Whiskey Eyes: Sparks in Texas book 5 Read online

  Whiskey Eyes

  Sparks in Texas, book 5

  Mari Carr

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Discover the Sparks in Texas series

  About the Author

  Other Books by Mari Carr

  Copyright © 2016 by Mari Carr

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To the brides.

  Thanks for letting me check that “officiating a wedding” item off my bucket list. Marrying the two of you was truly one of the highlights of my life.

  Here’s to you. And love. And forever.

  Prologue

  Macie Sparks’ number-one talent is talking. She’s a huge fan of her own voice. Always has been. But lately the resident Queen of Gossip has been feeling blue. While she’s helped several of her cousins find their happily ever afters, she can’t help but think she missed the boat somewhere.

  * * *

  Lucky for her, widower Hank Cooper is pretty fond of her stories and her off-color jokes and basically everything else Macie has to offer. After the death of his beloved wife, Hank found his way to Sparks Barbeque, where Macie caught his eye. The more time he spends with her, the more Hank starts to think that maybe lightning can strike twice. That a man can find two loves of a lifetime.

  * * *

  And while all Macie knows is dating and keeping it casual and staying single, Hank isn’t willing to dance to her tune. Because he wants Macie in his bed…and his life…forever.

  Chapter One

  “I want you to go out with me,” Coop said.

  Macie looked out the front window and frowned in confusion. “Outside? Why? It looks like rain.”

  Coop shook his head. “Out with me. On a date.”

  Macie wasn’t sure how to reply, but that didn’t stop her mouth from opening and producing sound. “Seriously?”

  Coop didn’t seem offended by her stupid question. “Yeah.”

  She glanced around the bar, wondering if anyone could hear the exchange. Not that she cared if they could. She imagined—like her—any eavesdroppers would be floored by his request.

  Hank Cooper was a regular at Sparks Barbeque. He’d come in for dinner one night shortly after his wife’s death nearly a year earlier and it was as if he’d taken up residence. Which suited Macie just fine. He was a nice guy with a quick wit. Coop got her special brand of sarcasm. She liked that about him.

  And it had occurred to her that—though he was frequently in the restaurant—he was watching her more closely than usual tonight. In fact, she’d felt his intent stare on her the past couple of times he’d been in. Of course, she’d probably noticed it because she’d been watching him lately as well. It was like she couldn’t help it. Coop came in and for the rest of the night, half her attention was on her job, the other half on him.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  Coop took a deep breath as his gaze remained locked with hers. She was used to this expression. People used it with her all the time. She called it the “praying for patience” look.

  “I’m sure.” His response was gruff. Coop didn’t mince words, which seemed like an outright anomaly to her. She didn’t understand how people could say so much with so few words.

  Macie loved to talk, loved the sound of her own voice as she wove fantastical, far-fetched stories. Why say something in three words when she could use four thousand and eighty-seven?

  Then she figured his invitation was extended merely out of boredom or loneliness. She wasn’t a threat because they were friends, and it simply wasn’t possible for her to be any less his type.

  Even so…she felt compelled to warn him. He was about to open one big-ass can of worms.

  “You realize pretty much every single woman in town is ready to cast her bra into the ring the second you give them the green light to go. Right now, they’re all giving you space and time to mourn. If you and me go out, it’s open season on Hank Cooper. Is that really what you want?”

  “I don’t intend to date anyone but you.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked around the room once more. “Is this a joke? Did my dad put you up to this?”

  She started to call out to her father, to give him shit for joining forces with Coop to pull her leg, but Coop grabbed her hand and squeezed it before she could speak.

  “It’s not a joke, Macie.”

  His tone and expression finally managed to plow through her thick skull. He seriously wanted to date her. Once again, she didn’t know what to say. So she went ahead and spoke anyway.

  “Why?”

  “You off now?”

  She nodded. Her sister, Adele, had come in a few minutes earlier and gone to the back to put her things away. Once she returned, Macie had the evening off. She was planning to go home and masturbate while watching the wedding episode of Outlander for the millionth time. Jamie Fraser melted her butter.

  “Get your stuff,” he said as Adele stepped behind the bar.

  Macie gave Adele a quick rundown of who was drinking what and then she grabbed her purse from the storage room. Coop was waiting for her by the front door of the restaurant.

  She assumed he was planning to walk her to her car, though it was a completely unnecessary gesture in Maris. Crime here was rare and what little they did have was usually of a nonviolent nature, if you didn’t count the arsonist her cousin, Evan, tracked down and apprehended not quite a year ago.

  So she was surprised when he placed his hand on her back and led her to his truck.

  “Where are we going?” she asked when he opened the passenger door for her.

  “I told you. I’m taking you out.”

