Bull By The Horns [Wayback Texas] Page 3

  The song ended just when she was starting to feel the burn in her thighs, but still she regretted leaving the floor, leaving his side. The crowd thinned as another upbeat song played and Taylor turned to her, hand outstretched, eyebrows lifted hopefully.

  She backed away in horror at the fast beat. “I can't."

  Regret slackened his features, and she was sorry to disappoint him. Then she saw one of the most graceful women in town at the edge of the dance floor, surrounded by men pleading for a dance, and Lavender pointed Taylor in Roxie's direction.

  "She's a good dancer. Go ask her."

  He looked skeptical, but apparently the music was getting to him, so he strolled over, reached through the crowd of men for Roxie and pulled her through them to swing into his arms.

  Lavender burned with jealousy that she couldn't be Roxie, and then she just watched.

  Roxie was as tall as Taylor, gorgeous and built, the snug clothes she wore following the line of her perfect body, her long red hair swinging behind her. Taylor curved his hand just above her waist and took her hand in his other, feet already moving in quick steps. Roxie matched him for only a few measures before Taylor took her in a series of quick spins in the middle of the floor before whipping her out and then back into his arms. Roxie threw back her head and laughed, and he rolled her away again, guiding her in complicated turns before pulling her back and circling with her around the floor. Their feet moved in perfect time, perfect rhythm, and Lavender marveled at how well they read each other. The floor had cleared significantly, many dancers joining her on the edge to watch. She couldn't tear her eyes away. He swung Roxie around and tucked her against his side so they circled facing the same direction before he whirled her back to face him just as the song ended.

  Lavender was breathless, just watching them, and they parted, grinning. Taylor held out his hand to invite her for another dance, but Roxie shook her head.

  "Roxie's rules. Only one dance,” the redhead said, but Lavender thought there was regret in her friend's eyes when she turned to another partner.

  Taylor turned toward Lavender then, and she realized with a jolt that he must think she was waiting for him. It was too late now to bolt back to her seat, though, so she stood, mortified, till he reached her.

  "You dance so well,” she managed.

  "Thanks. Makes me thirsty.” He tucked his hand at the small of her back and guided her to the bar.

  She cast a wild-eyed glance at her colleagues, who all gave her double-thumbs up. Approval was not what she was looking for. She needed rescue.

  Taylor edged sideways through the crush at the bar, anchored his elbow on the edge and looked back at her. “What'll you have?"

  "I left my purse.” She motioned to her table and sent another “help me” look to Laurie, who just grinned.

  "I've got it.” His tone was a touch impatient. “What do you want?"

  When was the last time she'd even had alcohol? She had no idea what to order. She tried to remember what the other ladies were drinking but her mind was blank.

  "Whatever you're having,” she said finally.

  He nodded his approval and ordered two Shiners. He paid and extricated himself from the crowd before handing her a bottle. “You don't want a glass or anything, do you?"

  She shook her head and took a sip of the cool dark beer. No tables were available, and she didn't want to take him back to the table with the other teachers, so she leaned against a post and wondered how to escape.

  "I didn't think I'd see you here,” he said. “I thought you had someone waiting for you at home.” His attention turned to suspicion. “It's not a cat or something, is it? And you just used it as an excuse not to have dinner with me?"

  She lowered her gaze guiltily. “My grandmother. Why? Do I look like a cat lady?"

  He reached over and brushed some cat hair off her fitted dark top.

  "I thought I got all that,” she murmured, and was surprised she didn't feel embarrassed that he saw her lack of perfection. “I didn't plan to come, but some of my friends invited me. And after a field trip, this is really good.” She motioned with her beer and took another sip.

  A corner of his mouth twitched. She really liked that twitch. “Want to dance?” he asked.

  "Oh, I'm not—you saw me out there."

  "Yeah, but this is the two-step. You're a Texas girl, right? You know how to two-step."

  "Really, not well."

  But he didn't take no for an answer. He took her beer and set it on a shelf on the post she'd been leaning on, then folded her hand in his and led her to the floor. Her heart hammered. This would not be good. She was going to make a fool of herself in front of everyone. She sucked in a breath as Taylor turned her into his arms, his hand settling lower than it had on Roxie.

  Which meant their bodies were closer and she could smell him, warm and musky and male and good. Then they started moving and while she tried to picture herself as Roxie, she just couldn't match his steps, even though this song was nowhere near the speed of the one he'd shared with the redhead.

  "Why don't you let me lead?” he bent his head to ask, a teasing note in his voice.

  Embarrassment flooded her in a wave.

  "Feel my hand. Let your feet follow."

  Easier said than done. She stumbled after him. He slowed and simplified his steps, but the damage was done. She was mortified, but he wouldn't let her escape. His patience only made it worse.

  She'd never been so glad for a song to end. She broke away, not meeting his eyes.

  "Thanks for the beer."

  "Where you going?"

  "I'm more tired than I thought. I ... Thank you.” She turned and wove through tables to where Melissa sat alone. Laurie and Jerri were dancing. She unlooped her purse from the back of her chair, made her excuses and bolted from the Blue Bug Saloon.

