Falling for the Rebel Cowboy

by Allison B. Collins

  They passed one booth filled with painted canvases of all sizes. She stopped suddenly and pulled him and Johnny back to the booth.

  She peered closely at the bottom of one painting. “I knew it! You’ve got one of this artist’s paintings in your guest room, don’t you? I recognized the haunting style.”

  He glanced at the signature. “Yep.”

  “Do you know the artist? Is he or she local?”

  He shrugged.

  She looked at each one in the booth. “All beautiful. The artist must be local—these all look like the scenery out at your ranch.”

  “Could be.”

  Turning toward him, she put her hands on her hips. “Why are you being so evasive? You know who the artist is, don’t you.”

  He just stared at her.

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll ask the person running the booth. These would go over big in New York.”

  He caught her arm just in time and pulled her close. “If I tell you, will you promise not to say anything to anyone?”

  She opened her mouth.

  “I mean anyone.”

  She crisscrossed an X over her heart.

  “The artist paints for certain reasons but doesn’t want anyone to know who he is. He donates paintings to the festival every year, and the money raised goes to whichever cause or charity needs it the most that year.”

  “That’s wonderful. But these are gallery quality—”

  “Uh-uh. You promised.”

  Her cheeks tinted, and she nodded. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m just in love with this work. It really speaks to my soul.” Her cheeks turned pink. “Does that sound silly?”

  “Nope. He’d be pleased to know it. But you can’t tell him. The artist is Kade,” he said quietly.

  She stared at him, then her eyebrows pulled together as she frowned. She glanced around quickly, then whispered, “Kade. As in your brother Kade?”

  He nodded.

  “Wow. I’m stunned.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why doesn’t he want anyone to know?”

  “Don’t know. But we all keep his secret.”

  “Too bad. I loved that painting in your guest room and kept meaning to ask you where you got it. Now I know.”

  He agreed the people who appreciated his paintings should know—Kade deserved the recognition for his talent. But he understood not wanting to be in the limelight. That’s why he didn’t sing in public, either.

  “I want to look at these for a while. Why don’t you take Johnny to play some of those games?”

  “You sure? Don’t mind waiting.”

  She glanced at her son, who was staring intently at the walkway filled with games. “I’m sure.”

  “Okay. Just text me when you’re done and we’ll meet you back here.” He kissed her cheek and took Johnny’s hand.

  Johnny wanted to stop at every game he could play. Wyatt played a few and won several stuffed animals for Johnny, one of which was a horse bigger than the kid and seemed to be his favorite of all.

  About thirty minutes later, Wyatt saw a text from Frankie that she was ready to meet them, so he and Johnny dragged all their loot back to where she waited for them.

  He glanced at the booth with Kade’s paintings and saw a lot of bare spots now. “Did they have a run on customers while you were in there?”

  She nodded. “Hey, you two thirsty? I’d love a hot chocolate. How about you?”

  “I’ll get it,” he said and shifted the stuffed animals in his arms to try to reach his wallet.

  “You’ve got your hands full. I’ll run over to the booth and we can sit with it during the pie-eating contest.” She walked away.

  “Excuse me,” said a woman he didn’t recognize. “You’re with Miss Wentworth, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. Can I help you?”

  “She forgot her receipt on the counter. Would you please give it to her? And tell her thanks for her generosity, and we’ll get them shipped first thing Monday morning.”

  “How many paintings did she get?”

  “Twenty! And she wouldn’t take the discount for buying more than three.” The woman hurried away and left Wyatt standing there, head reeling.

  “Wyatt?”

  He vaguely heard his name being called but didn’t come out of his stupor until Frankie waved a hand in front of him.

  “Something wrong?”

  “You bought twenty of the paintings my brother did?” he whispered forcefully.

  Her eyes widened. “How’d you know?”

  He held up the receipt. “You left it on the counter, and the woman brought it for you. What are you going to do with twenty paintings?”

  “Oh. Well, I told you I loved the work when I saw it in your cabin. I bought one for my apartment, and one for the office lobby. It’ll go perfect with the decor there. The others are smaller, gifts for the team who came with us to work on the merger. I thought they could use something nice to remind them of their time out here.”

  “She also said you refused the discount.”

  “It’s for a good cause. Now let’s drink our cocoa before it gets cold.”

  She had no ties to this community, but she still wanted to support their cause. If he didn’t already love her, he’d have fallen right then and there.

  He looked at his watch. “Why don’t you all get seats for the pie contest, and I’ll take this stuff to the truck?”

  “Do you need help carrying it all?” Frankie asked.

  “Nope, just go on in and I’ll find you in a few minutes.” He gathered up their things and headed to the parking area.

  On his way out of the metal gate, he bumped into someone and looked around the big stuffed horse to apologize.

  Miss Bromfield.

  “Excuse me, Miss Bromfield. Didn’t see you—”

  “You.” She sniffed, her snooty nose raised so high he was sure she couldn’t see the ground. “You’ve always been a troublemaker, Mr. Sullivan.”

