Texas Outlaws: Jesse. Kimberly Raye
else with processed sugar. I’m headed to the health food store.” She motioned to the sign shaped like a giant celery stalk just to her left. “They make an all-natural apple tart. It has a cornflake crust. It’s really delicious.”
“Cornflakes, huh?” He didn’t look convinced.
She couldn’t blame him. She remembered the small sample she’d tasted the last time she’d been inside the Green Machine and her throat tightened. “Delicious might be pushing it. But it’s decent.” She shrugged. “Besides, deprivation is good for the soul. It builds character.”
“It also makes you more likely to blow at the first sign of temptation.”
And how.
Twelve years and counting.
“Everything all right, Miss Gracie?” Jacob Amberjack’s voice carried across the street and drew her attention.
“It’s fine.” She waved at the old man and his brother.
“’Cause if that there feller’s the one what assaulted you, Willard here would be happy to come over there and defend your honor.”
“I didn’t assault her,” Jesse told the two men.
The old man glared. “Tell it to the judge, Chisholm.”
“No one’s telling anything to anyone, because nothing happened,” Gracie said.
“That ain’t the way we see it,” the two men said in unison.
“I’d give it a rest if I were you,” Jesse advised.
“We ain’t afraid of you, Chisholm. There might be snow on the roof, but there’s plenty of fire in the cookstove. Willard here—” Jacob motioned next to him “—will rip you a new one—”
“How come I’m the one who always has to do the rippin’?” Willard cut in. “Hell’s bells, I can barely move as it is. You know I got a bad back.”
“Well, I got bunions.”
“So? You ain’t fightin’ with your feet....”
The two men turned their focus to each other and Gracie’s gaze shifted back to Jesse. She expected the anger. The hatred. He’d been big on both way back when, particularly when it came to the citizens of Lost Gun. He’d hated them as much as they’d hated him, and he’d never been shy about showing it.
Instead of hard, glittering anger, she saw a flash of pain, a glimmer of regret, and she had the startling thought that while he looked every bit the hard, bulletproof cowboy she remembered so well, there was a softening in his gaze. His heart.
As if Jesse actually cared what the two old men had said to him.
As if.
No, Jesse James Chisholm didn’t give two shakes what the fine people of Lost Gun thought about him. He hated the town and he always would.
Meanwhile, she was stuck smack-dab in the middle of it.
She ignored the depressing thought and searched for her voice. “So, um, what are you doing here?”
He motioned to the bridal salon just two doors down. “I have to see a man about a tux. I’m Pete’s right hand.”
“I didn’t mean here as in this location. I meant—” she motioned between them “—here. You couldn’t wait to get away from me earlier. Now you’re standing here having a conversation. Because?”
He frowned, as if he didn’t quite understand it any more than she did. “You caught me at a bad time, I suppose.”
“I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to warn you before the reporters beat me to it.”
“You did the right thing.”
“I just thought you should know...” Her gaze snapped up. “What did you just say?”
“It’s not about what I just said. It’s about what I should have said earlier.” His gaze caught and held hers. “Thanks for giving me the heads-up.” Where she’d missed the gratitude that morning, there was no mistaking the sentiment now. “Motives aside, you warned me and I am grateful.”
“Me, too.” When he gave her a questioning look, she added, “For the flowers that you sent when my brother died. I should have said thank you back then. I didn’t.”
“I’m really sorry about what happened to him.”
“It was his choice.” She shrugged. “He enlisted. He knew the risks, but he took them anyway.”
“Seems to me,” he said after a long moment, “he died doing something he believed in. I can’t think of a better way to go myself.”
Neither could she at that moment and oddly enough, the tightness in her chest eased just a fraction. “If you’re not careful, you’ll be following in his footsteps. That was a hard fall you took back at the arena.”
A wicked grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “The harder, the better.”
“I’m talking about riding.”
“So am I, sugar.” The grin turned into a full-blown smile. “So am I.” The words were like a chisel chipping away at the wall she’d erected between them. Even more, he stared deep into her eyes and for a long moment, she forgot everything.
The nosy men sitting across the street. The endless stream of people walking past. The all-important fact that she needed to get a move on if she meant to get inside the health food store before they closed.
He made her feel like the only woman in the world.
Which was crazy with a big fat C.
He was flirting, for heaven’s sake. Just the kind of sexy, seductive innuendo she would expect from one of the hottest bachelors on the PBR circuit.
It wasn’t as if he wanted to sweep her up and ride off into the sunset. This wasn’t about her personally. She was simply one of many in a long, long line of women who lusted after him, and he was simply living up to his reputation.
Just as she should be living up to hers.
She stiffened. “It was nice to see you, but I really should get going. I’ve got a ton of work back at City Hall.”
“Duty calls, right?”
Her gaze collided with his and she could have sworn she saw a glimmer of disappointment before it disappeared into the vivid violet depths. “Always.”
And then she turned and hurried toward the Green Machine before she did the unthinkable—like wrap her arms around him, hop on and ride him for a scorching eight seconds in front of God and the Amberjack twins.
She would have done just that prior to her brother’s death, but she was no longer the rebellious teenager desperate to flee the confines of her small town.
She was mature.
Responsible.
Safe.
If only that thought didn’t depress her almost as much as the skinny treats that waited for her inside the health food store.
5
“THIS IS JUST plain wrong.” Cole Unger Chisholm frowned as he stood on the raised dais in the middle of the mirrored dressing room of Lost Gun’s one and only bridal salon. “Tell me again why I have to wear this.”
“For Pete.” Jesse ignored the prickly fabric of his own tuxedo and tried to forget the sugary scent of vanilla cupcakes that still teased his nostrils. Of all the people he could possibly run into—the local police chief, the busybodies from the Ladies’ Auxiliary, the gossipy Amberjack brothers—it had to be Gracie. Talk about rotten luck.
“Stop your bellyaching,” he told