by Desiree Holt
“Sorry.” He lowered his lanky frame into the rocker next to her. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He took off his hat, shoveled his fingers through his hair, wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his shirt and clapped the hat back on his head. “So how’s everything in the kitchen?”
Was that a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth?
Emily wiped her hand on her jeans—her new jeans—and took another sip of her tea.
“Everything’s just fine. Fried chicken for dinner tonight.”
“Oh? I’m impressed. Second day of cooking school and you’re tackling a staple of the West.”
“Amelia said you aren’t a cook if you can’t make fried chicken,” she told him.
“But you aren’t a cook, anyway, are you, Em?” His voice was low and deep. “Exactly what are you?”
“I’m a refugee from Las Vegas, broke and homeless.” She glanced over at him. “And I can book a mean convention.”
“Well,” he drawled, “that ought to be a big help in Mesa Blanco.”
“Did you sit down here just to rattle my chains?” She took another swallow of iced tea, determined not to rise to his baiting.
“Yeah, kinda.” He chuckled. “I love it that you don’t back down. That you can give as good as you get. You’ll have those idiots who work for me eating out of your hands before another week goes by.”
“They’re just interested in eating, out of my hands or anywhere else.”
He rocked silently for a moment and Emily toyed with her glass.
“It’s Friday. I thought maybe you’d like to try out another pair of those new jeans tonight and take them into town.”
Emily had to stop her jaw from dropping. “You want to be seen in public? With me?”
“Em.” The word was filled with dogged patience. “Everyone in the county knows by now you work for me. They don’t expect me to keep you hidden under a rock. And they know you’re alone here except for your two friends.”
“I thought you said…”
“What I said was we should keep our private business private. That hasn’t changed. But there’s nothing that says I can’t take you into town for a little socializing.” He tilted his head back. “Just to set the record straight, I’m only talking about a visit to Chaps and a chance for you to see your friends. I wasn’t planning to strip you naked, tie you up and fuck you on the pool table in front of the entire population of the county.”
Her tea slopped onto her feet as her hand shook and her glass tilted.
Wyatt’s laugh was full and rich. “Take it easy, Emily. Teasing you is too much fun.”
“So you don’t really want to take me into town. Right?”
“Of course, I want to. You need to have a little fun.” He leaned closer to her. “Loosen up.”
Her cheeks felt as if she’d burned them. Maybe he really did plan to strip her naked in the honky-tonk. “I thought I was plenty loose last night,” she muttered.
Wyatt rose from the chair. “That’s for sure, sugar. So tonight we get to have fun, then we get to play. Better close your mouth before you catch flies. And I’d say it’s about time to start dinner. Lot of chicken to fry.”
She didn’t know if she should dump the rest of her tea on him or tell him to go to hell. Before she could do either he ambled off the porch, still chuckling to himself.
* * * *
Emily was sure she’d never get the smell of frying grease off her skin or out of her hair, but the dinner had been a success. Nobody had thrown pieces of chicken at her, the potatoes and gravy had both been smooth and the big bowls of vegetables scraped clean. When the kitchen was spotless, she turned to scrubbing herself, using extra dollops of fragrant shampoo and scented shower gel. Better to smell like a ripe flower garden than a short order cook, she decided.
She stepped into a pair of the new jeans, pulled a short-sleeved magenta silk blouse out of her closet and took extra pains with her makeup and hair. She decided it was worth the effort when she saw the heated look in Wyatt’s eyes as she walked into the kitchen where he waited for her.
“My, my,” he drawled as he raked his eyes over her. “You sure do clean up good.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she commented.
He had put on clean jeans and a green plaid shirt that brought out the emerald flecks in his eyes. He’d exchanged his shit-kicker boots for a hand-tooled pair that she knew from the Vegas high rollers were custom Luccheses. A black Stetson sat on his head. He looked like every bad boy she’d ever seen or dreamed about and was more dangerous than a pound of C-4 explosive.