  “That’s long behind me, ma’am. I’m an adult now. I don’t cause problems or look for trouble. I know it’s years late, but I apologize for all the pranks we played on you. I’m very sorry for any grief we caused you.”

  “Highly doubtful. Once a troublemaker, always a troublemaker. I’m surprised you’re not in prison right now.”

  Adrenaline rushed through his body so fast it hurt. He clutched the various packages and toys so tight his fingers throbbed. His vision narrowed until all he could see was her mean and hateful face.

  He wanted—no, needed—to walk away, get away from her spite, but his feet weren’t cooperating.

  She harrumphed and walked around him toward the gate.

  He gulped in air, and the tight ache eased a little. “Why do you hate me so much?” he asked, but she was already gone, not bothering to answer even if she had heard him.

  Laughter and excited voices surrounded him. The shrill ring from a midway game was like a drill cutting into his brain. He needed to get out of there. Be alone.

  He finally forced his feet to move, and he walked fast to his truck. Dumping some of the items in the bed of his truck, he fumbled for his keys, finally got the door unlocked. He shoved everything in the back seat, then climbed in, slammed the door shut so hard the truck creaked.

  A few minutes. That was all he needed. Peace and quiet.

  He leaned forward, arms on the steering wheel, and rested his head.

  The crushing weight of his past wouldn’t let up. How could he escape it when there were reminders of it every time he came to town? The whispers and the gossip hurt more than they should. His own father didn’t believe he could change. How could he expect everyone else, especially Miss Bromfield, to think any different? He should have stayed away, gone somewhere else when he left Texas.

  A soft knock
sounded on the passenger-side window. He looked up, saw Frankie standing there. He leaned over and opened the door.

  “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” she asked, climbing into the truck.

  He shook his head. “Just needed a minute.”

  “It’s been thirty minutes. I was getting worried.”

  “Sorry. Where’s Johnny?”

  “We were sitting with Kelsey and your brothers. He’s with them.”

  “Oh.”

  “Did something happen?” Frankie asked.

  “Run-in with my past.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder, took his hand in hers. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Seems like for every step forward I take, I get knocked back three.”

  Her hand stroked his leg, and he started to relax.

  “Ran into, and I mean literally bumped into, Miss Bromfield. Let’s just say her attitude toward me over the years hasn’t changed at all.”

  “That mean old woman? Here?”

  Frankie sat up, put her hand on the door handle. He grabbed her arm before she could open it.

  “What? I’m just going to go kick her ass,” she said.

  He pulled her back against him. “Why?”

  “Why what? Why do I want to hurt her? Because she hurt you.”

  “Why do you keep hanging around me? Jumping to my defense?”

  She turned toward him, ran her fingers through his hair, brushed it off his cheeks. “I—I care about you, Wyatt.”

  Closing the distance, she kissed him. But he couldn’t help wondering if there was something else she was going to say.

  The one thing he wanted to say but was too scared to tell her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It had taken Francine some convincing to get Wyatt back to the festival. She and Johnny did their best to put him in a better mood, but hurt still lurked behind his eyes, and the few times he did smile, it was only a half-hearted attempt.

  As the sun set, they ate dinner with Wyatt’s brothers and their families, then trooped to the open-air pavilion for dancing under the stars.

  A special tent had been set up for the kids to do arts and crafts and play board games while the grown-ups danced. When Maddy and her cousins all begged to go there, Johnny said he wanted to as well, which shocked her. He’d blossomed so much the last couple of weeks.

  She and Wyatt checked him in with the woman in charge of the kids’ tent.

  Francine knelt in front of him. “Now promise me you’ll stay close to Maddy and her cousins, okay? If you want to be with me and Wyatt, you tell this nice lady here, and she’ll call me.”

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  “Have fun tonight, sweetie.”

  “You, too, Mommy! ’Bye!” He raced over to the table where the Sullivan kids sat.

  “I don’t think he’ll miss me at all tonight,” she said, and stood up.

  “Doesn’t look like it. Guess that means you can have some fun, huh?” Wyatt grinned at her and winked.

  They left the tent and Wyatt took her hand, linking his fingers with hers as they walked to the dance floor. It sent shock waves up her arm, across her shoulders and down to her heart. How could something as simple as holding hands mean so much?

  But it did, and she savored his touch. His fingers were strong and sturdy, his palms callused. Occasionally his thumb would stroke her hand, and she tingled in so many places.

  He led her to the dance floor and turned to face her. Unlike the first time they danced at the barbecue, she willingly went into his arms. Two uncoordinated feet or not, she meant to savor every minute of tonight.

  The band started another song, a slow one, and he pulled her closer, their bodies melding as one in time with the song. She laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and his arms tightened around her. It was more like hugging to music, and she loved it. Didn’t want it to end, wanted to stay that way forever.

