Play Me (Barnes Brothers Book 2) Page 8

  And though she sought distractions throughout the day—solitaire with the forty-seven cards she managed to find, hand-washing her underthings as well as rinsing the mud from the clothing Tyler had forgotten—the visual image of the men’s departure remained vivid in her mind.

  What she found to be the strangest of all were the feelings that picture evoked. She could hardly visualize Tyler without remembering the way he’d loved her. Yet what she felt at his leaving wasn’t a physical ache, but… homesickness.

  A ridiculous sensation. She couldn’t be homesick when she’d never had a home. Homesick implied a loss worth longing for. Her only longings had been of the childhood sort, wishing for what she’d never had. As for loss…

  She thought of the six letters she carried in the bottom of her duffel. If there was one thing she regretted losing, it was the chance to make a home with the father who’d wanted her.

  And the chance to find out why her mother had refused to let her go.

  But homesickness and Tyler didn’t go hand in hand. He was not an objective but an interlude. And Brodie, Texas, was a black dot on a map of black dots, one of many she’d likely travel through before she found her family.

  No, homesickness had nothing to do with Tyler. She was here to build his hospital. If they built a memory, fine. It would make Brodie more colorful than most of her stops.

  And if they built a bit of a fire, well, at least it would keep the memory warm.

  When nighttime came, her memories of the past and her amateur attempt at philosophy had contributed generously to her confusion, resulting in a whopping stress headache. She left the mattress where it had lain all day, slipped back into her nightclothes, curled up under Tyler’s blanket, and waited for sleep.

  She wasn’t sure when it came, if it did at all, if the scent of Tyler was only in her dreams or if it had seeped from the blanket into her skin, if she could wash it away, or if she’d wear it as a memory, if she’d need a memory, if one could forget the first stirrings of love.

  SIX

  SLEEP HUNG FAST THE NEXT morning. Sophie woke slowly, stirred sluggishly, stretched, and yawned. Remembering foolish dreams of first loves brought her awake enough to poke her sock-covered toes out from under her blanket cocoon. Cold pounced and she huddled back beneath the warm cotton, seeking the remaining body heat. She’d slept too long and the fire had died.

  Cowboy’s desperate whimpering at the door was her second clue to not only how long but how hard she’d slept. She pushed up to her knees and buried her face in the crumpled sheets. Taking a deep breath of Tyler’s side of the bed, she raised up onto all fours then onto her feet, savoring the scent of his blanket and doing her best to focus her muzzy mind.

  When she found herself squinting against the light streaming in through the window, she realized it was much, much later than she’d first thought. She also realized the rain had stopped. Stumbling to the door to let Cowboy outside, she huddled deep inside the blanket, leaned against the frame, filled her lungs with the near painful bite of crisp, clean air.

  And that’s when she heard the voices. Not just voices, but the sound of rending metal and splintering wood and hammers and heavy equipment. The bridge. Sam must be rebuilding the bridge.

  Leaving the door cracked for Cowboy’s return—though she figured like a typical kid he’d stay to watch the action up close—Sophie hurried through her morning routine. She brewed a double pot of coffee while slipping into much the same wardrobe as yesterday. But today, with only the slightest hesitation, she chose a barely worn T-shirt of pale sea green.

  She filled two thermoses and set them in a bushel basket she’d found on the back porch, adding a tin of sugar, another of powdered cream, and the camping mugs she remembered seeing stacked in the back of the cupboard. She didn’t know who Sam had with him but figured these provisions made for a good start.

  Shoving an apple and two granola bars into one pocket of her denim jacket, a bottle of water in the other, she picked up the basket and headed outside. Cowboy sat a little closer than she figured. When he looked up and saw her, his doggie smile widened. His tail thumped against the bottom step of the porch as if to say, “Look, Ma. We’ve got company.”

  Propping the basket against the wall with one hip, she fished her sunglasses from the breast pocket of her jacket. Better. Now she could see. And when she stepped off the porch, the air frosting her breath, stinging her nose until she sneezed, the first person she saw was Tyler.

