One Wild Cowboy

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  “Sooner or later, Shillingsworth is going to figure out he’s not going to get what he wants from you. When that happens, he’s going to want you to pay for the rejection and he’s going to lash out and try to hurt you in whatever way he can. And the place where you are the most vulnerable…”

  With a start, Emily realized where Dylan was going with this. “…is the Daybreak Café,” she finished for him.

  Dylan nodded grimly.

  Emily realized his assertion was true to a point. Her restaurant did matter to her immensely. But there was a place in her heart that was even more vulnerable—the place where her feelings for Dylan resided.

  Chapter Nine

  “About dinner,” Dylan said, an hour later when the training was completed and all three mustangs were quartered in their paddock for the evening.

  Emily tensed at the mention of their nondate. Her pretty forehead furrowing, she walked with him toward the house. “You still want me to cook for you this evening, don’t you? As the loser for our bet?”

  Dylan grinned enthusiastically. Maybe the two of them weren’t meant to be lovers, but that didn’t mean he didn’t relish every second he spent with her.

  Enjoying the disheveled state of her silky molasses hair, as well as how pretty she looked in her shirt and jeans, he asked, “Okay with you if I leave my truck parked right in front of your building all evening, instead of the alley behind?”

  A pink flush flooded her sculpted cheeks as she stopped just short of his front porch. “You want everyone to see your pickup and figure out you’re at my place,” Emily deduced, not quite happily. “Including Xavier.”

  Especially Xavier, Dylan thought.

  He sat down on the top step. Taking her hand, he tugged her down next to him. “Do you want to discourage him, or not?”

  Emily heaved a disgruntled sigh and stretched her long shapely legs out in front of her. She wiggled her toes and examined the flower pattern on her red cowgirl boots. “I do.”

  Dylan planted a hand on either side of him and leaned back to stretch the kinks out of his body, too. Tilting his head toward Emily, he continued, “Then you have to make the kid understand in every way possible there is no chance for him to edge his way in.”

  Emily twisted her lips and studied Dylan with narrowed eyes. “This is a competition, isn’t it?”

  Actually, it was a hell of a lot more than that. Although how to explain…

  Finally, Dylan shrugged. “For him it is, maybe.”

  “And for you?” she asked, nudging his thigh playfully with her knee.

  Dylan ignored the heat the brief touch generated. With effort, he concentrated on the facts they could discuss. “As your pretend boyfriend, it’s my job to protect you, Ms. McCabe.”

  She wrinkled her nose at the unexpected formality. “And that’s all there is?” she pressed, searching his face. “There’s no ego involved?”

  Leave it to Emily to ask the really hard questions, Dylan thought moodily. “Of course there’s ego involved.” He felt compelled to be honest. “I’m a man, and you’re allegedly with me. How would it look if I let that little know-it-all continue to make your life a lot harder than it has to be right now?”

  Something shifted in Emily’s eyes. Her teeth raked her lower lip even as her voice betrayed little emotion, “So this is all about your manhood.”

  It’s all about protecting you, Dylan thought, but he wasn’t sure how she would take that. “I don’t want to see you hurt. I imagine none of your other friends or family do, either.”

  Again, something shifted. It was almost as if a force field went up.

  “Okay.” Emily rose abruptly and favored him with a brisk, efficient smile. “I’ll see you at the café kitchen at eight o’clock.”

  “SOMETHING SURE SMELLS GOOD,” Dylan said an hour later, when Emily met him at the front door of the café.

  Emily sure looked good, too—although he had to wonder at her choice of a Daybreak Café T-shirt and a very worn pair of jeans. In contrast, he was dressed in his best shirt and pants.

  Emily accepted the bottle of wine he’d brought with a smile, took his hand and guided him inside. “I’m glad you think so,” she said in that excessively cheerful voice she used when welcoming patrons to her café.

  She set the bottle on the counter and led him into the kitchen. There, already laid out on the stainless-steel prep table was a flatiron steak with jalapeño butter and a cheese enchilada on the side.