He pushed away from the counter where he’d been leaning. “Ready?”
Emily rubbed her hands nervously on her jeans. “I guess so.”
“Fun, Emily.” He took her arm and led her out of the back door. “Remember? We’re having fun.”
But she knew she’d be under scrutiny from all the people in town who knew him. His friends. Other ranchers. Whoever. It was Friday night and Chaps, being the only game in town, was sure to be crowded.
“Relax.” He helped her up into the truck cab. “You’ll be fine. It’s much easier than Las Vegas.”
A lot you know. I don’t have my protective professional suits on or my cell phone in my hand like some electronic sword.
Her other problem was that in a very short space of time she’d found herself falling for this sexy-as-sin cowboy. Not good. From what she could tell he had no plans for anything permanent and she was only focused on getting away from Mesa Blanco.
She sighed, wishing she didn’t spend her life painting herself into a corner.
The parking area outside Chaps was jammed with pickups and SUVs. Wyatt managed to squeeze the truck into a spot at one corner of the bar then came around to help her step down. She swallowed back her nerves as he pulled open the door to the building and she was assaulted by sound—people talking, laughing, jukebox music blaring into the crowd.
There didn’t seem to be an inch of space left anywhere in the honky-tonk. People lined the serving area along one wall, clamoring for refills while Roxie and another bartender, somehow unfazed by it all, served the bar customers and took orders from the two waitresses at the same time. Every table and booth was filled, people were crammed onto the miniscule dance floor moving to the music blasting from the jukebox, and the clink of balls signaled a pool game in progress.
Wyatt elbowed them some space at one end of the bar, grinned at Roxie and held up two fingers.
“Lone Stars, when you get a minute.”
“How do you know I drink beer?” Emily found herself shouting to be heard.
Wyatt put his mouth close to her ear. “Sugar, it’s the national drink of Texas. You gotta have at least one.”
Nick had liked to dance, but his idea of dancing was groping to music. Now that she thought about it, his idea of everything had always been about what he wanted. What he liked. As it was with most of the men she’d dated. Years ago, her college roommate had told her she had crappy taste in men. She picked them by how they looked—expensive—not by what they were. But Emily had a plan in life. Corporate success for herself and a partner of equal or greater value. Then it had all come crashing down on her head, disappearing, and Nick along with it.
Well, that’s what I get for being so superficial.
But Wyatt Cavanaugh was real. She just had to remember he was temporary. He wasn’t looking for a wife, and she wasn’t ready to settle down in the middle of godforsaken nowhere.
His warm breath tickled her ear and the touch of his arm across her shoulders singed her flesh. She picked up a bar napkin and fanned herself with it, hoping the rise in her temperature was due to the crowd of people in the room and not Wyatt Cavanaugh. Despite the fact that everyone in the place seemed to be focused on having a good time, she’d been well aware of many eyes on her as she and Wyatt had walked in. She wondered how many other women he’d brought here, or which women in the place he’d dated. Taken to bed. Talked his
special brand of sex to.
Stop it! You’re only staying around long enough to score some bucks and keep traveling and he certainly hasn’t given a hint he’s looking for more than fun and games.
Roxie plunked two frosty bottles of beer down in front of them and smiled at Emily.
“Rox, I didn’t know you were such a whiz at bartending,” Emily commented.
“Are you kidding? How do you think I earned my badge at the School of Hard Knocks?” Then she was off to serve another customer.
“Drink up,” Wyatt said, handing her one of the bottles.
Someone tapped her shoulder and she turned around to see Lola standing behind her with the sheriff, Sam Campbell.
“You look great, honey.” Lola grinned. “I take it things are going okay?”
“Oh, sure.” She paused to take a sip of her beer. “Wyatt’s a good guy to work for.”
“Uh-huh.” Lola winked. “And play with, too, I’ll bet.”
“Lola!” Emily did her best to look indignant but couldn’t quite pull it off.
“That’s okay, sweetie. The sheriff is teaching me his own special brand of law enforcement.”
