THE BEST MAN IN TEXAS Read online

  "I've caught on," she said, remembering Martin's partner's advances last week. "And I think I can handle it."

  "You think."

  "I'm not a kid," Delia pointed out. But if the baby hadn't been in Joe's arms, she might have stood on her toes and kissed the frown off his mouth. He had a beautiful mouth and a chin with the tiniest indentation. It was great fun to flirt with him, whether he thought she was fair game or not. And even more fun to be kissed by him. Nothing serious, of course, but great for a very squashed female ego.

  "No," he said, those green eyes unreadable. "You're not."

  It was time to change the subject, so Delia took a deep breath before she asked, "How's your mother doing?"

  "That's another reason why I came over," Joe admitted. "I was going to ask if you'd watch the kids while I went to the hospital this afternoon. There've been a lot of offers from the neighbors, but no one's under sixty-five." He smiled. "I think you're the only one in Pecan Hollow who could survive a couple of hours with a baby and a busy three-year-old."

  "Of course I'll help. What time?"

  "You'd really do that?" He winced as Libby hit a piercing high note.

  She laughed. "That's what kind and lonely people do."

  "You're not going to forgive me for that one, are you."

  "Your niece is hungry."

  "She's always hungry. Look, Delia, I don't think you're pathetic." He looked around the room, at the clean kitchen, the unpacked boxes, the brown sofa cushions. "But you have to admit, this is a long way from that big house in town."

  "Thank goodness." He didn't look as if he believed her.

  "Libby, darlin'," he crooned, easing the baby's temper as he rubbed her back.

  "What time?" she asked again. "I'm going to town now, but I'll be back in an hour."

  "Visiting hours start at one o'clock."

  "Okay. Bring the kids over then."

  "Here?"

  "I'd rather not be at the house in case your sister comes back from Las Vegas."

  "Yeah," he said. "I can understand that."

  "Dee-yah?" Hank carried the guitar to her. "What is it?"

  "A guitar," she told him. "You're going to come visit me after lunch and I'll show you how to play it."

  "'Kay." Hank handed it to her and retrieved his quart of milk from the small kitchen table. "Uncle Joe? Libby's hungry."

  "Yeah. I know." He didn't look as if he wanted to leave, but he turned toward the door. "Come on, Hank. Let's go drink that chocolate milk and play with your horses."

  "Bye." Delia held the guitar by the neck and watched the little family leave the trailer.

  Joe helped Hank down the narrow stairs before turning to look back at her. "The real pathetic Drummond is Martin, you know. Not you."

  "I know."

  "Yeah." He winked at her. "But if you do get lonely, come on over."

  She decided that didn't deserve an answer. With her free hand she waved at Hank and then shut the door. It was going to be a busy day after all—Wal-Mart, babysitting and a date. All she had to do was come up with a man for tonight.

  At least a date would take her mind off getting naked with J.C. Brown. Lonely and pathetic? Sure. But she didn't have to advertise it by getting drunk by herself on strawberry daiquiris again. She could hear the town now: Delia Drummond, that nice girl, has gone plumb crazy since her husband left her. Kissin' all sorts of men, raisin' a ruckus. And she used to be so nice, too. Wonder what happened?

  J.C. Brown kissed her, that's what.

  * * *

  "Promise me, Joseph."

  "Mom—" The look on his mother's face stopped his protest. How was he supposed to argue with a woman in a hospital bed? And she'd called him "Joseph," another sign that she meant business.

  "You're not to tell her. Between the two of us we can manage just fine."

  "The two of us," he muttered. "A man who's never had kids and a woman with a bad heart. Oh, yeah, we can handle Libby and Hank, no problem. No reason to call their mother."

  "We can," she insisted. Sarcasm was wasted on Betty Brown. "They're good children."

  "That's not the point. They're Julie's children and she should be the one taking responsibility for them." He sounded like a damn prig, even to his own ears. But damn it, he'd come home to talk sense into his sister and he didn't want to be deprived of the pleasure.

  "She does her best," his mother said, which was a response he'd heard before.

  "It's not good enough and you know it."