  At least it was the back of Tyler. And it was an incredible sight.

  This morning he wore faded jeans, the legs tucked into knee-high black rubber boots. Mud splattered him from toe to hip. From hip to head, the mud thinned, giving way to splotches of water and sweat.

  He wore a long-sleeved denim shirt, the cuffs rolled back to show off strong forearms, the tails tucked in at his oh-so-fine waist with a worn leather belt. His hair was held back from his face by a Lone Star Feed and Fertilizer bill cap snugged down in reverse.

  She couldn’t have said what the others were wearing. She didn’t know who the others were, and quite frankly, didn’t care. She forced herself to scan the area and wipe the drool from her chin.

  Sam and his teenage son Lucas both wore waders. Standing thigh-deep in the subsiding creek, they worked to tear the remaining wreckage of the bridge from its moorings. On the opposite side of the bank, Gardner and an older man Sophie knew had to be the Barnes’s patriarch, Uncle Jud, assembled the new framework, laying beams between the tailgates of two trucks.

  Sam was the first to catch sight of her. “Good morning, young lady.”

  “Good morning, Sam,” Sophie answered, catching Tyler’s near spinning whiplash in her peripheral vision as she set the basket on the open tailgate of his truck.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience,” Sam went on. “I don’t know why this ol’ creek had to show its tail in front of company.”

  Sophie tucked her hands into her jeans’ pockets, leaned against the fender, and continued to talk straight to Sam. “Don’t worry about it. My contract allows for time off in the event of a natural disaster.”

  Sam jerked the flattened felt hat from his head. “Well, I’m thinking this disaster has man-made written all over it. I’ve been knowing those damn bolts were about to give. If I’d’ve made the repairs when I should’ve, you wouldn’t’ve had to miss a day of work. And young Barnes there”—he gestured toward Tyler, then smashed the hat back in place—“wouldn’t be needing a backhoe to dig out his truck.”

  “Hey, Tyler.” Lucas pitched a splintered beam to the bank and nodded toward the truck. “A hundred bucks and I’ll spit shine that sweet machine for you.”

  Sophie slowly turned her gaze Tyler’s way as he hoisted the beam to his shoulder. He headed up the bank, hitching the load higher as he walked. The tendons in his neck strained against the weight, but his stride was bold and cocky, his bad wolf grin extra bad.

  He was glad to see her. And her soft, girl belly was glad he was glad.

  “No thanks, Lucas.” Tyler tossed the beam into the bed of his truck with the rest of the rubble then stepped closer to Sophie. “No telling where your spit has been. Besides, it’s only the bottom half that’s dirty. I figure that makes the job worth no more than fifty.”

  “Yeah, but the bottom half is dirty enough for two whole trucks.” Frowning, Lucas moved toward the deep center of the creek, his concern obviously not for his balance as much as for the loss of the extra dough. “And the mud on the undercarriage is gonna hafta be sandblasted off.”

  Tyler stopped in Sophie’s line of vision, blocking her from the others’ view. He shamelessly lifted her sunglasses, then tucked them into the pocket of his shirt and took a minute to study her face, a minute to smile with pleasure.

  A minute charged with anticipation when he ran his thumb over the seam of her lips. A minute that sapped her strength, rendering her weak enough to respond to his touch with the tip of her tongue.

  Groaning audibly,
Tyler lowered his hand. His eyes were hot when, staring into Sophie’s, he spoke to Lucas.

  “All right. A hundred. But no spit,” he said then added for Sophie’s ears only, “I’m disgustingly easy. Try me. Please.”

  “Cool.” Lucas’s exclamation was accompanied by the cracking of another board.

  Sophie couldn’t say anything at all. Not with the taste of Tyler on her mouth. Not with that sound he’d made still in the air, still rumbling through her, deep and arousing like a heavy bass beat.

  Not with the sudden realization that she’d never be safe—or strong—around this man.

  Pulling in a long, even breath, she stepped around Tyler and glanced from Lucas standing in the creek to his father who worked at his side. Then she smiled at Gardner, lifted a hand and waved at Jud before feeling controlled enough to face the enemy.

