“Aunt Gladys called me with the same news.” She pulled the milk from the refrigerator and carried it to the table, along with two glasses.
“Do you care if they’re having roasted chicken for supper next door?” he asked.
She poured milk and slid a glass toward his end of the table. “I do not.”
“Then let’s both turn off the phones, make the sofa out into a bed, throw our pillows and quilts on it…”
“And,” she finished his sentence, “turn on the television to something totally boring for the noise, and sleep all afternoon. But why on the sofa and not in our own beds?”
“Television noise will be louder in the living area. It’ll block out everything. I vote for the sports channel. There’s a golf game on this afternoon.”
“You don’t like golf.”
“No, ma’am. I like football, baseball, and basketball, and I like to play those, not watch them on television.”
“Me too.” She nodded.
“Play or watch?”
“Play, but not today. Pull out the sofa. Do we need to put a pillow in the middle, like they used to do in the old days to discourage hanky-panky?” she asked.
“Honey, my hanky-panky is drooping. If you want that, you’ll have to wait until later.” He grinned.
They quickly finished their snack, and while she went to get her pillow and quilt, he tossed the sofa cushions on the floor and pulled the bed out. It was covered with a dark-green flannel sheet that looked soft and inviting.
“Hey, where did you get that?” Jill pointed at the fleece-lined soft blanket he carried to the living room.
“Christmas present from my sister,” he answered. “Your phone turned off? Mine is.”
“Turned off and shoved to the bottom of my purse. And Aunt Gladys said that she’s giving us Sunday off from now on. Starting this evening, she’ll take care of chores.”
She picked up the remote and turned on the television, hit the channel button a couple of times until she found a station showing golf. The sports announcer’s tone was a soft monologue—perfect sleeping noise. Before she could lay the remote on the end table, Sawyer was already snoring.
Who needed television? His snores would block out a nuclear attack on Fiddle Creek. She eased down on her side of the sofa and was asleep seconds after her head hit the pillow. At dusk she awoke with Sawyer curled around her back, one arm thrown over her waist and both of them covered with his soft blanket.
* * *
“Was that as good for you as it was for me?” he murmured when she wiggled out of his embrace.
“Sleep, yes. But if you were having some kind of wicked dream, sorry, partner, I didn’t share it with you.” She yawned.
He sat up, stretched his long legs out in front of him, and pointed at the television. “Wouldn’t you love to be there right now?” He blocked out the golf game and pictured a beach with enough roll to the ocean to make it pretty, the wind barely blowing, and Jill in a bikini, lying beside him on the white sand.
She pulled herself up to a sitting position and leaned over to retrieve her quilt that had fallen on the floor. The sports announcer said something about the score in that same whispery-soft voice, and she frowned. “Just how long does it take to play a game, anyway?”
“This is a different one than we started off with earlier,” he answered. “This one is in Miami.”
“How do you know? You were asleep before I found the station with the first one.”
“I woke up when you stole more than your half of my blanket. You didn’t answer my question. Already acting like a wife because we’ve slept together,” he said.
“We did not sleep together, and, yes, I’d love to be anywhere away from this feud, even Miami,” she argued.
“We did sleep together, and I had to snuggle up to you to even get a corner of my blanket. And why did you say even Miami? You don’t like it?” He crossed his fingers behind his back like he had when he was a child. Truth was, he’d awakened at four and wanted to be close to her, so he’d snuggled up to her back and draped an arm around her.
“I love the beach, but I don’t like that many people.”
“Me either. Been there with the rodeo crew a few times, but I like less people too,” he said.
She turned over, and their faces were just inches apart. “So you did the rodeo tour?”
“My cousin did, and we followed it when we could. I tried riding bulls and broncs, but I wasn’t star quality.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows. “My expertise lies in other areas.”
“Sawyer O’Donnell!”
“Your mind is in the gutter.”
“Yours isn’t?” she asked.
“No, it is not. I have several cousins who were rodeo folks, so I know star quality when I see it. I found my niche, though. I usually got a gig as the rodeo clown.”
She laughed. “Well, I can sure see that.”
