The Trouble with Texas Cowboys(31)

“Jill could sweet-talk a bear into giving up his honey.” Sawyer laughed.

“Oh, hush, I had hay in my hair and looked like the wrath of God had kissed me,” she said. “I’ve never been so glad to see a shower and get a nap in a real bed in my whole life as I was when we got back to the bunkhouse.”

“She looked cute.” Sawyer grinned. “I thought she did, and evidently Tilly did too. He not only let us into his house, he fed us breakfast and brought us to town.”

Gladys stuck her hand into her pocket and brought out a telephone. “Polly, don’t you eat any more of those cookies. Sawyer made spaghetti, and I’m bringing you a plate. The kids are fine, but I’ve got a hell of a story to tell you.”

A pause and a couple of nods. “No, it’s too juicy to tell over the phone, and, yes, I’ll be there in the next fifteen minutes.”

She hit a button and shoved the phone back in her pocket. “Reckon I’ll wrap up my plate too. She says if I don’t get back, she’s going to eat the whole bag of cookies, worryin’ about what I won’t tell her on the phone.”

“I’ll get it ready,” Jill said.

“What should we do now?” Sawyer asked Gladys.

“Go on like nothing happened, and see what comes crawlin’ out of the woodpile.”

“I’d rather set fire to both ranches,” Jill said.

“Nope, Fiddle Creek might suffer, since it’s in the middle of them,” Gladys said. “Thanks for supper, and I’ll see y’all tomorrow.”





Chapter 17


Jill could not put her finger on it or figure it out, but the relationship had risen to a new level between her and Sawyer since they’d bared their souls the day before. Maybe it was what soldiers face in near-death experiences when one saves another’s life. But whatever it was, she kind of liked it.

He’d been quieter, had a lot less to say or joke about, and now he was back there in the meat department, cleaning the saw like the health inspectors were due to come look at the store that very day.

The store was empty, and the shelves were dusted, the floor swept, the carts lined up, and the front glass washed on the inside. It was so cold outside that if she sprayed cleaner on that side, it would freeze before it hit the glass. She pulled her tablet out of her purse, hit the right button to bring it up, and went straight to her favorite site for a little retail therapy. She might not actually buy boots or a new bit of bling, but she’d look at it, and maybe that would help her sour mood.

An advertisement for a brand-new spice for chicken wings popped up on the side bar, and that’s what gave her the idea. She quickly went to another site that promised overnight shipping if she was willing to pay for it, and she decided it was well worth the cost. She pulled the charge box up from under the counter and wrote the addresses for River Bend and Wild Horse on the edge of a scrap of paper.

The first order was for a case of pork rinds. She carefully checked the box that said it was a gift and not to send any information concerning price or sender to the recipient. On the gift card she wrote “Oink! Oink!” and signed it “Porky Pig.” That little prize went to River Bend to the attention of Mavis Brennan.

The second order was for three bags of Chicken Chips doggy treats. The gift card said, “For the Gallagher Bitches” and was signed “Chicken Little.” That present went to Naomi Gallagher at Wild Horse Ranch.

Guaranteed delivery by eight o’clock the following evening. She’d entered the pig war, and it put a smile on her face.

“Well, well, it smiles,” Sawyer said.

“This from a man who’s hardly spoken to me all day,” she said.

“Hey, you started off the day real quiet.”

“So did you,” she shot back.

The bell rang as the door swung open, and there was Quaid Brennan standing there with a shoe box in his hands. He looked downright sheepish, holding a Prada shoe box with the price still written right there on the end. Jill hoped he could take them back, because she damn sure didn’t wear a size nine narrow. She wore a six wide. He’d have done much better if he’d brought in a Lucchese box, and he’d have spent a hell of a lot less money to boot, pun intended.

He set the box on the countertop. “I brought you a present. I heard that you had a mouse or two in the bunkhouse over on Fiddle Creek.”

“And I’m supposed to catch them in this box? You want to explain the procedure to me?” Jill could feel the ice in her voice, but dammit, he was a Brennan.

“Open it,” he said.

