The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(83)

His tongue teased her mouth open, and his hands dropped to cup her rounded butt. His belt buckle pressed into her stomach, but she didn’t care. Her hand tangled itself into his thick dark hair, holding his head steady so she could deepen the kiss even more. His hands circled her waist, and her feet left the floor as he sat her on the workstation behind the bar. Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist and held him tight.

They both heard the truck doors slamming outside at the same time, and she dropped her hands and her legs, slid off the bar, and set about refilling the red-cup dispenser. Sawyer threw two meat patties on the grill, along with a double handful of chopped onions.

Everything but their speeding heartbeats was normal when the door flew open and more than a dozen folks from Wild Horse Ranch claimed either bar stools or tables.

“Man, I miss the days when all I did was ranch and worry about new baby calves or whether the hay crop would be good,” Jill said.

“Me too,” Sawyer said. “Come spring, I vote we hire help for the bar.”

“Got anyone in mind?”

“I do. My cousin Rhett is lookin’ to get away from Comfort. He’s a damn fine rancher, but he’s single, and I don’t think he’d mind workin’ the bar. We’ll have to talk to Gladys and Polly though.”

“Does he look like you?” Jill asked as she filled pitchers with beer and took money.

“You can tell we’re cousins, but he’s a wild cowboy, not a tame one. He’s got a ponytail, rides a motorcycle, and has a longhorn tat across his shoulders.”

“You think you’re a tame one?”

“Compared to Rhett, I am.”

“Hey, Sawyer, I disagree with that,” Betsy said from the end bar stool.

“With what?” Jill asked.

“I think with the right cowgirl, Sawyer could be one wild ride,” she said.

Jill ignored the remark. “What are you drinking?”

“We need two pitchers of beer and six cups over at our table. Sawyer, we’ll take six cheeseburger baskets with extra fries,” Betsy said. “And, darlin’, anytime you want to quit all this extra-duty shit and just ranch to your little old cowboy heart’s delight, you jump the fence over onto Wild Horse, and I promise you can ranch all you want to.”

Jill set the pitchers on the bar and made change for the bills Betsy handed her. It would have been so easy to accidentally knock the beer over in her lap, but Jill figured between her and Sawyer, they’d meddled enough. Let the chips fall where they would; she was done with the whole lot of the pig war. What was it Granny used to tell her?

Oh, yes. She shuddered as she remembered the quote. Those who stir in the shit pot should have to lick the spoon.

“Poor old Rhett,” Sawyer mumbled.

“What about Rhett?”

“I just feel sorry for him if he does come to Burnt Boot. He won’t have a pretty little redhead to watch his back. He’ll be on his own with these women swooping down on him like buzzards after roadkill,” Sawyer said.

“Maybe Betsy will be his pretty little redhead.”

Sawyer shook his head emphatically. “They’re too much alike. They’d kill each other in an afternoon.”

The bar was surprisingly Brennan-free all evening. There were plenty of Gallaghers and other folks to keep it busy for a Monday night, enough that Jill was dragging when she got back to the bunkhouse that night. Sawyer sank down on the sofa, and she joined him. Piggy and Chick came out from under the kitchen table where they’d been putting the fear of two kittens into a rolled-up ball of socks. She picked them both up and handed the yellow one to Sawyer.

“They need some attention before we fall asleep,” she said.

Sawyer scratched the kitten’s ears. “Let’s put up a sign that says the Gallaghers can come in the bar on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The Brennans can do business with us on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Same with the store.”

“For that, we do hereby, being sane of mind and too tired to screw each other’s brains out tonight, shall promise that we will stay away from Wild Horse and River Bend. If they shall, being almost sane of mind, do hereby promise to never kidnap or flirt with us again, we will give our solemn word before God and both these kittens to never delve into retail therapy in retaliation again, heretofore and all that bullshit. Signed Jillian Cleary and Sawyer O’Donnell.”

Sawyer chuckled down deep in his chest. “Who says I’m that tired?”

“You might not be, but I am. I’m taking a shower and going to bed,” she said.

“Whose bed?”

“Mine. It’s supposed to be raining in the morning, and it’ll take us twice as long to do our ranchin’ chores. I don’t want to have to get up after two hours of sleep and kick hay bales or work with fifty-pound bags of feed.”

“Wow, girlfriend, you sure put a lot of faith in my ability. It’s midnight. You think I could last for three or four hours?”

She put the gray kitten in his lap, kissed him on the cheek, and headed for the shower. “I don’t have a doubt in my mind.”

Sawyer leaned his head back on the sofa. Try as hard as he might, he could not keep the grin from his face.





Chapter 26


That Sunday morning was as cold as a mother-in-law’s kiss, but there was no wind rattling through the mesquite. With layers of warm clothing and warm sunshine, it didn’t seem as cold as the thermometer on the side of the bunkhouse said it was.