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  Chapter Four

  Ah, yes, another exciting Friday afternoon grocery shopping at the Dixie Pig with her grandmother. Gertrude Cates insisted on the weekly outing to beat the Saturday crowds. Lavender hadn't really minded until today. She wanted to be anywhere but in public.

  Jerri, Melissa and Laurie had been waiting for her when she got to school this morning and she'd cursed herself for not giving into the desire to take a personal day. But that would have been the coward's way out and she'd used up her allotment of coward last night.

  "Where'd you run off to last night?” Jerri had asked.

  "You looked completely freaked out,” Melissa added. “What did he do to you?"

  Nothing. She hadn't given him time to do anything. She'd berated herself all night, consoling herself that she'd never see him again.

  Lavender had turned away and unlocked her classroom door. “I hadn't realized how tired I was."

  "You didn't look tired. You looked upset. Like he'd upset you."

  "I just felt ridiculous,” Lavender admitted, though saying it aloud made her sick. She didn't know these women well enough to know if they'd hold her confession against her, but clearly they weren't going to leave her alone till she said something. “He's so young and he bought me a beer and was flirting with me. I felt like he was making fun of me."

  "Why would he do that?” Laurie asked, her tone shrill with concern.

  "It was just a feeling."

  Melissa shook her head. “He asked me to dance and didn't buy me a beer. He asked me about you."

  Lavender reddened. God only knew what Melissa told him, and she didn't want to ask. She didn't want to read anything into his curiosity. She was never going to see him again, remember? And if she wondered what he saw in her, didn't they? She'd never been so glad to hear the bell signaling the start of classes.

  She lost her grandmother in the store, which was a trick since it was only six aisles. She was pretty sure she'd left her back in the jelly aisle trying to decide if she wanted to buy a new flavor or stick with the same strawberry preserves she always bought. She'd get the preserves
. Gertrude Cates was the one member of her family who acted with any kind of predictability.

  Lavender turned her cart back around, her list done, and her heart jolted when she saw a lean cowboy surrounded by several older women, including her grandmother.

  Gertrude's voice carried down the aisle as she gestured to Taylor's hand basket. “What kind of meal do you think you're eating there? That's nothing for a growing boy to eat—no nutrition at all."

  Despite her better judgment, Lavender crept closer to see what products had earned Gertrude's ire. Macaroni and cheese, beanie weenies—she didn't even know they made those anymore—Pop Tarts. She was right. He was a child.

  "Now, ma'am, I'm fully grown.” Taylor's deep voice carried, too, and hit a chord in Lavender that had her vibrating with an energy she didn't want to name.

  "You'll hardly stay healthy enough eating like that. What you need is a good home cooked meal,” one of Gertrude's friends, Corrinna, chided.

  "It's been awhile since I've had one of those,” he admitted.

  "Gertrude is a very good cook,” another friend, Fiona, chimed in. “And she's training her granddaughter to do the same. You can't find many young women who like to cook these days."

  Old busybody. Where was she going with this?

  "Granddaughter, hm?” And as if he'd known she'd been standing behind him the whole time, Taylor turned and smiled, not even bothering to look surprised. “Hey, where'd you run off to last night?"

  Past him, Gertrude stiffened.

  "I was more tired than I thought after that field trip.” Lavender approached cautiously, not sure who to be more wary of. Maybe he'd buy her excuse even though the other teachers hadn't.

  His gaze traveled lazily over her. “All rested now?"

  She lifted her chin and pushed her hair back, aware of the trio of elderly ladies watching. “Yes, teaching a roomful of five-year-olds is better than yoga."

  He laughed. “I hear you're a good cook."

  She used every ounce of concentration not to blush. “I am a very good cook."

  "As you can see,” he lifted his basket for her inspection. “I am not. These ladies seem to believe you'll cook for me."

  When she looked into those grey eyes, she couldn't form the word “no.” Where had that word disappeared to? Instead, she said, “Do you like lasagna?"

  * * * *

  "You know that boy?” Gertrude demanded once they'd brought the groceries into the house. She was too much of a lady to contradict Lavender's invitation once issued, but she was upset.

  "I met him at the rodeo yesterday. He showed us his horse."

  "And he's the reason you wanted to go out last night even though you never go out with your friends."

  She didn't even have friends, really, but didn't say so. “Yes, ma'am.” No point in lying now.

  "And you told him to finagle an invitation to dinner?"

  "No, ma'am!” Lavender set the canned tomatoes on the counter with a thunk. “I don't know how he knew that we'd be there."

  "But you think he was there for you?"

  Lavender turned to put the butter in the refrigerator. “That would be arrogant of me, wouldn't it?"

  "Lavender, you know what kind of people those rodeo riders are. People who can't settle down, who shake the dust off their feet when they leave a town."

  "Like my parents.” Her tone was sharper than she intended, and pain creased her grandmother's face.

  "You've been hurt enough by that type. Why would you think about getting involved with these people?"

  Because she'd stopped being a victim a long time ago, and had learned to appreciate her life, filling all the holes. “I'm not involved with anyone. I danced with him. Once. And not well."

  "I saw the way he looked at you, Lavender."

