Shameless

“Well, neither am I. So sue me.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, a wave of red crept up her neck and fueled her cheeks.

“That’s what I’m doing, sweetheart.”

And in a big way. He’d counted on the fact that Judge Baines, still soured over Deb’s exposure of Cletus, the judge’s longtime fishing buddy, would go for the maximum judgement allowed. Having his early weekend fishing trip put off by a Friday morning hearing didn’t help matters. Deb didn’t stand a chance, which was exactly why Jimmy had hauled her into court.

Not that he needed the outrageous judgment. This wasn’t about damages. It was about finishing what they’d started.

She wanted him. He’d felt it, seen it, even if she had spent the past year denying it. He’d no more been able to forget the taste of her—warm woman and sweet peppermint and sinful promise—than he’d been able to shake the urge to breathe. Over the past year, reading her articles, seeing her around town, talking to her, hell, even arguing with her, had intensified the attraction. She was in his head, under his skin, in his blood.

At first, he’d tried to deny the chemistry between them. He’d been so damned mad after the dunking booth incident, which had been her intention all along. To push him away, piss him off, keep distance between them. She wanted him, but she didn’t want to want him because she, like every other female in town, knew he had marriage on his mind. If there was one thing he’d learned about Deb Strickland, it was that she was single and proud of it.

Good. While Jimmy did have marriage on his mind, he wanted a strong, solid woman who knew her cattle better than her cosmetics. One who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty to give one hundred percent to a thriving ranch that demanded so much.

Too much.

He shook away the thought. The ranch was his life now, and he would do what he had to do. For his mother and father. For the future of the Mission spread. Duty called, and so he didn’t, couldn’t want a woman like Deb Strickland, with her fancy clothes and painted nails and city-slicker persona, in his life.

But in his bed, wearing nothing but a smile and some pineapple-flavored body glaze…now that was a different matter altogether.

Deb huffed, the heart flashed, and Jimmy’s body gave an answering throb.

“I’m begging you to rethink this, Judge Baines.”

“No time, missy. I’ve got a great big catfish with my name on it out in Morgan’s Pond and you’ve made me as late as I’m gonna get.” The gavel slammed down as the judge stood up. “I rule in favor of the plaintiff for four thousand dollars.” He shrugged off his robe to reveal a plaid shirt and blue jeans, and grabbed the rod and reel propped in the far corner. “Good day and happy fishing.”

Jimmy barely had time to stand before the three file clerks and the court reporter closed in on him.

“Congratulations, Jimmy.”

“You deserve it.”

“How’d you like that sardine sandwich I made you last week?”

By the time Jimmy smiled and talked his way past the women, Deb Strickland and her tattoo had disappeared.

He should have been thankful.

She was sure to come at him, guns blazing, ready to rip his head off and mount it on the wall above her desk over at the In Touch. He’d waited this long to make his proposition. A few more days, maybe even a couple of weeks wouldn’t make much difference. Besides, Jimmy had always been a patient man where women were concerned, which was why he’d invested so much time in pursuing a woman with such a hands-off attitude.

He had work waiting—a plowed over fence in the north pasture, a pen full of cattle needing vaccinations, and Valentino, his stud bull, was due in Austin tomorrow to be photographed for a layout in Texas Cattleman featuring prize livestock.

He needed to get things settled, to pack. He didn’t need a confrontation to take up more time when he was already running short.

But damned if he didn’t want one.

DEB FOUGHT to keep from shedding even one of the tears burning her eyes as she headed down the hallway. Deb Strickland didn’t cry, no matter how grossly unfair Judge Baines’s verdict.

Four thousand dollars. Where was she supposed to come up with that kind of money?

With barely two thousand left in her own savings account—a quarter of which she’d already planned to transfer to the newspaper account to help cover Wally’s salary—she was scraping bottom already. She had three hundred open on her Visa, eighty bucks in her checking account, Granny Lily’s decrepit house, a car that wasn’t even halfway paid off, a lifetime supply of Go Girl cosmetics she’d won back in a magazine competition in college and a newspaper that barely generated enough revenue to cover expenses.

Most of the time, it didn’t, which was why she’d nearly depleted the nest egg Granny Lily had left her.

She fought back the urge to turn around, stomp back into the courtroom and punch the plaintiff’s infuriatingly handsome face.

She would have done in a second except she’d traded Sonia at the beauty shop a month of free advertising for a French manicure just yesterday. She wasn’t about to waste a precious nail on some pigheaded cowboy, even if said cowboy was Jimmy Mission.

Especially because it was him. He was completely off-limits. Cowboy non grata. The more distance between them, the better.

“Hey, Slick, wait up.” His deep voice rumbled behind.

“Get lost.” She picked up the pace.

“I want to talk to you.”

“And I want to strangle you, but lucky for you my personal beauty regime prohibits physical violence. Go away.”

He stopped, but his voice followed her. “Why are you so dead set on running away from me?”

The question rang in her ears, prickling her ego and she turned on him before she could think better of it. “Why are you so dead set on ruining my life?”

“Last time I looked, you hit me.”

“You parked in my spot intentionally. You’ve been doing it for months just to tick me off.” Eleven months and fifteen days to be exact, since their first and last kiss, not that Deb was counting….

Oh, God, she was counting.

She glared at him. “You’ve been hogging my spot on purpose.”

“And you’ve been avoiding me on purpose, that or trying to piss me off.”

She managed a laugh but could hardly feel mirthful since, even though a few feet separated them, the scent of him reached her. The enticing aroma of leather and male and that unnameable something that made her think of satin sheets and champagne and…Forget it. Forget him. Forget the kiss. Forget.

She tried for a steadying breath. “Look, I realize you’re very popular, but unlike the other members of your fan club,” she motioned to the group of women clustered outside the courtroom, their gazes hooked on Jimmy. “I’m too busy to spend my valuable time thinking about ways to piss you off.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You know what I think?”

“I couldn’t care less.”

“I think,” he said, stepping toward her, “you’ve been pushing me away on purpose, hoping I’d back off because you’re scared.”

“Scared? Of what? You? The day I’m scared of you, buster, is the day Myrna Jenkins—” known to the entire town as queen of the coiffure “—goes to the Piggly Wiggly with her hair in rollers.”

“Not me, Slick.” He took another step, closing the distance between them. “Us.” The word trembled in the air between them.