  “Now?” Despite her confusion, she let Coop help her up into the truck. It wasn’t like she had much choice in the matter. The guy was damn strong and pretty good at compelling her to do things almost unintentionally.

  She’d first noticed that ability of his at a barn dance out at the Mills’ place a couple months ago. Her cousin’s band, Ty’s Collective, had been performing and she never missed a chance to catch one of their shows, as they happened too few and far between now that all the band members had “real” jobs.

  She hadn’t planned to step out on the floor for the slow dance because she was hot and sweaty and her feet hurt from all the crazy Texas two-stepping she’d done. But Coop had reached out a hand to her and before she knew it, she was in his arms swaying to an old George Strait song, “I Cross My Heart”. And even during the dance, there had been no denying who was in control. He twisted and turned her with ease as they glided to the easy rhythm.

  She hadn’t told anyone, but the dance had made her horny. Like seriously horny. So much so, she’d gone straight home afterward and fired up her vibrator. Three different times throughout the night.

  Then he had done the same thing at her cousin Sydney’s wedding last month. Just dragged her out to the dance floor and once again, she’d relinquished all control to him. Put herself in his oh-so-capable hands and enjoyed the ride.

  Once Coop climbed behind the steering wheel and fired up his old Chevy, she turned to face him.

  “Listen, Coop—”

  “Buckle up.”

  She reached for the seat belt, but the interruption didn’t distract her. “I know it’s been a long time since you’ve been out there.” She finger quoted the words out there. “But you can’t ask a woman for a date on the night you want to take her out. It doesn’t work that way.”

  He glanced her way briefly before turning his attention back to the road. The corners of his mouth were tipped up in a not-quite-there grin. “Why not?”

  “Because women need time to get ready. Fix their hair and makeup. Shave their legs and pits. Hell, at this point, I’d just settle for a shower. You’ve caught me at the end of an eight-hour shift behind a bar. I smell like—”

  “Whiskey.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I spilled some Jim Beam on my jeans.”

  “I love the smell of bourbon.”

  Macie couldn’t argue that. She adored the scent. “Oh my God. Me too. I’d bathe in the stuff if I thought Evan wouldn’t give me a DUI for it.”

  Coop chuckled.

  “But even so, I need a shower with plain old water and soap. And clean clothes.”

  “You smell fine.”

  “Okay. Again, you’re missing the point. All I’m saying is you’re lowering your chances of getting lucky with this technique. No woman’s going to put out when she hasn’t had time to prepare.”

  He didn’t respond immediately, but Macie wasn’t exactly surprised by that. Coop was a man of too few words.

  “You planning to put out?” he asked at last.

  She rolled her eyes. “You misinterpreted that whole conversation.”

  He looked at her, holding her gaze. “Not sure I did.”

  She blew out an exasperated breath, perfectly aware this wasn’t an
argument she would win tonight. “Anyway. Moving on. Where are we going?”

  “My place. I’m making you dinner.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes, Macie. I am.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s really sweet.”

  She was met with more silence, so she filled it with some general observations of the houses they passed and the people who lived inside them. Once they turned onto the highway that would lead them to Coop’s ranch, she began discussing her thoughts on politics, then how she thought all of Adele’s songs sounded the same—as did John Mayer’s, which somehow led to her feelings about the latest Star Wars movie. Through it all, Coop nodded, but apart from a word here or there, he didn’t contribute much to the conversation.

  Of course, that didn’t bother Macie. Left more room for her to talk. She wrapped the conversation up when they pulled in front of his house. She’d only been to his place a few times in the past—all of them right after Coop’s wife had passed away to bring him food and to visit for a bit.

  She reached for her purse and opened the door, about to step out when Coop appeared, his hand reaching to help her down.

  “Thanks,” she said, touched by his thoughtfulness. He owned a huge truck, the kind that made you feel like you needed a stepladder to get in and out of it. With any other guy, she probably would have made some joke or given the fella shit for overcompensating for lacking in other areas, but it was clear that was not the case with Coop. He was large, powerful, and intimidating—but not in a scary way. It made sense for him to drive this truck. Hell, he’d look ridiculous driving anything else.

  Coop didn’t back up or give her space to walk away from the vehicle once she hit land again. Instead, he leaned closer and pressed her against the side of the truck.

  His actions were so unexpected, she responded on instinct, licking her lips when there was no denying he planned to kiss her.

  Macie struggled to catch her breath, to keep up with him. The past thirty minutes had been one what the hell? after another.

  “You asked me why I wanted to go out with you.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I did.” And he hadn’t answered.

  “This is why.”

  Rather than offer an explanation, he kissed her, roughly, completely, thoroughly.

  Macie’s hands flew to his shoulders, not to push him away, but to hold on for dear life. Good God, the man could kiss.

