One Texas Cowboy Too Many (Burnt Boot, Texas #3)(23)

“Oh, I’m going to torture you all right, Betsy Gallagher. You are going to walk through this shit to the bed of my truck, where you will ride in the back of it because I don’t want a Gallagher inside it.”

She opened the door and set her fancy boots down in two inches of brown matter that made her snarl. “I hate you, Declan. I hope when you come back that you fall in this and it gets all inside your truck.”

“Feelin’ is mutual,” Declan said.

Betsy stepped on the running board of the truck, slung a leg over the side of the bed, and settled in with her back propped right under the window. Declan’s tires slipped when he first tried to drive away, but he eased off the gas and finally got enough traction to disappear into the darkness.

“Now what?” Rhett asked.

“When Declan gets back, he’ll take you home to Fiddle Creek and then me to the house. We can’t clean this up until morning,” Leah said. “Your truck is probably totaled. I’ll have the guys haul it to a barn and spray it off. You can send your insurance people here to assess the damage.”

“No good deed goes unpunished.”

“I’m sorry, Rhett, but it’s the Gallaghers’ fault, not mine.”

“Who burned down their school?” he asked.

She raised her right hand. “Probably the Brennans, but honest to God, I did not know anything about it.”

“Someone is going to get hurt before this is over.”

She nodded in agreement. “They have in the past. Back when it first started, there were actual killings and hangings. Nowadays, there might be property damage, but no one has been killed since Rayford Brennan died back in 1900.”

“What was his great sin?”

“He fell in love with a Gallagher, and when she wound up pregnant, the Gallaghers hanged him and sent her to California. She died giving birth to the baby and it died with her.”

Rhett draped an arm around her shoulders. “And the Brennans retaliated?”

“We always do.”

“That mean this isn’t the end of this?” he asked.

“That’s what it means. Granny will literally rain down hell upon Naomi Gallagher. And then she’ll do something back and it’ll go on for months. The dust from the last battle has barely settled. Betsy is right—this will be known as the shit war.”

“Even in polite company?” he asked.

“Then it will be the toilet war.” She sighed. “I didn’t think anything could be worse than the pig war, but this will top it for sure.”

He drew her even closer. “Or maybe the Holy Shit War.”

She chuckled. “It’s not funny.”

“Got to laugh or you’ll cry.”

“I can hear the jokes now, and they are going to fuel Granny’s anger.” She sighed.

“I’m sorry, Leah. You don’t seem to be the feudin’ type to me. Now, Betsy is another story, and so are Honey and Kinsey. But you have an old soul that likes peace and order, not chaos and craziness.”

She looked up into his eyes. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s the way I see it.”

“Don’t know about an old soul, but I do like peace. I don’t want to be the next Brennan queen. I want to teach school and enjoy the kids. I want to settle down sometime in the not-to-distant future with a man who loves me like I am and who doesn’t want to change me. I want to grow a vegetable garden and roses, and read books in the summer while my kids romp around in the yard with a water hose and spray each other. I want peace and order in my life, and as long as this feud is going, I’ll never have it because I’m a Brennan. But I hate this feud.”

He kissed her on the forehead. “Maybe someday you won’t be a Brennan anymore.”

“Might as well wish for the moon and all the stars,” she mumbled.

Their noses twitched less as they grew accustomed to the horrible aroma. With the windows rolled up and the engine turned off, they were in their own little cocoon, even if it wasn’t a pleasant one. Rhett liked the way that Leah fit in his arms, especially when he sunk his nose into her hair and got a whiff of coconut shampoo, barroom smoke, and the faint scent of beer.

With his fist, he tipped her chin up, and then he lowered his lips until they covered hers in a passionate kiss that fogged the windows of the truck. That lead to another long, lingering kiss with the fingers of his right hand tangling into her hair to hold her head steady for more leverage. His left hand splayed out on her back, and he could feel the strap of her bra. He found himself hoping for a time when they could shed the confinement of clothing and he could feel her bare skin against his.

Her arms snaked up around his neck, her hand undoing the rubber band holding the ponytail in place.

“I love your dark hair. Don’t ever cut it off,” she said.

“I love your blond hair. I won’t get a buzz cut if you leave yours long.” He strung kisses from her forehead to her eyelids, to the tip of her nose, and down the sensitive skin on the side of her neck.

*

Drawing even closer to him, she shifted her weight until she was sitting in his lap with the steering wheel against her back. She traced the tat on his arm with her forefinger and asked. “Want to tell me about this while we wait?”

“It’s not a third date yet.” He grinned and then kissed her again.