Do Me Right. Cindi Myers
painful, calluses scraping against her palm. A masculine hand, telegraphing strength and confidence. Her heart fluttered again, and she jerked away and fussed with the supplies on the cart, though her skin still tingled from his touch.
Scott returned with another mug of coffee, followed by Mick and Delilah. True to her name, Delilah zeroed in on the handsome cowboy and began rubbing against his boots, purring loudly.
Kyle regarded the cat with a half smile. “Cute cat.”
“She’s all right.” She nudged Delilah away with the toe of her boot, then moved to a supply cart and began laying out the materials she’d need for the tattoo—sealed packets of needles, fresh ink caps, gauze, sterile wipes, A & D ointment and the tattoo machine, still in its sealed packet from the autoclave.
“I’ve never been around cats much.” He followed her and leaned back against the workbench. “My sister has them.”
“These were my brother’s until he moved to Chicago.”
“What’s he doing in Chicago?”
“Going to school.” And falling even more madly in love with Jen Truitt. The thought still amazed her—her tough-stuff big brother all mushy in love with the police chief’s daughter. Who would have thought?
“I found the one I want.” George pointed to a page in the binder.
Theresa walked over and studied the drawing of a snarling monitor lizard. One of Zach’s designs. “All right. Have a seat in the chair and we’ll get started.”
Looking a little apprehensive, George stretched out in the chair. “You want me to hold your hand?” Kyle asked.
“Only if you want me to break the other arm.”
While she prepped George, Kyle settled on a stool across from them. “So what’s with the chapel meeting outside?” he asked.
She swabbed the freshly shaved section of George’s arm with disinfectant and positioned the tattoo transfer. “The Clean Up Austin campaign? Haven’t you heard of them?”
He shook his head. “Until I hurt my arm I was riding the circuit, trying to earn enough points to make the national finals.”
She began filling ink caps from larger bottles on the stand beside her. “This guy, Darryl ‘Clean’ Carter, is running for Austin City Council. His campaign platform is that he intends to make Austin—and particularly Sixth Street—more family friendly, which means no tattoo parlors, strip joints, sex-toy stores or loud rock-and-roll bars. Only nice, staid restaurants, suitably quiet taverns and fun for the whole family.” She rolled her eyes and unwrapped a fresh tattoo needle. “I think it’s ridiculous, but they’ve been out there every morning for the past two weeks.” She switched on the tattoo machine. “You ready, George?”
“Uh, yeah.” He blanched. “Sure.”
“Don’t worry, pard. When you pass out from the pain, I’ll help revive you.” Kyle winked at Theresa, who steadfastly ignored the way this made her stomach quiver and concentrated on the tattoo.
George made a gurgling sound in his throat when the needle first made contact. She kept a firm grip on his arm and continued working. “Take a deep breath. Relax. Focus on something else to distract you.”
Predictably his gaze zeroed in on her chest once more. “Th-that’s a real interesting tattoo,” he said. “Who did it?”
“My brother.”
“He’s a tattoo artist, too?” Kyle asked.
“He’s the one who taught me.”
“I was wondering how a pretty girl like you would get into something like this,” George said.
“Right.” She switched colors and began outlining the lizard’s eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”
“I don’t know. Sounds like a pretty good job to me,” Kyle said. “Good hours. You’re pretty much your own boss.” He grinned. “And a chance to inflict pain on ugly SOBs like the Lizard here.”
“Don’t give her any ideas,” George protested.
As she worked, she could feel Kyle’s eyes on her. His stare wasn’t the rude ogling of some men but rather the studious gaze of someone who was trying to figure her out. Ogling, she could deal with—she didn’t much care for this kind of close scrutiny. “Do you mind?” she said, glaring at him.
“Mind what?”
“You’re staring.”
“No, I’m watching you.”
“Well, stop it.”
“You interest me.”
“Well, cowboys don’t interest me, so don’t get any ideas.”
“Darlin’, I’ve had ideas about you since the minute I laid eyes on you.”
The combination of a molasses-sweet drawl and a one-hundred-degree gaze was doing a number on her libido. She maintained her grip on the tattoo machine and continued working, the original Ms. Cool. “You and your ideas are going to be very disappointed,” she said, ignoring the pinch of regret the words sent through her.
He laughed. “You’ve done it now.”
“Done what?” Why did he look so pleased with himself?
“Saying that’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull. There’s nothing a man like me enjoys better than a challenge.”
She bristled. “That wasn’t a challenge.”
“Sounded like one to me,” George said.
She looked from one man to the other. They were both wearing smart-ass grins. She had half a mind to slap sense into both of them. But that would probably only egg them on. She settled for a return to her ice-queen routine. “Think what you like,” she said. “You’ll end up disappointed.”
As someone who’d had her share of disappointments, she knew they’d learn to live with it.
KYLE WATCHED THERESA WORK. He couldn’t remember when he’d met a more intriguing package: sex appeal and sass wrapped up with a heavy dose of smarts.
He was glad he’d let George talk him into coming here this morning instead of sitting around in his borrowed apartment, moping the way he’d done ever since that side-winder of a calf had snapped the bone in his wrist and put an abrupt halt to this season’s rodeo competition.
All he had to look forward to now was six weeks of bumming around town or, worse, recuperating at the family ranch, listening to his sister’s lectures on responsibility and settling down, enduring her transparent attempts at matchmaking and sidestepping her pointed questions about his plans for the future.
“What do you do when you’re not on the rodeo circuit?”
Theresa’s question pulled him away from his fast slide toward a deep blue funk. She was focusing on the lizard taking shape on George’s arm, not looking at him, but apparently she’d decided to at least be friendly.
“My family has a ranch out near Wimberley,” he said. “I’m supposed to be living there and helping out, but right now I’m just hanging out around Austin. I’ve got a friend who’s working on an oil rig in Nigeria and he’s letting me stay at his apartment until he comes home.” He’d sent his horse to the ranch right after the accident, but he wasn’t exactly eager to set up headquarters there himself.
“Oh. So you really are a cowboy.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Kyle’s folks have been raising cattle and horses for at least four generations,” George said. “Ain’t that right?”
“Yeah. The Two Ks has been around just about forever.”