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