  “How did you end up working on this side of the bank?”

  “I planned it that way.” The wolf grinned.

  She pulled her sunglasses from his pocket and settled them back in place on her nose. “Not a subtle bone in your body, is there?”

  “Nope. Not a one.”

  Shaking her head, Sophie resumed her mission and walked down to the creek. “I brought coffee.” She gestured back toward the truck then called across to the Barnes men, “I’ll toss you a thermos. How do you take it?”

  “Black’ll do,” Gardner answered after double-checking with his uncle.

  Shucking off his work gloves, Sam headed for the bank, the water sloshing around the legs of his rubber waders. Lucas ripped another beam from the toppled bridge frame, tucked it under his arm like a toothpick, and trudged effortlessly toward the truck.

  Sophie turned to follow, stopping when Tyler stepped into her path.

  “Quit staring,” he growled, catching her doing just that.

  Teenage muscles were amazing. So was Tyler’s possessive response. And her own foolishly weak enjoyment of the same.

  She glanced over his shoulder at Lucas. “I’m not.”

  He pulled her sunglasses down her nose with one finger. All innocence, she widened her eyes.

  “Yes, you are,” he said and continued on toward the creek’s edge to toss a thermos and two mugs to his brother.

  She moved her gaze to Tyler’s backside and released a long, slow breath.

  “Okay. So I am,” she said to herself then slapped her leg twice for Cowboy and turned to walk down the creek bank, leaving the men to the business of building.

  The creek hadn’t taken long to recede, though Tyler had been right about the gumbo, she realized, sinking her teeth into her breakfast apple as the soles of her boots sucked at the mud.

  Though the moisture in the air gave the wind an icy bite, the sun shone from its winter angle with enough heat to warm her denim jacket. She’d worked in inclement weather often enough to know her face would be windburned if she stayed out too long. Already, her nose was threatening to run. But the day was too beautiful to miss.

  A long walk would do her good, especially after yesterday’s inactivity. Besides, it would keep her from embarrassing herself in front of Sam and Lucas and Gardner and Jud by rabidly panting after Tyler.

  It was a shame that one man had as much going for him as Tyler did. It made it really hard on a girl who was trying to do what she knew to be right. It didn’t seem fair to wake up in the morning and be faced with that heartbreaker even before she’d had breakfast.

  Sophie sighed. It was inevitable that she’d be seeing him a lot. After all, she was building his hospital. And admitting his effect on her went way beyond that of any man before gave her an advantage, made it easier to stage a strong defense.

  What she didn’t want to do was start looking forward to his visits to the job site, start straining for quick glimpses, plotting impromptu trysts in dark corners. Like a junkie of the worst kind.

  Like her mother.

  Besides, she had to be fair to Tyler. He had “family” written all over him and Sophie didn’t have the time. She just wanted to do her job, continue the search for her father, sock away a little more money for her future, then move on to the next job and repeat the process. And when she finally found her father, well, she’d take it from there.

  She finished off her apple, tossed the core into the matted tangle of brush at the edge of the creek, then pulled a granola bar from her pocket

  Tyler pulled it right out of her hand.

  “You scare me like that again and I’ll toss you farther than I tossed that apple core,” she scolded, her heart pounding.

  Unwrapping the second granola bar, she cast a quick glance over her shoulder. She’d walked far enough that the other four men were nearly indistinguishable. “What are you doing down here anyway? I thought you had a bridge to build.”

  “No building for me. I need these hands for surgery,” he said and crunched down on his half of her breakfast

  She remembered his hands, the calluses, the tender touches. He might need them for surgery but he didn’t avoid hard work.

  Neither did he keep his opinions to himself, spitting out the bite of granola bar he’d taken. “Man cannot live by sawdust alone. I’m a doctor. Pay attention to what I say.”

  “I don’t know, Dr. Barnes. I’d say most of your patients eat exactly what I’m eating.” She pulled the water bottle from her pocket and offered it to him.

