The Rebel and the Cowboy (The Carmody Brothers Book 2)

by Sarah Mayberry

She’d planned on hitting the library herself this afternoon, but it wouldn’t hurt to reverse her schedule if it meant avoiding him.

  She tensed as she registered her own thought. Then she sighed and signaled before executing a sweeping U-turn.

  She wasn’t afraid of Dane, and she wasn’t going to let him change her schedule for the day.

  She could see Dane and his entourage clustered at the foot of the elevator as she approached the turnoff, and she put her best game face on before pulling off the highway. Heads turned to note her arrival, Dane’s mouth thinning into an ungenerous line as he glared at her through the windshield.

  Good. She hoped it stuck in his craw that she was here. She hoped he was so distracted he could barely concentrate.

  Ignoring him completely, she gathered her things and slid a pair of sunglasses on. Then she approached the elevator and did a long, slow lap of the entire structure. Her path led her past the cherry picker where Dane and entourage were now huddled, but they didn’t so much as look her way or acknowledge her existence as she walked past. She stopped at the opposite corner to make notes, glancing across as the cherry picker rumbled to life. Slowly Dane and Zack rose into the sky, Zack holding what looked like a new X-Pro with a wide-angle lens. Eva glanced down at her own ten-year-old DSLR and felt a stab of envy.

  It’s just stuff. They’ll be making the decision based on ideas and execution, not because he’s got the coolest and latest gear.

  She knew it was true, but she also knew that all the technology and equipment he had at his fingertips gave him a distinct advantage. And he was already the front-runner, because he was the name, and she was a nobody.

  The cherry picker was still high in the air when she left an hour later. She stopped to pick up a sandwich from a coffee shop near the library, eating it quickly in the van before heading inside. She spent the afternoon trawling through books on the town’s history and peering at old newspaper editions stored on microfiche. She had pages of notes and sketches and a fistful of photocopies to take home with her when she was done, and she headed back to the ranch feeling as though she’d put in a good day.

  But it wasn’t over yet. Once she got home, she made herself some instant noodles, then spent several hours doing more studies. Her eyes were bleary with tiredness by the time she peeled off her clothes and slipped under the covers.

  She flicked the light off, and then and only then did she let herself think about Casey again. She hadn’t seen any of the Carmodys all day, but she’d heard a truck start up at some point in the evening. Had that been Casey, heading off somewhere?

  None of your business.

  It wasn’t, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to know. She imagined him going into town, hanging out at the bar again the way he had the other night when he’d saved her from herself, and she’d given him a hard time.

  The memory made her smile as sleep rose up to take her. It had been a lot of fun, giving Casey Carmody a hard time.

  It was her final thought for the day.

  Chapter Eight

  The following day was just as consuming. Eva got an early start, hitting the library for more research, followed by a visit to the Marietta Historical Society. She returned to the trailer loaded down with yet more photocopies, as well as a number of books she’d bought on the history of the region.

  She was absorbed in a gripping recounting of the town’s short-lived mining boom when a knock on the door drew her out of the 1800s and back to reality.

  Her heart kicked out a couple of extra beats: Casey.

  “It’s just me,” Sierra called, immediately killing Eva’s little fantasy.

  Just as well. You’ve got enough on your plate, remember?

  She unfolded her legs and groaned when her circulation came back to life as she hobbled to the door.

  “Hey. Sorry I was so slow—I don’t think I’ve moved for a couple of hours and my legs have forgotten how to work.”

  “Just doing a welfare check, since we haven’t seen or heard from you for a couple of days now,” Sierra said, her gaze assessing as she took in Eva’s rumpled appearance.

  “I’ve been working. A week isn’t a lot of time to come up with all the stuff they want.” Eva stretched, then circled her shoulders. “But thanks for checking on me.”

  “I think you should take a break. Come into town with me. The Whiskey Shots are playing, and we can be amused by all the women throwing themselves at Casey without a chance in hell. It’ll do you good to get out of this little tin can.”

