Second Dance Cowboy (Second Chance)

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  “And what is it about this crowd that you’d like to see? Maybe the drunk sitting at the bar who almost fell face first into your cleavage…or the couple of cowboys who are sitting at the bar nursing their shot glasses…wait…” She narrowed her eyes, wanting to get a better look. “Oh my. I know him.” Her mouth went dry.

  “Who?” Aspen craned her neck.

  “Him. The cowboy in the blue shirt. I went to school with him.” Peyton swallowed the sudden ache in her throat.

  “Wow…I wonder if he’s single.” Aspen wriggled her thin brows.

  “I’m not interested.” Peyton shook her head.

  “I’m not talking for you, sweetie. I’m most definitely interested.” Aspen purred. “Hang on, I’m going to get us a drink.”

  Peyton chuckled as her friend took the long way around the bar, gliding toward the cowboy duo and made her presence with a broad smile. Only one of them glanced, and it wasn’t the one Peyton knew—Dillon. Memories flooded back and her skin heated. Where had time gone so fast? She hadn’t thought of Dillon in, well, at least the last twenty-four hours.

  She wished Aspen would hurry with her drink.

  Suddenly, Peyton couldn’t keep from squirming in the wooden chair and tossed her long hair over one shoulder. Why should it matter now that she’d had a crush on Dillon? After all, she didn’t know too many girls in high school who didn’t fall for him. He’d never glanced her way or knew she existed—until after graduation. She’d been waitressing at a diner, saving every dime to head to New York to fulfill her dreams of becoming a professional dancer.

  One particular night, Peyton had been working alone, the restaurant was empty, and she’d dropped quarter after quarter into the jukebox as she’d danced with a broom, practicing routines. She’d looked up from her stick companion and there he was, sex appeal in cowboy boots. He’d tipped his hat at her and she’d felt her virgin body come alive. As foolish as it was, she’d lost control. One smile her direction had turned her panties wet. Even at eighteen, Dillon had projected manly status. Tall, slender and confident. What wasn’t to like?

  He’d taken the corner booth and ordered a large slice of apple pie. Her hands had been shaking when she brought him his order and, in her haste, she’d spilled hot coffee on the crotch of his Wranglers. Without thinking, she’d grabbed the towel from her apron and quickly dabbed at the liquid—and she’d almost passed out when his zipper bulged.

  “Earth to Peyton…”

  Aspen’s voice jarred Peyton from her thoughts. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She relieved her friend of one glass of wine and took a long, needed sip.

  “You okay? You look a little flustered.” Aspen sat down.

  “I’m fine.” No, she wasn’t.

  “Is it the cowboy? I could see getting all hot and bothered over a man that looks that good.” Aspen sighed as she slid her mascara-rimmed gaze across the room, catching Dillon in her sights. “The other one’s not so bad either.”

  “If you say so.” Peyton didn’t want to reveal her secret crush for Dillon, or the fact that he’d warmed her soul only to stand her up. She took another lengthy drink. Why did it matter anymore that he’d asked her out but left her sitting at the restaurant alone? After all, enough time had passed, as well as life had moved on.

  Aspen’s gaze narrowed over the rim of her glass. Setting it down, she said, “Peyton, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Peyton quickly shook her head. “No. What would I be hiding? If you like Dillon, ask him to dance.” She told herself that she didn’t care one bit.

  “Oh, that’s his name? Dillon? Nice. I dated a Dillon while I was in Florida. Too bad I found out two weeks into our relationship that he was gay. He was talented in many ways.” She rolled her tongue along her bottom lip. “And too bad this Dillon didn’t even look at me when I approached. He’s not interested. However, the bigger one certainly did seem attentive. I should ask him to dance. Think he’ll say yes?”

  Peyton barely heard her friend over her own thoughts of gloom. “You’ll never know unless you ask.”

  “True.” Aspen tapped a long red nail against her glass. “Do you mind?”

  “Go on, hun. I’m a big girl and am fine sitting here alone.” She didn’t want to keep her friend from having fun. Peyton wasn’t much in the mood for a good time anyway. Aspen’s point that everyone could use socializing made sense, because it’d been so long for Peyton that she now felt like a fish out of water.

