Cowgirl Education: a Camden Ranch Novel

by Jillian Neal

  Beaming at him, Holly laughed. “Definitely looking forward to that.”

  “Good.” He gave her backside a light swat before he shrugged into his jacket.

  After an extended goodbye kiss, Holly settled into his desk chair. The office was a tad intimidating. She much preferred the creative flow of the music room downstairs. Dec’s office somehow felt like a removable segment of himself, aside from the rest, like a coat he donned when it was far too warm to wear one. Being downstairs felt like being wrapped up in his soothing presence. She couldn’t argue that the resources available in the office were better than the sciences library at the University though, so she settled in to write the paper.

  “It’s not going to be too short of an essay if I have to quote five different sources, Dec.” Still feeling a little sorry for herself that he was out to dinner and she was there working, she scanned the copy of her lovemap until she landed on the fantasy she was to write her paper about. Her mouth dropped open. Panic sizzled up her spine and her thighs locked tightly together. He wanted her to write an essay on this. This, the most untouchable of all female fantasies. The most intimidating. Also one of the most common, she guessed she had to give him that. She was supposed to dismantle the stigmas surrounding this fantasy. What happened to giving her the easy topics?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Thoroughly confused, Dec swung his leg off of his bike and stared at The Rodizio Grill. The place was packed, noise assaulted the exhaust-filled wind in the parking lot, and this didn’t seem the kind of place Richard Newsome would pick for dinner.

  Reviewing his self-imposed rules for this meal, mainly that he would scrub his mind of any knowledge of Holly and behave like a man forced to work for the University despite his own wishes, he entered the restaurant and was immediately swarmed by servers dressed as gauchos wielding swords of meat, and by greeters whisking by patrons awaiting tables surrounding the largest salad bar Dec had ever seen. The live band on the back deck was horrendously off-key and garbling whatever song they were supposed to be singing.

  “Bollocks,” he seethed under his breath. He’d left Holly at home in the peaceful quiet of his house with money for ordered pizza when he could have prepared most any meal she might’ve liked and then spent the evening listening to her talk, and sigh, and laugh, and moan.

  A greeter descended upon him. “Welcome to the Rodizio Grill. Table for one?”

  “No. Uh, I’m meeting a colleague here. Dr. Richard Newsome.”

  “Yes, Dr. Newsome. He’s a regular. This way.”

  Dec dutifully followed the woman to a more private area on the opposite side of the restaurant. Thanking the Lord for small favors, he noted the music wasn’t quite as incursive here.

  Ten feet from the table, Dec froze. Bile flooded his throat. Abject panic seared through his veins. Shit. This could not be happening. He rocked forward on his feet desperate to run away. There, in a private corner in the back of the ridiculous slaughter house, sat Newsome, a woman who appeared to be his wife as she was approximately his age and he was buttering a roll for her, and yet another far younger woman dressed for what appeared to have been a date. She sat alone opposite the Newsomes, and Dec fought not to vomit. This was a setup.

  What the fuck was he supposed to say? He would never jeopardize what he had with Holly, even if it was to save his job. However, not saving his job meant losing Holly as maintaining a lifelong relationship some four thousand miles apart was not really a viable option.

  “Ma’am.” He halted the greeter on her path to the table. “You said the Newsomes were regulars. Do you know whom the woman seated with them might be?”

  “Yes, sir, that’s their daughter, Olivia.”

  Trevor tapped the steering wheel while he waited in his darkened car hidden across the street from his professor’s house. He’d been there the whole damn day, and had finally caught a break in the form of a pizza delivery guy, an undergrad at UN. Lucky for him he had one resource pizza-boy did not, money. And his money was working for him.

  Dr. St. James was a bastard, and Holly Camden wasn’t going to stand in his way anymore. Starry-eyed cowgirl needed to go back to the ranch before she ruined everything. She’d taken one too many wrong steps this time, and he was about to own her and St. James. Idiots. Both of them. Holly needed to learn that you couldn’t always do just what you wanted to do. If he didn’t have that freedom, neither did she.