  Eva frowned at the mention of Casey beating off hordes of women. “I happen to be very fond of this tin can,” she said. “And even though it sounds fun, I think I should stick with this.”

  Plus it would be easier to stick to her all-work, no-play promise to herself if she didn’t have to actually be in the same room as Casey. Much easier.

  “There are reams of scientific studies that show productivity tapers off when exhaustion sets in. Give yourself some time out, let your hair down, and come back to it fresh tomorrow,” Sierra said.

  She was very persuasive, her smile bright and beguiling, and Eva couldn’t help thinking about how good it would be to stop thinking for a few hours and get out among other people.

  “You Carmodys need to rein in the charisma a little when you’re dealing with us mere mortals. We’re defenseless when you pull out the big guns,” Eva said.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sierra said. Then she batted her eyelashes and widened her smile a fraction so it shifted from charming to dazzling.

  “All right, all right. I’m on the mat already, no need to pummel me into mush,” Eva said.

  “Great. You’ve got ten minutes to get ready before we leave.”

  Eva looked down at her aged tank and floppy pajama shorts.

  “I’m going to need at least fifteen.”

  “Band starts at eight, and we want to grab a booth if we can,” Sierra said in a warning tone.

  “Fine. But if people point and laugh, it’s on you,” Eva said.

  Sierra laughed. “My money is on every eligible bachelor in town doing their best to get your attention.”

  “They can do backflips for all I care—I am officially not on the market.”

  “Because you’re not interested or because you’re with someone?” Sierra asked, and even though she threw the question out as casually as can be, Eva sensed intent behind her words.

  “After Dane, I am officially once burned and twice shy,” Eva said.

  “Well, be warned—there are going to be some cowboys there tonight who are going to do their damnedest to change your mind,” Sierra said as she disappeared out the door. “See you at the truck in ten.”

  Eva wasted no time shedding her clothes and jumping beneath the trailer’s compact shower. She rinsed off the sweat and stress of a day spent inside her own head, then hastily toweled herself dry and contemplated her meager wardrobe. She needed to do some laundry, so there wasn’t a lot of choice—her black skinny jeans and a dressy tank, or her black slip dress. It was a warm enough night that the dress seemed like the smart option, so she pulled on a pair of lacy boy shorts and matching bra, then threw the dress on. Five minutes later she was clattering down the steps in a pair of colorful wedge-heeled sandals, makeup on, hair styled.

  Sierra was waiting by her truck as Eva rounded the corner of the barn.

  “I knew you could do it in ten minutes,” she said, opening the driver’s door and sliding in behind the wheel.

  Eva helped herself to the passenger seat as Sierra started the pickup. “I felt the pressure of living up to your high expectations,” she said.

  Sierra shot her an amused look as she headed down the driveway. “Sure you did, LA girl.”

  Eva waited until they were on the highway driving toward town to give voice to her curiosity.

  “So, what am I going to see tonight?” she asked.

  “Are you asking if the Shots are any good? Because I’m a li
ttle biased, in case you hadn’t guessed.”

  “I guess I’m trying to imagine Casey center stage, enjoying the limelight. He seems so self-contained.”

  “He is, one on one. But he comes to life on stage. You’ll see.”

  “You said something about women throwing themselves at Casey and not having a chance in hell. Why not?”

  “Casey doesn’t do casual. Never has,” Sierra said with a shrug of one shoulder.

  Eva glanced across at her, thrown. “Really? Never?”

  “I’m not saying that. It’s not like my brothers give me a weekly rundown on their private lives. But Casey’s had a lot of opportunities to enjoy the Shots’ success, if you know what I mean, and I’ve never seen him take advantage. Not once.”

  Eva frowned as she stared out the window at the dark fields rushing past outside. It was a little worrying that she’d felt a decided thud of triumph at hearing Casey didn’t make a habit of sleeping around. Whether he was a player or not shouldn’t matter to her one iota—they’d used condoms, and neither of them had made promises to each other. Sleeping with him had been about pleasure and distraction, nothing more, nothing less.

