by Lia Riley
“Your loss.” He crammed the end into his mouth.
Bacon was quite possibly her biggest food dislike, yet here she sat, practically breathless, watching his square jaw bunch and flex. She cut her own bite but it was impossible to swallow with such a dry mouth. Did her pulse accelerate? The waitress returned to top up the coffee and Eden placed a hand over her mug.
“May I switch to decaf, please?” Clearly they brewed their coffee to the consistency of jet fuel in this joint. Jitters coursed through her body and her hands trembled.
Breathe. Focus.
She had more pressing matters to attend to, like what on earth was she going to do? She had her purse, and a wallet full of cash and credit cards, but the idea of booking a return flight to her nonexistent life in New York didn’t sound comforting. What she needed was a fresh start in a place where people didn’t remember her as Eden the Ew or dismiss her as another vapid, snooty blue blood. Her blood was as red as the next person’s, darn it, and somewhere real life waited, far from the Upper East Side.
But where?
“Looking forward to the big honeymoon?” Cowboy asked.
“Honeymoon?” Eden feigned a sip of coffee.
Twisting his body slightly, he faced her dead-on. “Your man better be taking you on one,” he replied firmly. “Otherwise I’m following you to the chapel to kick his dumb ass.”
Hey, there’s a most excellent thought. Cowboy did seem to have more than his fair share of muscles and Reggie deserved a thorough beat down.
“Wait, let me guess.” He held up a big hand, studying her face with intent. “A woman like you? Where would you like to travel?”
Hint one: not to Mexico to wander the beach alone while my cheating new husband goes deep sea tuna fishing.
“Let’s see.” He traced a musing thumb over the dark scruff roughing his broad cheek.
Ridiculous she noticed such a detail, or the way thick cords of forearm muscles disappeared beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves.
“You’re the type to do it up fancy.” His voice was deep, vibrantly so. “Go to Paris. Stay in a big, luxury hotel and eat overpriced snails.”
“Nope.” Even more ridiculous was this disappointment creeping through her stomach that a random cowboy hadn’t guessed the secrets in her heart. She smoothed her hands over her lap, the fine lace from her dress itching her skin. The reminder of what she wore did little to improve her composure. What was the matter with her? She couldn’t have sexy feelings for a stranger on her wedding day, even if it was going to be a not-wedding-day.
“You’re right.” He swiped a drop of syrup from the corner of his mouth and sucked it off the pad of his finger.
Sweat broke out across her palms.
Vibrant was the perfect word to describe him, that or magnetic. Those mischievous green eyes had some sort of pull, drawing out the most startling tingles along her spine, up her thighs. She slammed her knees together.
“Hmmmm. That’s what someone would assume a woman like you might prefer,” he continued. “In fact, know what I think? You’d look damn fine on a horse.”
“Excuse me?” The unexpected statement startled a giggle from her.
“Sure. A pretty thing like you?” He leaned in, close enough she felt, actually felt, heat emanate from his body. “With wind mussing up that gorgeous hair and mountains rising behind you?”
“You . . . you think I’m pretty?” Her poise must have run off with her luck. But no one had ever called her that before.
“You? Pretty? Come on, a blind man would agree.” He shrugged. “Anyway, you must get that all the time.”
She subtly rolled her shoulders, fighting to relax. “No, not really.” Or ever.
His brows rose fractionally. “Your husband better tell you how beautiful you are every morning you wake up beside him. And every night that should be the last thing you hear before falling asleep.”
The last thing she ever heard falling asleep with Reggie was him barking into his phone in halting Mandarin, making deals on the Asian markets.
“Be sure you tell your man I said that. And make him take you to a ranch.”
She attempted a smile. “Is that what you do?”
“Yep.”
She blinked. “Wait, you’re a real cowboy?” A lot of guys on the strip seemed to dress the part, but she assumed it was a fashion statement. “I didn’t know those jobs even existed anymore.”
“A few of us still roam the West.”
