Crockett's Seduction Read online

  “I could come in and make soap carvings for her,” Crockett offered. “It’s something I learned in Maverick’s boot camp.”

  It was tempting, but Valentine knew too well that she had no business allowing herself to accept such an invitation. She and Crockett needed to stay separate, on the ranch and in their lives.

  Annette started to fuss, giving Valentine an excuse to shake her head. “Thanks. Another time. Good night, Crockett.” She walked inside her house, then turned to wave one last goodbye.

  He stood there, his arms crossed over his chest and his legs spread as he watched her, the very essence of sexiness and protectiveness. Everything that was female inside her electrified and went on red alert.

  He tipped his hat to her.

  Slowly, she backed away from the door, closing it behind her. Her pulse thundered. He was hotter than a man had a right to be.

  “You like him,” she whispered to Annette as they walked down the hall, “and so do I.”

  The flattered feelings Crockett gave her were like a sweet, forbidden confection—one an unwise woman ate and then later regretted.

  Valentine might have made mistakes in her past, but this time she would be wise. If she didn’t lose her head, then she couldn’t lose her heart.

  Chapter Three

  If Crockett hadn’t been thinking about panty-filled cakes and how pretty Valentine’s fanny probably looked in a thong, he might have noticed Last waiting for him on the porch.

  “Bro,” Last said, his arms crossed over his chest. “It seems strange to me that your creativity has returned, and now you’re walking Valentine home. It’s like…I don’t know. One and one makes two, you know?”

  Crockett frowned, walking around his brother. “Seems to me the math’s already been done. One and one made three. You didn’t choose to walk two parts of the equation home, so shut the hell up.”

  Last followed him into the house. “That doesn’t mean you should have.”

  “Then who, Last?” Crockett put his hat on the counter and stared his brother down. “It was a courtesy, nothing more, one which you should have performed.”

  Last shrugged. “At the table, it seemed like you two were getting along pretty well.”

  Crockett sighed. “Are you trying to tell me that you have feelings for her? That you ever had feelings for her?”

  “Not those kind of feelings.”

  Crockett breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t allow his brother to hear.

  “But Annette’s my daughter.”

  Crockett shook his head. “I thought I had all the jealousy in the family.”

  “I’ve got my fair share.”

  They sat down on the sofa, glancing around to make sure Helga wasn’t around before putting their boots on the coffee table.

  “I’m just getting good at the relationship with my daughter,” Last said quietly. “Frankly, it took me a while.”

  “I know. We thought your Mohawk phase might last longer than it did.” Crockett picked up the remote and began channel surfing. Some things were easier to discuss lightly.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Last said. “I just wanted you to know how I feel.”

  Crockett nodded and closed his eyes, wishing Last would cool his jets. Family angst wasn’t what he wanted to think about. He wanted to think about Valentine—and her fanny—and about the creative ideas suddenly filling his mind. Something about that tiny woman with the very round, very upstanding tushie made his juices flow, made him want to…sculpt. Her.

  She brought inspiration to life inside him in ways he had never imagined. What medium would best illustrate her curves?

  Clay! Calhoun didn’t work with clay!

  “I need some more time to work things out with Valentine.”

  Last’s words penetrated the dense fog of Crockett’s inspired musing. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were trying to work anything out.”

  “Not like that,” Last admitted. “It’s the family angle I’m working on. The father thing.”

  A curious rush of jealousy, more powerful than anything Crockett had experienced before, surprised him. “Father thing?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been polishing my game. Performing my obligations. Whatever you want to call it.”

  “Let me get this straight. From the day Frisco Joe met Annabelle and her baby, Emmie, you talked about Jefferson children. You sent all our brothers off with marching orders to procreate. Surprise, surprise, you become a dad, too, only you get mad as hell and do everything you can to ignore Annette for months, leaving your responsibilities to Mason and me and our other brothers. Now you decide to bust my chops because I’m paying attention to Valentine and Annette?” He shook his head. “Dude, it’s not going to work. You can’t treat people that way. You’ve ignored Valentine since she came to the ranch. I’m not trying to get in your way when it comes to being a dad, but you’re not going to get in my way of…whatever.”

  “And what is whatever? Just so I’ll understand.”

  Crockett slapped his brother on the back of the head. “She’s a nice lady. I like to look at her.”

  Last moved away from his older brother’s reach. “And if I don’t like whatever? If I need more time to get my own deal worked out with my family? Then what?”

  “Have at it.” He looked his brother in the eyes. “Don’t get competitive, Last. You don’t like hanging around her, I do. Deal with it.”

  Last got up from the couch, agony on his face. “I am trying to be as good a father as Maverick was.”

  “I’m not stopping you.”

  Last sighed. “I feel like I need something that’s mine, where none of my brothers overshadow me.”

  Crockett could relate to that feeling. “We’re just friends. And I’m only interested in spending time with her because it seems I’ve recently turned into a butt-man.”

  “Butt-head, you mean.”

  “No, butt-man. Valentine has a great tush. It inspires my creativity. That’s all I’m thinking about. Nothing deeper than that.”