  Betty sighed and looked toward the window. "It's too nice a day to be in the hospital."

  "You'll be out in a day or two," he assured her, repeating what the doctor had told him. "As long as you take your medication and get plenty of rest, you'll do just fine."

  "I know." She turned her head to smile at him. "If Julie calls, you're not to tell her I'm in the hospital, remember."

  "I've left messages on her cell phone telling her to call me. Not that it's done any good. I've been telling her to get her ass back here and take care of her children."

  "Julie's got … problems," his mother said. As if that was news. "I think this Martin fellow will be good for her. He was mayor for almost nine years, you know. That shows he has a good head on his shoulders."

  Joe slumped in the vinyl guest chair, his booted feet stretched out in front of him. Drummond might have a good head on his shoulders, but that wasn't the part of his body that was making decisions for him lately. How the man—mayor or not—could walk out on a sweet, sexy lady like Delia, well, Joe couldn't figure that out.

  "Maybe," his mother continued, "he'll be a good influence on Julie. Settle her down."

  "He cheated on his wife. You call that being a good influence?"

  Betty smoothed the blanket covering her and fidgeted with controls that made the head of the bed move. "Don't be so belligerent, Joseph. People make mistakes. That's just the way life is."

  "Mistakes," he muttered, remembering a father who, when sober, had been one hell of a nice guy but whose downfall was the booze that eventually killed him. And then there was Jack, dead at eighteen when his mistake was to fight with his girlfriend, drink a couple of six-packs at a picnic and then drive too fast on the way home. "It seems we've had our share of mistakes in this family."

  "But not you, Joe. Look what you've done with your life." She reached for his hand and he leaned forward to take it. "I'm real proud."

  "I'm not going to let Julie mess up her kids," he warned. "I'll take them myself before I'll let her hurt them."

  "She's a good mother," Betty insisted, twisting the thin cotton blanket between her fingers.

  "When she's around, maybe," Joe said. "Like Dad was a good father—when he was around?" His mother grimaced and Joe immediately felt guilty for upsetting her. He squeezed her hand. "Don't worry. I wouldn't hurt Julie for anything, and if she shows up happy to start taking care of her kids, I'll wish her well and go back home."

  Right after he kissed the Tooth Fairy, wrote to Santa and hopped around the yard with the Easter Bunny

  "Don't look so grouchy, Joseph." His mother squeezed his hand and smiled. "At least you have that nice Delia Drummond to keep you company."

  "Yeah," he managed to reply. That "nice Delia Drummond," the woman who had just about brought him to his knees this morning with one long, sweet kiss, was an irresistible distraction in an already complicated situation.

  A couple of weeks ago his life had been relatively simple. Summer vacation, plans to add on to the barn, giving his mother a few fun days in Austin. Now here he was in July, his sister's latest escapade keeping him here for God knows how long. He sure didn't mind helping his mother or hanging out with the kids, but Delia? She wasn't his kind of woman, no way

  Which of course was the biggest lie he'd told himself all year.

  * * *

  "Come on in," Delia whispered, opening the door to admit Joe. He looked tired, but his visit with his mother must have gone well because the worried expression
in his eyes was gone. "But keep your voice down. Libby just went to sleep."

  "Thanks." He took three strides into the living room and sat down on the couch. Hank, busy with his plastic cowboys and horses on the floor, didn't bother to look up until Joe bent down and touched his shoulder. The boy smiled and climbed up on the couch beside him, snuggling against his side as Joe put his arm around him. "Grandma's coming home tomorrow, if everything goes okay. She has new medication and orders to take it easy." He leaned back and rested his head against the back cushions.

  "Okay," Hank said, popping his thumb in his mouth.

  "You can put your feet on the coffee table." She sat down across from him in the old recliner.

  "Yeah?" He looked at the scratched old table as if he was afraid to hurt it.

  "Go for it," she said, and watched as he made himself comfortable, boots crossed at the ankle resting on the scarred wood surface. "Do you want me to call my stepdaughter? She'd know how to reach her father. She's been staying at the condo with him until she leaves for college."

  "What condo?"

