Smooth-Talking Cowboy

by Maisey Yates

  “See you later,” he said.

  “Sure,” she said, opening up the passenger door, the overhead light casting a glow on her face.

  She was pale. More than that, she looked terrified. Not just angry. But honest to God scared.

  He groaned, putting the truck in Park. Then he reached out, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. “Olivia...”

  For a moment she froze. For a moment she just stared at him, and he could see a small war being waged behind those pretty brown eyes. Then she jerked away from him, away from his touch. “Don’t.”

  She shook her head, climbing down from the truck and slamming the door, clutching her purse and her sweater to her chest as she walked up to her front door. He watched until she was safely inside, and then shook his head, throwing the truck in Reverse and pulling out of the driveway too damned fast. But if he didn’t leave now, he was going to be tempted to go after her, and he knew that would be a bad idea.

  His heart was raging like he had just run a marathon, his whole body so on edge he had a feeling a strong breeze could push him over.

  No. Only Olivia.

  He gritted his teeth against that thought. That regrettably true thought.

  There was no point wanting her. There never had been. She was Olivia Logan, of the Logans of Logan County. As close to royalty as you could find in rural Oregon.

  He did not have an inferiority complex. That wasn’t the issue. He was sure on her end those would be on her list of issues. As far as his went... She wanted love. She wanted marriage. She had made that abundantly clear. She was twenty-five years old and he was thirty-six. He had a hunch that she was inexperienced, and he sure as hell was not.

  He was wrong for her in a thousand different ways, and his damned body couldn’t seem to hold on to that reality.

  No, he wasn’t going after her. He was going home. He was getting in a cold shower.

  And then he was getting blind-ass drunk so that he could forget he had ever put his hands on Olivia Logan.

  Because he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it again.

  * * *

  OLIVIA STUMBLED INTO the house on shaking legs. A great, gasping sob escaping as she shut the door behind her and locked it. She didn’t know if she was locking it against Luke, to keep him outside, or locking it to keep herself inside.

  Apparently, she didn’t know anything. Not about herself, not about a man who had been in her life in some capacity for close to twenty years.

  She hadn’t known she could want like that. She hadn’t known she wanted him like that.

  But that word had played itself over and over in her mind. Finally. Finally. Finally.

  She couldn’t scrub it out of her brain even now.

  Even now, as she walked through the living room and dumped her purse and her sweater on the couch, unbearably conscious of the fact that her stomach felt nauseous and that she was wet between her legs.

  She heard her phone vibrate and she scrambled to grab hold of it. She had three texts from her mother. Asking if she was home yet.

  And then another one rolled in.

  Why were you with Luke Hollister at Gold Valley Saloon tonight?

  She threw her phone on the couch like it was a rabid varmint and took a step away from it, scrubbing her face with her hands. She couldn’t have this conversation. Not now. She couldn’t answer these questions she didn’t have an answer to.

  There’s a very simple answer. It’s to get Bennett back.

  She was a liar. Even her head was a liar. She certainly hadn’t made out with Luke in his truck to get Bennett back. She hadn’t...

  She pressed a hand to her stomach. She had kissed him and had an orgasm.

  She’d never had an orgasm before in her life.

  She was a good girl. She had worked so hard to be a good girl. And to be everything that Vanessa wasn’t.

  To justify her existence. To justify the fact that Olivia the tattletale had ruined Vanessa the rebel’s life. Hadn’t it been essential to be good after that? To show it was possible to live the kind of life their parents wanted them to have? That it led to better places?

  Or she was a hypocrite. She had to keep everything locked down so tight. She couldn’t even let go of it in private.

  But a few minutes in private with Luke, a few minutes in his arms, with his hands on her body, and she had let go of everything she had worked so hard for. Everything that she had trained herself to be.

  Without thinking, she stumbled back toward the bathroom, flicking on the switch, flooding the room with light that was far too bright. Far too revealing of everything that had happened over the space of the last half hour. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were swollen. Her eyes were bright and fevered.

  She was suddenly aware of the fact that her neck burned, and she angled her head to the side, looking at her reflection, looking at the trail of red that ran down her skin.

  Whisker burn, she realized.

  Those whiskers that had been captivating her for all this time had left their mark, that was sure.

  Who was she? She didn’t have an answer to that. Or at least, not one she liked.

  She pulled her dress up over her head, whirling around and turning on the hot water knob in her shower. Then she wrestled with her bra, extricating herself clumsily before shoving her leggings and her underwear down her thighs.

  She stepped beneath the spray of water before it was warm, shivering as it slowly grew hotter and hotter, sluicing over her bare shoulders.

  She was determined to stand there until she felt normal again. Until she could no longer feel the impression of his lips on hers, his stubble against her neck, his hands on her hips.

  She stood there until the water got cold again, and she could still feel his touch. She stood there until she was too miserable and exhausted to do anything but turn the water off, wrap herself in a towel and sit on the edge of her bed.

