“You’ll freeze to death,” she said.
“That’s doubtful.”
She did roll her eyes then.
He shrugged, a small movement of his shoulder. “It’s not that windy. More of a brisk breeze.”
“It’s still cold, no matter how much wind there is or isn’t.” She hesitated, all her thoughts about not being fake or manipulative swirling in her head. She hoped she wouldn’t come across that way. “I know we don’t know each other, but if you put your arm around me again, it would keep us both warmer.”
He didn’t move for the longest moment.
She hadn’t played the game right. She should’ve smiled when she’d said that and tilted her head just so, maybe run a finger over his arm. Or she could’ve just said she needed to warm up and then leaned into him with a giggle and puppy dog eyes.
Too late now. She’d been straightforward, and it would be too psycho if she suddenly switched gears. So she shrugged her own shrug, as casual as his had been. “I’d feel a little less guilty if I was helping to keep you warm, too. That’s all.” Pretending her pride wasn’t stung, she crossed her ankles the other way and studied the pattern of swirls that had been tooled into the pointed toes of her leather boots.
His arms came around her so gently, the only thing startling was how very warm he felt. He stepped closer, so his chest touched her back. His square-toed boots mingled with her fancy ones.
“Nothing to feel guilty about,” he said. “There was no sense in both of us getting windblown, so I thought I’d stand on this side.”
“But this is even warmer, for both of us.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
His voice was close to her ear. No, not his voice—his lips. His mouth. She hadn’t meant to use near-freezing temperatures to indulge in a little fantasy with this man, but being wrapped in his arms was delicious.
“For the record, I wouldn’t normally put my hands on a woman in the first half hour that I’ve met her,” he said. “My mother would call it ‘getting handsy.’”
He had a deep voice. She shivered, and pretended it was from the cold. “It’s forty degrees out. Believe me, all I’m thinking is that you’re warm, not handsy.”
He chuckled, which surprised her, because his expression hadn’t been anything but grave from the hallway to the bar to the patio. “My mother drilled it into my head that girls don’t like guys who get handsy. I should have dated more in the winter.”
“Look how we’re standing. We look like a prom photo. You’re not being any more handsy than a boy who gets to put his arms around his prom date for the camera while his teachers are chaperoning. Pretty innocent stuff.”
“I don’t know about innocent intentions at prom,” he murmured from his prom position behind her. “I think I was a pretty handsy date. Yours wasn’t?”
“I’d had my hair done at a salon. I didn’t want him to mess it up.” She loved this, being able to just turn her head a little to the side to have a private conversation with Graham, cheek to cheek. “I think I scared him off early in the evening when he went in for a kiss. I said, ‘Don’t touch my hair.’ Maybe it was more like a shriek. Don’t touch my hair. He barely touched any part of me after that, not even for the slow dances.”
She felt Graham’s smile even before she peeked at him out of the corner of her eye. He held her just right, his arms loosely crossed over hers, hands resting at her waist, no awkwardness in trying to avoid touching certain parts of her, no accidentally-on-purpose brush against her breasts, either. It was heaven to be with a man who knew what he was doing.
“Whoever your date was, he’s kicking himself every time he remembers his prom,” Graham said. “An opportunity to hold a pretty girl doesn’t come along every day. Fortune favors the brave.”
“And you are the brave?”
He paused a fraction of a second. “Back then.”
“What about now?”
“I got older. I’m a very, very good boy now.” He murmured those words close to her ear, this man who knew what he was doing. Her breath left her in a rush of want, her body reacting instantly with a heavy ache deep inside. A very, very good boy…
She turned her head to see more of his profile. He had hard features, nothing of the prettiness of the theater majors at her college, none of the country club grooming of the aspiring business majors. Graham was still keeping an eye on the crowd around them, the way he narrowed his eyes causing little lines to fan at their corners. She felt that same thrill of being protected; she felt that same tug of sympathy for a man who never dropped his guard.
“At least now you won’t freeze to death for my sake,” she said. “You already took a few punches for me tonight. I’m sorry about that.”
“I did?”
“On the way out of the bar.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. That was just some pushing and shoving. No one landed a decent hit.”
And it wouldn’t have fazed you if they had.
He was older, stronger, tougher than the other guys. Stronger than she was, although she thought of herself as both strong and strong-willed—stubborn, her mother called it—and she needed to continue being both if she ever hoped to live the life she wanted. But always being strong could wear a person out.
So tonight…
Why couldn’t she be Jane for just one night? Not the strongest, not in charge, not the decision maker. What could be the harm in spending a little time with a man who knew what he was doing?
Chapter Three
Graham had no idea what he was doing.
His plan had been set: he was checking out of the world, going to live in isolation on a cattle ranch, which sounded like going to live in Siberia. Good. He was battered and tired and ready to retreat from the human race. He’d be done with society and all the empty social niceties, officially, tomorrow.
And yet here he was, standing in the crisp, clean air with his arms around a woman who was warm and beautiful, young and full of the future. What the hell was he doing?
