“Are you okay?”
He dragged an openmouthed kiss up the smooth section of skin, stopping at her ear. “No, I’m not okay. I’m wantin’ way more than a kiss, so I’m thinkin’ we should just go ahead, hop in the truck and find us someone who’ll marry us tonight.”
She laughed softly. Then she planted kisses along his jaw, her breath whispering across his damp flesh, eliciting his shiver.
He spun them and leaned his back against the truck, wanting her soft curves pressing into him, wanting his hands on her luscious ass.
A wolf whistle rent the air. “Take it inside the truck, McKay,” someone shouted.
Carson scowled at his drinking buddy. “Move along, Tucker.”
“Looks like you’re the one who’s movin’ pretty fast.”
Assholes.
“McKay?” she repeated. “Your last name is McKay?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Carolyn stepped back. “I don’t believe this.”
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I can explain—”
“You can’t.”
He followed her, hating the wariness that had replaced the heat in her eyes. “At least let me try.”
“Ask me my last name.”
Annoyed by the abrupt change in her, he said, “Fine, Carolyn, what’s your last name?”
“West.”
That stopped him. “What?”
“I’m Carolyn West.”
“You’re kiddin’, right?”
She shook her head. “My dad is Elijah—Eli—West.”
Carson had heard that name several times, always attached to a vile string of curses and a rant the likes of which he’d never heard from his closemouthed father. He’d warned his sons to stay far away from all members of the West family. He and his brothers tried to ask questions, but the old man had shut them down without explaining his reasons. Carson had put it out of his mind.
Then a few years ago he’d crossed paths with Harland West, proudly proclaiming himself Eli West’s oldest son. The loud mouth started talking shit about the “mighty McKays” in the feed store in Moorcroft. Most of what the man shouted at him made zero sense—he’d blathered on about lies, bribes, blood money and theft—but Carson wasn’t about to let it slide. They’d ended up in a knock-down, drag-out fight that left both of them bleeding and pissed off.
A year or so later, he’d run afoul of Darren West at Brass Tacks, a bar in the Wests’ neck of the woods. Words were exchanged, fists went flying and they were both arrested for drunk and disorderly.
That hadn’t gone over well with Jed McKay.
After the ass chewing on a whole new level, Carson became suspicious of why his father refused to talk about the past issues between the McKays and the Wests. He didn’t give a damn if his grandfather—who he’d never met—had wronged the West patriarch or vice versa. He suspected even his father wasn’t sure what’d gone down years ago, which made no sense as to why the man held a grudge.
But those West ass**les held a grudge too.
Pissed him off that they used their family’s history of bad blood as an excuse to come after the McKays now. That changed Carson’s I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude. He’d jumped into the fray with both boots. So the mention of a younger West sister hadn’t come up when Carson had been trying to beat the f**k out of Harland and Darren West.
Carolyn’s brothers.
Fuck.
The fact Carson wanted Carolyn West with every breath in his body wouldn’t go over well with his father either.
And he didn’t give a damn.
Carolyn said, “I have to go.”
His gaze flipped to her. “Don’t leave. Let’s talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to say—”
“You really runnin’ away from me because my last name is McKay?”
“Why else would I…” That strong chin went up a notch and she crossed her arms over a pair of impressive br**sts. “I’m not running away from you, Carson McKay.”
“Prove it.”
“How? By coming over there and kissing you?”
Carson grinned. “Not what I was gonna suggest, but sugar, I’ll take more of them sweet and hot kisses anytime you wanna give them to me.”
“What was your suggestion?”
“Meet me here tomorrow night.”
“I can’t.”
“See? Runnin’ from me.”
“No, I have family obligations.”
He raised an eyebrow. “On a Friday night?”
“Not everyone can go out and tear it up every night of the week like wild-living cowboys—excuse me—ranchers,” she retorted.
Carson started toward her. “Whatcha gonna be doin’ tomorrow night? Got a date?”
“None of your business.”
The thought of some other guy picking her up, touching her, talking to her, tasting her sweet lips made him growl, “Tell me.”
“Stop pestering me about this.”
“Not a chance.” By the time he reached her, she’d started studying her shoes. He tipped her chin up. “Talk to me. No bullshit.”
“I’m afraid you’ll laugh.”
“Never.”
“My dad gets paid on Fridays. He gives me money and I buy groceries for the week. So my Friday night is spent at the grocery store. Exciting, huh?”