“Are you from Montana?” The idea was oddly appealing. Big Sky Country. Untamed wilderness.
“Nah, though my oldest brother lives there. I’m born and raised in California.”
“There are cowboys in California?”
His mouth quirked. “We can’t all be movie stars or tofu eaters.”
“I guess I never thought about it that way.” Her ears grew warm.
“My town was founded during the western expansion in the mid-nineteenth century. The buildings are old, and so are most of the families. Mine have been there since the first wagon train.”
She wanted to listen, she did. But when he maintained such intense eye contact it was hard to focus. She glanced to her plate. Poked at the remnants of her toast. When he touched the side of her arm, she nearly jumped.
“Close your eyes,” he ordered softly.
“My eyes?” she echoed.
His gaze dared her. “Go on, unless you’re chicken.”
She was sick of being a chicken, so she complied, feeling three kinds of silly, not to mention vulnerable. With her eyes tightly shut, his spicy, woodsy scent intensified. Don’t sniff. Don’t sniff. Too late, she breathed in deep and someone gave a stifled whimper. And worse, that someone was her.
“Picture a valley with a wide, lazy river meandering through the center, flanked by peaks, some as high as fourteen thousand feet, snow nestled on the high points.” He spoke in her ear, each word a hot breath against her sensitive skin. “Imagine taking a breath that cleans you inside and out. And when you quit talking all you hear is wind.”
“Lovely.” It was a lame response, but all she could muster while worrying her hardened nipples might pop through the dress.
“That’s Brightwater. My home.”
“Brightwater?” She straightened . . . could it be Vegas luck existed for her after all? “You mean . . . Brightwater, California?”
“You’ve heard of it?” He gave a deprecating laugh. “Not surprised. It got famous after that movie was shot there. Tumbleweeds.”
“Tumbleweeds? Oh, yes. That’s the one that won an Academy Award last year, isn’t it?” she murmured vaguely.
If her nerves had been on edge before, now they were in free fall. She hadn’t seen the film, not being a fan of Westerns, but Brightwater, California, is where her cousin, Quincy Bankcroft, recently purchased a home. She and Quincy weren’t particularly close, the entire Bankcroft family, her mother’s side, worked in media, but they were friendly enough to trade the occasional text. Unfortunately, Mother hated to fly so they only ever saw each other infrequently. Last month, he shared photos online of the gold-rush-era mountain lodge he’d purchased as a rural getaway.
Quincy could help, or at least provide her with a place to stay while she figured out her next steps. But how could she tell all of this to a strange cowboy?
“Are you staying in town long?” she asked, refusing to meet his eyes in case something in her gaze reeked of desperation. If she casually asked him for a ride, wouldn’t he think she was some sort of a stalker?
Probably.
Worse, a woman with a cowboy fetish.
“Nah, I’m taking off after breakfast. Time to saddle Philomena and ride into the sunset.”
“You came to Vegas on a horse?” Her hope sank into her running shoes.
He laughed quietly. “No, Philomena is my truck, a green vintage ’54 Chevy and all-around finicky pain in my ass. But what can I say? I’m a sucker for high-maintenance as much as the next guy.”
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nbsp; The waitress returned with checks and he grabbed hers.
“No,” she protested, attempting to snatch it. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I insist.” He dug out his wallet and tossed a few bills beside the empty plates. He reached out and took her hand, the rough calluses grazing her soft palm. His finger slid over her knuckle, circling Reggie’s two-carat engagement ring as he paused, his eyes darkening. “Hey, listen. If your guy leaves you to have breakfast alone on your wedding day in a place like this, and then doesn’t take you on the honeymoon of your dreams. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Her calm mask slipped as she flinched, only seconds from revealing the terrified mess underneath.
He shook his head, his face relaxing. “Never mind me. It’s been a strange morning. And hey, it was nice to meet you. Go and have yourself a happy ever after now, you hear?”
He pulled away fast, so fast it was as if he’d never touched her at all. Then he was gone, striding toward the front door without a backward look.