Starting tomorrow morning at sunrise, he’d report for duty, so to speak, at the James Hill Ranch. His uncle Gus was the foreman there, and had been for a long time. Word must have traveled through the family that Graham had left the Marine Corps, then left the corporate business world, and now left grad school. For thirty years, Uncle Gus had been a benignly neglectful bachelor uncle, but he must have decided it was time to pay attention to his nephew. The offer had come out of the blue.
Graham didn’t know anything about horses. The closest he ever got to cattle was seeing them out the car window as he drove the highways between military bases. That meant he was coming to his new job with no skills, so he’d only be good for the grunt work. He was going to get worked as hard as he’d ever worked in the Marine Corps, digging ditches and hauling sandbags like the lowest-ranking new recruit.
It had been a long time since he’d been the low man on the totem pole. Graham had left the service at the rank of captain. He’d been a company commander, personally responsible for the training and well-being of two hundred Marines, charged with leading them on every assigned mission, anywhere in the world they were sent.
No longer—and that was fine. Graham looked forward to the oblivion that hard labor would grant him. He’d be responsible for no one and nothing. He’d be bone tired every night; he’d sleep. He’d wake up the next day and do it all over again. He expected nothing more out of life.
So why was he standing here with one light and lovely Emily Davis in his arms?
Some of the crowd had started to go back inside. Graham watched as they hustled right back out again. The sound of men shouting and bottles shattering mixed with the hyped-up chatter of the outdoor crowd.
“It sounds like a war zone in there,” Emily said.
Not quite. But G
raham had no desire to start dredging up memories from Afghanistan, so he said nothing.
“The poor Keller family. They bought this place just a few years ago. I went to high school with their son, Jason. Sounds like they aren’t going to have much furniture left.”
“So you’re a local?”
He could have bitten his tongue out. What was he doing? Making small talk? Trying to get to know her?
“Sometimes,” she said. “I was born in San Antonio, but I’ve got family around here. I grew up going between San Antonio and Austin, Austin to San Antonio. I never went beyond that little hundred-mile stretch until I started college in Oklahoma.”
He said nothing.
“I’m nearly done there. Nearly. Not soon enough.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. A college girl with her life ahead of her. His was so empty in comparison. He shouldn’t have his hands on her, not even in an innocent prom pose.
“How about you?” she asked quietly, and he could tell she’d turned her head to look at him.
He opened his eyes. “Just passing through.”
Glass shattered inside the bar.
“We may be here awhile.” She sighed and relaxed into Graham’s arms just as easily as if they were old friends who hung out together all the time. “Every time it sounds like it’s quieting down, it spins right back up again.”
The blue ruffles at her waist tickled the inside of his wrist.
Old friends. Sure.
The last time he’d held a woman in his arms for any length of time, he’d been in bed and they’d just shared some very satisfying sex. He didn’t mind falling asleep like this with a woman, spooning when they were still appreciative of each other’s bodies. He couldn’t remember the specific woman and the specific bed of the last time, though. Not at the moment, not with his arms full of Emily. It had been a long while, he knew that much.
He’d gone long stretches before, of course, due to deployments: a year in the Middle East, half a year on an aircraft carrier. He was a civilian now, no geography forcing him into celibacy, yet he’d had no interest in any of his fellow grad students while pushing through this past semester. Working for his uncle on a ranch far from civilization wasn’t going to require much of a sacrifice when it came to his social life. He didn’t have one, and he hadn’t cared.
Until now. The night before he was about to bury himself in the middle of nowhere, he was holding a woman who was making him remember things that were worth living for.
Maybe this was like quitting smoking. One planned for it, wanting it and dreading it at the same time, until finally, the night before officially quitting, one last cigarette, better than all the ones that had come before, was savored.
Emily Davis was his last cigarette.
He wasn’t going to sleep with her. Even if she’d have him, he would be all wrong for her. He wanted to make sure she got out of this bar safely and back to her bright life, and then he’d drive west two more counties and find the ranch where his uncle worked.
But in the meantime, whether he had minutes with her or hours, he’d savor this woman who was buoyant and charming—and unafraid to tell a man to go to hell—before he began his self-imposed exile.
There couldn’t be any harm in that.
* * *
Emily felt something change in the way Graham was holding her. It wasn’t a big difference, just an ease in his shoulders. His hand relaxed, fingers resting on her hip.
She could stay like this forever, but he’d said he was just passing through. The disappointment almost hurt.
You’re leaving for college in three days. Did you expect him to be waiting here for you when you came back on spring break?
She sighed, which only made her sink more cozily into his arms. How terrible, to be so fascinated by a man whom she might never see again.
Might never see again. It depended where he was going. It depended where he’d come from.
“You’re just passing through on your way to where?” she asked.
The roaring of motorcycle engines made an answer impossible. Five motorcycles or maybe more pulled in, from what Emily could see through the thin gaps between the wood planks of the fencing. The moment they killed their engines, the patio conversations resumed.