  He pounced on the lid and poured half the contents down his throat before handing it back. “Exactly my point. You’re grazing. Just like my sister-in-law used to do.”

  “Until you corrupted her with chicken-fried steak and cream gravy, no doubt.”

  Tyler placed himself between Sophie and the creek bank, pacing his stride to her speed. His rubber boots did battle with the mud, leaving her to maneuver easily on the more solid ground.

  “We don’t eat a lot of fried anymore. And I can’t remember the last time I had gravy. Harley sort of took it upon herself to clean out our arteries.”

  Sophie pursed her lips against a grin. “Guess that balances out all that home cooking those willing contestants have you suffering through.”

  “I’m suffering, all right, but it’s all Jud’s fault.” He rubbed his stomach, right above his belt buckle—a belt buckle that lay flat against the most spectacular abs.

  Cowboy flushed a bird from its cover of brush, giving Sophie a safe place to focus her gaze. What she needed was a safe place to focus her mind, she admitted, straining to pick up a thread of the conversation. “How could your suffering be Jud’s fault?”

  “Well, Harley was late coming downstairs this morning, so Jud bootlegged a pan of biscuits. When Harley found all of us at the breakfast table with butter dripping down our chins, she counterattacked with a pot of oatmeal.”

  “And I’ll bet she made you eat it without the caramel topping, didn’t she?” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes.

  He scowled back. “No caramel but it wasn’t too bad buried under the strawberries and peaches she put up this summer.”

  “Mmm. I see. Well, I’d better not ever hear you complaining about my cooking again,” she said and playfully punched him on the shoulder.

  He grabbed her arm, swung her around and captured her in front of him. “You gonna cook for me again?”

  “No. But just don’t complain about it.” She pushed away and told herself she was glad when he didn’t put up a fight His lack of resistance made it easier for her to stay strong. “I’m sure your sister-in-law doesn’t allow you to complain.”

  “She put up with it for a little while,” he said, matching his stride to hers once again. “But then she put her foot down. Told us she’d married into this family and that gave her the right to make sure she didn’t grow old by herself while we all keeled over from cholesterol.” He shrugged. “I just kept my mouth shut.”

  “I’d think that would make it rather difficult to eat anything.”

  He glared down, playfully tugged at a shock of her hair. Then he casually se
ttled his arm on her shoulder. “Jud wasn’t too happy having his kitchen commandeered but he finally gave in and let Harley have her way. He even stopped complaining after she started providing him great-nephews to spoil. I think he decided he didn’t want to be the one keeling over from cholesterol—not when he was having so much fun with the boys.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  He reached down, uprooted a long straw of grass, and stuck the end in his mouth. Then he resettled her in the niche of his shoulder. Closer this time.

  “The oldest one, Austin, is nine and has Billy the Kid written all over him. He worships the ground his daddy walks on and is about as reckless as Ben, the second, is reserved. Ben goes about everything with a lot of thought like he’s got a headful of microchips that have to process the data before he can make a decision.”

  The weight of his arm was pleasing, not possessive or insistent, and so she let him stay. “How old is Ben?”

  “He’s six. The youngest, Cody, is three. If any of them is a momma’s boy, it’s Cody. But I think that’s because he’s around the house most of the time. And because he can’t be what he really wants to be.”

  “Which is?”

  “A cat.”

  When she chuckled, he reached up and tugged on her ear. “That would make Cody your favorite, right?”

  “Maybe not favorite but definitely a boy after my own heart.”

  “Is she hoping for a girl this time?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she is, though I know she’ll be happy either way. I swear I’ve never seen anybody as happy as Harley. How anybody that big can be that happy is beyond me.”

  “The big doesn’t last forever, Tyler.” And too often there’s no happy to go along with it, she silently added. She shifted closer to his warmth and out of the wind and the cold.

  “I know. But sometimes I think Harley wishes it did. She loves being pregnant. From the little bit Gardner has said, I guess she didn’t have a great childhood. It was a lot like yours, except that she and her sister had two parents to ignore them instead of just the one.”