“So you’re doing okay?” Emily asked.
“I’d say so.” She shrugged. “The job’s a lot better than I expected. The owner’s a real nice lady to work for and I’m getting to know the customers.”
“Any word on the car?” Lola had agreed to take the lead on that.
“Yeah, but the word isn’t so good.” Lola sighed. “Sam’s been checking every day at the garage and when they told him how much it would cost just to get it started and out of town, I didn’t have the heart to tell anyone.”
“Damn.”
Emily’s stomach muscles cramped. She had only taken the job at the Lazy Aces because it was temporary. She not only didn’t intend to spend her life cooking for a bunch of cowhands, she was sure her thing with Wyatt would run its course. Then what?
“You don’t look like life’s treating you too badly.” Lola winked at her. “How’s the cooking going?”
“Oh, hell.” Emily took a long drink of her beer. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t set fire to the kitchen before this is over.” She lowered her voice and bent closer so Lola could hear her. “At least Wyatt took pity on me and got the foreman’s wife to teach me a few things.”
“Oh?” Lola arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like he might be interested in keeping you around.”
“All things are possible,” Wyatt’s voice intruded into their conversation.
Emily jerked, embarrassed that he’d heard Lola’s comments. “Um…”
He plucked the bottle from her hand. “Excuse us, Lola, if you don’t mind. I think I’ll try and find us a square inch of space on the dance floor.”
A square inch of space was about all they got. Couples were jammed together, doing little more than moving their feet in place. Wyatt pulled her against his long, lean body, wrapped his arms around her and began swaying to the music. She could feel every inch of him against her, including his belt buckle and his thick erection.
She inhaled his scent, a heady mixture of clean laundry, soap and something woodsy. His hands were warm on her back, holding her in place. She recognized a ballad by Brad Paisley, one of her favorites and let its sound wash over her, wishing she could freeze this one moment in time.
She didn’t even realize the music had stopped until someone jostled them. Then she heard the sultry voice with the Texas drawl and all her senses went on alert.
“Well, hi, Wyatt. I haven’t seen you out two-steppin’ for a while.”
Wyatt tightened his hands on her and Emily looked at the woman trying to glue herself to Wyatt’s body. Tall, with a head full of dark, bouncing curls, dark eyes, and breasts that stuck out all the way back to West Texas. She’d managed to tug one of Wyatt’s arms from around Emily and now had her own linked through it in an obviously possessive gesture.
“Hello, Diana.” He extricated his arm from her grasp and tried to move away, but the dance floor was too packed to allow room to maneuver.
Her eyes narrowed and her gaze raked Emily from head to toe. “And who’s this little toy you’re shuffling around? Not your usual speed, cowboy.”
Wyatt’s grip on Emily tightened. “Emily, meet Diana Landry. My neighbor.”
Her full lips cracked in a wide smile. “Oh, honey, we’re so much more than that.” She winked at Emily. “Much more. Wyatt and I are…very good friends.” She switched her gaze to him. “I’m home for the next couple of weeks, hot stuff, if you want to pay a neighborly visit.”
Emily was stunned that the woman would be so predatory in such an obvious way, when it was obvious Wyatt was with someone else. She wondered if it would be possible for her to shrink down to miniature size and jump into Wyatt’s pocket. No doubt about it. That was the only word for this woman—predatory. But she had to admit to herself that Diana Landry looked to be much more Wyatt’s style than she was.
The man standing with Diana stared at all of them impassively. “Come on, Diana. Let’s get another drink.”
“Oh, but I—”
“Good idea. I think we’ll do the same.” The jukebox had cranked over to another tune and as everyone began what passed for dancing, Wyatt grabbed Emily’s hand and tugged her through the crowd, back to the end of the bar. He signaled Roxie to bring them two more beers.
