He couldn’t believe how cool she was being about this. “But he’s old, damn it.”
“Just nine years more than me.”
“And he’s my boss! Hell—did you tell him about me?”
“Only that I was involved with a cowboy on the circuit for a while. I never mentioned your name.” She put her hands on her hips. “Does that make you feel better?”
“No, damn it. It doesn’t.” He’d have felt better if his name was tattooed somewhere on her body—anonymity had absolutely no appeal to him. “I can’t believe you dated someone to the point where you almost got married.” What would he have done if that had happened? He couldn’t stand thinking about it.
“What did you figure, Dawson? That time would stand still and I’d be here in Marietta waiting for you to come and sweep me off my feet?”
He stared at her, words jammed in his throat. Yeah. He’d thought that. Jamie MacCreadie had mentioned the chocolate store. He’d never said a word about Sage dating the Sheriff.
“You know what, Dawson? This is just about as insulting as you not telling me—not once, in all those months we hung out together—that you were married.”
“Hang on, I’m the one who’s pissed off here.”
“Only because you’re deluded. What gives you the right to march into my store and act like I somehow belong to you?”
Dawson gave her a look that just about melted her heart and made her forget all the reasons she was so mad at him. His look told her he wanted to possess her all right. Here and now, in the alley if need be.
Her body, suddenly hot, screamed to be touched. Kissed. Loved.
But her mind knew better.
“I understand you’re ready to settle down with your daughter, O’Dell. But maybe you should have picked another town.” There was just too much history, too much banked emotion, hurt and betrayal for them to ever be the kind of ex-lovers who could just meet on the street and say ‘how do you do.’
“You really mean that? You wish I’d never come back?”
She didn’t want to hurt him, further. But they were both so wounded by what they had been—and what had been stripped away from them. So she nodded.
His green eyes narrowed just the tiniest amount. “Fine.” He punched out the word. Gritted his teeth. Started to leave, then turned back. “I’ll keep my distance if that’s what you want. But as for me packing my bags and moving to a different town... It’s not happening, I decided to make a new life here for my daughter, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
Her mouth grew dry as she listened to him. He started to leave, walking in that long-strided athletic way of his. But then he stopped and took the same number of steps back to her.
“Just so you know what you’re missing.” And then he reached for her, pulling her close, putting a hand under her chin and kissing her in a very rough and meaningful way.
She didn’t push away, she was too breathless, too swept up into the moment.
Her knees went weak and she grabbed onto him, feeling his powerful arms, the muscles bunched up and hard.
She knew his taste, the brush of his skin, the shape of his lips.
Something primitive inside her said, mine.
And then he was stepping back and in a husky voice he asked. “The Sheriff. Do you still love him?”
Her head was spinning. First the kiss. Then that question. As a matter of principle, she shouldn’t even answer. But if she’d meant what she’d told him—that he should leave her alone, then maybe this was the way to make it happen.
“I don’t know. It wasn’t that long ago that we split up. He asked me to think about marrying him.” None of those statements were lies. The only lie was giving the impression that she was thinking about the offer, that she hadn’t given a definitive no.
But her answer did the trick. His entire face tightened and a layer of frost seemed to go up over his mossy green eyes. “Thanks for telling me that,” his said quietly. “I’m glad you were honest.”
And then he was gone, and she knew he meant it, that he wasn’t going to bother her anymore. The kiss had been his way of reminding her what they had been. And could never be again. Especially not now that she’d put up that barrier between them.
She stayed where she was, watching as he reached the end of alley then turned right toward Main Street. True to his word, he never even looked back.
Back in the kitchen she washed up at the sink, inhaling deeply and trying to calm herself.
It was only a kiss. She would be okay. She was strong enough to handle anything.
Dakota opened the door, and without stepping over the threshold, asked breathlessly. “Is he gone?”
“Yup.” And for good this time. It was what she’d wanted and what she’d asked for, but it still made her feel unbearably empty inside.