“So scratch off Miami for the honeymoon?”
“What honeymoon?” she asked.
“Ours, darlin’. Gladys will make me marry you, since we’ve slept together.”
She put her finger over his lips. “If you don’t tell, I won’t.”
Chapter 12
“Something isn’t right. I can feel it in the air,” Sawyer said when they opened the doors into the bar that night.
“I’ve been enjoying the quiet,” Jill said. “Seems like the feud is dying down, even after that chicken house incident.”
“It’s the quiet that worries me. After the business last Sunday at the church, and Naomi’s chickens flying the coop, you can bet your pretty little ass both parties are up to something. They’ve been layin’ low all week.”
Jill nodded. “Come to think of it, we haven’t seen much of them in the store either. Betsy did come in to buy a couple of whole chickens. Said her grandmother would have to make do until she could build a new henhouse. It was while you were taking a nap on the cot in the storeroom.”
Sawyer flipped the top off a Coors longneck and took a long drink from it. “And while you were taking a nap, Quaid came by to pick up two dozen pork chops. Almost wiped out the supply, and I didn’t cut up any more for Monday morning.”
“It’s the Brennans who are fixin’ to strike,” Jill said. “I wonder what they’ve got up their sleeves.”
“How do you know that?” Sawyer asked.
“Betsy didn’t ask about you. I bet there’s not a half a dozen of either family in church tomorrow morning. Looks like this will be a lazy night. We might even get to close up early.”
“Or not,” Sawyer said when Tyrell shoved his way into the bar. Betsy and a half-dozen Gallaghers followed him and claimed a table in the corner.
“Two pitchers of Coors and seven red cups,” Tyrell yelled as he plugged coins into the jukebox.
“I jinxed it when I said that,” Jill said.
The door opened again, and Kinsey Brennan, Quaid, and half a dozen Brennans lined up on bar stools. “I want a strawberry daiquiri, and stir it with your finger, Sawyer,” Kinsey flirted.
“A Miller Lite and a pitcher of margaritas, and one of Coors for our table,” Quaid said.
Jill took their money and watched as they each carried their drink in one hand and a pitcher in the other to a table as far away from the Gallaghers as possible. Even though Jill couldn’t hear a word either family said, their body language spoke volumes.
The Gallaghers were loud and boisterous, line dancing to fast songs, swilling beer by the pitcherful, and having a good time. The Brennans nursed their drinks and kept their heads together. Polly was probably right. The Gallaghers should be on Wild Horse Ranch, patrolling every square inch, because the Brennans were likely to strike that very night.
By nine o’clock, the bar was full and noisy, and smoke hovered in the air like fog. Evidently, dancing made folks hungry as well as thirsty, because Sawyer stayed busy at the grill while Jill drew pitcher after pitcher of beer. Thank goodness bar rules said that she didn’t carry it to the tables, but that they had to order and pay at the bar. And Polly did not run charge accounts or take checks or credit cards, so it was cash only.
“Looks like a normal Saturday night,” Sawyer said during a rare lull in business.
Jill wiped down the bar and nodded. “Maybe they’ve had enough thieving and burning down henhouses. But frankly, Sawyer, I don’t give a damn about the infamous pig war. I want to get through the night and sleep until noon tomorrow. I told Aunt Gladys not to look for me in church. I swear, by this time on Saturday, my butt is draggin’ so bad that I don’t have the energy to even sing.”
“And according to this sexy redhead who kisses like an angel, I snored last week, so I’ll be staying home with you,” he said.
That cocky little grin of his sent shivers down her back. What was wrong with her? Never before had a few kisses and a shared nap made her throw caution and common sense to the wind.
Then why am I doing it now? she asked herself.
“You are fighting with yourself again,” he said.
“Am not.”
“Yes, you are,” Sawyer said. “Your head cocks over to one side and then the other when you do that. Are you deciding whether to give Quaid or Tyrell another chance? If you want quiet and steady, go with Quaid. If you want a good time and a hell of a dancer, holler at Tyrell. As far as money and fame, you’ll get it with either one of them.”