  And yet there was no denying she was glad he didn’t do this all the time. That she was the exception, rather than the rule.

  How messed up and confusing was that?

  It’s called having your cake and eating it, too. Or being a dog in a manger. One of those things.

  Even her inner smartass was confused by what she wanted when it came to Casey.

  A car passed them, its headlights briefly illuminating the truck’s interior, and Eva’s attention was caught by the laminated ID hanging from the rearview mirror.

  “What’s this?” she asked, catching the tag in her hand and reading the small print. She looked at Sierra, surprised. “You can fly a helicopter?”

  “I can,” Sierra said.

  “How come I didn’t know this about you?”

  “I was thinking of having a T-shirt made, but I thought it might be a bit ostentatious,” Sierra joked. “It doesn’t come up much, especially because I haven’t had a chance to go up since you arrived.”

  “Well. You’re officially a dark horse,” Eva said. “Is this a hobby or something you want to do for a living or what?”

  “Long term, I’d love to get my commercial license. That’s what I’m working toward at the moment but you need a lot of flight hours and they’re expensive. One of our neighbors, Gideon Tate, lets me use his chopper sometimes if he’s in town, but he hasn’t been around much lately. So it’s probably going to take a while to get where I need to be.”

  Eva frowned. “Why do I know that name?”

  Sierra’s hands shifted on the steering wheel. “Casey might have mentioned him. He was driving the other car in the accident that killed our parents.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. It’s a fact of life.” Sierra was quiet for a beat. “The boys don’t like me flying his chopper. They don’t like feeling like we owe him anything.”

  “Was the accident his fault?” Eva asked.

  “Nope. The accident report says Dad’s truck hit some ice on a turn, and he lost control and drifted across the line. Gideon barely had a chance to brake before they hit.”

  Eva’s gut clenched as her imagination threw up vivid images of what must have happened next.

  “I guess it must be hard, knowing he’s alive and they’re dead,” Eva said, thinking it through.

  “Sure. And Gideon got Jed’s back up in the early days, offering money to help out. At one stage, he even offered to buy the ranch outright.”

  Eva winced. “A little misguided.”

  She’d only just met the Carmodys, but it was obvious to her that they were deeply committed to the ranch their parents had built out of nothing.

  “Just a little,” Sierra said. “But I figure his intentions were mostly good. And the truth is, it will take me years to get where I need to be without his generosity, and the sooner I can get my license, the sooner I can start paying back all the money Jed has spent on lessons over the years. I want to contribute more, and if that means taking Gideon Tate’s guilty charity, I will.”

  There was steel and determination in her voice and Eva figured the Carmody brothers were going to have a fight on their hands if they ever tried to clip Sierra’s wings.

  “You go, girl,” Eva said approvingly.

  Because it was her personal philosophy that everyone was entitled to their dreams, no matter how big or small they were.

  They were rolling down Main Street by then and Sierra made an approving noise when she spotted a parking space opposite the saloon. She swung into it deftly and threw the truck into park.

  “Time to brace yourself. It’s going to be busy in there, so stay close, okay?” Sierra said as they exited the truck.

  Eva glanced toward the saloon, and sure enough, there was a line of people waiting to enter. On a Thursday night.

  “Are The Whiskey Shots the only band on the bill?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah. They don’t need anyone else,” Sierra said. There was more than a hint of pride in her voice.

  She led the way across the street, her long legs eating up the ground, and Eva had to almost run to keep up with her. Sierra called out greetings to a few people in the queue before joining the line and taking out her phone to text someone.

  “Just checking to see if Cara has grabbed a booth yet,” Sierra said. “Otherwise we might be standing.”

  Evidently she got good news from her friend because she punched the air a few seconds later.

  “Awesome, we’re in, and she’s already ordered a pitcher of margaritas,” Sierra said.

