Stud in Texas (Rugged and Risque 4)

Chapter One

“Reese, honey, are you on drugs?” Skylar Travis demanded in her clipped southern accent. She tore her gaze from the elegant inn and the lush lawn sprawled before her and pinned her best friend with a hard glare.

“Of course not,” Reese scoffed.

“Well, you’re smokin’ something, girlfriend.”

“Come on now. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Still intact, I assure you.” Sky bristled a moment at the bizarre predicament she’d suddenly found herself in, then added, “You and me—we’ve done some crazy shit during our time on this Earth together, but I am telling you right here and right now that I am not the woman for you.”

Reese Middleton smirked, her tawny eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m not askin’ you to marry me, Sky.”

“Oh but you are inviting me into that big ole house to do something with you that I am just not capable of doing.”

With a dramatic sigh, Reese demanded, “How difficult is it, really? You know you want this. You’ve fantasized about it since high school—and kept it a secret from everyone but me. Now’s your big chance to fulfill the dream.” She winked suggestively. “You, me, an inn with ten rooms and a walk-in cooler full of whipped cream…”

“You have a twisted little mind.”

“Now dammit, Sky. You’re a gal who’s been there, done that when it comes to every expectation people have had of you. It’s time to let the horses run free, sugar. Time to follow your own heart, not someone else’s idea of who you should be and what you should be doing with your life.”

Sky stared incredulously at her. “When you called, I thought you were asking me to come to town to bake some cupcakes for your bed-and-breakfast, or something. This is not at all what I expected—even from you.”

“I sold the B&B a while back, when you were in Nashville. I live in a cottage down by the lake, on this property. And my dearest friend, you are so far beyond birthday-party cupcakes, it horrifies me to even think that’s the notion that ran through your head. This is a shot at something grandiose—the ovens at the dessert station in the inn’s kitchen are all yours!”

“I don’t know, Reesie.” Doubt tinged her voice. “I make wedding cakes for the Luckenbach Dance Hall in a community of, like, twenty-five people.”

“Let us not forget, that’s a world-famous dance hall. Brides and grooms come from all around to get hitched there—and to have their cakes designed by a celebrity.”

“I am not a celebrity.”

“Oh please. When you were just sixteen years old, you won a statewide singing competition and performed the National Anthem at a Dallas Cowboys football game—that alone made you a star in everyone’s eyes here in Wilder. Nobody loves Friday night lights like we Texans, so singing at a Cowboys game is more exciting than performing at the Grammy’s.”

She had a point.

“That wasn’t all, though,” Reese said. “Waylon Jennings heard you and introduced you to a record producer. As soon as your CD released, you opened for him on his last tour, before he passed on. God rest his soul.”

Ritually, both women dropped their heads, closed their eyes and gave a moment of silence for the dearly departed Texas icon.

Reese added, “After that, you made a movie. And not just any ole movie, you played Silver Monroe’s best friend—she’s won as many Oscars as Meryl Streep. You also won an award for your role. Not to mention, you were wanted for a movie starring Patrick Swayze before he passed on.”

Another moment of silence, this time for their favorite actor.

“You’re actually depressing me,” Sky said. “I sound like a black widow. Well, except that Silver’s happy and healthy. About to marry some gorgeous world-champion surfer named Kolby Marx. She’s invited me to the wedding in Hawaii.”

“And you’ll be there with lots of other famous people, I bet.” Reese continued recapping Sky’s career for her with bright-eyed enthusiasm. “You also lived in New York for a while and danced in the chorus line for a Broadway show. Then, to top it all off, you became a Las Vegas showgirl. People around these parts were so thrilled to know you, the Wilder Star put your picture on the front page—sparkly costume, full headdress and all. Why, you’re the most glamorous person we know.”

Sky rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”

“You’re just too modest for words. And what about touring with that super-hottie Casey James?”

“I was just a backup singer, for Pete’s sake.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Least he’s still alive.”

“You think you’re some sort of bad curse?”

“The thought has crossed my mind.” For good reason, of late.

“Let it continue right on out of your head, Skylar Travis. Good Lord, if I had half your singing, acting and dancing talent… Well.” Reese’s brow furrowed. Her mouth turned down at the corners. “I still would’ve stayed in Wilder and bought the B&B.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Guess I’m the type who needs roots. But you.” She picked up momentum again. “You were meant to roam for a while. Then come back home, where you belong.”

“I don’t really belong anywhere,” Sky lamented with a stab of loneliness. “And I haven’t got the faintest idea what to do with the rest of my life now that I’ve allegedly been there, done that.”

“You were offered another recording contract.”

“By a snake in the grass who’s just after my money,” she reminded her friend.

“Well, there are some seedy characters out there.”

A violent shudder chased down Sky’s spine. “More than you know.”

“Anyway, my whole point is that you are a nationally recognized name and most definitely a Lone Star State celebrity.”

“Whatever. Can we get back to the issue at hand?”

“And you’re the preferred baker for the dance hall.”

Sky groaned. “Stop shinin’ me on.”

Reese didn’t appear the tiniest bit contrite.

“Look,” Sky said, “much as I love Luckenbach, it’s a ghost town. I

t’s like, nine acres, with just a few old Wild West-type buildings for some light commerce. It doesn’t even have a ZIP code anymore, because the Post Office shut down in the ’70s—supposedly because the owner collected the few pieces of mail as they came in and saved up for one full mail run, which occurred so infrequently, it wasn’t worth sending mail there in the first place. It ended up outdated by the time it was delivered to the intended recipient.”

Sky had heard all the stories the first few weeks she’d moved there—most of them tall tales, all of them extraordinarily entertaining. She’d had to weed out the actual truths from the colorful yarns the locals liked to spin. The small community was filled with more interesting characters than you could shake a stick at, and Sky had enjoyed getting to know them.

In turn, they’d oohed and aahed over her—for all of a day. Then they’d all but forgotten her wee bit of fame. Most of them had met Waylon and Willie and the boys during various Luckenbach engagements back in the day, so she’d become more shiny new penny than local celeb, since she was nowhere near on par with the legends that made the town notorious.

Continuing, Sky said, “Since the damn tourists have stolen most of the road signs to keep as souvenirs, people get lost in Hill Country because none of their ‘sophisticated’ GPS what’s-a-ma-who’s-its can compute farm-to-market routes. Yes, the place does pack in a nice crowd with the weekend concerts, but still. It’s just a tiny dot on our state map. Nothing extravagant about it.” Her gaze slid to the grand building before them. “And you want me to be a pastry chef at this inn?”

Reese rocked back on the heels of her boots. “Yes, I do. We’ll be partners. You’ll handle the fancy goodies I haven’t the slightest idea how to create, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Not a chance in hell.”