Lyric and Lingerie (Fort Worth Wranglers 1)

Part of him wanted nothing more than to pull her onto his lap and kiss the hurt away. To stroke and to soothe and to promise her that everything was going to be okay. But there were two problems with that plan.

One, he didn’t know how things were going to turn out, didn’t know if her dad would be okay, though he really hoped he would be—and not just for Lyric’s sake.

And two, if he tried to hold her like that in the mood she was currently in, she’d probably smother him with the plastic-covered pillow tucked into the seat pocket in front of her.

Which left only one thing for him to do—at least if you understood that he couldn’t just leave her broken up like this. He had to go old school—way old school—and pull out the one thing that used to make her laugh no matter what. It was lame and he really hoped Wranglers Jersey didn’t hear him doing it, but what was a little humiliation in the face of making Lyric smile again?

In his best Kermit the Frog voice, he said, “It isn’t easy being green.”

Who didn’t love the Muppets? Considering he hadn’t done the impression in at least twenty years, he figured it wasn’t all that shabby.

Lyric must have agreed, because the corners of her mouth lifted tremulously. But all she said was, “Kermit the Frog hasn’t worked on me since I was ten.”

“That’s too bad. I’ve been working on my version of ‘Rainbow Connection.’” Heath grinned at her. “I’m sure Tre would love for me to go all Kermit-turned-lounge-singer and rock this place.”

“No doubt. Just be aware that he has duct tape.” She picked at the same thread on her skirt. “And he’s not afraid to use it.”

She closed her eyes and sank back against her chair with a heavy sigh. He wanted to talk more, to find out what she’d been up to for the last few years, but she looked totally wiped. Better to let her sleep for a while—it would make the flight pass more quickly for her. Besides, it’s not like he wouldn’t get the chance to talk to her again.

When he’d needed her all those years ago, she’d been there for him. A lot had happened in the ensuing years, but none of that mattered to him right now. Nothing did, but repaying the favor and helping Lyric … whether she liked it or not.

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

Lyric came awake abruptly, her head smacking hard against the back of the seat as consciousness invaded like a conquering army. For a second, she couldn’t remember where she was or what she was doing. But when she turned and saw Heath sitting next to her, still asleep, it all came back to her.

Her father’s heart attack.

Sitting next to her arch nemesis for the longest eight-hour flight of her life.

The ridiculous duct-tape dress.

She shot a quick glance down, hoping and praying that the damned dress debacle had just been a nightmare of epic proportions. No such luck. She was still wrapped up like a burrito from Taco Bell. It was a miracle she’d managed to sleep at all. Especially considering the fact that her bladder was currently singing “Anchors Aweigh.”

For a second, she glanced longingly down the aisle at the lavatory, then let that pipe dream go. Even if she could make it back through the cabin, there was no way in hell she was capable of spreading her legs wide enough to do more than pee all over herself. Which was so not going to happen. She’d already had her quota of humiliation for the day.

After stretching as much as the duct tape monstrosity would let her, she turned her head and looked at Heath. He was sleeping, but even in repose he radiated a kind of charisma that was hard to overlook. It was the same charisma that had captured her attention on the playground all those years ago. The same charisma that had made her love him, had made her give herself to him, when he’d never thought of her as anything more than a friend.

He moved a little in his sleep, banging his hurt knee against the seat in front of him as he did. He moaned, the faint grooves by the side of his mouth—made by his perennial smiling—turning down a little as he grimaced in obvious pain. For the first time, she wondered just how badly he was injured. Heath was tough—West Texas cowboy tough—so for him to let that much pain leak through, even asleep, it had to be pretty horrible.

He shifted again, and another flash of pain crossed his face. Absently, she reached up and brushed a soft hand down the side of his face in an effort to comfort him. He turned toward her at the contact, his cheek settling perfectly into her slightly cupped palm. She started to jerk away—shocked by the casual intimacy of both her gesture and his own—but doing so would wake him up and that seemed churlish, especially considering the comfort he had brought to her earlier.

If she was honest with herself—and she usually was, though at the moment she was having second and third and fourth thoughts about doing so—she’d have to admit that the reason she’d slept so well was because Heath was beside her. It seemed crazy, considering everything that had passed between them, but it was the truth nonetheless. Her mind had been going a million miles a minute, even after the vodka, but Heath’s proximity—not to mention his abysmal Kermit the Frog impression—had her relaxing despite herself. The way he’d talked to her, listened to her, reminded her of the way things used to be between them, back before she’d gone and messed it all up by falling for a guy who was in love with her sister.

Old tears sprang to her eyes, mingled with the new ones already there. Dashing them away with her free hand, she turned toward the aisle just as Tre came down it and stopped in front of her.

“Wonder Woman awakens.” He extended a warm, damp washrag toward her in a pair of tongs. “I thought you might like to freshen up before we land.”

“I would. Thanks.”

He winked at her. “Can’t have Wonder Woman smelling like the Hulk, now can we? The ripped clothes and green cast to your skin are bad enough, don’t you think?”

The barb didn’t sting the way it would have only a few hours before. In fact, she found herself smiling at Tre as she handed back her washcloth. She was going to miss him. Sure, he might be the flight attendant equivalent of the Marquis de Sade, but he’d been good to her throughout the trip, making sure she had everything he could possibly provide. Not to mention the fact that she would have been completely up the creek without his quick thinking and fashion know-how. No future flight attendant would be able to compete.

“Oh, wow. Let me get that drool—it was a long nap.