  "He bought a place on the other side of town. Hidden Valley Acres."

  "Yeah." Joe grimaced. "I saw it on my way in. It's not hidden and there's no valley."

  "No." She laughed. "It looks hideous, but Martin likes new things."

  "And you? What do you like?"

  "Old houses with porches. And furniture that isn't white."

  "What else?" He closed his eyes as if he was enjoying the sound of her voice.

  "Big dogs. The bead shop in San Marcos. Jelly doughnuts. Guacamole dip." Green-eyed men wearing jeans and cowboy boots. Kisses at dawn.

  "I don't suppose I can take you back to Austin with me."

  She shook her head. "I like my trailer."

  "Too bad. I have a porch and a dog," he murmured, his eyes still closed. "You'd have to bring your own jelly doughnuts."

  "Doughnuts?" Hank looked up at his uncle. "I like doughnuts, too."

  "I'll get some this week," Delia told the child. "Just for you."

  Joe sighed and opened his eyes. "I'd better take the kids home. Come over later and I'll fry up some steaks." He set his booted feet on the floor and lifted Hank off the couch.

  "I don't think that's such a good idea."

  "You don't like steak?" His eyes narrowed. "I know damn well you don't have a date tonight. You're a terrible liar."

  "What do you want, Joe?" She stood and looked up at him. "What are you doing?"

  He threw up his hands in surrender. "I offered you a meal, sweetheart. And I've got a bunch of food from the neighbors to eat. But I don't blame you if you want a break from us."

  "That's not it and you know it."

  "Do I want to sleep with you, is that what you're asking?"

  She nodded.

  "Well, of course. Who wouldn't? But I don't do one-nighters anymore. Too old." He grinned and put his hands on her shoulders. "You're alone and so am I. Come over at seven."

  "Okay," she heard herself say, though she knew better. With her luck, Joe would end up taking care of his sister's children for the next eighteen years and she—softhearted fool that she was—would end up helping him.

  Been there, done that.

  Treating him as an overnight sex object was another option, but she still thought that was setting herself up for certain disaster. Even if it was tempting to see what it would be like, J.C. Brown was way out of her league.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  «^»

  Of course he'd lied about wanting to spend the night with Delia. And he was a hell of a good liar, too. Growing up with a drunk for a father could do that to a guy. Self-protection was the name of the game, though Joe didn't like remembering those years.

  Joe knew damn well he'd settle for one night with Delia. At least one night. He was too old to wake up with a stranger in his bed, true. But the thought of eight or nine hours spent making love to Delia was beginning to haunt him. That lush little body would take days—and nights—to explore and even then he sensed that he still wouldn't be satisfied. He'd reactivated a high school crush and he was mooning around like he was seventeen again and Delia had smiled at him in the school corridor.

  How pathetic was that? And how unsettling to wonder if the woman would let him kiss her again.

  She was late for dinner by at least fifteen minutes. He seasoned a couple of thick steaks, set the table, fixed drinks, checked in with his mother and opened a beer. Libby wouldn't stop crying, Hank had asked for his mommy three times in the past hour and Joe's dream of an intimate, quiet dinner with his neighbor evaporated every time one of the children needed his attention.

  Hank had given up and fallen asleep watching television, but the baby wasn't so easily distracted. Libby continued to wail against his shoulder, but he didn't know what else to do. He'd managed to change her diaper, he'd fed her, burped her and walked her from the kitchen to the living room more times than he could count. He almost missed hearing the knock on the door, thanks to his niece lifting her head to scream in his ear. When he opened it, Delia looked from him to the baby and raised her arms—not to embrace the man who stood staring at her as if he'd never seen anyone so beautiful, but to take the sobbing child.

  "Hi," she said, looking up at him again with that sweet smile that made his groin ache. "How's Uncle Joe doing?"

  "Not too well. Until now."

  "You look very domestic." And she looked as if she was trying not to laugh. "What's the matter?"

  "I've fed her, changed her diaper—and for that I deserve a medal—and burped her. But she won't stop—" Libby snuggled into Delia's neck and hiccupped. "Crying," he finished, backing up to let Delia enter the room.