  “I’m thinking of adding this to the lunch menu. What do you think?” Emily turned to face him, her attitude surprisingly professional.

  The notion that this evening might turn out to be special swiftly faded.

  Dylan chided himself for hoping otherwise. Of course a multitasking woman like Emily would put the task of cooking dinner for him to good use and use the experience to further enhance her business.

  She gestured for him to sit down on the lone stool and then waited for him to taste.

  Figuring he may as well, Dylan lifted a fork. In this, he was not disappointed. “It’s delicious,” he told her sincerely. “I think it would be a hit.”

  Emily set another plate in front of him. “What about the enchiladas?” She picked up her notebook and pen and began to scribble notes. “Were they hot enough? Too hot? Would you prefer a different kind of cheese in them, say Monterey Jack or jalapeño-Jack instead? Longhorn or mild cheddar cheese and onion filling is traditional, but queso blanco also adds something special.” She sighed, thinking, then pushed several more plates at him for tasting. “But I don’t know…I’m trying to appeal to the masses. And what about jicama slaw, instead of the traditional Southern?” Emily asked him rhetorically. “I tried that for a while, and to tell you the truth, it didn’t go over all that great. The jicama has a taste that doesn’t appeal to everyone.”

  “I think what you need here to advise you,” Dylan said finally, when he could get a word in edgewise, “is a restaurant critic.” He was only half joking. He knew what he liked. But everyone else…?

  “Actually,” Emily said, lighting up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July, “that idea’s not half-bad, Dylan! Thanks!” She got up abruptly and went to the phone. While he watched, half in wonder, half in irritation, she made a call.

  “Hi, Holden. You know that guy you were trying to get me to meet?” Emily motioned to Dylan to keep eating, then turned her back to him and began to pace. “Yeah, Fred Collier. Right. Do you think you could bring him by here tomorrow? Lunch is fine. And tell him, if possible, I’d like him to hang around for a short while after closing, so I can talk to him.”

  WELL, EMILY THOUGHT, after Dylan left a short time later, that was one way to end an evening on an unromantic note.

  Make a “date” with someone else while your current guest is still on premises.

  So what if it had been about business?

  The point was she was honoring her debt to Dylan—by making him dinner—and honoring herself by keeping her options open.

  And not letting this mano a mano stuff between Dylan and Xavier influence her one way or another.

  So what if she got all warm and gooey inside when Dylan got protective of her in that distinctly man-woman way?

  He’d said it himself. It was ego as much as friendship pushing him to become her white knight.

  When Xavier backed off, as the teenager eventually would, and the business with her matchmaking family and the café finally settled down, she would no longer be a damsel in distress in Dylan Reeves’s eyes.

  She’d be a great gal he had once slept with, and that was that.

  Much as she wanted to pretend it would turn into something more…the practical side of her knew the odds were against it.

  So she had to protect her heart—and concentrate on the real problems in front of her.

  Like saving her restaurant from going into a decline it might not recover from.

  Because she knew better than anyone, once a café was considered second
tier, for whatever reason, it often ended up faltering. Because it was just too hard to do the work if appreciative patrons did not show up in droves.

  Hence, when Dylan came in for an early breakfast, she was too busy to come out of the kitchen to say hello. Ditto when Xavier showed up, a bunch of red roses in hand. When the Texas Traveler magazine food reporter came in with Holden, however, she made sure the boyishly handsome “foodie” had everything he wanted. At the end of the lunch rush, she ushered him into the kitchen to see her work space and sample even more of the food.

  “It’s all wonderful,” Fred Collier said, his kind green eyes shining with an admiration Emily found particularly gratifying.

  Then he grimaced. “But I have to wonder where the crowds are. We’ve been here two hours, and the place has never been more than one-third full. While across the square, at the Cowtown Diner, the throngs have not abated in the least.”

  Emily’s shoulders sagged. She had been hoping the restaurant critic wouldn’t notice.