  "I'm not responsible for that. And you're the one inviting strange men to dinner, so either help or get out of the kitchen."

  Gertrude eyed the lasagna ingredients on the counter, then propped her hands on her hips. “You're better at the Italian than me.” And she got out of the kitchen.

  There hadn't been a man in the house since ... well, unless you counted the plumber, who was in his fifties and putting two kids through college, or the air conditioning guy, who was younger than her, happily married to his high school sweetheart and had four kids ... since she couldn't remember. Or wouldn't remember. Even if there were available men in Wayback, other than the transient cowboys, she didn't have a place for them.

  Lavender was studying the cabinet, trying to decide what to make for dessert and thinking about how nice it was to cook for someone else for a change when a quiet knock came at the kitchen door. She leaned back to look around the open cabinet door and saw Taylor standing on the other side of the screen, a pink bakery box in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other.

  "I hope you haven't made dessert,” he said, brushing past her as she held the screen door open for him.

  He smelled delicious, the scent she'd noticed last night layered beneath Ivory soap, shaving cream—was there a more delicious smell?—and shampoo. And that was beyond the rich scent of chocolate coming from the box.

  "I was just trying to figure out what to make. You didn't have to bring anything."

  "Good manners, right? And when I passed by the bakery, I saw this cake.” He set it down on the counter and motioned for her to open it.

  She untaped it gingerly and peeled back the top to reveal a fudge coated layer cake.

  "Mm. Big sweet tooth?” She smiled.

  "Oh, yeah."

  "Well, I hope you have enough room after my lasagna.” She nodded toward the noodles boiling on the stove, the sauce cooking beside it.

  "What can I do to help?"

  "You don't have to."

  "Lavender.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just because I'm a guy doesn't mean I'm helpless in the kitchen. What can I do to help?"

  She slipped out of his reach, watched the strands of hair fall from his fingertips, then sucked in a deep breath to focus. “Can you grate cheese?"

  He eased back, relaxed in victory. “I can do that."

  She gathered the supplies he'd need, grateful. She hated to grate cheese, always worried about scraping her fingers on the grater.

  Taylor, however, used it with confident, long strokes. His hands mesmerized her.

  "Why don't you use a food processor?” he asked.

  "I hate cleaning it."

  She stirred the sauce, then got salad ingredients from the fridge, and checked the noodles. Good, they were ready. Removing them with her tongs, she began layering them into the pan.

  "So did you know who Gertrude was when you started talking to her?"

  "Who's Gertrude?” He placed the bowl of cheese on the counter beside her and hefted the head of Romaine. “What do you want me to do with this?"

  "Rinse it, then you can start tearing it into the bowl on the top of the refrigerator there. Gertrude is my grandmother. Did you know that when you started talking to her?"

  "No, I didn't know who she was. And she and her friends started talking to me."

  "Ah."

  "I did know you would be there, though."

  She whipped around to look at him. “Are you kidding?"

  "No. Everyone knows you shop after school on Friday. I wanted to find you and apologize for whatever I did to upset you last night."

  She rested a hip against the counter and waved her tongs at him. “So you weren't really buying that stuff? You were just trying to find me?"

  "Oh, sure, I bought the stuff. I cook sometimes in the RV.” He rinsed off the lettuce and started tearing.

  She turned back to the lasagna, aware that her next question would open her up to more questions than she might want to share the answer to. “So why did you think you upset me?"

  "You left in kind of a hurry, and you didn't look too happy. I thought I'd done something wrong, and I want to apologize."

  She shook her head. “It's not you.
I'm just not very good out of my element."

  "So why did you go last night?"

  "I was invited. Not a usual occasion."

  "Why not?"

  "I say no too much. People stop asking."

  "Why do you say no?"

  "I have other responsibilities.” Not that he would understand that.

  "What, your grandmother?” He glanced toward the door where she'd disappeared. “She seems fine to me."

  "She has her days. And when her schedule is disrupted she gets agitated. When I got home last night she was a mess.” Why was she telling him this? “Sorry. Not your problem."

  "I asked,” he replied easily. “Alzheimer's?"

  She shook her head. “She had a stroke when I was in high school. She never fully recovered and can't really be on her own."

  "So where's the rest of your family?"

  "God knows."

  He stopped tearing and looked at her. “Are you kidding?"

  "Nope. No idea where they are.” She finished layering the lasagna and slid it into the oven. “Are you okay with that?” She gestured to the lettuce.

  "Sure, I got it."

  She reached for another bowl and pulled out ingredients for the salad dressing. “She can't eat raw eggs, so I have another recipe for Caesar salad."

  "What does she do while you're at school?"

  "She stays here. The neighbors keep an eye out."

  "And last night?"

  "She stayed here. She wasn't happy about it."

  "Where is she now?"

  "Taking a nap in front of Jeopardy, probably."

  Taylor finished the lettuce, wiped his hands on a towel. “So without you-?"

  "She'd be in a home. Don't make me a hero,” she said quickly, seeing the contemplative look he slid her way.

  He nodded and stepped back. “You got a corkscrew, or do you want to wait for dinner?"