Page 2 of Love Me, Cowboy

Or so Mary Catherine had lamented during an angry phone rant fueled by sisterly love and concern for a little brother hell-bent on pursuing the most dangerous occupation around.

“What are you doing here, Claire?” Tyler asked. If he was surprised to see her, it didn’t show. Which seemed odd since she’d managed to avoid him for the entire four months she’d been back in Holly Hills. Before returning to her hometown, Claire had spent a five-year stint in College Station after graduating from A&M.

“I’m delivering desserts for the lingerie party.” This statement would forever be catalogued as one of the strangest things she’d ever said. But then this entire conversation could also land in that category.

“Are people supposed to eat off your sweater?” One side of his mouth tilted up in that crooked grin that had been curling Claire’s toes since high school.

Once again aware of her predicament, Claire glanced down. “Now what am I going to do?” she said, pulling a tart off her stomach with as much dignity as she could muster. “I can’t go to work like this, and there’s no time to go home and change.”

She glanced up to find a smile on Tyler’s chiseled face. The scar had taken him from beautiful to ruggedly handsome. Claire cringed at the thought of the pain he must have endured.

“Maybe I can help with that,” he said. “There’s a clean flannel in the truck. You’re welcome to it.”

“A flannel?” she asked.

Another one-shoulder shrug. “It’s free of cherry filling, so it’s an improvement over what you’ve got now.”

Claire considered her options, which were, as Tyler pointed out: spend the day looking like a walking baking accident or wear a shirt that likely smelled like the cowboy offering it up. Which would provide her the option of being presentable while giving her flashbacks she didn’t need.

After a quick deliberation, Claire proved to be her mother’s daughter, choosing the presentable option. She clung to the hope that the shirt would smell like nothing more than run-of-the-mill laundry detergent.

“If you really don’t mind, I’ll take the offer. But I need to hurry.” She glanced at her watch, turning it toward the rising sun. “I’ll barely make it if I leave right now.”

Tyler hopped off the tailgate, landing close enough for Claire to feel the heat coming off his body. Tilting her head back to see his face, a memory flashed of the long-ago night they’d spent making love in Tyler’s bed. A night neither had spoken of since.

Claire nearly swayed toward him, but common sense, or maybe some kind of survival instinct, kicked in and she stepped back.

Tyler cleared his throat and proceeded to his driver’s side door.

Claire kept her eyes on the burnt orange streaks spreading across the eastern sky. The sun was high enough now to see the mess surrounding her. And covering her. Making sure the brown tank top remained low over her waist, Claire pulled her arms out of the sleeves and lifted the heavy wool sweater over her head.

When the material cleared her face, she looked up to find Tyler staring at her, flannel in hand, mouth open, eyes dark as emeralds. The last time he’d seen her, Claire had been forty pounds heavier. She’d yet to adjust to the new body and the attention it garnered. Though none of the looks she’d gotten so far had sent her libido into overdrive the way Tyler’s did in that moment.

She hugged the sweater to her chest. “This is going to sound weird, but could you turn around?”

He didn’t respond for several seconds, then seemed to snap back to reality. “Yeah. Sure. Sorry.”

Tyler dropped his eyes to the ground, handed Claire the flannel, then turned as she’d asked. She knew the request was ridiculous, as Tyler had seen her naked before. Something Claire would gladly forget if only her brain would let her.

But that had been nothing but drunken pity sex, or so she reminded herself. Some called alcohol liquid courage, but Claire had since considered it humiliation hooch.

Squeezing the sweater between her knees, Claire pulled on the flannel, which hung well past her waist. Modest by nature, even she knew wearing the shirt loose was too dowdy. She compromised, buttoning the first four buttons, then tying the bottom half into a knot.

“Okay,” she said, after making sure everything was covered. “You can turn around now.”

Tyler turned his head first, then the rest of him, smiling all the way. “Looks good.” For a moment, his cheeks looked pinker than usual. Claire chalked it up to the colorful sunrise.

“I’ll be sure and wash it before I give it back. I don’t know when that will be, but I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon, what with the wedding and all.” She was babbling. A nervous habit Claire had never managed to control. “Speaking of, I bet it’s going to be crazy for the next couple weeks. All the family in town and the parties and showers. Lots of family and parties.”

Why couldn’t she stop talking? It was as if her mouth had gone rogue.

Ignoring her prattling, Tyler said, “You should probably get on the road.”

“Yes, I should!” Claire hesitated. “But what about this mess?”

“You go on,” he said, spinning her by the shoulders. “I’ve got this.” He gave her a gentle push. “I’ll let Marilyn’s Pomeranian have at it and this will be gone in no time. If we’re lucky, the little puffball will throw up purple frosting on the stepmonster’s white rug.”

So Tyler’s feelings about his stepmother hadn’t changed any more than his sister’s had over the years. Marilyn Holly fancied herself some sort of royalty for having landed a spot in the family for which their hometown had been named. Most of Holly Hills ignored her highfalutin ways, but that was harder to do when the woman was married to your father.

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