  Last nodded, then left Crockett with the TV while he headed down to Valentine’s. He hesitated before knocking on the door. Crockett was pretty much correct: Last had avoided Valentine for a long time.

  The realization that he was a father had changed his life and frightened him. He’d doubted his ability to be a proper role model. He hadn’t wanted to be tied down to a woman. At the time, it had felt as if he’d gotten roped in. Later, he realized that the few pounds of squealing flesh that bore his name wasn’t all that frightening. He’d slowly begun to worm his way into Valentine’s good graces, and he’d moved just as slowly over the first bumps of fatherhood.

  He’d been feeling pretty good about matters—until Crockett had started eyeing his family.

  The door opened and Valentine looked out at him. “Hi, Last,” she said, her tone somewhat surprised.

  Of course she was surprised. “Is Annette asleep?”

  “Nearly. Did you want to see her?”

  He shifted. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”

  Her big eyes widened. “All right.”

  “There’s never going to be anything between you and me, is there?”

  Valentine was so shocked by Last coming to her house and asking her this question that it took her a second to shake her head. “I think we’re better off as friends. You don’t want more than that, do you?”

  “I want to be first in my daughter’s life.”

  “And you’re worried that you won’t be?” This was a side of Last she’d never seen before.

  “Maybe.”

  “Last, Annette knows who you are,” Valentine said softly. “That should be reassurance enough.”

  “Yeah.” He backed away from the door. “Okay.”

  Valentine took a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, Last, I never set out to trap you with fatherhood. If you avoid me because you think I’m after you, it’s not true. I don’t remember much about our night tog
ether, but I know it got out of hand pretty quick and that neither of us were ourselves. Nor were either of us under any delusions.”

  He looked grim. “Sometimes I wonder if it really happened.”

  “I know.”

  His mouth settled into a tense line. “I think, Valentine, I owe you an apology. I had some wildness in me, and I never thought about the consequences of my actions. For either of us, but especially for you.”

  Valentine smiled slightly. “Thank you. But it doesn’t matter anymore. We have a daughter we both love.”

  “We sure do.” For the first time, he smiled. “I’m still kind of amazed that I’m a dad.”

  “Scary?”

  “Scary, but awesome.” He stepped down off the porch. “By the way, do you have a thing for my brother Crockett?”

  Her smile slipped, and she gave him a warning glare. “Haven’t you asked the one question you came here to ask?”

  He laughed and put up his hands in mock surrender. “All right.”

  She opened the door. “I have to get to work early in the morning.”

  He nodded. “Good night.”

  “Good night.” Closing the door, Valentine wondered which of Last’s questions he’d really come to ask. She’d never know—but one thing she did know, she had a thing for Crockett.

  OKAY, SO IT WAS WRONG to be hiding in the bushes. Crockett knew that. But he wasn’t so much hiding as skulking, he figured, in the old-time manner any villain from a black-and-white movie would appreciate.

  But what else could a man do? The second he’d realized Last had a major burr under his saddle and was heading down to Valentine’s house, Crockett had to tag along to eavesdrop.

  He’d heard everything, amazed that Valentine and Last spoke with each other so easily about such a difficult subject. And how dare Last ask her if she had a thing for him? Crockett was just honest enough to admit his ears had stretched out about a foot to hear her reply, his heart hoping for an affirmative answer of some sort.

  Well, he hadn’t gotten an affirmative, but he hadn’t overheard a negative, either. Wasn’t that a good sign?

  He untangled himself from the bushes and headed back toward the main house. Half of him wanted to go pound Last for muddying the waters; he’d have to keep an eye on that brother of his. But right now the other half of him wanted to express his joy.

  She didn’t say that she didn’t have a thing for me, he repeated to himself happily.

  IN MIMI’S TOWNHOUSE the next day Mimi and Mason were seated at the kitchen table drinking tea and glaring at each other. Mimi’s daughter, Nanette, sat in Mason’s lap, playing with a doll he’d given her, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.

  “I don’t want to be your deputy,” Mason said. “It’s a harebrained idea, as usual.”

  “Sometimes you like my ideas,” she reminded him.

  Mason wondered if he’d truly liked her ideas, or if he’d simply been driven by the inner devil that sometimes took the wheel of the Jefferson boys. “I may have lost my sense of direction and allowed you to lead me astray a time or two.”

  “So you don’t want to be my deputy because of the news about Maverick?” Mimi asked. “Are you leaving to look for him again?”

  “No.” He kissed the top of Nanette’s head, drawing peace from her presence. “It wouldn’t do me any good. Hawk and Jellyfish can find whatever is out there. They’re the trackers. Me, I’m just a farm boy.”

  She laughed. “Right.”

  “So.”

  Taking a sip of tea, he considered Mimi. She was just as pretty as she’d ever been. Maybe even prettier. He supposed that now that she was officially divorced from Brian, men would flock to her door. That thought rattled him quite a bit more than it should. So he thought about Nanette instead. She needed a stable male influence in her life. She had Mimi’s father, the sheriff, of course. And Barley, Calhoun’s father-in-law, who came around often to play checkers and carouse with the sheriff a bit. And all the Jefferson brothers did their part for their former neighbor, because they loved Mimi like a sister and adored Nanette like one of their own.