  There was never enough hours in a day for entertainment. And she knew time was always the go-to excuse she used.

  Peyton made a decent enough living as owner of Season of Dance Studio, but just like most people she knew, she lived paycheck to paycheck. Oliver’s dad hadn’t paid child support in three years and she’d given up on ever seeing a check. In truth, what she wanted, more than his money, was for Richie to participate in Oliver’s life. She’d also given up on ever seeing that happen. Some men weren’t meant to be fathers, Richie included.

  She couldn’t change the past, but she could make a future for her son. That’s what mattered. She didn’t have time for fun and games, especially with men like Dillon. He was a smooth talker and she’d had enough charm to last a lifetime.

  Peyton watched as the cowboy sitting next to Dillon slid off his stool, took Aspen’s hand and they moved toward the small dance floor. Aspen gave Peyton a wink and thumbs up. She doubted she’d see her friend for the duration of the night.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DILLON HAD SEEN her walk in. He’d known immediately who she was. Peyton Keller. He’d wanted to turn to watch her pass, but he didn’t want to come off as one of the other drunks who’d almost fell from their stools when she’d walked in with her friend.

  Her friend, he thought she’d called herself Aspen, had stolen Deckland and now Dillon was left alone to smother his despair in alcohol. He was feeling the effects, and his anger had subsided, for now at least.

  He’d recover in time. Hell, if he hadn’t already.

  He brought the whiskey to his mouth and stopped as he caught a movement of blue in his peripheral. Peyton was passing. Damn! He didn’t remember her being so, well, so damn shapely. He kept his gaze on her and her nice-fitting jeans. She’d filled out, and had lost the severe bun she’d worn through school. Her hair was a shiny color of black and hung effortlessly down her slender back. He wondered if she remembered him. Probably not. It’d been years since they’d seen each other.

  She disappeared into the women’s restroom. A few minutes later, she came back out.

  Not in the mood for socializing, he lowered his chin as she started to pass for a second time, but inadvertently his gaze came up at the worst possible time and met hers. He wasn’t a rude man, and he certainly could have allowed her to walk on by because she didn’t seem to recognize him, but he went against better judgment and said, “Hi.”

  “Hi, Dillon.” One corner of her glossy lips lifted.

  He stared into her mocha eyes. Why didn’t he recall them being so deep and amazing? Was it the alcohol? No, he didn’t believe so. And hell, she even knew his name. “You remember me?”

  “Are you surprised?” she asked.

  Did he sense a bit of sarcasm in her tone? “Yes, I am.”

  “My memory works just fine. We went to school together. Of course, we mingled in different crowds.”

  “But you were into…what was it?” He searched his numb brain. Deckland had been right, he should have slowed down on the liquor. “You were a painter, right?” He had a buzz, and he couldn’t think clearly.

  “Dancing. I was a dancer.” Her nose slightly wrinkled and her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink.

  She was attractive—no, that wasn’t the right word. Beautiful fit better. Wearing only a little makeup, she seemed to glow from the inside out, making her look young and fresh. He was used to Cassie who wouldn’t walk outside without a coat of bottled look-good. He’d guess Peyton didn’t need much. The years had certainly been
kind to her. “I’m sorry. Dancing. That’s right. After school you’d practice at a local studio. Do you still dance there?”

  “Yes, in fact, I do. I bought it a few years ago.”

  “Really? That’s great. Looks like your friend and my brother are hitting it off.”

  “Looks that way.” Her tongue darted out and swept across her plump bottom lip. He had a sudden desire to taste her, and not just her mouth. Shit! A man couldn’t trust his mind when it was laced with whiskey. He could very well be imaging how pretty she was, or how pleasing her ass looked. Stuck between a buzz and a hard-on, he asked, “Care for a drink?”

  There was a long hesitation as she looked to the dance floor and back to him. “I—I don’t know…”

  “One drink won’t hurt,” he said. A few minutes ago, he’d wanted to be alone, but now, he hoped she’d stay.

