Cowboy Up(21)

I shake my head, not even sure where to begin explaining how I know the eldest Davis, and in front of his family no less.

There’s no way.

Just my mind playing tricks.

I’ve been under so much stress lately it wouldn’t be a stretch to think my mind conjured up the one person I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. Between the sleep I’ve been losing since the fire, seeing that the motel I call home now has the thinnest walls, and the residual sadness I feel every time I handle more red tape from the insurance company dealing with The Sequel, I’m about as close to going insane as it gets. My life is up in the air—where my future had been is one big question mark, and now, on top of that, I’m hallucinating.

“You and Clay know each other?”

I blink at the question, not really sure which of the pregnant ladies in from of me asked, but hoping neither really expected me to answer. If what I felt when my hand touched his looked half as time-stopping as it felt, I wouldn’t want to know the details if it was my brother or brother-in-law.

“That was intense,” Lucy chimes in, not helping this situation in the least.

Even if that wasn’t the same man, even in my naïveté I can recognize the connection that we felt. My palm tingles at the thought and I look toward the last place I saw him, oddly having to fight back the desire to run after him and demand answers.

Quinn steps into the path of my gaze and looks at me with fascinated shock, her green eyes as bright as gems, twinkling with mischief. “Jesus Jones. You and Clay?! I mean, you’re beautiful, honey, so I don’t doubt you turn heads, but he’s just so . . . Clay!”

I sputter, shaking my head in denial so fast that I surely look like I’m impersonating a bobblehead doll. “No!” I exclaim, fidgeting with my purse strap as anxious, nervous energy starts to get the best of me. I can feel my hands grow clammy at the thought of being on display, and I have to fight to keep my back straight instead of hunching like I normally would when the spotlight is turned toward me.

“Oh my,” Lucy gasps in a breathy tone. “She’s lying.”

I turn to my ex–best friend and continue shaking my head. God, shut up, Luce.

“She’s lying so bad, I’m shocked her nose isn’t a mile long,” she keeps going with a laugh, sticking her bubble-gum-pink-tipped finger in front of my face, and I swear right then and there that her death will be slow and painful.

“This is better than pie.” Leighton giggles happily.

“No, this is better than a ’51 Ford ready for a complete rebuild,” Quinn adds with a dreamy sigh.

“Or a sale at Target!” Lucy exclaims, clapping her hands and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

I drop my gaze, looking at my sandals as my face heats. It’d be pointless to continue denying what they just witnessed seeing, as I’m the worst liar in the whole state of Texas.

“You have to tell us everything,” Quinn whispers, leaning into my side to push her shoulder into mine.

“Well, maybe not everything,” Leigh snorts.

“Screw that, I want all the juicy details. He might be my brother, but he’s been livin’ like a monk since that stupid bitch he dated last and girlfriend, you’d think he was asexual the way those two didn’t carry on in public. No sparks close to what we just saw between y’all.” She waggles her perfectly sculpted brows.

“You might as well just tell her, Caroline.” Leigh snickers. “You can’t shock her easily. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Quinn continues nodding, her brows still going up and down suggestively. “Just wait until this one”—she points to Leigh—“starts tellin’ you about the monster cock.”

“Q!” Leighton gasps, but she smiles a second later, so she must not be offended. “Anyway, you gotta give us somethin’, honey. The way he’s always ridin’ those horses, I bet he can work those hips like no one’s business.”

Oh my God. This isn’t happening.

“Would you three shut up,” I hiss, already seeing a few people listening in on our huddle. Thankfully, someone up there is on my side, because the girls stop the instant I ask them to.

“This isn’t over,” Leighton promises. “And, Caroline, you’re goin’ to need to get over that shyness of yours now that you’re one of us.”

One of them? What does that mean? Just because . . . no. A one-night stand doesn’t mean I’m going to start coming to Sunday dinner. I haven’t seen him in months. If he’d wanted more after that night, he wouldn’t have disappeared before I woke up. I open my mouth to tell all three of the giddy women in front of me just that, but stop when a voice starts talking in a cheerful bellow.