  She opened her eyes and stared at his neck. Moving her head just a touch, she was able to kiss his neck. She nudged his hair back and gently bit the skin just above his jacket collar.

  Wyatt jerked, his hand flexing on her hip. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve never given anyone a hickey before.” She raised her head and grinned at him.

  “You keep doing that and I won’t be held responsible for what happens next.”

  “What? You’ll give me one back?”

  His eyes mesmerized her as he studied her face. “Yup. But not where anyone can see it.” He lowered his head and spoke into her ear. “It’d be a secret, just between you and me. And every time you’d see my mark on your smooth skin, you’d remember the feel of my mouth on your body.”

  She gulped, and her body went flaming hot. Taking a step back, she stared at him, then grabbed his hand and tugged him off the dance floor.

  She wanted him now with a desperation she’d never felt before. Looking all around, she tried to find somewhere private they could go.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked, his voice husky.

  “Someplace we can be alone,” she said, frustrated.

  His eyes squinted, and he looked up toward the sky. “I know a place.”

  “We can’t leave. I just want a few minutes alone with you. Now.”

  “Not leaving. Come with me.”

  This time he pulled her through the crowds toward a row of buildings on a side street just outside the festival tents. He walked past the first building on the corner and ducked into an alley, taking her with him.

  He stopped at a door cloaked in shadow. “Earlier I saw this building is still vacant. Wanna be a rebel tonight, Frankie?”

  She nodded, not able to speak.

  “Keep an eye on the street, make sure no one sees us.” He faced the door and she heard a soft bang, then metal grating on metal.

  She glanced at him and saw the door stood open now. A light flashed—he’d pulled his phone out to light the way.

  “Did you just break in?” A little frisson of fear interrupted her excitement.

  “Nope. Well, not really. I just know the trick to opening the door. Call it a talent I picked up in my youth.”

  “I don’t know about this. Is it safe?”

  “I wouldn’t bring you here if it wasn’t. I thought you wanted a little rebellion tonight.”

  She hesitated.

  “Come on, little rebel.” He held a hand out to her, and she took it. He led the way to a staircase, his phone lighting the path in the deserted building.

  Nerves and excitement warred together, coupled with an intense desire for this man.

  She’d never done anything like this, even as a teenager. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d told him she’d never acted out, had always been a good girl.

  Tonight that would all change. Her own little rebellion with Wyatt. Tingles danced across her back and down her spine, and she experienced something she never had before. The need to be a little naughty.

  The stairs ended at a door. Would her adventure end now?

  He tapped the door just above the knob, then turned it. The door opened, and she realized they were on the roof. He led her outside into the cold air.

  They walked to the parapet bordering the edge of the roof. It was just low enough for her to lean on and look over.

  “Oh, we’re right over the festival!” She looked all around at the bright lights on the dance floor, the flags waving in the breeze, then up at the zillions of stars in the sky. Even with the limited lights from the town, she could easily see them all.

  Warmth covered her back as Wyatt stood behind her, pressing his body to hers. “What was that about being a hickey virgin?” he asked, his voice low.

  She turned around in his arms so she faced him. “I’ve never gotten nor given one,” she said, surprised at the huskine
ss in her voice. “You want one?”

  He nodded.

  “Where?”

  He opened his denim jacket, unbuttoned his flannel shirt. “Right here.” He pointed to his left pec. “So I can see it if I look down, or in the mirror. And think of you,” he said.

  She licked her lips, staring at his chest. Leaning forward, she kissed the area he’d pointed to, then licked it, heard his sharp intake of breath. She bit lightly, sucked the skin between her teeth, soothing it with her tongue.

  His hand gripped her hips, and he pressed against her. He was so hard she gasped. Heat pooled low in her belly, and she scraped her nails lightly across his chest.

  She pulled back, saw a dark mark on his pec, and it excited her to know she’d put her own mark on him. But it didn’t compare to the mark he’d left on her soul.

  Slipping her hands between them, she unbuttoned her blouse, watched him watching her. The cold air hit her chest, and her nipples tightened even more than they had been.

  He slipped his arms around her, arching her back, pulling her upper body closer. Bending over, he latched on to her breast through the lace of her bra.

  She let her head fall back and just let herself feel. Tonight was all about reveling in Wyatt, even if they were stealing just a short time away together.

  His lips and tongue traced her skin along her bra line, then he bit down gently, in the same spot she’d marked him. Happiness filled her that he wanted their marks to match.

  She raised her arms and caressed his head as he gave her pleasure. Running her fingers through his hair, she savored the silkiness.

  He lifted his head and looked at her chest. She looked down, saw the love bite he’d given her. She traced the mark with her index finger, dipping down just beneath the edge of her bra.

  He groaned.

  And she smiled.

  He kissed her, and the power behind it, the intensity, took her by surprise. Their tongues tangled, and every stroke of his sent her higher, made her crave more. She pressed her hips to his, frustrated by the amount of clothes between them.