Emily picked up the bottle and took a long swallow. When she set it back down, she was irritated to see her hands were shaking. She’d dealt with a lot of women like Diana Landry in Las Vegas, but she’d always been the one in control. Here, she was way out of her element. She wanted to tell him she’d changed her mind about everything, but this wasn’t the place to discuss it. Right then, she just wanted to leave.
Wyatt cupped her chin and pulled her face close enough to hear what he was saying. “You’re thinking so hard I can almost hear it, even over this crowd. Ignore Diana. She isn’t worth wasting one minute of your time. We’re neighbors, no more. Right now I’m sorry we’re even that.”
Emily shook her head. “You don’t owe me any explanations.” Then she stopped talking. She’d have to shout to say more and she didn’t want anyone around them to know their business. “I appreciate your efforts to entertain me tonight, but maybe it would be better if we just left.”
Wyatt set his beer bottle down carefully on the bar and took Emily’s hand. But instead of heading for the door, he led her right back onto the dance floor, positioning them so they were far enough away from Diana and her date not to bump into them but close enough to be seen. He proceeded to wrap his arms around her, holding her tight to his body, every inch of them touching.
Butterflies were doing the tango in her stomach, but the muscles in her pussy were fluttering, her panties were wet and her breasts ached with a painful need. Close contact with this man made her brain take flight and her body scream for more. Oh, this was so not good.
She tilted her head back as much as she could and looked up at him, “Wyatt, I think—”
He put his mouth right on her ear. “That’s your problem, sugar. You think too much.”
She would have said more, but conversation in there was impossible. Instead, she just let herself lean into him, savoring the scent and feel of him. She had to hope he’d realized what a poor substitute she was for someone like Diana Landry and that was all right. She wondered why she had such a let-down feeling. She’d expected something like this. Maybe tomorrow she’d have one of the hands drive her into town and bunk with Roxie or Lola while she figured out what to do. But right now, she’d enjoy the moment.
The song ended, but Wyatt made no move to leave the dance floor. Instead, he tucked her head into his shoulder and rubbed his big hands up and down her back in a public show of possessiveness until the next sound boomed out. Once, when she sneaked a sideways glance, she saw Diana at a table with three other people staring daggers at her and pressed herself even closer to the man holding her.
He made dancing as intimate as sex, insinuating one long leg between hers, so when she moved her cunt rubbed against his thigh, the thickness of his erection behind the denim of his jeans was like a branding iron burning into her. When he bent his head lower, he nipped at her ear and licked at the edge of her jaw before shifting his head again.
The music changed again and he slipped one of his hands up to the nape of her neck, threading his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp with gentle strokes. He moved enough to the music to allow her breasts to rub against his chest. If only they were alone and she could rip off her blouse and his shirt and feel the soft dark-gold hair on his chest against her swollen nipples.
Emily had no idea how long they danced—if what they did could be called dancing—but after a while she felt as if they were in a cocoon by themselves. The crowd and noise fell away and she was only conscious of Wyatt’s body against hers, his thick cock, his warm hands, his lips and teeth taking secret nips.
By the time he led her from the dance floor, her legs were wobbly and the insistent pulse of need beating inside her. Wyatt stuck some bills under their empty beer bottles then tugged her toward the door with him. He had it partway open when she heard Diana Landry’s sultry voice again, right at her elbow.
“Nice seeing you, Wyatt.” She trailed her fingernails along one arm. “I’ll be up very late if you want to drop by.”
Wyatt stopped away from her. “No, thanks, Diana. Been there, done that and it wasn’t all that great.”
Diana’s eyes widened, an angry flush stained her cheeks and she drew back her hand as if to slap him.
Wyatt grabbed her wrist. “You don’t want to do that. Believe me.” He pushed the door open and all but dragged Emily into the parking lot. Even in the limited light shining there, she could see the anger flashing in his eyes and the rigid set of his jaw.
Emily buckled herself into her seat and sat, quiet and subdued, as Wyatt backed the truck out of the lot, spitting gravel, and roared out onto the highway. They’d driven a good five miles before his jaw unclenched and he broke the silence.