  Coop wasn’t gentle about it either. His hands cupped her cheeks as his lips forced hers apart and his tongue swept in for a taste. Macie tried to breathe through her nose, going light-headed from the lack of air. Too much more of this and Coop’s tongue was going to know the inside of her mouth better than hers did.

  Soon, the kiss morphed into something even more. Coop pressed his body more fully against hers, letting her feel his erection against her stomach. She wasn’t a small woman. At five-eleven, she was taller than quite a few of the men in town, and she wouldn’t describe herself as thin either. Her dad liked to refer to her as “sturdy,” which annoyed the shit out of her, even if it was true.

  However, with Hank Cooper, she felt like one of those tiny ballerinas, petite, fragile. He towered over her by at least half a foot and the man was built like a brick house. His muscles were made the old-fashioned way, not with weights at a gym, but through hard work, and he was very good at using them to move her exactly where he wanted her.

  Which apparently—at this moment—was pushed up against his truck as he gave her the hottest kiss of the century.

  When he finally released her lips, he only moved away a few inches, his hot breath tickling her face.

  She peered up at him. He’d kissed her senseless, but not silent. “So, just to recap…”

  Coop chuckled. “I want to date you because I’m attracted to you, Macie.”

  “Sexually?”

  If he hadn’t been standing so close, she would have slapped herself on the forehead. With each passing minute, she was sounding more and more like a complete idiot.

  “And intellectually. Don’t want you to think I’m only after you for your body.”

  She snorted. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

  He took her hand and led her toward his house. Once again, she let him lead the way, offering no resistance. She was starting to wonder what she would do if he bypassed the kitchen and dragged her straight to his bedroom. Part of her feared she’d walk right into that lion’s den and drop her granny panties without question, hairy legs or not.

  Fortunately, Coop didn’t put her to the test. As they entered the kitchen, he pulled out a chair at the table and gestured for her to sit. She dropped down and took a few minutes to study her surroundings as Coop reached for a bottle of red wine, uncorked it, and poured two glasses.

  The kitchen had a homey feel. There were vintage metal signs adorning one wall that advertised Dr. Pepper, Rice Krispies, and Armour Franks. There was a pretty green hutch against another wall and the cabinets appeared to be freshly painted—white—so the whole room was bright and cheerful.

  “So you like to cook?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I like to eat.”

  She laughed. “Yeah. Me too. Unfortunately, I suck in the kitchen.”

  “I can manage simple stuff.” He handed her a glass of wine. “Like spaghetti. Tonight’s fare.”

  She thanked him for the wine. Then she took a deep breath, the scent of his sauce smelling far too tantalizing. “It smells delicious. Did you have that sauce slow cooking all day?”

  “Yep. Threw it together just before I came to the restaurant. Had it simmering since.”

  Which suddenly explained why he’d simply ordered a beer and not dinner upon arriving at the restaurant a couple hours earlier. Macie had thought that odd at the time because Hank was a big fan of the daily specials.

  She stood up and walked over to the stove to watch him cook. He put a pot of water on to boil and stirred the sauce.

  “Is that homemade sauce?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Had a pile of tomatoes in the garden I needed to use.”

  “Wow. That seems a little more complicated than my idea of simple spaghetti.”

  “Which is?” He turned to look at her, taking a sip of his own wine.

  “Open a jar of Prego and dump it in the pan.”

  Coop opened the box of spaghetti noodles and placed them in the boiling water. He stirred as the pasta softened and then he gestured back toward the table. “That’ll take a few minutes to cook.”

  The two of them sat together to wait, each lifting their glasses for another sip.

  “Never would have pegged you for a wine guy.”

  He shrugged easily. “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

  She agreed with that assessment. “You can say that again. This whole damn evening has shocked the hell out of me.”

  He lifted his glass and tapped it against hers. “To surprises.”

  As always, her thoughts came falling out of her before she thought through what she was going to say. “You know I’m still fairly certain you’ve made a mistake here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not your type.”

  He frowned. Not that the expression was all that unusual for him. It wasn’t that Coop was a miserable guy. He was just really serious. She figured that attitude was only enhanced by the fact he’d spent the last few years taking care of his wife, Sharon, as she battled breast cancer and then, after she passed, mourning her death. He hadn’t had a whole hell of a lot to smile about.

  “My type?”

  She was suffering from serious diarrhea of the mouth today. “You know. Sharon. She was calm and quiet and really nice.”

  “You’re not nice?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m a smartass from the word go and you know it. And the words ‘calm’ and ‘quiet’ have only ever been used in regards to me when people tell me how they wish I would act. Primarily my mother.”

  “I like listening to you talk.”

  Macie laughed. “If I hadn’t just waited on you at the bar and known for a fact you only had one beer, I would accuse you of being dead drunk. I know I talk too much. About stupid stuff.”