  She shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

  “Great. Starkey, give me another whiskey and the lady will have…” He nodded toward Peyton.

  “I’ll have another glass of red wine, please.” She slid onto the stool and he got a whiff of something nice. He couldn’t pinpoint the scent, but he liked it. A lot.

  Drinks served, he studied her expression. “How many years have passed since we’ve seen one another? We graduated, what, twelve years ago?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but we’ve seen each other since. I believe you were in your first year of college.”

  He scrubbed his jaw. “We did? We didn’t go to the same college, right?” He started for the shot glass, but stopped. He needed to slow down…way down.

  “No, I didn’t make it to college.” He watched some of the twinkle leave her eyes. “I was working at Sandy’s Diner when you came in late one night.”

  He searched his mind, through all of the fuzzy passages and across distressed brain cells. “I remember! I was home visiting. That was a long time ago.” She rolled the tip of a short, pale nail along the rim of her glass. He could imagine her using that same finger to roll around his—Fuck!

  “I guess so.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  “What have you been doing since school?”

  “Having a fun time. Traveling, dancing, living a dream life…you name it. You?”

  “Hell, you know I love working with my hands. Ranching is in my blood. Probably like dancing is in yours. Do you live around here still? Of course, you said you own the studio.” He had a feeling he was rambling.

  “Yes, I do.” She brought the glass to her lips and he watched her drink.

  “I’ve been out of town for a few years, but why is it that we haven’t seen each other on occasion? In a town of forty-thousand people you’d think we’d have bumped into one another a time or two.” He wouldn’t have minded bumping, not a single bit.

  She shrugged, the V-neck of her loose blouse shifted, and he got a sneak peek of the top of one pale breast and felt his stomach whirl. What was wrong with him? It’d been a while since he’d had sex, if two years could be classified as a while. At the moment, the dry spell seemed more like a prison term. He wasn’t led by his cock, though, never had been. Yet, he wanted to touch her skin. To kiss her lips.

  Was he that drunk? He didn’t feel like it.

  “I guess we still move in different circles.” She brought one slender hand up and combed through her hair. It wasn’t black like he’d first thought. It was a dark shade of mahogany.

  “Would you care to dance?” Shit! Why did I ask that? He knew why. He wanted to know her touch on his body. He had to answer the question before it blew his mind.

  After another long hesitation, which seemed liked a habit, she said, “Sure. I don’t see why not.”

  They moved to the dance floor, next to Deckland and Aspen. Dillon attempted to ignore his brother’s wriggling brows and brought all of his attention to the woman who smelled good and looked even better. He’d hold her during one dance and then his curiosity would settle.

  Once he laid his hand on the small of her back and brought her close to his chest, he knew immediately that one dance wouldn’t fix his curiosity. He’d totally underestimated how much control his cock had over his logical reasoning. He wasn’t sure if seeing Cassie and Dante jarred him into insanity or his emotions were just sparred, whatever, he was attracted to Peyton. How had it happened so quickly? He needed to be careful; his emotions were on a bit of a train wreck. He’d just seen his ex-fiancé clasped in his brother’s arms. That’d make any man a loose pistol.

  Then again, what could it hurt if he enjoyed tonight? He was an adult, and so was Peyton. No harm in allowing things to happen if the chance arose.

  He moved his other hand to her waist and hooked his thumb into the belt loop of her jeans as she brought her arms up around his neck. Her small breasts brushed his chest and it triggered a burning need within him—hell, a sensation he couldn’t remember ever feeling, not even with Cassie.

  Holding her made the emptiness within him more noticeable. Lately, he’d been lonely, even in a crowd. He’d disappeared from town, running away to try and get away from the isolation, but he found that loneliness lurked everywhere he went.

  So, he’d consumed himself in work. That’d always been his salvation, even when he was a kid.

  He lowered his face to her hair and inhaled deeply. Aha! Coconut and sage. He ached to run his fingers through her hair, but he guessed she’d slap him into next year and he wouldn’t expect any less. Although, he had a feeling she was into him just as much as he was with her. A woman melted into a man’s arms when she was interested, and man, was she melting.