  With typical gallantry, Holden explained, “It’s the fullpage ads and two-for-the-price-of-one meal coupons the franchise owner put out over the weekend in all the county newspapers.”

  Holden paused and looked at Emily.

  Surprised by her shock, he shrugged inanely. “I thought you knew. I thought that was why you called. Shillingsworth is planning to extend the offer indefinitely. The coupons are reusable.”

  Emily’s heart sank. “The diner will never turn a profit that way,” she said, rubbing at the headache starting in her temples.

  “Unless it’s by sheer volume of customers.” Fred Collier turned to glance out the window.

  Sure enough, at two o’clock in the afternoon—usually a dead time for most restaurants—the Cowtown Diner was still busy as ever.

  “Can you help her?” Holden asked his friend.

  Fred smiled apologetically. “I’d love to, if and when your business picks up again. I only write about places that are standing room only, and right now, the Daybreak Café no longer qualifies.”

  “Thanks for coming by.” Emily packed up some dessert for him and walked him out.

  “Sorry about that,” Holden said, when she returned.

  Emily stared out the window at the competition that was swiftly becoming a real thorn in her side. “Don’t be,” she told her big brother. “I needed a wake-up call. And this was definitely it.”

  “YOU’RE GETTING new outdoor chairs and umbrella tables now?” Dylan asked, later that same day.

  The sound of Dylan’s low, gravelly voice gave Emily a pleasurable jolt. Her heart had skipped several beats when he’d sauntered in for lunch half an hour ago but she’d been trying to ignore how ruggedly, casually handsome he’d looked in his soft faded denim shirt and jeans. It was bad enough she knew firsthand how his strong virile body felt pressed up against the naked length of hers without yearning to experience his hot, reckless brand of lovemaking again.

  And now he was standing next to her once more, looking over her shoulder, studying what she had been studying.

  “Yes. I am,” Emily replied, and damned herself for sounding breathless.

  She put the receipt aside and looked up the weather forecast on her computer. The rest of the day appeared warm and clear, but there was a fifty-percent chance of rain every day for the rest of the week. Which could sabotage her plans.

  On the other hand, to do nothing was to automatically lose.

  She turned back to Dylan. As long as they were still “friends” who helped each other out… “I have a favor to ask. Are you available tonight to help me drive to San Angelo to pick them up?” There were others she could ask to help her, but for reasons she chose not to examine too closely, she wanted him to go with her.

  Speculation glimmered in Dylan’s golden-brown eyes. “Sure,” he said kindly. “Do you have a big enough vehicle?”

  Trying not to feel too grateful he was in her life—for that might mean starting to depend on him past the temporary time frame they’d agreed upon—Emily nodded. “I reserved a moving truck that will handle it all.”

  They set up an early departure time, and in half an hour, Dylan was at her door, ready to go. They took his pickup to the truck rental place and arranged to leave it in the lot there while they went to San Angelo.

  Naturally, Dylan wanted to drive. A little overwhelmed by the sheer size of the truck, Emily had been hoping he would volunteer. She was independent, but not foolish enough to take on more than she could handle.

  “So how did the lunch date with the food critic go?” Dylan asked casually, as soon as they were on the road to San Angelo.

  “Fred Collier was a nice guy.”

  Dylan slanted her a glance she couldn’t quite read. Too confident to be seriously threatened, he teased, “Good-looking?”

  “Yes.” Emily volleyed back, just as playfully. “Although I was more interested in what Fred might be able to do for my business.”

  Dylan sobered at the magnitude of the problems she was facing. “And…?”

  Tension stiffened Emily’s spine. “He’s not going to write about the Daybreak Café, at least not right now.” Briefly, she explained.

  Dylan listened quietly, then shook his head in commiseration. “I’m sorry.”