  Slowly, she became aware of her body. Of the fact that her breasts still felt sensitive, of the fact that she felt achy and restless between her thighs still. That got her moving. Spurred her to dry herself off and get herself covered up in sensible, cozy pajamas.

  She hoped that would make her feel more like herself.

  But as she slipped beneath the covers and curled up into a tight ball, she still felt wrong. Still felt like somebody new. Somebody she didn’t want to be.

  And she was afraid that good girl Olivia, the Olivia that was so essential, wasn’t someone she could simply get back to. Because she was afraid she had shattered that Olivia irrevocably in the cab of Luke Hollister’s truck.

  As she finally drifted off to sleep, all she could think was that nothing was right. She didn’t know how it ever would be again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHEN OLIVIA WOKE up the next morning her phone was glowing on the couch. She had a raft of texts from her mother. And before she could bend down to pick the phone up, there was a knock at the door.

  “Darn it,” she whispered, picking up the phone and holding it to her chest.

  She walked to the front door, the white carpet plush beneath her feet. Usually a comfort in trying times, but nothing was comforting to her now.

  “Coming,” she muttered as the knocking became more insistent. She had absolutely no illusions as to who it was.

  She opened the door and came face-to-face with her mother.

  Tamara Logan closely resembled Olivia, only older and more elegant. She was an inch or so shorter than her daughter, still as trim and petite as she had always been. There were fine lines next to her eyes, and not even one strand of gray in her brown hair. If that was accomplished by a hair salon, she would never say, and no one would be brave enough to ask.

  “Thank God you’re here,” her mother said, breezing past her and walking into the room. She looked around her, as if she
expected to see something out of place. Olivia had a feeling she was expecting, dreading, the possibility that she might find Luke Hollister in the house somewhere, enjoying a morning after.

  “I’m alone,” Olivia said.

  “Good,” Tamara answered, looking visibly relieved. “I can’t tell you how many texts and phone calls I got about you and Luke. Kissing.”

  “I went on a date with him,” Olivia said, wrapping her arms around herself. “It wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t even a very serious kiss.” The one in the bar that anyone had seen. She left out any mention of the kiss that had happened after.

  She wasn’t even going to think about that kiss, much less talk to her mom about it. She suddenly felt like she was thirteen again and staring down her very disappointed mother after the skinny-dipping fiasco.

  Whose fault was this, Olivia? I can hardly believe it was yours.

  Olivia swallowed hard.

  “I’m not sure he’s a very good man for you to be going on dates with,” her mom said, frowning. “And I thought you wanted to try and patch things up with Bennett. I’m sure that by now he’s regretting breaking up with you.”

  “I broke up with Bennett,” Olivia said, realizing that she hadn’t exactly explained the whole story to her parents. “He didn’t break up with me.”

  Shock flitted over her mother’s face. “But you were so devastated...”

  “I know,” she said, shifting in place, feeling about two inches tall. “I just... I don’t want to be broken up with him. I didn’t want to be. But, you know, I wanted to get married and...”

  “He didn’t?”

  “Not as quickly as I did. I don’t know. I’m questioning my decision making now.” She was questioning a lot of things. And it was way too early in the morning for her to be trying to explain any of it to her mother, when she could hardly process what had happened the night before, much less what all had happened in the past month.

  “I don’t like not knowing where you are,” her mom said. “I texted you so many times last night.”

  “I came home early,” Olivia said, lying only a little bit, “and I went to sleep. Sorry.”

  Her mother looked so genuinely concerned that Olivia felt guilty. It was one thing to feel indignant in the moment, like her leash was too short. It was another to fully face the reasons she consented to that leash.

  Her parents never knew where Vanessa was. They heard from her maybe twice a year, and it was rarely comforting. They deserved to have one child they didn’t have to worry about constantly. She also knew that her parents worried about her even more because of Vanessa. Because they already had one child that was lost to them for all intents and purposes.

  They had enough sleepless nights without adding Olivia to their list of worries, and for her part, she had done everything in her power to make sure that she wasn’t doing that.

  But last night she had. In a few different ways. And now guilt sat heavily on her chest like a rock, joining all of the other muddled feelings she was contending with.

  “Nothing is happening with Luke,” Olivia said. “It’s not. I went out with him because I wanted to prove to Bennett, and to myself a little bit—” she said a small prayer asking for forgiveness for the lie “—that I could go out with someone else if I wanted to. But I promise I’m not blind to anything about Luke. I know him too well.”

  Tamara sighed heavily, that burst of energy she’d come in with clearly beginning to run out of steam. Her mother reacted with fear first. It was fear, Olivia knew that. She understood it. “It’s all right if you want to go on dates.”

  “I know,” Olivia said, feeling a little bit silly that she was twenty-five years old, standing there in a house on her parents’ property offering justifications for a date she had gone on. Now she felt silly and guilty. So that was fun.

  “But, I am relieved to hear that it wasn’t serious. I’m sure that Luke is a nice enough man,” Tamara conceded, “but I wouldn’t say he was suited to you.”