  Besides, did they really think they wouldn’t get caught? Holly always thought she could get away with murder and use her smarts to get her out of it. Well, not this time. Try talking your way out of an ethics code violation, bitch.

  Finally. The pizza guy, Mike or Mark or whatever his name was, backed his late-model Taurus down the long driveway. Trevor flashed his lights. When Mike parked his car beside Trevor’s, he got out.

  “Dude, this feels really stalkerish. If she ends up on the news, I’m coming clean. I don’t care how much you pay me,” he stammered.

  Rolling his eyes, Trevor pulled another bill out of his wallet. “I’m not gonna kill her, you jack-weasel. I just needed confirmation that she’s there. I’m getting her kicked out of school and that’s it. Did you get the picture of them together?”

  “No, she’s the only one there. I texted you what I got, but it’s uh. . .mostly my thumb. You can kind of see her, though.”

  “Did she act suspicious?”

  “Nah, seemed kind of distracted.”

  “Just keep taking pics of her anywhere you see her. Here’s a few extra Benjamins for your efforts.”

  Mike all but drooled when Trevor thrust the wad of bills into his grubby fists. “If you need anything else let me know,” he volunteered eagerly.

  Yeah, now he was willing to work. “You just keep your mouth shut. If you get called back out here, try to get something with both of them in it.”

  “No problem.”

  You’re being paranoid. Holly grabbed a paper towel while she paced around Dec’s home eating another piece of greasy pizza. The pizza guy was not acting weird and you’ve never seen him before. She’d been telling herself this through the last two pieces. The blank paper still mocked her. She had no idea where to even begin. She had managed to locate a few sources on her assigned topic, but they hadn’t been easy to come by.

  Then there was Dec’s frantic text, apparently from the restaurant restroom, that said not to text him back but that he needed her to know how much loved her and that he had no idea until he’d walked into the steakhouse that Newsome was trying to set him up.

  Holly tried to imagine Dr. Newsome setting Dec up to fail at anything. That just wasn’t the Dr. Newsome she’d learned from for the last several years. She knew the head of the Psych department was a decent, hard-working man who wanted everyone to succeed. She could read people — that’s why she wanted to be a psychologist for heaven’s sake. What on earth had Dec meant? She didn’t know and wasn’t allowed to ask.

  Yeah, you can read people, so you know the pizza dude was creepy as fuck. Listen to your gut, Holly. She checked the locks on the front and back door again. She wanted Dec to come home almost as much as she wanted to take Dec to her home. Not her apartment on the other side of town; no, she wanted the quiet rolling flatlands, the low bellow of the cattle, her big brothers, her daddy, the half-dozen cattleguards preventing anyone from getting too close, and her horses. She was being a big baby and she wanted to go home.

  The roar of the flat screen TV in the living room said at least the Huskers were having a great night. That was something.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Dec withered in the chair he’d tried to discreetly angle away from Olivia. This was a shitfest wrapped up in a clusterfuck, and after this, he got to go home and tell the woman he’d fallen madly in love with in one-fifth of a second that he’d been on a date. Being on the receiving end of her cowgirl rage was not something he wanted to experience, but he was doomed. If he managed to talk his way out of this, someone should give him
an award. Hell, he should be knighted for exemplary damage control and conflict management.

  Why, did the universe hate him?

  “Olivia’s a market analyst at Buckley Air Force base in Denver,” Mrs. Newsome offered hopefully.

  Dec feigned a semi-interested nod while wondering what on earth the Air Force needed with a market analysis. What was their market? As far as he understood it, they flew planes, dropped bombs, and did something with drones, maybe. Victoria had run off with a French pilot, not that Dec had particularly cared until it had cost him his job. He still wasn’t a fan of pilots, though.

  A gaucho-clad waiter slammed yet another sword full of non-descript meat down on the table. Certain he was going to vomit, Dec knew he was in hell, but going home to his heavenly angel would only bring on their first argument faster.