Not hers. She felt the tension return to Graham’s body. He let go of her, keeping only one hand on her waist, the position he’d taken just before they’d run from the bar fight.
“We should go,” he said.
“Bikers stop here all the time. They like to ride out here because there’s no traffic. It’s scenic in the daytime.” She hated to see him this tense again. She smiled, but she refrained from giving him another reassuring horse slap. “They aren’t as scary as they look. They’re just hanging out with their clubs. They’re sure going to be surprised when they open that door and walk in to that fight.”
Graham didn’t smile with her. “They’re not out for a Sunday ride. There’s a difference between a club and a gang. Whichever these men are, there are at least two different groups here tonight. Two different jackets.”
She looked around the patio crowd. Even Jason had come outside, abandoning his bar after calling the police, no doubt. None of the bikers had come outside. “You think this is a fight between gangs?”
“It’s no coincidence more bikers just showed up. This is going to get worse before it gets better.”
Graham had that aura of readiness about him again, the one that said danger was coming. He’d been right last time. She wasn’t inclined to question him now. “Okay, then. Let’s go.”
“Is there anyone you came with that we need to get out?” Graham asked.
Just as she said no, there was another commotion at the doorway. Mike came barreling toward them, crashing into Foster, pushing him another foot closer to Emily.
“Where were you? Where the hell were you, Foster? Doug?” Mike was spitting out their names. His lip was bleeding. His eye was swelling shut. “You gotta get me out of here, now. They’re pulling out brass knuckles and chains. Knives, man, knives.”
“Is he a friend of yours?” Graham’s voice was back at her ear, level and patient, but his stance was ready to move, chomping at the bit to head for the fence.
“Not really. We go to the same college.” But Mike looked like hell, and she felt sorry for him, so she stepped just far enough away from Graham to tap Mike on the shoulder. “Hey. We’re leaving. Follow us.”
Then Graham’s hand was at the small of her back as they walked directly toward the section of the fence he’d already chosen. He escorted her as courteously as if she’d been dressed in high heels instead of cowboy boots. But since she was in boots, she made a little run at the fence when they were still a few feet away, wanting a bit of speed so she’d have the momentum to run halfway up and reach the top with two hands. To pull herself over, she had to walk herself up the planking, hoping for some traction between the leather of her soles and the grain of the wood. She felt one strong, warm hand on her backside, giving her that extra lift that made it easier to haul herself up and over. She dropped onto the dirt of the parking lot on the other side of the fence.
She tugged her dress back in place. More hands grabbed the top of the fence. Mike’s battered face appeared at the top, but he, too, was struggling to get over. One second later, he got almost too much of a boost to handle. He landed next to her, barely keeping on his feet. Foster came over next, same way. Doug.
The police arrived, red and blue lights shining on the planks of the fence as sirens screamed through the parking lot, passing them on their way around the building to the front of the bar. Emily shielded her eyes from the flashing and looked up to the top of the fence. When it was dark once more, Graham came sailing over the top, just one hand on the fence, clearing it cleanly, as if he’d flipped himself up a
nd over a ten-foot fence a hundred times before.
You, Tarzan. For sure.
Mike grabbed Foster’s sleeve. “Come on, let’s go. I can’t get a police record. You know what my father would do.” Doug and Foster took off toward the parking lot with him, but Mike suddenly changed direction and stuck his hand out to Graham for a quick shake. “Thanks, man.”
Then Emily was alone with Graham in the dark. The planking of the fence was all that stood between her and the sounds of turmoil and outright violence on the other side. She stood next to Graham and felt safe.
“Where’s your car parked?” he asked.
Her heart fell a little. She didn’t want him to pack her off in her car, but what was the alternative while the police raided the bar? To hide here in the shadows of the red and blue lights and continue their little get-to-know-you chat?
“I’m parked around front.”
More motorcycles entered the parking lot. Another sheriff’s car pulled in right behind.
Graham’s hand on her waist came as no surprise. “Mine’s back here. I’ll drive you around the front.”
Ask me to go somewhere else with you to get a drink.
But he didn’t. His car was actually an SUV, new and expensive, an exotic European brand. He shadowed her all the way to the passenger door, shutting her into the leather-upholstered luxury before jogging around the front of the vehicle to reach his own door.
The upscale SUV meant two things to Emily. First, Graham had money, which she should have guessed. He was a man who knew what he was doing and how to handle the world around him. It made sense that he’d be on top of his financial world, too. Second, the sexiest man in her world really was just passing through. No one drove a vehicle like this in ranch country. She sat in her bucket seat, feeling a million miles away from him on the other side of the extra-wide console.
He started the engine. “What kind of car am I looking for?”
Ask me to go out for a bite to eat.
“I drive a pickup truck.” Not the most feminine thing to drive, but she did live in ranch country—or she would, when she finished her degree and her mother had no more leverage to wield over her choices.
Lost in Cottonwood Canyon & How to Train a Cowboy--Lost in Cottonwood Canyon Page 26