  “No,” Olivia said, agreeing with that wholeheartedly. And tried not to think about the way his hands on her body had seemed to suit certain purposes.

  “Bennett is a much better choice. He’s from such a good family. And he’s such a good man. He’ll take care of you.”

  Her mother’s eyes shone with conviction. The absolute certainty that Olivia needed to be cared for. But then, her mom and dad took care of her now. So of course they thought she might need someone to take care of her later. Bennett had been an ideal someone to them.

  To Olivia, too.

  But she was starting to be concerned she had blown that potential future up, and that there would be no getting back to it. That felt hopeless. It felt scary. Like the future in front of her was blank, and the past behind her was slipping out of reach.

  She’d had a plan. But in that space between the bar and her house, something had happened. Something had happened with Luke. And it had done something to her.

  “We’ll see what happens with Bennett,” Olivia said. “I know what I want. I don’t know what he wants.”

  Those words tasted like a lie, too.

  “You can always talk to me about these things,” Tamara said. “I broke up with your father more than once before we ended up getting married. He was dragging his feet.”

  “Dad dragged his feet?”

  “Terribly. And sometimes the breakup really is what you need to get some perspective. So, hopefully that won’t be a long time coming for him.”

  “Hopefully,” Olivia said.

  Tamara leaned forward, pulling Olivia into a hug. Olivia suddenly felt very small, and young. Rumpled. Nothing made her feel more fragile than hugging her mother. She took a shaky breath, her shoulders shuddering, and tried to hold back the tears that were building. She was tired. She really needed coffee. Or she was going to fall apart.

  “If he doesn’t, then he’s not the right one,” Tamara said, taking a step back and patting Olivia on the shoulder.

  “I guess so,” Olivia said, taking a deep breath.

  Words like right and wrong felt all jumbled and confused inside of her. Along with everything else.

  “Everything will work out right for you, Olivia,” her mom said. “You’ve done everything right. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Olivia mumbled. “I need coffee.”

  “Okay. I’ll leave you to that. I’m going out for breakfast with some of the ladies. Though, that new cook at Sugar Cup doesn’t have the best customer service.”

  Olivia knew that her mother was referring to the very unpersonable Frederick Holt, who made a habit of serving up scrambles with a scowl.

  “I’m sure if anyone can make him smile, it’s you.” Not necessarily because her mother was the friendliest, but because she was more formidable than most anyone. Hell on high heels. Always tactful, but never a pushover.

  “We’ll see,” her mother responded. She gave Olivia’s hand one last squeeze before breezing back out the door and getting in her little red sports car, the perk of turning fifty, she had called it.

  Olivia closed her white front door, then stood there for a moment looking at her entryway. It was perfect, undisturbed as ever. Her mother had decorated the little cottage that Olivia now called home. And it was as perfect now as it had been the day she moved in five years ago.

  There was a little rose garland with a ribbon on it above the door, framing it in a very charming fashion. Shabby chic furniture and country details were spread throughout the room. Cute little roosters and splashes of red amidst pale yellow and white.

  Olivia loved it. But she was suddenly very aware that she had moved into a life created for her by her parents.

  Neat, pristine, contained.

  For some reason she thought of the dollhouse she’d played with when she was little. It had been an a
ntique even then, an old wooden ranch house with two floors. A gift from her grandma. For her and for Vanessa, although Vanessa had never played with it.

  When she’d been a little girl that was the life she’d imagined. A simple house. On a ranch.

  Nothing quite like this artfully staged cottage she called home.

  That was silly. She had a good life. A good house. And there was no point having an issue with all of the wonderful things she’d been given. Not when she benefited from it so much. If it weren’t for them, her job at Grassroots wouldn’t be enough to pay her bills. She loved her job. She loved the people that she interacted with; she loved the people she worked with.

  Her mother was right. She had always done the right thing. A momentary lapse in her judgment was hardly going to undo all of that.

  She would make sure of it.

  * * *

  LUKE KNEW THERE was no way he was going to make it through the day without an interrogation from someone in the Dodge family.

  What surprised him most was that it ended up being Bennett.

  He had expected to get a lecture from Wyatt. Or to maybe get punched by Jamie, with her tiny fists and the fury of a younger sister whose older brother had been hurt.

  The Dodges looked out for each other—that was a fact.

  But Bennett was apparently in the mood to handle it himself.

  Luke was working on digging a trench to deal with some of the drainage issues down by the cabins that sat closer to the river when Bennett approached, looking hard and stoic.

  It was the first time that Luke was aware—in a practical sense—that Bennett Dodge was no longer a boy. But a man. A man who was none too happy with him and looked about ready to start a fight.

  Luke wasn’t the kind of guy to start a fight. Now, he’d joined his fair share of bar scuffles in his day. But he didn’t usually do much to rate someone coming after him. And when he did, he was pretty good at smoothing things over. He usually ended up having a drink with the person instead of punching anyone.

  Bennett didn’t look like he wanted to have a drink.