Cowboy Justice cc-2

by Melissa Cutler

  “Spill it, Amy.”

  Amy’s tongue poked against the inside of her cheek and Jenna could tell she was fighting hard to keep her composure. “Jake texted Kellan on our way here. Work emergency. That’s it. Two words. And Kellan can’t get him on the phone.”

  From everything Amy had told her, Kellan made his only brother, Jake, his best man as a kind of olive-branch gesture, trying to mend their decades-old rift. And it had seemed to work, if they all ignored the fact that Jake hadn’t attended Kellan’s bachelor party, or shown up for the rehearsal at the church that afternoon. She’d figured intimate gatherings like this made him uncomfortable given the fragility of his and Kellan’s reconciliation, but it’d never occurred to her he might blow off the actual wedding.

  “Jake’s a cop, and not a rural cop like we’re used to dealing with. LAPD is a different beast by far,” Jenna said. “I bet work emergencies are par for the course. There’s nothing he can do about that. Besides, he still has time. The wedding’s not until three.”

  “That’s what Kellan said, but I looked up flights from L.A. to Albuquerque on my cell and the next one’s not until tomorrow at nine-thirty, L.A. time. It’s a two-hour flight, then a three-hour drive here, if everything goes perfectly. And that’s not counting time spent in the airport or at a car rental place. With the time difference, it’s impossible. But Kellan’s acting like nothing’s wrong, like he still believes Jake’ll make it work. And I don’t know what to do.”

  It wasn’t like they could delay the ceremony, because every detail of the wedding and reception, from the caterer and DJ to the photographer, was hinging on a three o’clock start time, including the minister, who had a second wedding to perform later that evening. Still, a little fake optimism never hurt anything. “I bet everything will work out and he’ll make it on time.” If he hooks up with Superman or bribes his way onto a private jet.

  Wide-eyed, Amy shook her hands, palms out, fingers stretched. “Don’t patronize me. I’m freaking out here!” The shrillness of her voice made Jenna’s teeth ache.

  She grabbed hold of Amy’s shoulders and rubbed, praying that Rachel materialized with their shots in the next thirty seconds.

  “Even if Jake doesn’t make it, everything will be fine. Vaughn is Kellan’s best friend. He’ll stand in as best man at the wedding, and he’s really good in front of crowds so he’ll be able to pull off a last-minute toast at the reception, no sweat. I’ll make sure he has a speech planned, okay? I’m not going to let anything ruin your special day, so calm down.”

  The doors burst open. “Don’t tell her to calm down. Believe me, she hates it.” It was Rachel, balancing three shots in her hand. “Here, take a glass before I drop one.”

  Jenna passed a shot to Amy, then took one for herself.

  Amy frowned down at hers. “What are we doing with this stuff?”

  Jenna clinked the lips of their glasses together. “What do you think? Shooting it.”

  “I get really silly when I drink, Jen. You know that,” Amy said.

  “That’s what I’m counting on.” And if one shot didn’t turn her from stressed to silly, Jenna wasn’t above buying round after round until Amy’s buzz set in.

  Rachel nudged Jenna. “How long’s it been since you had a drink?”

  “Well, Tommy’s five, so . . . nearly six years. Wow. But I need it tonight. We all do.”

  “Isn’t this what AA calls enabling?” Rachel asked. “Am I causing you to fall off a wagon, or something?”

  “I’m not an alcoholic and you know it. It’s just that I lost my appetite for the stuff when I got pregnant.”

  Rachel sniffed her shot, then screwed up her face. “This tequila is making me lose my appetite. Why can’t we shoot whiskey instead?”

  “Because whiskey’s not ladylike. Now hush up. You’re not weaseling out of this shot by whining. Do it for Amy.”

  “You don’t have to do it, Rachel,” Amy said.

  Jenna pinned Rachel with her best scolding expression. “Don’t listen to her. She’s the bride; she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. As the wedding planner, my word trumps all.”

  Amy shook her head. “I don’t think that’s—”

  “Fine. For Amy.” Rachel raised her glass in a toast, then tossed the tequila back.

