The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(39)

“Aunt Gladys called me with the same news.” She pulled the milk from the refrigerator and carried it to the table, along with two glasses.

“Do you care if they’re having roasted chicken for supper next door?” he asked.

She poured milk and slid a glass toward his end of the table. “I do not.”

“Then let’s both turn off the phones, make the sofa out into a bed, throw our pillows and quilts on it…”

“And,” she finished his sentence, “turn on the television to something totally boring for the noise, and sleep all afternoon. But why on the sofa and not in our own beds?”

“Television noise will be louder in the living area. It’ll block out everything. I vote for the sports channel. There’s a golf game on this afternoon.”

“You don’t like golf.”

“No, ma’am. I like football, baseball, and basketball, and I like to play those, not watch them on television.”

“Me too.” She nodded.

“Play or watch?”

“Play, but not today. Pull out the sofa. Do we need to put a pillow in the middle, like they used to do in the old days to discourage hanky-panky?” she asked.

“Honey, my hanky-panky is drooping. If you want that, you’ll have to wait until later.” He grinned.

They quickly finished their snack, and while she went to get her pillow and quilt, he tossed the sofa cushions on the floor and pulled the bed out. It was covered with a dark-green flannel sheet that looked soft and inviting.

“Hey, where did you get that?” Jill pointed at the fleece-lined soft blanket he carried to the living room.

“Christmas present from my sister,” he answered. “Your phone turned off? Mine is.”

“Turned off and shoved to the bottom of my purse. And Aunt Gladys said that she’s giving us Sunday off from now on. Starting this evening, she’ll take care of chores.”

She picked up the remote and turned on the television, hit the channel button a couple of times until she found a station showing golf. The sports announcer’s tone was a soft monologue—perfect sleeping noise. Before she could lay the remote on the end table, Sawyer was already snoring.

Who needed television? His snores would block out a nuclear attack on Fiddle Creek. She eased down on her side of the sofa and was asleep seconds after her head hit the pillow. At dusk she awoke with Sawyer curled around her back, one arm thrown over her waist and both of them covered with his soft blanket.

*

“Was that as good for you as it was for me?” he murmured when she wiggled out of his embrace.

“Sleep, yes. But if you were having some kind of wicked dream, sorry, partner, I didn’t share it with you.” She yawned.

He sat up, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and pointed at the television. “Wouldn’t you love to be there right now?” He blocked out the golf game and pictured a beach with enough roll to the ocean to make it pretty, the wind barely blowing, and Jill in a bikini, lying beside him on the white sand.

She pulled herself up to a sitting position and leaned over to retrieve her quilt that had fallen on the floor. The sports announcer said something about the score in that same whispery-soft voice, and she frowned. “Just how long does it take to play a game, anyway?”

“This is a different one than we started off with earlier,” he answered. “This one is in Miami.”

“How do you know? You were asleep before I found the station with the first one.”

“I woke up when you stole more than your half of my blanket. You didn’t answer my question. Already acting like a wife because we’ve slept together,” he said.

“We did not sleep together, and, yes, I’d love to be anywhere away from this feud, even Miami,” she argued.

“We did sleep together, and I had to snuggle up to you to even get a corner of my blanket. And why did you say even Miami? You don’t like it?” He crossed his fingers behind his back like he had when he was a child. Truth was, he’d awakened at four and wanted to be close to her, so he’d snuggled up to her back and draped an arm around her.

“I love the beach, but I don’t like that many people.”

“Me either. Been there with the rodeo crew a few times, but I like less people too,” he said.

She turned over, and their faces were just inches apart. “So you did the rodeo tour?”

“My cousin did, and we followed it when we could. I tried riding bulls and broncs, but I wasn’t star quality.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows. “My expertise lies in other areas.”

“Sawyer O’Donnell!”

“Your mind is in the gutter.”

“Yours isn’t?” she asked.

“No, it is not. I have several cousins who were rodeo folks, so I know star quality when I see it. I found my niche, though. I usually got a gig as the rodeo clown.”

She laughed. “Well, I can sure see that.”

“So scratch off Miami for the honeymoon?”

“What honeymoon?” she asked.

“Ours, darlin’. Gladys will make me marry you, since we’ve slept together.”

She put her finger over his lips. “If you don’t tell, I won’t.”





Chapter 12