Page 53 of A Baby for the Texas Cowboy
“Legend,” Cruz breathed looking at her phone.
“He’s not really making a picture out of that.” Tinsley wasn’t sure how she felt about the discussion. She wasn’t ashamed. She’d enjoyed being that woman—daring, sexy, show-off, a little scandal-provoking. “Is he?”
“You kidding? This is August you’re talking about. Not shy and not one to miss an opportunity to promote a product.”
“Wow,” Cruz marveled as Catalina looked over her shoulder and munched on a spare rib.
Tinsley’s appetite hadn’t returned to that extent. This much meat made her feel a little queasy, but the cornbread, hush puppies, baked beans and slaw sounded good. Carbs, carbs and more carbs.
Don’t think like that.
“I would have spilled for sure,” Cruz said, holding up the champagne glass as if to toast. “The glass would have fallen to the floor, so here’s to your mad skills. You are a sexy goddess and brought Anders Wolf to his knees and made him look like a love-starved idiot for all eternity.”
“You are reading way too much into the situation,” she objected but felt pleased all the same. “I only did it at the finals last year and as a dare and at the after-party. And it was Wolf brand whiskey of course.”
Somehow that made it sound even sexier.
Cruz pushed play again and they all watched the bartender Whiskey tuck a shot glass in her ample cleavage, dance and work one of her self-designed flair routines to music that had been popular on the tour. She then flipped the bottle up like it was a baton, caught it, poured the shot and let Anders, hands behind his back, take the shot with his teeth and shoot it, his blue eyes burning into hers.
Then they’d both smiled—as if they shared a secret.
“Cheers!” Catalina and Cruz clinked glasses with her. “Take the compliment. Run with it. I want you to teach me how to do that.”
“Okay,” Tinsley said, sitting down beside them and kicking her boots up on the recently delivered gas fire feature.
She’d liked being Whiskey. She’d been fearless. A little naughty. Powerful. Independent. Uncaring of what others thought.
And now she was knocked up by the bull rider she’d publicly let shoot a whiskey shot off her tits. She unexpectedly laughed.
I’m a long way from Greenwich, Connecticut.
She watched Catalina and Cruz dig in, boots kicked off, feet warming by the fire and talking.
Catalina sipped at the sparkling water—grapefruit.
“Don’t make that face,” Cruz warned her.
“I wasn’t making a face.”
“You were,” Tinsley outted her, and she and Cruz laughed.
“It’s bad enough that I can’t unwind with a glass of my own hard labor for the next few months,” she said. “I’m already trying to think of what I want August to bring me after I pop the mini Wolf out—a late harvest wine? A Tempranillo? Bubbles.”
“Bubbles,” Cruz said dreamily. “Definitely.”
“Okay. I know what to bring to the hospital when you push a Stetson-wearing watermelon out of your body.”
“That is such an appealing image, Catalina. Thank you. Why was I bothering to try to be both a supportive sister-in-law and a future sister-in-law?” Cruz huffed.
“I’m not marrying Anders,” Tinsley repeated.
“That’s what I said,” Cruz waved an impressive solitaire in Tinsley’s direction.
“Having an oops is not a reason to marry anymore,” Tinsley was adamant on that point. “We barely know each other.”
“I saw you two together at my wedding. Those steamy looks across the barn and the way Anders watched you like you were the latest Avengers movie in the middle of blood and guts action sequences do not lie.” Cruz sounded matter-of-fact. “And then when he got you out on the dance floor, girl, it was a capital R rating. I thought Axel had moves, but dang girl.” Cruz fanned herself. “I would say that’s knowing each other.”
“That’s not enough to base a marriage on.”