  Jenna and Amy followed suit. The liquor flooded Jenna’s throat with the warmth of an old friend—or maybe her worst enemy.

  The taste and burn reminded her of high school, which was pretty pathetic, but there it was. It sent her right back to long nights of partying in the vacant desert with Carson Parrish and all the other misfits she’d wasted away her teenage years with. She might’ve been angrier at the memories or at herself, except that she was damn proud of how she’d turned her life around.

  Back in the day, her tolerance was such that it took her at least three shots to work up a buzz. Tonight, the drink settled in her muscles and brain almost instantly.

  Amy shuddered and handed her empty shot glass to Jenna.

  “All right, why did we do that?” Rachel said, stacking her glass on Amy’s.

  Jenna draped a fortifying arm across Amy’s shoulders. “We’re not sure Kellan’s brother is going to make it to the wedding.”

  Rachel didn’t flinch. “That’s because he’s an asshole.”

  “Rachel, he’s family now!” Amy scolded.

  Jenna rolled her eyes. Here they go . . .

  “Yeah, I get that,” Rachel pressed, “but there’s no rule in the books that says family members can’t be assholes. In fact, I’d wager there’s no more focused collection of assholes in the world than people have in their own families.”

  Amy made a sound like a snort that got Jenna’s attention fast. The second she looked her way, Amy burst out in giggles.

  God bless tequila.

  A squeak warned of the patio door opening again. Kellan stepped out, ducking under a strand of low-hanging twinkle lights. Amy smushed her mouth together and tried to stop laughing.

  “Okay, womenfolk, what’s this pow-wow all about?”

  Jenna rattled the stack of empty glasses. “We were getting some fresh air and enjoying a splash of New Mexico’s finest tequila.”

  “Not really,” Rachel said. “I only sprang for the cheap stuff.”

  Jenna patted her arm. “That was called sarcasm, sweetie.”

  Kellan’s eyes twinkled as he gave Amy a once-over. “Are you getting my bride drunk on our wedding eve?”

  Amy snorted through her nose, clearly fighting another bout of giggles. Kellan’s smile broadened and he pulled Amy from Jenna’s arms into his own.

  This was a good man Amy was marrying. The kind of man who took care of things and people. Like Rachel’s fiancé, Vaughn, did. That her sisters had found such fine matches eased some of Jenna’s guilt about her plan to leave town.

  Amy threaded her arms around Kellan’s ribs. “Just a little bit drunk.”

  “Good. Makes it easier for me to take advantage of you.”

  “I’m always easy for you to take advantage of like that.”

  “True enough.”

  Rachel groaned and started for the door. “I don’t care that you’re getting hitched tomorrow. I’m not going to stand around and listen to you talk dirty to each other. I’m going back in.”

  Jenna poked her arm as she passed. “Like you and Vaughn are any different.”

  Rachel kept moving, but flashed Jenna a coy smile that hinted at the love and happiness Vaughn had brought into her life. The kind of love Jenna wanted for herself. She stared blankly at the swinging door as it closed behind Rachel, almost afraid to look back at Kellan and Amy in the throes of their own love story for fear that jealousy would turn her insides ugly.

  A fast song came on in the bar, along with the DJ calling out a line dance.

  No more pity party. Not with a song calling for her to whisk Tommy to the dance floor and boogey down. And if a slow song came on and Matt Roenick asked her to dance, then so m
uch the better.

  She wound through the crowd pouring off the bar stools, then zigzagged through tables en route to the dance floor, searching out Tommy and Matt as she moved. Lo and behold, they were already dancing, along with Kellan’s six-year-old goddaughter, Daisy. Matt didn’t see her, busy as he was modeling the steps to the Watermelon Crawl for the kids.

  In Jenna’s experience, kids made lots of men nervous, especially those of the single, unattached variety, but not Matt. From the day he came into her family’s life to negotiate an oil rights contract, he got down to the kids’ level and played or talked with them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  Blame it on her hormones or Darwin’s theory of evolution, but seeing a man interacting with kids or babies got her blood stirring and her imagination looking into the future. To top it off, clearly Matt could hold his own on the dance floor. He handled the kids and the steps likehe did everything else in his life—with smooth, easygoing confidence and genuine enjoyment. It was the single-most endearing quality about him that had caught her attention all those months ago and dropped her deeper and deeper into longing every time they were together.