  "There, Libby, it's okay." Delia patted the infant's back.

  "It's because I don't have breasts, isn't it?"

  She laughed, a sound that made him want to make jokes all night. "That could be your problem," Delia said, walking over to the counter to look at the steaks waiting to be grilled. "You weren't kidding about dinner."

  "A man's gotta have meat. These," he announced, "are from my very own cattle."

  "You're a rancher?"

  "Part-time." He picked up the platter. "I'll be right back. I'm going to put these on the grill and then I'll fix you a drink. Hank's asleep in front of the television and if you can keep Libby from screaming again I'd be grateful."

  "Okay."

  He tossed the steaks on the grill, checked his watch and hurried back inside where Delia waited for him. She was in the rocking chair, the baby tucked in her lap and, except for the television, the house was quiet. He had the inexplicable urge to stop and hang on to the moment, because it seemed so damned right. And he'd always wondered what it would be like to be part of a normal family, to care for his own wife and children and to make sure they were safe and happy.

  "What's the matter?" Her voice was low, her gaze quizzical.

  "Nothing." He cleared his throat. "What can I get you to drink?"

  "Beer is fine."

  "I made a pitcher of margarita."

  "Even better. You're quite a host. Do you entertain a lot in Austin?"

  "Not much." He knew she was asking if he had a girlfriend, if he was with a lot of women, if margaritas and meat were his standard tools of seduction. "I keep pretty much to myself these days."

  Delia smiled. "I don't think I believe you." He opened the refrigerator and proceeded to fix his guest a drink. "It's true. It's just me, my dogs, horse and a few head of cattle. I don't cook for just anyone, sweetheart."

  "I'm flattered."

  He handed her a thick-stemmed glass filled with the icy drink and she took it carefully, holding it away from the sleeping baby. "How did you do that?"

  "What?"

  "Put the little monster to sleep."

  "A woman's touch," Delia said, giving him another one of those smiles that threatened to knock him to his knees. "That's all she needed."

  "Yeah," he said. "Me,
too."

  Her eyebrows rose. "I doubt that you lack women, Joe. I remember your reputation in high school."

  "All lies." He winked at her and retrieved his beer before sitting down at the kitchen table.

  "The girls talked about you in gym class. You were quite … experienced." She took a sip of the drink. "Mmm. That's good."

  "Girls talk too much," he muttered. "And that was a long time ago. You wouldn't have gone out with me back then."

  She looked surprised. "You wouldn't have asked me. You only dated the really cool girls."

  "Your mother would have had a stroke if I'd shown up at the front door."

  "True." She laughed. "I didn't date much in high school. I was pretty shy."

  "And beautiful."

  "No." She shook her head. "I wasn't your tall, blond, Texan cheerleader type." She set her glass on the table and leaned forward in the rocker. "I think I'll put Libby to bed."

  "You do that and I'll check the steaks." He stood and held the rocker steady for her. Her perfume was light, something that smelled like lilies, he thought. He wanted to dip his lips to her throat and taste her skin. She wore a fitted cotton House and a slim denim skirt. Very conservative, his Delia was, but it turned him on to no end. When he was around her he had the overwhelming urge to strip off that proper facade and enjoy the woman underneath.

  "I never had the courage to ask you out," Joe admitted, brushing a quick kiss across her lips when she stood. "Until now."

  "What happened?"

  "I'm older and braver and your mother is miles away." He set his hands on her shoulders.

  "Thank goodness."

  Joe touched his lips to hers again, because he couldn't help it. He was careful not to touch the sleeping baby, but Delia's mouth needed kissing, that's all there was to it. And the heat that flared between the two of them was unmistakable and deep. He tilted his head to slant his mouth across hers; she opened her lips when his tongue asked her to. This time he kissed because he couldn't help wanting her—not because he was jealous of whatever guy was going to see her on Saturday or to tease her, as he'd done yesterday when he'd gotten out of the shower. He was almost glad she still held Libby, just so he had to exercise a little control. Her unmistakable response and the little sound of disappointment she made when he finally released her just about knocked him off his feet.