“Was that Dawson O’Dell? Craig and I saw him at the rodeo this weekend. He was amazing. And so cute. If he’s a friend of yours, you should ask him if he would model for your next advertisement. A few pictures of him around here would sure bring in the business.”
“We’re selling chocolate, not western wear.”
“Sex sells anything,” Dakota insisted. “Especially chocolate.”
At the end of his shift, Dawson went back to the motel to change out of his uniform. The afternoon had seemed to drag on forever, Bliven’s good mood had returned after he’d eaten his burger. Dawson hadn’t been able to stomach more than a few mouthfuls of his.
All his plans, everything he’d dreamed of for the past five years, had just gone south.
He supposed he’d been a fool to shoot for the stars. But he was back to earth now. Why would Sage be interested in a first-year deputy when she had the Sheriff of the town asking her to marry him. Hell, he’d grown up in a series of town-houses and condos. While her family owned one of the biggest ranches in Park County.
He was a boy who’d grown up with a footloose and fancy free mother and six fathers, who in sum total had meant less to him than his favorite horse. She came from a real family, with land, a heritage, and values he hadn’t had much exposure to in his life.
Most guys would laugh if he told them what had attracted him to her in the first place. It wasn’t her lean, sexy body, or undeniably pretty face. It wasn’t the way she moved when she was on her horse, or that long red braid she wore tossed over one shoulder.
There was something wholesome about her, that set her off from the rest.
And he’d been drawn to that.
The more he got to know her, the more he’d seen that her goodness, her stability and her values, weren’t just icing on some cake—they ran right through her.
At the time, he’d believed he could change. For the past five years he’d hung on to that dream.
But deep down he was still the same guy. A guy who had grown up never really belonging anywhere. Or with anyone. He’d spent too many evenings drinking too much, and bedding too many women. Hell, he’d been the kind of idiot who would decide to marry on a whim, and then get that woman pregnant when he had no intention of staying with her.
Dawson put on his jeans and an old gray T-shirt that had seen too many washings. He had plans to meet his mother and Savannah for dinner at the diner in ten minutes. When he’d made the suggestion earlier, his mother had given him her long-suffering look. He suspected she was getting weary of the home-style cooking places he favored.
Which was good. Hopefully she’d get so sick of the food she’d head back to Florida and her nice condo on the golf course. She’d been traveling with him and Savannah for about a month now and his patience was getting thin.
When he stepped into the familiar eatery, exactly on time, he had to look a few times to make sure his mother had brought Savannah with her.
He bit back a curse when he realized she had.
His daughter was pimped up like one of those poor children on that Tots with Tiaras show. Her hair had been curled and styled, she was wearing a shiny pink dress and—holy
crap—his mother had even put makeup on her.
He wanted to grab his little girl and throw her in the nearest shower.
But he wasn’t such a fool that he didn’t realize he might hurt Savannah’s feelings badly by doing that. So he forced a smile and took a seat. “Hi, there. Hope everyone is hungry. Connie cooks turkey pot pie on Mondays and boy is it good.”
“Did you give any tickets at your job today, Daddy?”
“Not yet.” Although he was avoiding looking at her directly, he could see his mother was nursing a glass of white wine and wincing each time she took a swallow. He guessed the house Sauvignon Blanc wasn’t up to her standards.
“Doesn’t Savannah look pretty today?” Patricia finally had to force the issue.
“She always looks pretty to me.”
“Do you like my dress, Daddy? And my hair? Grandma bought me nice things for a treat.”
“It’s really fancy, that’s for sure. And it’s fun to place dress up now and then. But I hope your grandma also bought you some jeans and T-shirts? Because that’s the sort of stuff you’ll need to wear to school.” He fired a glance at his mother then, hoping she registered the depth of his anger.
His daughter was not a doll, for God’s sake.