  So am I. Emily settled more comfortably in her seat, shifting slightly to the left. Finding comfort in the intimacy swiftly springing up between them, she shrugged and forced herself to be as matter-of-fact as the situation required. “Holden’s friend has a point. As did you, in a roundabout way.” She studied Dylan’s ruggedly handsome profile. His hair was rumpled and dark stubble rimmed the lower half of his face. He looked sexy and impatient. As impatient as she. “I have to be ready to compete a little more aggressively if I want the café to remain a viable business. And that means answering customer complaints a lot more responsively.”

  Hands competently circling the wheel, Dylan glanced at her curiously. The open collar on his shirt exposed the strong column of his throat. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to just below the elbow.

  Emily forced her gaze away from the sinewy strength in his arms, and told herself she was grateful for the seat between them.

  She turned her attention back to business. “People have complained about the lines to get in since shortly after I opened two years ago. I don’t have room for any more tables inside and to be honest, I liked the idea of having a sought-after commodity in such a small town.” She laced her fingers together. “I thought the demand gave my place a sort of cachet not necessarily shared by some of the other larger restaurants in town.”

  Dylan murmured, “It was a small local haunt that anyone who was anyone knew about.”

  “And that alone made it special.” Emily sighed. “But in retrospect I see that was a mistake.”

  Dylan listened, understanding that, too.

  “And while I can’t just put an addition on a historic building to increase seating in the café, I am permitted by the city to use the sidewalks surrounding the building. So I can put up tables that line the front and wrap around the corner immediately. And that’s what I plan to do,” she announced proudly, satisfied that she was back on the path to success. “Starting tomorrow morning, patrons will be able to dine alfresco.”

  Dylan knew that was what Emily hoped would happen. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was just setting herself up for more disappointment.

  IT WAS NEARLY ten-thirty that night by the time they returned to Laramie, precious cargo in tow. Eleven-thirty, by the time they unloaded the truck and set up the five umbrella tables and twenty chairs. And though Dylan had handled the trip well, he noted Emily was looking pretty tired as midnight neared. Which wasn’t surprising, given she had been up since four that the morning. Whereas he, as usual, had slept in until six…

  Her expression supremely content, Emily stepped back, looking at their handiwork beneath the glow of the street lights. “That’s really nice, isn’t it?” she asked Dylan.
>
  He nodded in agreement. There was no doubt about it—the outdoor seating added a lot of charm to the storefront of her building. He wasn’t sure, however, that a four-thousand-dollar expenditure was good for Emily financially at the moment. But since he had no idea what the café’s bottom line was, he couldn’t comment.

  Instead, he focused on the positive. “The outdoor seating should help a lot, when the usual crowds return.” He reached out to playfully tug the end of her ponytail. “I know I’ll appreciate a shorter wait time for a table.”

  The corners of her soft lips turned up. “When,” she repeated, her blue eyes sparkling. “I like the sound of that.” She sighed, then added less certainly, “I only hope the prediction comes true as soon as possible.”

  Dylan consoled her with a hug. Forcing himself to keep it friendly, he gave her an extra squeeze and let her go. Stepping back from her, he held her gaze and reminded, “You’re an amazing chef, Emily. Sooner or later, people are going to remember that and return in droves.”

  Emily’s slender body tensed. She lifted her hands to her head and removed the clasp holding her ponytail in place. “I hope so.”

  Dylan watched the spill of silky hair fall over her shoulders. Recalling their agreement, he tamped down his desire. “Want me to take the truck back to the lot?”

  The tension left her shoulders. She slanted him a grateful glance, her weariness beginning to show. “If you wouldn’t mind, that would be great,” she told him softly. She looked around for the scissors she’d brought out of the café. “I’ll stay and cut the tags off everything.” She inclined her head slightly, added casually, “If you want to return, maybe we can have some pie à la mode or…something…”

  Dylan didn’t know what he was looking forward to more—eating one of the desserts she’d made or simply spending more time with her. “Sounds great,” he said. Eager to get back, Dylan took off.

  EMILY WAS NEARLY DONE cutting off the tags, when footsteps sounded. She looked up to see Xavier coming down the sidewalk, toward her.