Crockett's Seduction

A pear would be the perfect thing to paint. “A pear in a bowl,” he murmured. “Very still.”

Slowly, his hand unsure, he trailed his first colored stroke against the empty whiteness.

“IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE supernatural,” Crockett heard someone whisper. “Don’t you get it?”

“I think it’s extraterrestrial maybe.” The voice sounded puzzled. “Could be a heart, Van Gogh style. With something cut off. Wasn’t Van Gogh famous for cutting things off?”

“I don’t quite see that,” came the quiet reply. “I think it’s a woman’s buttocks.”

Crockett’s eyes snapped open. Last and Mason were standing over him, staring at his painting. He jumped to his feet. “What the hell?” he demanded, trying to cover his precious secret from their puzzled glances.

“Sorry,” Mason said. “We sent out a search team for you when you didn’t hit the table for supper. It’s not like you to miss a meal.”

“Nope,” Last said, his eyes huge. “What the hell is that thing you painted? And why are you up here, hiding out with the dust bunnies?”

“So you wouldn’t bug me,” Crockett snapped. “And I wish I’d stayed hidden. I’m feeling very intruded upon.”

Last’s eyes widened. “We were worried about you.”

“Entirely unnecessary.” He’d just gotten tired and had decided to stretch out and rest his eyes. “How’d you find me up here?”

Mason shrugged. “There’s all kinds of dirt on the floor from the attic door being opened. I don’t guess anybody’s been up here in ages. We really ought to clean it out.” Glancing around, he sighed. “When we have time.”

“So, what did you paint?” Last said. “Mason thinks it’s a Picasso-style heart—”

“Van Gogh,” Mason corrected.

“I’m thinking the red tones are sexual,” Last said. “The curves are feminine and delicate, so it’s probably a woman’s fanny. It almost reminds me of Georgia O’Keeffe. You know how she revealed the sexual nature of women when she painted those petals.” Last scratched his head as he looked at his brother. “But you never think about sex when you’re holding a paintbrush. I probably just didn’t get your vision. Let me have another look.”

“No!” Crockett hopped away with his overcritiqued treasure. Gently, he set it down where it could dry in peace. “Look, do you guys mind getting the hell out?”

“No problem, Picasso,” Mason said. “But since it seems your creativity has fizzled for the moment, you think we could get you to come down for supper?”

“Why not?” Crockett said, following them down the stairs. “I have nothing better to do than be harassed by my brothers.”

“Excellent.” Mason headed into the kitchen, then sat at the table and tucked a napkin into his lap. “Helga cooked a wonderful meal.”

He beamed, delighted that Mimi didn’t borrow the housekeeper so much now that Mimi lived in town. With a smaller place and with her daughter being older, things were going more smoothly for Mimi.

Except for her cockamamy idea of running for sheriff, with Mason as deputy, an idea that Crockett knew Mason opposed. It was no job for a woman, Mason had said, especially a woman like Mimi.

The brothers had rolled their eyes, ignoring Mason. Mimi would do whatever the heck Mimi wanted—and Mason would no doubt find himself neck-deep in Mimi-schemies.

“It’s delicious, Helga,” Crockett said to the housekeeper. Actually, now that he was eating, he was glad his brothers had rescued him from his upstairs jail. He had gotten hungry. And now that he’d survived their mockery and realized they hadn’t made as much fun of his first attempt at painting as he’d feared, he was feeling almost good about his dysfunctional family.

And then the door opened and Valentine walked in with Olivia, Calhoun and the kids.

“Ah, just in time for dinner,” Calhoun said, grinning as he helped his kids and Olivia onto the plank seats.

Crockett stared, all his contentment shriveling. “I thought you were eating at your house.”

“Yeah, but Helga called and said she’d made extra, and why didn’t we come on up? So here we are,” Calhoun said.

Yes, here they were, Crockett thought, before remembering his manners. He stood and pushed the plank seat back a bit so Valentine could more comfortably seat herself. Beside him, of course, because the table was then balanced with an equal number of people on each side. Helga quickly handed out extra plates, but Crockett’s creativity and hunger left all at once, replaced by a different kind of need.

He suddenly realized the delicate floral scent he smelled was coming from Valentine. He quickly drank some water. She looked at him, her smile somehow unsure, and he put the glass down.

Across the table, Last watched them curiously. Minnie and Kenny ate happily, and Annette sat in her father’s lap, grinning as she dug her fingers into Last’s mashed potatoes.

Tension spread through Crockett. He turned his attention back to the food he couldn’t eat.

“In case you’re wondering what’s in that box on the counter,” Valentine said when the silence at the table grew long, “it’s a cake for Mason.”

“Really? That was nice of you, Valentine,” Mason replied sincerely. “We love your cakes.”

Valentine beamed, clearly pleased with the compliment. “It’s a birthday cake someone ordered for you, a secret admirer,” Valentine said. “I didn’t know it was your birthday.”

Crockett turned his attention back to Valentine, relieved that he had a reason to look at her.

“It’s not my birthday,” Mason said, frowning. “It’s not any of our birthdays.”

The smile slid from Valentine’s face, and Crockett felt sorry for her.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“Who sent it?” Last asked.