  And, sweet sundae, did she long for him tonight.

  She hung back, watching. Daisy didn’t give two wits whether she did the steps right, but Tommy’s tongue was poking out the side of his mouth in concentration as he watched Matt’s boots.

  During the butt shimmy part of the choreography, Tommy hammed it up, and Jenna couldn’t stifle a laugh, he was so cute.

  The laugh caught Tommy’s attention. “Mommy, I’m dancing! Just like we practice at home.”

  She met Matt’s amused expression with a wink, then smiled at her son. “I can see that. Great job.” She scooted close to the kids and grabbed Tommy and Daisy’s hands to help them into a turn.

  Matt leaned her way during a kick and weight change. “He told me you two do a lot of line dancing and two-stepping in the living room before bedtime.”

  True enough. She could dance until her boots wore out and the band went home or the radio broke. It was her favorite way of letting off steam since she’d stopped raising hell in order to raise her son right.

  “I can’t think of a better way to end the day.” Well, she could, but it’d been a while—too damn long, in fact—since she’d had the pleasure of indulging in that particular pastime.

  They turned again. She helped Tommy line up in front of her, then got busy staring at Matt’s behind as he kicked and moved with the music. It was such a fine view, she nearly hummed her appreciation out loud.

  Maybe it was the tequila, or maybe the prolonged view of Matt’s posterior, but she wasn’t worried about tomorrow as she had been for months. She’d run herself into the ground organizing every detail of the wedding and reception, and felt great about what she’d accomplished. She deserved a little R&R tonight before the wedding day craziness was upon them.

  On the far side of the bar, she caught a glimpse of Kellan, Amy, and Rachel laughing while Vaughn told them an animated story with lots of gesturing. Her sisters and Tommy, and now Kellan and Vaughn, were her only living family, and she’d do anything to make sure they were happy.

  A stab of conscience cut through her gut. That wasn’t entirely true.

  She’d do anything for her sisters and brothers-in-law . . . except stay in Catcher Creek one day longer than was absolutely necessary.

  She shoved the unpleasant awareness from her mind. Tonight wasn’t the time to worry about that. Neither was tomorrow. After the wedding would be soon enough to deal with the coming storm.

  The ending notes of “The Watermelon Crawl” blended with the beginning notes of a waltz. Jenna’s favorite dance.

  Even so, she refused to ask Matt or even look his way with hopeful anticipation, far too proud to beg for his interest if he wouldn’t give it freely. Not that he’d notice her looking. His brown leather boots seemed glued to the ground and he cracked his knuckles, his dark eyes haunted as they followed Tommy and Daisy off the floor with Daisy’s mom, Lisa.

  She’d seen that shadowed look flash over his features before. Moments of unguardedness that hinted at a private fight being waged in his mind. She’d become aware of its presence two months ago, the day he’d joined their family to celebrate Tommy’s birthday with cake and ice cream at the Catcher Creek Café. And now that she was aware of it, not a night with him went by since that she didn’t notice that dark look of anguish cross his face at least once. As soon as it revealed itself, it was gone, and he was back to being easygoing, happy Matt.

  Talk to me, she wanted to press. What is it and does it have to do with why you won’t let me into your life?

  But she never did ask because she couldn’t get him alone no matter what she tried. She couldn’t even get him to dance with her tonight. Irritation flared, but she tamped it down. There she went, making everything complicated. Maybe interest had nothing to do with it. Maybe he didn’t know how to waltz. He’d nailed the Watermelon Crawl, but partner dancing was a whole different bale of hay.

  Jenna swished her skirt with her hands as she debated the merits of a trip to the ladies’ room to save her from standing there awkwardly for much longer. This was one of her least favorite parts of being single—never knowing if she’d have a partner for the next dance. Nothing brought her aloneness into starker focus than when she was prevented from doing the thing she loved most because she didn’t have a man in her life.