When they finished their meal, Savannah asked if they could go to the park.
He shook his head.
“But I want to play on the monkey bars,” Savannah protested. “And fly on the swings. I never got to have any fun today. Me and Grandma were shopping all the time.”
“You can’t go to the park in a fancy dress like that. Once you’ve changed, I’ll take you out to play. Wait here at the table, while Grandma and I go to pay the bill.”
He waited until his mother reluctantly left her seat, then took her to the hallway that led to the washrooms where he could still see his daughter, but she couldn’t overhear the conversation.
“What the hell, Mom?”
She glared at him. “Why are you being so rude?”
“You really expected thanks? How could you do that to her? She’s only five years old! What kind of message do you think you’re giving her?”
His mother had a cold look in her eyes that he remembered all too well, having been on the receiving end of it a lot in his youth. “I had hoped that you would be a little more appreciative of all I’ve done to help you and Savannah since Gina left.”
“This time. Since Gina left this time,” he corrected. “Gina is always coming and going. It doesn’t change anything. I take care of my kid and when I have to work, I hire sitters.”
Okay. That had come out a little too brutal. Dawson took a breath. “You have been great, Mom. And I do want you to be part of Savannah’s life. But if you’re honest you have to admit you don’t really want to live here. There aren’t enough shopping malls, or golf courses, or nice restaurants.”
“You make me sound so shallow.”
“I didn’t mean that as criticism. Lots of people prefer living in Florida to life in a small Montana town. But not me. This place feels right to me, and I’m going to settle in and make a real home for my daughter.”
Her eyelids fluttered. “But you’ll have shift work. And what happens when you’re on nights?”
“I’ll hire sitters, just the way I did when I needed to work at the rodeo. I’ve already got a day home lined up and several women with references for the after-hours stuff. We’re going to be fine.”
His mother’s face suddenly looked caved in to him. Wrinkled and old, despite her make-up and artificially blonde hair.
“I was a good mother to you, wasn’t I, honey? You always had clean clothes and plenty of food to eat. I was nice to you, never yelled or hit you...”
No. But the men she married had. They’d moved homes almost once a year, and she’d never encouraged him at school, always saying a pass was good enough.
But she’d given birth to him and raised him and he really did believe she’d done the best that she was capable of.
“You were a good mother. And you’re a good grandmother, too. I just think Savannah and I are ready to be on our own.”
Callan texted Sage at nine o’clock on Saturday night. “At Grey’s. Come have a drink.”
Sage had already changed into her flannel PJs. By mid-October the nights were getting cooler. She’d just selected a movie on Netflix and made popcorn. It had been a long week.
“Tired,” she texted back.
“Need help. Cowboys buying me too many drinks.”
Sage laughed, then swore. It was so not true. If anyone needed rescuing it was the cowboys, not her tough younger sister. Yet, Callan had played to her weakness, knowing that Sage worried about her drinking and wouldn’t be able to resist coming to check on her.
As Sage switched out her comfy flannels for a denim dress and the red boots Dani had talked her into buying on their last trip to Missoula, she tried to tell herself she was being overprotective. Callan worked hard all week and deserved to have fun on the weekend.
But it still didn’t seem right that for Callan, fun always involved too many beers and the wrong kind of men. As far as Sage knew, the good times usually ended at the swinging doors that led from the saloon to the street. Too smart to drive, Callan would walk all the way to Sage’s place and decamp on the sofa.
Sage took her bike, as usual, cycling carefully so she wouldn’t catch her skirt in the chain. At Grey’s she locked up, feeling like an old time cowgirl hitching her horse to a post outside the saloon.
Inside, the party had definitely started without her. She was recognized by a group of friends she’d hung out with in high school and stopped to chat.
“You should have seen Chelsea in here last weekend,” one of the guys told her. “Boy did that girl let her hair down for the rodeo.”