  “We’ve just managed to add Dr. St. James to the psychology department recently. He was a lead therapist at Lifespan. Worked at London’s top counseling center prior, and is also a rather gifted guitarist,” Dr. Newsome continued to sing Dec’s praises.

  “Lead sex therapist. I’m also a recovering addict.” There. Take that, Dad. He prayed Olivia didn’t have a thing for bad boys.

  Newsome looked more surprised than offended. “And always candid. I appreciate that.”

  Olivia, thankfully, looked rather put off. She picked at the chicken on her plate. “Uh, guitarist. That’s interesting. What brought you to Lincoln?”

  “Lifespan graciously hired me. I’m rather anxious to get back to counseling.”

  “Ah, don’t give up on the University yet. Students are already singing your praises,” Newsome urged.

  Dec highly doubted that was true. He adjusted his collar yet again. Damned thing was choking him. And why was it so bloody hot in there? The meat-laced humidity wrapped around him like straight-jacket.

  “So, what kind of guitar do you play?” Olivia seemed pleased she’d come up with a question that involved the words guitar and play.

  “I own twenty-seven different guitars. I occasionally play all of them.” What the hell was she even asking him?

  “I meant what kind of music do you play?”

  “I can play most anything. Classic rock is by far my favorite. Play a fair amount of metal as well. My gir. . . . Uh, I’m learning more country, currently. Don’t have a lot of it in Britain, but I rather enjoy the lyrics.” Christ’s sake, St. James, what is wrong with you? Go ahead and tell them all about how your girlfriend loves country and you’re learning for her, you imbecilic wanker.

  “I really prefer jazz or classical. I also love opera. Rock is prosaic in my opinion, and the shouting in metal is highly unnecessary. I don’t mind that song Wonderwall, though. I believe it’s by Oceans or something like that. Do you ever play it?”

  “No, and it’s Oasis.”

  “See, I know nothing about that genre of overly-branded shouting.” She laughed at her own joke. Dec shuddered in his seat. “I did manage seats at the Ellie for Lucia di Lammermoor. Fantastic production. Have you ever seen it?”

  “I have no idea what it even is.” Dec was more than over trying to keep Newsome happy. This ambush of a dinner was more than he could take.

  “It’s a fantastic opera about a woman who’s forced to marry for money, loses her mind, and murders her bridegroom. Stunningly beautiful story.” That remark was shot directly to Olivia’s father.

  So that was it. Daddy was trying to fix her up with Dec because of his money. Clean breath filled Dec’s lungs. This he could deal with. She had no more interest in him than he did in her, but she’d come to keep her parents happy.

  Newsome’s white flag was all but visible. With that comment, he gave up the task of playing matchmaker for his daughter. Thank God.

  “I did want to ask you to keep your eyes on a few students for me in your foundations research class, Dr. St. James, if you wouldn’t mind,” Newsome and his wife shared a discreet glance, acknowledging their loss.

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Have you had any interactions with Holly Camden? She’s in the class I mentioned. Generally wears cowgirl boots.” Newsome chuckled.

  Oh, I’ve had so many interactions with my cowgirl, sir. Interactions that have changed my entire life. “I’ve not spoken with her outside of class, but her work on Money’s love map reflected a brilliant mastery of the concepts of sexual psychology. I assigned a paper over the weekend.” That she’s at my house working on. “I’ll know more when I see more of her writing.”

  “She’s an outstanding student. Brilliant young lady. Turned down a generous offer from Stanford so she could continue to help her family run their ranch out in Pleasant Glen. Tiny town out in cattle country. I’d truly like to give her a hand up if we can. It takes quite a bit to pull yourself up from cowgirl to doctor, I expect.”

  In Dec’s opinion, Holly didn’t need to try to be one or the other. She needed to be who she was. Her profession did not and should never define her. “I agree, sir.”

  “And how is Dr. Singleton’s son doing?” Newsome’s entire demeanor fell with that question. Interesting.

