit a big one in his personal life. A man could only work so much. When the sun set and the day was done, he had to head home.
But Austin didn’t have a home. Sure, he had his own place, bought and paid for with his own sweat. But he didn’t have a home—a warm, comforting place filled with plenty of laughter and good smells and warmth. Miss Marshalyn’s house had had all three, and it had been the closest thing to a real home he’d known way back when.
He wanted his own now and a family to go with it, and that meant finding the right kind of woman. The kind who taught Sunday school and helped old ladies across the street. The kind who planted a vegetable garden and shelled peas and made candied sweet potatoes. The permanent kind who had more on her mind than one night.
All the more reason he should be anywhere but inside Cherry Blossom Junction.
“Hey, buddy. Over here!” The familiar voice drew Austin’s attention.
His gaze shifted to the group of men clustered at the bar. Stetsons bobbed as heads turned and hands waved.
Austin couldn’t help but grin at the group, particularly the cowboy wearing a foam ball and chain around his neck and a Kiss Me I’m The Groom button.
Jack Beckham was one of Austin’s oldest friends and he was tying the knot tomorrow afternoon. Austin couldn’t very well miss giving his buddy a grand send-off just because he was on a time limit to find himself a suitable wife.
“You’re the last person I expected to see here. Shouldn’t you be cruising the bingo hall right now?”
Austin turned to see his younger brother grinning back at him, a buxom blonde hanging on his arm.
“It’s for a good cause. Besides, it’s seniors’ night and I’m looking for a woman a few years younger. I’m guessing you’re not taking Miss Marshalyn up on her offer?”
Houston Jericho, Austin’s middle brother and one of the best damned bull riders on the pro rodeo circuit, winked and pulled the blonde closer. “’Fraid not. I’m in no hurry to slow down and rope cows from now till kingdom come. That’s your dream, bro.”
“A man’s got to grow up sometime.”
Miss Marshalyn had made the same proposition to Houston when he’d surprised everybody and driven into town yesterday morning.
He’d been busy hitting every major rodeo in the United States, working his way up to the pro rodeo finals in Las Vegas in a few weeks. No one had expected him to take time off between rides to attend the wedding. But Houston and Jack went way back, as well. The man had been one of the few friends to all three Jericho brothers when they’d been kids.
And so Houston had come home.
But not to settle down, as he’d been quick to point out to Miss Marshalyn. Houston liked his life minus any roots. He was free, going where he wanted, when he wanted, and he intended to stay that way.
“I’ll leave the growing old to you,” he told his brother as he sipped a beer with his free hand.
“That’s growing up.”
“Same thing.” Houston winked. “I’ve got more bulls to ride, and at least one woman I haven’t had the pleasure of getting to know better.” He winked at the woman on his arm. “Ain’t that right, sugar?” He gave the blonde a quick kiss. “Besides, I like things just fine the way they are. Moving away from this place was the best thing I ever did.”
“You mean running away, don’t you?”
“I don’t run from anyone or anything,” he drawled, then turned and steered the blonde toward the dance floor. “Later, bro.”
Austin stared after Houston. He was running, all right. From the past. From the legacy that had haunted all three of the Jericho brothers since birth. Dallas, the youngest, had made peace with his past last year when he’d married his childhood sweetheart. He and his wife were expecting their first child, and they were happy. Content.
Austin wanted the same.
That’s what he told himself. But then he heard the soft, sexy, familiar voice. He felt a jolt of heat rush through him and suddenly he wanted something altogether different.
“Excuse me.”
He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find himself staring into a pair of bright green eyes. The same eyes that had stared at him over an extralarge box of lubricated condoms earlier that day.
For the first time since Austin had vowed to find a wife, he actually wondered if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t making a big mistake. Because suddenly hot and heavy sex in the here and now seemed a heck of a lot more appealing than peace and contentment somewhere in the far-off future.
3
EASY, HOSS.
Austin took a deep breath and tried to steady himself as one all-important fact registered—this was Maddie Hale. The bookworm who’d spent class time listening rather than writing notes back and forth with her friends.
Actually she’d written one note, but he’d done his damnedest in the past twelve years to forget all about the poetic declaration of love he’d happened upon purely by accident. He’d also tried to forget those few tension-filled moments standing near the concession stand when he’d looked at her, really looked at her, for the very first time.
Love note aside, she was still the shy girl who’d blushed at him from the safety of an algebra book and brought him homemade muffins.
The innocent who’d never once ventured behind the bleachers during a football game.
He knew the backside of those bleachers by heart. Hell, he’d carved most of those names himself and hers was not among the bunch. He’d be willing to bet his finest horse that she didn’t even know about the conquest bench. What’s more, he would lay down his entire spread that she’d never set her fine little bottom down and kissed up a Gulf hurricane with one of the locals, either.
Maddie had been too nice and wholesome and respectable for bleacher smooching. And that afternoon at Skeeter’s he’d been wrong to think she was anything but the same sweet girl now.
The proof dangled from Cheryl Louise’s head.