She flipped the lid open, and a little gray kitten looked up at her with big green eyes. She picked it up and the purring began immediately.

“Kinsey’s mama cat had babies, and this little girl looked like a good mouser to me.” Quaid smiled.

“Thank you. I’ll take good care of her.” Jill cuddled it up against her face and talked baby talk to the critter.

“I’m glad you like her. Maybe I’ll give you a call later this week, and we can plan something for Sunday?” Quaid said.

“Sawyer and I had plans for yesterday that got interrupted, so we’ll be real busy next Sunday while we make up time. But thank you for the kitten,” she said.

Quaid blushed. “Well, then maybe the next week. See you at Polly’s sometime.”

He was gone before Jill could say another word.

Sawyer reached over and scratched the kitten’s ears. “Did you see the expression on his face? We might not be able to prove it, but we were right. That was the face of a kidnapper, right there.”

“You want to hold her?” she asked.

“No, you go on and spoil her. It’s your cat. What are you going to name her?”

“Ollie,” she said quickly.

“I can see you’ve given this cat idea a lot of thought. Why Ollie?” he asked.

“It’s the pig’s name on a kid’s animated movie called Home on the Range.”

His dark brows drew down into a single line and then shot straight up. “You are wicked, Jillian Cleary.”

“But I’m in a much better mood. A little retail therapy and a new kitten works wonders on me.” She grinned up at him.

“So what did you buy? Oh. My. God! Is that a misprint or did whatever come in this box cost that much?” He pointed.

“Oh, yeah. I expect Kinsey wears them to work. And eight hundred dollars for Prada is on the low end of the scale,” Jill said.

“Do you…?”

She shook her head before he could finish the sentence. “Not on your life. I could buy two pair of Lucchese boots for that price, and they’d last a hell of a lot longer and never go out of style. You sure you don’t want to hold Ollie?”

He reached out, and she put the kitten in his hands. “Here piggy, piggy.” He smiled. “Your real name might be Ollie, but I’m going to teach you to come runnin’ when I holler piggy, piggy, instead of kitty, kitty.”

“And you call me wicked,” Jill said.

Sawyer leaned across the counter and brushed a sweet but hot kiss across her lips. “To be so open with each other yesterday, we sure clammed up this morning, didn’t we? Aren’t people who sleep together supposed to talk more?”

“We aren’t sleeping together,” she argued.

“Yes, we are. We aren’t having sex, but we are sleeping together. Every Sunday so far, and I liked it,” he said. “You can sleep with us, little piggy, if you want to.” He scratched the kitten’s belly, and she rolled over in his arms like a baby and shut her eyes. “Right now, I need to stir a pot of chili I’ve got going on the stove. You can go with me if your new mommy trusts me.”

“I’m not that cat’s mommy, and, yes, I trust you. Here, take her box in case you need to put her down while you stir,” she said.

She went back to her tablet and was busy plotting her next move in the pig war when the bell rang again, and there was Tyrell. At least he didn’t have a shoe box in his hand, or roses either, so that was a good thing.

“Hey, Jill. I missed seeing you in church yesterday,” he said.

I’m sure you did. I bet you even looked for me and Sawyer when you got to your destination and the back of that van was empty, she thought.

“Sawyer and I went for a hike,” she said.

“Well, I overheard Gladys telling Polly that you had a mouse problem at the bunkhouse, so I went out in our barn and rustled up a kitten for you.” He pulled a yellow ball of fur from his pocket and handed it to her by the scruff of the neck. “You’ll have to tame her. She’s a little wild.”

The kitten spit at her and growled, but after a minute of gentle petting, it was as tame as Ollie.

“So do you like her?” Tyrell asked.

“She’s cute as a newborn chicken,” Jill said.

“She’s a cat, not a chicken.”

Jill pushed the issue. “But her fur is the same color as a fresh-hatched chicken.”

“I guess it is. Well, I’ve got to go. Hope she’s a good mouser,” Tyrell said. “You got time for a picnic lunch anytime this week?”

“Looks like a busy week on Fiddle Creek, but thanks for the kitten. I’m sure she’ll love the bunkhouse.”