  “I like her already,” Eva said.

  The line shuffled forward and a few minutes later Sierra was exchanging greetings with the burly security guy on the door. And then they were inside and it was insane.

  It was like walking into someone else’s surprise party, it was so crowded and noisy. Eva blinked, a little overwhelmed, and almost lost Sierra as she immediately plowed into the crowd, heading for the booths that lined the left wall. Lunging forward, Eva chased the other woman, ducking elbows and excuse me-ing her way past what had to be half the population of Marietta.

  This was not what she’d envisaged when she’d imagined Casey playing a gig at the local bar. She’d pictured a few well-intentioned locals supporting live music played by people they knew, tapping their feet and singing along whenever they recognized a song.

  Not in a million years had she anticipated this heaving mass of expectant, boisterous people, and Eva glanced toward the stage, beginning to suspect she’d seriously underestimated Casey and his band.

  “There you are. I thought I’d lost you,” Sierra said, reaching out to pull Eva onto the bench seat on one side of a booth already crowded with three other women, all of whom looked to be around the same age as Sierra.

  “Eva, this is Cara, Ashley, and Jessica. Ladies, this is Eva—she’s staying in the trailer out at the ranch while she’s in town on business,” Sierra said.

  “Oh my God. When did you start renting out the trailer and when can I move in?” Ashley asked. A small brunette, she had an open, sunny face and a cute button nose.

  The others laughed, and Sierra gave Eva a wry look. “Ashley is my brother’s number one fan.”

  “And my good friend here refuses to set me up on a date with him,” Ashley said, reaching across the table to give Sierra’s arm an admonishing shake.

  “I am not my brother’s social secretary,” Sierra said firmly.

  “I’ll make you maid of honor at our wedding,” Ashley said, her tone light.

  “What brings you to town, Eva?” Cara asked pointedly, very deliberately changing the subject. Slim, blond and angular, she had direct blue eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor.

  “I’m in contention for a commission to do an art mural on the old Clarke grain elevator,” Eva explained.

 
; “I heard about that project,” Jessica said, tucking blond curls behind her ears. “My mom does admin work for the Chamber of Commerce. I think she said it’s going to be more than a hundred feet tall…? It sounds like it’s going to be pretty epic when it’s done.”

  “It will be if Eva wins the commission,” Sierra said loyally, reaching for the jug in the middle of the table to pour a drink for herself and Eva.

  The sound of applause prevented Eva from having to say more, and she looked across to see The Whiskey Shots had come on stage. Her gaze gravitated to Casey as he slid his guitar strap over his head and settled the instrument against his body. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and well-worn jeans with boots, his overgrown hair pushed back from his forehead, but somehow he looked more now that he was up on stage.

  Gilded. Special.

  Such was the power of fame, even modest fame.

  She half expected him to appear nervous, or intimidated by the capacity crowd, but he scanned the audience with a small, confident smile, said something over his shoulder to the drummer, then stepped closer to the mic.

  “Evening, Marietta. Hope you’re ready to raise the roof,” Casey said, his deep voice filling the room and silencing the chatter.

  Eva heard the drummer counting them in, then the room filled with sound as the Shots launched into their first song. It was fast-paced and high-spirited, with a rhythm that quickly had her wanting to tap her fingers on the table. A few people whistled their approval, clearly recognizing the song—and then Casey started singing and Eva was glad she was sitting down because otherwise she was sure she’d have fallen over.

  Deep and resonant, with just a hint of emotional rasp, Casey’s voice was so good, so delicious, so compelling she felt all the little hairs on her arms stand up.

  “Jesus,” she said, unable to take her eyes off him as he commanded center stage.

  “Told you,” Sierra said in her ear. “He’s amazing.”

  He was. Assured and playful, utterly committed and confident, he had the crowd in the palm of his hand as he sang about love and laughter and having it all. By then people were stomping their feet in time with the beat and singing along, and Eva couldn’t keep the smile off her face.