  “He puts forth little to no effort in class. Didn’t even come to class yesterday. His work on the love map was something out of a dirty movie, pardon me for saying so,” Dec offered the women seated at the table.

  Olivia looked relieved that her father had dropped the fix-up charade and offered him a sincere chuckle. “I work on an Air Force base. You can’t shock me.”

  Newsome sighed. “I’m between a rock and a hard place with Trevor. Not certain what to do. If you wouldn’t mind offering him any hand you can. For my conscience, I need to know we did everything we could to help him succeed.”

  “I’m happy to help any way I can, but I cannot pass him if he doesn’t come to class and do the work.”

  “I would never ask you to. I just need to know that the entire department has reached out to him. There’s a bit more to the story than we can discuss here.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Eventually, the Newsomes were meat-stuffed and thanking Dec profusely for meeting them for dinner.

  He thanked them for the invite awkwardly and had almost made a full escape to his bike when Olivia appeared.

  Another round of panic slammed in Dec’s steak-lined gut. He backed up as she advanced. “I’m not going to attack you, Dr. St. James. I wanted to apologize. I’ve accepted a position with the Air Force that moves me to the Pentagon in two-months. Daddy cannot give up the idea that if I fell in love with someone here in Lincoln, I would move back and be close to them. I’m sorry you got yourself thrown under the bus. If it makes you feel better, I had no idea you were coming until you arrived.”

  “Thank you for your explanation. I had no idea your father thought of me as a potential mate for you. I honestly didn’t even know he had a daughter.”

  “Mama’s sister set my parents up on a blind date they didn’t know they were going on. If it worked for them. . . .” she shrugged.

  “I see.”

  “Forgive me for being forward, Dr., but I wanted to make you an offer. Whomever your girlfriend is, I’d be glad to tell her that neither of us had any idea we were being set up, and that you were a perfect gentleman.”

  Dec sank his teeth into his tongue. Treading on extremely dangerous ground. To acknowledge Holly or lie outright when his opponent seemed just as adept at reading people as any psychologist. Her father’s daughter through and through.

  Olivia chuckled. “I’m not really that appalling to spend a few hours with, but you looked absolutely horrified when they brought you to the table, and, uh, there’s a smudge of something light pink on your collar. I’m guessing Chapstick.”

  Instinctively, Dec thumbed the collar of his shirt. “I. . .uh. . . I am completely, madly, irrevocably in love with her. I don’t like to mix my personal life with my business life. I lied to your father. I told him I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

  Olivia gave him a genuine grin
. “I’m about to go back to Mom and Dad’s to pretend that I’m not shacking up with a stunt pilot. They really prefer for me to date the stodgy type who’ll keep me settled firmly on the ground. I like to fly. Little weary of them playing matchmaker.”

  “Yes, I figured that out when you brought up the murder of the bridegroom in the opera.”

  Olivia’s harsh laughter irritated the cool night air. God, he missed Holly.

  “Sometimes Daddy needs it spelled out for him.”

  “Understood. I’m going to head out.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Dr. St. James. I’ll keep your relationship secret as long as you do the same for me.”

  “Not a problem.” The rev of his Harley split the night. Whatever was going to happen when he explained this to Holly, he wanted to get on with it. If he ended up sleeping on his own sofa, so be it. He just needed to be in her presence. This fucked up night was more than he could endure any longer.

  Scanning the moonlit lake for the tenth time in as many minutes, Holly told herself yet again that she hadn’t seen some kind of recognizable human form in Dec’s backyard. She was just imagining things.

  Every light in the house was on. Cementing herself as a big baby in her own mind, she’d gone as far as to call Luke just to hear him tell her that her imagination had run away with her, but that had only led to a lecture from her big brother for staying over at some guy’s house and questions as to why he wasn’t there with her.

  The garage door raised and every hair on her body stood on end. She flew to the door and collapsed into Dec’s chest before he’d pulled off his helmet.