  Salvation came fast on the heels of those dark thoughts in the form of a cute, young cowboy flaunting a starched red Western shirt and shiny belt buckle. He was too good-ole-boy for her taste, complete with a wad of chew puffing his cheek, but she smiled invitingly anyway. Dancing a waltz didn’t bind her to the guy for life.

  “Care to dance, miss?”

  Her answer was on the tip of her tongue when Matt appeared at her side, a proprietary hand sliding around her waist. Well, well, well. . . . Perhaps all he’d needed was a rival to remind him she wasn’t going to wait forever while he made up his mind.

  “Sorry, man. She’s spoken for on this dance.”

  Jenna bit back a swoon. Lord have mercy. She never thought she would have much use for testosterone-fueled machismo, but the aggressive edge in his tone called to the feminine part of her psyche in a way she hadn’t expected.

  Doing her best to turn her smile apologetic, she mouthed a sorry to the young cowboy, but he was already wandering off, scanning the crowd for another potential partner, leaving her free to concentrate on the big, solid man at her side. She ran her gaze along her shoulder, then up Matt’s body until it landed on his face. “I don’t remember you asking me to dance.”

  He turned her in his arms and took her right hand in his, his eyes flashing down the length of her. “Some things don’t need to be said.”

  It was the first time their fingers had touched outside of a handshake. His hand was strong, with calluses she hadn’t expected to feel on a lawyer. With a motion so slow it seemed to stretch time, he dragged his thumb over the back of her fingers as though cradling her hand in his wasn’t nearly enough friction to satisfy him.

  She responded with a slow crawl of her other hand up the muscles of his arm to settle into closed hold position. His body was unyielding beneath her touch—deliciously hard and male. A fantasy flashed in her mind of the two of them in her bedroom, standing together like this but without a stitch of clothing. Without any of the barriers that presently stood between them.

  A corner of his mouth kicked up into a wolfish grin. “I guess we’d better get to waltzing before the song ends.”

  Before she could answer, he stepped her back into the swirl of dancers and let the lilting rhythm of the music carry them away.

  The lights had been dimmed to blues and purples, hushing the party crowd, while a disco ball gave life to the dreamy lyrics about summer love under a blanket of stars in the big old Western sky.

  When they reached the far end of the dance floor, the arm at h
er waist pulled her nearer. His mouth dipped close to her ear. “Are you ready for Amy’s big day, Miss Wedding Planner?”

  His breath lighted across her neck, igniting a tremor of sensation through her body. She filled her lungs with air and released it gradually, regrouping, before she could find her voice. “I’m ready, all right, but by the skin of my teeth. I thought six months was plenty of time to plan a wedding reception. What a joke. Now I understand why people plan these things a year or more out. There was no convincing Amy and Kellan to take their time, though.”

  “I’ve known Kellan going on ten years, since I was a T.A. in an oil law course he was taking, and he’s always been the jump-in-with-both-feet type.”

  No wonder he and Amy were so perfect for each other. Amy gave new meaning to the term full steam ahead. She turned her face to meet his eyes. “But you’re not like that. You’re more of a wade-in-slowly kind of guy.” If their relationship moved much slower, they’d be going backward.

  He tipped his head, considering. “I guess I am. Wasn’t always that way, but I suppose I’ve gotten more cautious with age.”

  “That makes you sound old, but you’re only, what, thirty-one? Thirty-two?”

  He guided them around a couple who looked brand-new to the world of country-western dance, staring at their feet’s stiff, boxy moves and counting the steps aloud. “I’m thirty-three.”

  “Still too young to be cautious.”

  His expression turned teasing. “I know it’s taboo to mention a lady’s age, but pardon me if I have trouble taking aging advice from someone who hasn’t even hit thirty yet.”

  “Then maybe I shouldn’t let on that I only just turned twenty-four in June.” He got quiet, probably doing what everybody else did when they realized how young she was. She beat him to the punch. “I had Tommy when I was nineteen.”

  He was gentlemanly enough to mask his shock, but not before his eyebrows flickered up.