He stared past the top of Maddie’s soft blond hair, that smelled of sweet strawberries and cream, to the group of women sitting nearby.
A drape of white tulle decorated with condom packages sat atop the bride-to-be’s head. Six to be exact. The same brand, same size Maddie had purchased that afternoon. Obviously they hadn’t been meant for her personal use.
A crazy assumption in the first place. Maddie wasn’t the condom type. She was the quiet, mild, I’m-saving-it-all-for-the-man-of-my-dreams kind of girl. Why, she made muffins, for Chrissake! Big, giant, melt-in-your-mouth homemade blueberry muffins. Sure, they couldn’t compete with a bowl of Miss Marshalyn’s candied sweet potatoes, but they came in a close second.
Now that Austin had given up fast times and even faster women, Maddie was exactly his type of woman. On top of that, she was an old friend. The only female, in fact, who’d ever qualified for such a title.
Austin Jericho had never kept company with girls he’d had no sexual interest in. He’d always wanted something from them and they’d wanted something from him—namely a good round of red-hot, breath-stealing sex. Or several rounds.
Not Maddie.
The only thing she’d wanted from him had been his daily homework assignment and his full attention when she was explaining the newest algebra equation.
There’d been no sly glances, no fluttering eyelashes or wandering hands or heaving cleavage. Hell, he’d never even known she had cleavage, thanks to the sacklike flower-print dresses she’d always worn.
Except for that Friday night at the football game. She’d worn a red sweater and blue jeans and he’d actually realized she had a figure. Nice, round hips. Large breasts. But while shapely, the clothes hadn’t been revealing.
Not like what she wore now.
His attention shifted back to her and the enticing display of creamy flesh fully visible above the neckline of her black leather tank top. His gut hollowed for a long moment and his mouth went dry.
Easy, he told himself.
So what if she had visible cleavage? That didn’t mean she’d checked her morals at the door and turned into a bona fide, red-hot, give-it-to-me-now wild woman.
This was Maddie, he reminded himself, drawing a long pull on his beer.
The only girl he’d actually been able to talk to about stuff, like his love of horses and his desperation to do something other than perpetuate his family’s no-good reputation. He hadn’t worried about impressing her or sweeping her off her feet. He’d never even thought about her like that.
Okay, maybe that once, when he’d opened her love letter. But when he’d asked her about it at the football game, she’d sworn that it hadn’t been meant for him. He’d let things go at that, and he’d let her go. He’d walked off with Barbara Mayfield for a wild ride on his Harley and an even wilder ride in the back of her daddy’s old pickup.
His attention snagged on her lips. Soft, full, kissable lips. His heart bucked and his blood rushed and a certain part of his anatomy, a certain hard part, throbbed just thinking about what she would taste like.
“What do you say?” she asked, her sweet voice pushing past the pounding of his heart. “Are you up for a little two-stepping?”
He was up, all right. But his throbbing erection had little to do with dancing and everything to do with Maddie.
It’s Madeline. No one really calls me Maddie anymore.
He could see why. She looked too sophisticated, too sexy, too…hot.
So?
Even if the package looked a little different, this was still Maddie. Nice, wholesome, respectable Maddie.
He smiled, set his beer on the bar and reached for her hand. “Lead the way, darlin’.”
THERE WAS NOTHING NICE, wholesome or respectable about the sexy woman in his arms.
The thought struck him the moment they moved onto the dance floor and she stepped into his arms.
The two-step had faded into a slow, sweet, cryin’ tune that required a little more contact than he’d anticipated. Her arms slid around his neck. Her full breasts pressed against his chest. Her pelvis cradled his, moving against him with a soft, subtle sway that sent a bolt of electricity straight from his hard-on to his brain.
The jolt scrambled his sanity, and instead of pushing her away and running for safety, he pulled her even closer and closed his eyes.
Her hair tickled the underside of his jaw. Her strawberries-and-cream scent filled his head. Her luscious curves pressed against his hard body. Her warmth seeped inside and made his blood rush faster.
His hand slid an inch lower, easing from the small of her back to the swell of her sweet little ass molded by the tight miniskirt. His other hand slid up her back, under the spill of hair to cup the back of her neck. His fingers pressed into her flesh and his thumb drew lazy circles against the tender spot just below her ear. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he heard her sigh—a soft, breathy sound that meant she liked his touch.
That it turned her on. That she wanted more. Right here. Right now.
For a split second, he inched toward her nipple puckered beneath the slick material of her halter top. He wanted desperately to slide his fingers beneath the plunging neckline and tease the ripe tip…
Slow down.
She was not the sort of girl to get busy on the dance floor in front of half the damned town. She was a good girl. Tame rather than wild. He had to slow down and behave himself.
His eyes popped open. He eased his hold and drew back to a respectable distance.
“What’s wrong?” She stared up at him, her green eyes glittering beneath the swirl of colored dance-hall lights. Her forehead wrinkled and he had the sudden urge to reach up and smooth the lines away with his fingertip. “Austin?” Surprise turned to concern. “Are you okay?”
“Um, yeah. I just think we need to slow things down a little.”