  But was it enough? “I may take Nanette to the park today.”

  Mimi’s brows raised. “She’d like that.”

  “Yeah.” He’d like it, too. He liked spending time with this child. Maybe he felt sorry for her since her father was never around. One thing Mimi’d had while growing up—wild March hare that she was—was the stable influence of the sheriff.

  Nanette was a baby, really, but she still needed at least one man who cared about her in a…fatherly way.

  He decided it was up to him. “Yeah, the deputy thing isn’t for me. And now that the sheriff has nearly gotten over the liver infection, can he keep his post?”

  Mimi shook her head. “He can’t run for sheriff again. Dad really needs to take it easy. He’s happy here in town, too, more than I thought he’d be.” She sighed. “Although I will admit I never thought we’d leave our little farm.”

  Mason was just glad they hadn’t moved farther away. With Mimi, you could never tell what might happen. “Ever hear from Brian?”

  “No. Not really. He still does some paperwork for Dad.”

  “Ah.” Mason felt the tiny stab of jealousy inside him recede. He supposed he’d always been a bit worried that Mimi and Brian might work things out. It was so wrong of him to be happy that their marriage had failed! What kind of friend was he?

  “You know, Mason,” Mimi said, “that little bundle of joy you’re holding is what gave my father the will to live. I think he fought that infection with every shred of strength he had in him just to see her grow up.”

  “Miracle girl.” Mason kissed the top of her head again. “Don’t start thinking you’re special, though, toot.”

  Nanette patted his face, then pretended to steal his nose.

  “Okay, off to the park we go. You want to come?”

  Mimi shook her head. “Thanks. You go on.”

  Mason gathered Nanette in his arms then turned to look at Mimi. “I don’t think you should run for sheriff, either. It’s too dangerous. You need to think of your little girl.”

  “And I’ve decided to take your advice on that matter. Of course, your horsey opinion doesn’t have anything to do with my change of mind, but I have thought long and hard on it. You’re right.”

  Mason was shocked. “Is that a first?”

  Mimi laughed. “Hell, yes, so don’t be annoying and gloat.”

  “Humph.” He thought about her capitulation and wondered aloud, “What else could I get out of you while you’re in this easy mood? One ought to grab all the candy while the store’s open and free, I think.”

  “I’m not exactly candy,” Mimi said.

  No, but she was being sweet. He frowned. “Mimi,” he said, “have you ever thought about the fact that sometimes you and I really get along?”

  Chapter Four

  Hidden in the attic that he had accepted as his artistic loft, Crockett stared at the clay lump in front of him. This was definitely a new playground. Clay didn’t have the color of paints, or the lightness of spirit that said, “Create freely!”

  But the lump represented wonderful opportunities. It gave him a chance to think about the new him. Sculptor. Artist of a molding medium. He worked the clay between his fingers. He had eschewed white, opting to start with red clay. Would he enjoy making something without a brush? He hoped he didn’t become frustrated or miss the sensation of a brush sliding across canvas.

  “I have a barn to clean out, so you and I better come to terms,” he told the lump. “Be beautiful.”

  “Crockett?” a voice called up the stairs.

  Valentine! Blast! “Yes?”

  “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  So much for having a secret lair. Had someone put out a sign when he wasn’t looking? This way to Crockett’s cave? But if someone had to bother him he was glad it was Valentine. She was worth a break.

  “Sure. Come
on up.”

  She appeared at the top of the ladder, and he reached to help her into the room. “This space is nice.”

  He glanced around. “Not really.”

  “Oh, sure. This is the perfect place to read a book! Especially on a rainy day.” She smiled, giving a fake shiver. “A cold, rainy day.”

  “It’s July. Hard to think about cold, rainy days.”

  “Yeah. You know, you just need a window seat up here, a fresh coat of paint, and this place would be a wonderful studio.”

  Of course, she was right, but he didn’t want her redecorating his hideout. Ugly and in some disarray, it suited his mood. “Hey, what’s up, anyway? What brings you to the dustiest part of the ranch?”

  She turned to look out the window, which he appreciated, because he could now evaluate her curves. Yes, she was just as he remembered: full and feminine and made for a man who appreciated round, apple-shaped—

  “You’re making me self-conscious, Crockett,” Valentine said, laughing. “You always seem to be staring at my fanny.”

  “Your jeans fit good,” he said. “I’ve never known Wrangler jeans to fit anyone quite like yours fit you.”

  “And you would be a connoisseur of fannies,” she teased.

  “Purely a statement of truth.” Valentine was hotter than a pistol, in his book—but it was a book he wasn’t going to read, window seat and fresh paint or not. “So once again, what do you want?”

  She took a deep breath. “I was going to see what you thought about me having a special little ‘do’ here for Father’s Day.”

  He stopped fiddling with the lump of clay. “Father’s Day? That was last month.”

  “Yes. Well there are rather a lot of fathers around here. And we didn’t have a real celebration for them. Last, the sheriff, Barley, Calhoun—”