“It wasn’t for the rodeo, you idiot. It was for that rich guy from California. The one who’s turning the old railway depot into a microbrewery,” his date corrected him.
“Right. Jasper Flint,” Dean continued. “Have you seen his motorbike? That thing is bloody beautiful.”
“They’re quite the item, I hear.”
“Flint and his bike?”
“No.” The date was exasperated. “Flint and Chelsea.”
This exchange had Sage baffled. Chelsea was letting her hair down for Jasper Flint, the rich playboy oil tycoon from California? Impossible. But just then she noticed her sister, sitting at the long, wide bar. “I’ve got to go meet Callan. Catch you later.”
Weaving between tables, she was making progress on reaching her goal, when a new angle allowed her to see the cowboy sitting next to Callan.
Dawson.
Sage stopped dead. Would she ever be able to see him without feeling her heart slam up against her chest? He’d better not be the one plying her sister with drinks and hitting on her. But his body language wasn’t offensive. He had both hands on his bottle of beer and his broad shoulders were hunched, as if he was nursing something more than the beverage. Something like a heartache?
Sage was already backing up, thinking this was a scene she ought to avoid. But then Callan flung her hair over her shoulder and spotted her.
“Hey, sis, come on over.”
Dawson stumbled to his feet. “You’re sisters?” He glanced from one to the other. “Ah—Cal is Callan. I should have figured. You have similar smiles.”
“Hang on. You guys know each other? Sit down Dawson. I need details.” Callan was dressed in tight jeans and a low cut tank top, a look she could get away with given her small, athletic figure. “Jason, we need another round here.”
Callan was one of few people who dared snap her fingers at gruff old Jason Grey. Jason was old school when it came to bar tending. He wasn’t here to be anyone’s friend or sounding board. He served drinks—and if he didn’t like you, those drinks might be a long time coming.
Sage had always been a little afraid of him. “I’ll have whatever my sister’s drinking, please.” She sat on Callan’s righ
t-hand side, leaning forward so she could see Dawson. “And how did you two meet?”
“I spotted Mr. All-Around about half an hour ago and insisted he buy me a drink. He was kind enough to oblige. Before you challenge him to a duel or something, he’s been a perfect gentleman.”
Sage was concerned when she heard the slurring between Callan’s words. “Dawson and I know each other from the rodeo circuit. Where’s your daughter?” she asked pointedly.
“With her grandma,” Callan was the one to answer, proving that she and Dawson had already covered a lot of ground in their conversation.
“It’s Mom’s last weekend in Marietta and she wanted to spend the evening with her granddaughter. Though, hopefully Savannah is sleeping by now.”
He sounded like any concerned parent.
She wasn’t used to him in that role. But it suited him.
“I was tellin’ Dawson about the round-up next Friday. Dad’s got a crew of eight lined up, counting me and Sage.” Callan nodded her head in Dawson’s direction. “He’s a top ranking cowboy and he’s never been on one. Can you believe it?”
Sage could. She knew Dawson and his mother had lived primarily in cities, except for the two years Patricia had been married to her fourth husband. She’d met him—Earl, Sage thought it was— while gambling in Nevada. Earl had some land and horses, and he’d been the one to introduce Dawson to riding.
He’d been immediately hooked and had started saving his money to go to every rodeo clinic within driving distance. By the time his mother and Earl had split up, Dawson was on his own, working behind the scenes at the rodeo until he was old enough to sign up with the CPRA.
Sage took a drink of the beer Jason had just set in front of her. “Dawson has a job. And a daughter. I doubt he could make it.”
“Well, duh, he should bring his kid. It’s a family event, right? We’ve got several cooks lined up to help with the big barbecue afterward and they’ll all be bringing their children, too. Your daughter will have a hoot playing while you live out your deepest cowboy fantasies.” Callan glanced from Dawson to Sage. “The non-X-rated ones, I mean.”
Promise Me, Cowboy (Copper Mountain Rodeo) Page 7