“She paid cash,” Valentine said. “She just said she was a secret admirer. I thought you knew her.” A becoming blush spread across her delicate cheeks. “I’ll take the cake back.”

“No way,” Mason said. “I never give up cake.” He took the box from Helga.

“Mason, no,” Valentine said. “Believe me, you do not want this cake.”

“Mmm, chocolate,” Mason said, cutting off a big piece. “Plates for everyone, please, Helga.”

Then Mason stopped, looking confused. Crockett could feel Valentine shifting nervously on the bench, as if she wanted to get up and flee.

Mason lifted a thong from the center of the cake. “What’s this?”

Last started laughing. Olivia hid a smile. Minnie and Kenny were agog, and Annette pushed mashed potatoes into her hair happily while the adults’ attention was elsewhere.

“The lady said she’d just been to Victoria’s Secret and wanted to send you something you liked almost as much as chocolate,” Valentine said.

She sounded on the verge of tears, so Crockett put an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. To his surprise, she hid her face against his chest. It was only for a second, but it was enough to send an arrow of joy quivering straight into his heart.

“Oh, well,” Mason said. “I can’t imagine who sent it, but since you baked it, I won’t let a thong stop me from eating a delicious Baked Valentine. If you think about it, this brings a whole new meaning to the name of your store, Valentine.”

Crockett knew Mason was trying to make Valentine feel better by making her laugh, but she was too embarrassed. “It’s okay,” Crockett told her. “We get stuff like that all the time.”

The second he said it, he wished he hadn’t. Valentine pulled away from him. She took Annette from Last and started to wipe the potatoes off the baby’s fingers and from her hair.

“Nice going, Leonardo da Vinci,” Mason said to Crockett, slapping a piece of cake in front of him. “Now Valentine thinks we’re a bunch of panty-collecting apes.”

Helga used a pair of tongs to snag the offending missive off the table and toss it in the trash. “Bad girls.”

Silence fell.

“Don’t be upset, Valentine,” Olivia finally said. “The cake is wonderful. And so pretty, too.”

“Thank you,” Valentine said softly. “I’m sorry to have to call it a night in the middle of dinner, but Annette’s managed to get potatoes mashed into her diapers. I’m going to take her on home.”

They all stood, trying to get her to stay. Helga offered to rinse the baby at the sink, and Last said a bit of potatoes wasn’t going to hurt Annette. But Valentine thanked Helga for dinner and said good-night, not really looking at any of them.

The front door closed, and Crockett looked at Mason. “Sorry. I was trying to make her feel better.”

“I don’t think it worked.” Mason sat down, licking the frosting from his fingers. “I have to say, she bakes so much better than the folks who used to own the store. This is good.”

It was more than Crockett could stand, thinking about Valentine walking to her little house on the far side of the ranch, alone and upset. If Last wasn’t going to get up to walk her home, then Crockett would.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, hurrying out the door.

Valentine heard boots coming after her, and her heart jumped when she recognized Crockett’s voice. Oh, she didn’t want to talk to him now. Once he’d admitted that he and his brothers frequently received favors like panties from women, she had known she had to leave. The thought that one day she might take an order like that for Crockett made her whole inner being turn cold with some emotion she’d never felt before, an emotion she didn’t understand and wanted to get away from, quickly.

“Wait up,” Crockett said, swooping Annette from her arms. “The night’s still young, even for this tater-stealing spud.”

“Spud needs a bath and a bedtime story.”

“I don’t like the nickname Spud. Tater sounds a lot more feminine,” Crockett protested, his teasing voice trying to wheedle a smile from Valentine. “Give your uncle a kiss, Tater.”

Valentine appreciated his effort, but she couldn’t smile. He didn’t know how ragged her heart felt.

“Don’t be embarrassed about all that back there,” Crockett said. “It was the best thing that could happen to Mason. He’s getting way too stodgy. Didn’t you see how happy he was?”

“I’m sure he thinks it’s weird that I baked it for him. But I honestly thought she knew him and that maybe there was some shared history between them.”

“Nah,” Crockett said easily. “Mason’s never shared much history with anyone, except Mimi, and I’m not sure their history has anything to do with panties. Mimi would be more likely to leave Mason’s drawers in a tree somewhere for all the world to see.”

Valentine slowly smiled. “She wouldn’t.”

“She would. There is no limit to the fun we call Mimi.”

She gave Crockett a sidelong glance. “Do you have any history?”

“The kind where someone orders me a specially baked cake with lingerie filling? No. Not unless you want to order me one.” He gave her a devilish wink that made her heart race restlessly. “Bras, panties, it doesn’t matter. I’m not as picky as Mason.”

“I don’t know what temperature I’d have to put the oven on to bake a bra into a cake.”

“Hot, hot, hot,” Crockett said, kissing Tater on her head as he held her.

Valentine felt a blush steal over her cheeks. “Give me the spud,” she said. “We are late for a rub-a-dub in the tub.” She took Annette from Crockett, amazed by the warmth of his body as her arms brushed his. Hot, hot, hot was right. Cautiously, she glanced over Annette’s head, peeping at the big cowboy. “Good night, Uncle Crockett,” she said, waving Annette’s little fist.

“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 together, 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.”