The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(73)

“What are you going to do with that?” he asked.

“Watch this. Piggy, Piggy, Piggy,” she called out.

The gray kitten perked up her ears and scampered across the floor with the yellow one right on her tail. Jill tossed the bow on the floor, and they attacked it like it was a big red rat, kicking and growling, batting at it and playing tug-of-war with it. She carried the vase into her office and shut the door behind her when she returned.

Sawyer plopped down on the sofa and leaned back, his heart racing and his hands clammy. She slid down beside him, and he drew her close with an arm around her shoulders. “Tired? I’ll gladly take care of the bartending alone if you want to stay in for an evening. If I need someone to throw a pitcher of beer on a couple of bitches, I’ll call. Hey, I never asked. Why did you come to the bar that night anyway? Seemed like after you doused Betsy and Kinsey, we decided we’d best stick together, but why were you even there?”

“I wanted a cold beer, not in a bottle, but in a frosted mug. I’m not so tired that I can’t go to the bar with you, and besides, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“It’s Monday. You know how slow it is on Monday,” he said.

“Not this one. Aunt Gladys told me that the Gallaghers’ cattle is down in Salt Holler, and even though Naomi is a distant relative of Wallace’s, he’s going to make her pay for the grass they’ve eaten and the property they’ve damaged. So it’ll be a busy night with folks comin’ around to see what’s goin’ on next with the feud.”

“Property damage?” He made lazy little circles on her arm with his thumb.

“Says they broke through some hog-wire fences, and he had to round up his hogs. Guess the pig war lives on, even when it’s really cattle,” she said.

“Well, anytime you want to, I’ll take a night at the bar alone. But for the record, I sure like it when you are right there with me.”

One corner of her cute little mouth turned up. “If Kinsey and Betsy found out you were in there all by yourself, they’d take you away from me. And I don’t play well with others.”

“Not damn likely.” He grinned.

She pointed toward the stove. “Look at the children.”

They each had a paw on a section of the frayed and ragged ribbon, as if protecting their interests while they slept.

“Play hard. Sleep hard,” Sawyer said.

“Like babies. Too bad the Gallaghers and Brennans haven’t learned to play well with others and then plop down and fall asleep,” she said. “Got to get changed into my barroom hussy clothes. I left my bra hanging on the doorknob over in your room.”

He held his breath when she stood up and headed in that direction.

“Oh my!” Her hand shot up and covered her mouth.

Then there was silence. He waited and waited, started to get up twice, and then sat back down. His hands got all clammy again and his pulse quickened. He waited for laughter at the poem or at least some reaction. But there was nothing for five of the longest minutes he’d ever spent in his life.

*

Jill touched each daisy. They were so bright and beautiful, lying there on the bed as if they’d grown from the stitches that held the quilt together. Then she found the poem and sat down in the rocking chair to read. It was both funny and sweet, tugging at her heartstrings when it talked about how she made every morning as bright as the blue daisy, that the sun was brighter than the yellow ones, and that all he had to do was look across the room at her and she filled his heart with so much color there weren’t words to describe it.

Tears ran down her eyes and dripped onto the ink, smearing when she tried to wipe it. When she looked up, Sawyer filled the doorway.

“This is the sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” she said.

“I didn’t mean for you to cry.”

“I know, but it’s so damn sweet. Now help me gather up these daisies before they wilt. There’s enough for the kitchen table and the coffee table and for the nightstand beside your bed. I want them everywhere, so I can see them no matter where I am,” she said.

Together they picked up the flowers. “I saw some of those half-pint jars in the cabinet. We’ll divide them into three bouquets. They are so bright and pretty, Sawyer. The colors remind me of sunsets. There’s nothing more beautiful than a Texas sunset or sunrise. And I’m framing this poem and keeping it forever,” she said.

“You won’t let anyone else read it, will you? It’s kind of corny.”

She tiptoed and pressed her lips against his. Their hands were filled with flowers, so they couldn’t touch each other, but the kiss was deep and sweet at the same time.

“I wouldn’t share this with anyone, Sawyer. It’s personal, and it’s mine. I’ll put it on the nightstand beside my bed. I love it, and I love the flowers.”

She stopped short of saying that she loved him. Words were words, and they needed to be heard, but she didn’t want to say them until she was absolutely sure that she meant every single one.

*

She laughed. “You are a prophet.”

The parking lot at the Burnt Boot Bar and Grill already had a dozen trucks, and there were people huddled up next to the door, waiting to get inside.

He smiled. “I told you so.”

“This isn’t even normal for Friday and Saturday.” She pulled the keys to the bar from her purse. “Get ready. If they’re here this early, it means they’ll want food as well as beer and whiskey.”