Crazy For Lovin' You. Teresa Southwick
remember her long, straight, unflattering mousey-brown hair. After two years at Texas A&M, her roommate had helped her find a flattering hairstyle and shown her that lipstick was good for more than writing messages on the bathroom mirror. Finally Taylor had taken her first step in the struggle to repair the confidence that a few moments with Mitch had destroyed. And her social life had soared from there. Right until a year ago when her fiancé dumped her for the woman who had once dumped him. That had reminded her how fragile her confidence truly was.
Mitch studied her thoroughly. Was there an appreciative sparkle in his eyes? Was that a glow spreading through her? A direct reaction to his subtle but nice words? Doggone it! She thought she’d prepared herself for him. Why could he still get to her? She’d worked so hard to nurture a spine along with her self-esteem. Two minutes facing Mitch Rafferty, once known as Texas’ most eligible cowboy, and the glow he generated threatened to melt her backbone into slush.
She realized he was still on the porch. “I didn’t mean to keep you standing out there. Please come in. Where are my manners?”
In the manure heap along with her self-confidence.
His boots rang on the wooden floor as he stepped inside. “Thanks.”
One word, just a single syllable, but uttered in his deep voice and it was enough to shake her up as surely as a tumble from a stubborn horse.
She shut the door, closing out the beginning of May warmth. It wasn’t hot yet, not like it would get in August. But she’d set the inside thermostat to keep the interior comfortable. She didn’t want to give him any reason to thumbs-down her ranch for the event. Getting even with her would be reason enough. But only if he remembered, and knew how much she was counting on a go-ahead.
He stood in the entryway, sliding his black Stetson through his hands as he looked around. A frown drew his eyebrows together. What was he thinking, she wondered. Her glance swept the area. To her right was the living room with the flagstone fireplace that dominated the large square area. Two blue and green plaid love seats, with a simple oak coffee table between, sat in front of it.
To her left was what her family had always called the parlor, also with a large fireplace, this time brick, and a new, expensive, state-of-the-art reclining sectional in front of a big-screen TV. Beyond that was the dining room and the kitchen. The dark wood floor extended throughout all the rooms on the first floor. The house had been built in the 1930s and the land it stood on had been in the family for several generations. The money she’d spent on new furnishings was part of her plan to see it stayed that way.
“How’s Jen?” he asked.
She should have known he was remembering the other member of her own generation. Her sister. Before she could prevent it, there was a dull pain right near her heart. “Jensen is fine. She works in Dallas,” she added.
Best let him know up-front that he wouldn’t be seeing a lot of her. At least not in Destiny. In case that was why he’d come back.
“A lawyer?” he asked.
“She specializes in family law.”
She tried like crazy not to let it bother her that he remembered Jensen had always talked about becoming a lawyer. No doubt they’d told each other all their hopes and dreams. He’d barely recognized her, but remembered that Jensen had always wanted to be an attorney. Even though she’d broken his heart by eloping with someone else. Did he still not want to see or talk to anyone named Stevens?
“So what have you been up to for the last ten or eleven years?” she asked to fill the silence.
His gaze settled on her. “Rodeo. At first.”
“I heard you gave up your scholarship.”
“Seemed like the thing to do at the time.” He frowned and the thundercloud expression on his face took her back to that night by the pool.
She wanted to bite her tongue. In all these years, she hadn’t managed to activate the mechanism in her brain that would refine or remove anything stupid on the way to her mouth. Or maybe it was Mitch Rafferty who deactivated it. She never could think straight around him.
Nervously she tucked a bothersome strand of hair behind her ear. “Why don’t we go into the kitchen? Can I get you a glass of iced tea?”
“I’d like that.”
She held out her hand for him to go first and he found his way as surely as if he’d been there only yesterday. She hated herself for noticing that the back of him was almost as impressive as the front. Broad shoulders tapered to his trim waist. His backside, hugged by impossibly soft and worn denim, was practically a work of art. And that was strictly objective female appreciation for an above average looking man. Because she had no feelings for him whatsoever.
But when her hormones subsided, she noticed that he limped slightly. She recalled reading a small blurb about an injury, but the celebrity magazine articles mostly proclaimed that his playboy points matched his impressive rodeo stats. Was there more to his story? Probably. The fact that he was acting commissioner of the high school rodeo association was a clue.
The fact that she wanted to hear every last detail just made her a candidate for crazy. She needed him to look at the ranch and tell her it would work just fine for his purposes. Then she prayed that he would go away and never come back. But she’d opened her mouth and offered him iced tea. Taking back the offer probably wasn’t the best strategy to win friends and influence people.
The kitchen was arranged in a large U, part of which formed a bar with stools. Instead of sitting on one of them the way he’d always done, he invaded her work space inside the U, parking himself with his back propped against the beige ceramic-tile counter. She felt his gaze on her as she pulled the pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator beside the stove and opened the cupboard above to retrieve a glass.
More memories came flooding back as she poured the amber-colored liquid and handed it to him, not easy to do with trembling hands. She’d poured him iced-tea all those times she’d kept him company while he’d waited for Jen to come downstairs. She tried to clamp the lid tight on the details but failed miserably at forgetting how she’d pined for him, hoping and fantasizing that a miracle would happen and he would notice her. That someday he would wait downstairs for her to get ready to go out with him.
“How did you wind up in charge of the high school rodeo association?” she asked. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you were once the state bull-riding champion, would it?”
“You remember that?”
“Yeah, I do.”
A muscle in his jaw contracted for a moment before he continued. “As you pointed out, I gave up my scholarship to join the pro rodeo circuit. I did okay that first year, although I wasn’t the overall point winner. But I took nationals in Wyoming. I was nineteen. It was a sign to make hay while the sun shines, so to speak.”
“Then what?”
“I rode the crest for two or three years until—”
“Until what?” she encouraged.
“I had a couple of injuries,” he said as if it was no big deal.
She decided to mimic his tone and keep it light. “Really? Imagine that. Riding a ton or two of ticked-off bull is hardly more challenging than a merry-go-round at the Texas state fair,” she teased.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah” was all he said. “All the hits were to my right leg. The third injury was bad. The doc said one more and I might never walk again—at least not on my own two feet.”
The words tugged at her heart in spite of all her warnings to harden it. She knew how much rodeo had meant to him. It was all he’d talked about. “Oh, Mitch, I had no idea. I didn’t mean to—”
He held up his hand. “It’s okay. I managed to take it in stride,” he said with a grin. “Pardon the pun.”
His smile