  He pulled her closer and she didn’t resist. He moved his hand slightly lower to the roundness of her tight bottom. He could have sworn he heard her purr, and yet it could have been his hopeful imagination. Her hands slid along his shoulders, down his arms and stopped at his wrist, warmth spread like honey. Her head bent back and her eyes were full of need.

  “You want to get out of here?” He didn’t even bother thinking over his request. He went with the flow for the first time in his life. He was tired of watching good things slip through his fingers—sick of being the nice guy who stepped aside so that others could sample the sweet life. In this moment, he wanted one thing and her name was Peyton. It wasn’t like they were strangers. He’d watched her all through school, but never approached her. Her quiet nature and grace had interested him.

  “I’d really love to. But you’re not driving. I’d say you’re about three shot glasses over the limit.”

  “You can drive my truck,” he offered.

  She shook her head.

  He shrugged. “Do you have your car?” he asked.

  “I rode with Aspen, but looks like she’s not ready to leave. Let me check.”

  He reluctantly released his hold as she moved to her friend and interrupted her dance. Peyton leaned close and whispered something in Aspen’s ear. The woman glanced his way, then nodded. Deckland tipped his hat.

  “Come on. We’re taking Aspen’s car. Deckland will see that she gets home.” Peyton grabbed his hand and, after making a quick stop at the table she’d been sitting at to grab her friend’s keys, they were heading out the door.

  The wind was still blowing hard but the rain had slowed. A chill laced the air, colder than a normal Texas night.

  “Right there.” Peyton pointed to the red two-door parked on the street.

  The car was a tad small for a man his size, but he shoved his body into the passenger seat and squirmed until he found the most comfortable position. They weren’t traveling far, at least he hoped. Would they go to her place?

  “I’m assuming you’re at home, right?” she asked.

  He was okay with his place too. “Yes. Do you know where Brooke Creek is?”

  She nodded. “Doesn’t everyone from around these parts?”

  “Too damn many people know too much. It’s a small town,” he growled.

  “Isn’t that the truth.”

  ****

  Peyton
looked across the seat at Dillon’s profile lit by the dashboard lighting. She had him next to her, and she knew he wanted her. No doubt, she wanted him, too. When had she not wondered what it’d be like to melt in his arms?

  “Do you have a girlfriend, Dillon?” she asked.

  “No.” He turned to her.

  “What happened to Kelly?” She remembered the rich girl who’d made prom queen.

  “You mean Cassie?” He lifted a brow and his jaw ticked. “We’re no longer together.”

  “That’s a shame,” she said. “What happened?” Nothing good, she assumed.

  “Let’s not talk about her.” His arm brushed against hers and she forced her gaze to stay on the road and her breathing to remain even. He was a mere man—a man who had asked her out then didn’t show. The thought put a cramp in her libido.

  “Why didn’t you go to college?” he asked.

  “Life took me in a different direction.” She thought it best to keep it short and sweet. It wasn’t like they’d see each other again after tonight.

  “Traveling and dancing, living the dream. Sounds like a lot of fun. So why did you settle back here?”

  “All roads lead to home.” She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled. She’d lied, not intentionally. The answer had fallen out before she could stop. There had been no traveling, or even dancing, at least not how she’d planned. The only other option had been to tell him she’d met a rock-star-wannabe, gotten pregnant and had to pull out of dance school, which wasn’t something she shared with many people.

  He turned his attention to the window and stared out. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Her nerves were getting the best of her. Thankfully, she didn’t have any hot liquids to spill this time, vomit excluded. The two glasses of wine, technically one and three sips, weren’t settling well on her stomach.

  No way could she spew all over him, especially not in his lap. Automatically, her gaze fell to his crotch. He filled out his jeans perfectly.

  Back at the bar, she’d lost herself for a moment while dancing close to him. It’d felt good, so nice. A part of her—a big part— wanted to sleep with him. The possibility had been rolling through her mind when she’d asked Aspen for the keys. But the cool brisk air splashing her face with reality made her rethink her next steps. Once she crossed a line, there was no going back. She’d made mistakes before.