The Trouble with Texas Cowboys (Burnt Boot, Texas #2)(88)

“Hey, look here,” she said.

Sawyer whipped around, and she snapped a picture of him with her phone. “Mama wants to know what you look like. I’m sending this to them right now.”

“What brought that on?” Sawyer asked. “We were talking about Rhett.”

“I’m going to be occupying a bunkhouse with two cowboys. Mama is not going to be happy about that. I’m sending her a picture of you now, so she can get used to the idea of what you look like, before I send her one of Rhett with a tat and a ponytail.” Jill poked the right buttons to shoot the photograph through cyberspace.

Sawyer parked the tractor and helped Jill down to the ground, drawing her closely to his side with one arm, kissing her cold lips, and taking a selfie picture with the other hand.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“My family has seen pictures of you, darlin’. I’m sendin’ this one to Rhett, so he knows before he gets here that you belong to me,” Sawyer said.

“Your family,” she gasped. “When did you take pictures to send them?”

“Which time?”

“You sent more than one?”

He chuckled. “Well, there was one day I only sent one.”

“Sawyer, are you joking?”

He shook his head and took her hand in his, pulling her toward the bunkhouse. “I promise I did not take any of you in my bed or in any other compromising situation. But you were so darn cute in that outfit you wore when we bought the cast-iron pan that I took several in the antique store. And there’s some of you taking the roses to the office room and playing with the kittens.”

“How…?”

“You thought I was texting.” He grinned.

“And?”

“Mama says that she can’t believe I’ve fallen for a redhead. Daddy thinks you are cute, and Rhett, well, he needs to know that he hasn’t got a chance.” Sawyer removed his coat and hat and helped Jill with hers. “How about hot chocolate while we spend some quality time with Miss Piggy and Miss Chickadee? Then we’ll go to the store a couple of hours early and make Gladys take Polly home. She’ll be tired by then.”

“The cats’ names have evolved. They sound like hookers in an animated movie.” She laughed. “Is it the truth? Have you fallen for me, Sawyer O’Donnell?”

“Yes, Jill Cleary, head over boots, I’ve fallen for you.” He brushed another kiss across her lips and headed to the kitchen.

She snapped half a dozen pictures of him, one of nothing more than that tight butt as it walked away from her. “Paybacks,” she said when he looked over his shoulder and she took another one.

“Just remember that I can do the same thing.” He turned around quickly, ran toward her like a football tackle, and without slowing down, picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. “Forget the chocolate. We’ll get warm another way.”

“Hmmm. Chocolate or sex? Which one?” She cupped his face in her hands.

“You decide.” His dark eyes fluttered shut, and she barely had time to moisten her dry, still-cold lips before he found them.

No contest. Chocolate took a backseat.

*

The bar was so slow on Friday night that time practically stood still. They opened at six, and the first customer arrived at seven. He was a middle-aged fellow from across the river, who just wanted to sit in the corner, nurse a couple of double shots, and listen to a dollar’s worth of old Hank Williams tunes before he called it a night at eight thirty. The next customer that wandered in was Hart Gallagher, who’d gotten tired of the church party. He bought a pitcher of beer and plunked quarters into the jukebox.

“Bet you he’s playin’ beer-drinkin’ songs because he’s got the hots for a Brennan woman and he can’t have her,” Sawyer whispered to Jill.

“It’s pretty plain that something has his mind in a twist,” Jill agreed.

Sawyer was right. For the next hour, the jukebox spit out sad songs while Hart finished off his beer.

Gladys called at ten to tell them the party was winding down but that it had been a success. “Everyone had a wonderful time, and the potluck was great.”

“Mavis and Naomi?” Jill asked.

“Sat on different sides of the fellowship hall all evening, surrounded by their grandchildren and children. They didn’t kiss and make up, but they didn’t start a food fight, so I guess it was a draw where the pig war is concerned. I really don’t know what else they could do anyway,” Gladys answered.

“Aunt Polly worn out?”

“Yes, but she won’t admit it,” Gladys said. “She wants to know how things are going there.”

“Two customers all evening. Couple of double shots of Jim Beam and a pitcher of beer is all we’ve sold. Won’t even have to sweep the floors. If Aunt Polly had brought the decorations down here from her house, we could have the place ready for tomorrow.”

“Polly says for y’all to shut it down and go home. Tomorrow is going to make up for tonight, and you need your rest.”

“Yes, ma’am. You don’t have to beg me to shut the doors tonight,” Jill said.

*

“Mama, please tell me I didn’t wake you.” Jill shut her eyes and could picture her mother. Tall, thin, and blond. Big doe-colored eyes and a smile that was a dental record.