She swallowed a small gasp, her head fuzzy as if she drank something much stronger than coffee. Her phone vibrated. Ugh, Reggie.
“Darling, it’s time, where are you?” His aggravating chortle did a poor attempt at masking his impatience.
“Don’t you think of ‘darling-ing’ me, bucko.” Her short-tempered tone was unrecognizable, not at all quiet or hesitant. There was a pause, a pause where the cogs almost audibly turned inside Reggie’s slimy brain. He’d once been captain of his university debate team and often talked circles around her. But this wasn’t the time or place to listen to him backpedal and try to smooth things over.
“Darl—”
“The wedding is off, Reggie,” she snapped, storming out onto the sidewalk. “Why don’t you take Suki to Cabo, that is, if you can afford the trip on your own?” People walking past swiveled their heads, leveling curious looks. She ducked her head and took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to make a scene. She hated scenes.
“Darl—”
She hit the red end-call button. It didn’t have the same satisfaction of slamming down a landline phone, but felt incredible all the same. She shoved the cell in her purse and dug out one of her emergency Hershey’s Kisses. Unwrapping the foil, she popped the dark chocolate into her mouth.
A minute later her phone buzzed with a text. Honestly, Reggie had to realize a message wasn’t going to change anything. She glanced down and her lungs constricted.
Fine. It’s actually a relief as you bore me to fucking tears. But it’s not over, sweetheart. Call me back ASAP or I will ruin you.
She glanced up, unable to see much through her tears. How was this happening? Was he threatening her? Who was he?
Yes, Reggie was short-tempered, narcissistic, and aggressive, but so were most stockbrokers. He certainly never resembled a mustache-twirling bad guy. This left her feeling like a sniffling victim on the television saying, “He seemed like such a nice man.” She’d never known him at all, the man who had been in her life one way or another for twenty-seven years. The idea that she could have been so oblivious to the sleeping danger was almost as unsettling as his capacity for evil.
Almost but not quite.
Reggie believed she was weak, able to be manipulated in his games like a pawn. Cowboy was a block ahead, an unlikely knight in shining armor, but perhaps a stroke of luck. He’d take her to Brightwater, to Quincy where she could find refuge while coming up with a plan. It was time to gain control of the chessboard. She had to catch this guy.
Chapter Four
ARCHER SIDESTEPPED A dubious sidewalk splatter. Vegas lost its glitz and glamor in the harsh light of day. This morning, the strip drained him. He’d cut out of Sal’s Diner fast, hating goodbyes. There was no point pining over red-haired strangers on their wedding day. Although Freckles’ gorgeous face would stick with him for a long time, the memory tinged with an unfamiliar and melancholy regret.
Jesus. He rubbed a hand over his brow, kneading his temples. What was he doing with his life? Yeah, sure, wrangling had its good parts, hanging out with horses for one, plus spending the day outdoors. After that it mostly boiled down to keeping city slickers from spooking the animals. He often got lucky with an attractive tourist, but was this how he wanted to be living in ten years?
No.
He needed more—but what? His duffel bag was still in the back of his cab. He’d wandered through a few casinos last night before hooking up with Crystal and Stormy. Another night like that wasn’t in the cards, not with the memory of Freckles branded into his brain.
Soon she’d be married to some lucky bastard. Good for her. She’s the kind of woman to fall in forever love with. That kind of idea normally sent him running in the opposite direction, but with the right girl, who knew? Maybe settling down could be fun. In fact, it didn’t have to be settling at all, but the start of a bigger, lifelong adventure.
Amazing how a cup of strong coffee, French toast, bacon, and a silver-eyed woman could change a man’s outlook.
A drop of rain splattered on the nape of his neck. Time to duck into the 7-Eleven on the corner—no point suffering the long drive home without a well-stocked supply of junk food—but he needed a hat if the ominous clouds overhead let loose. He walked to the open-air parking lot across the street, popped the truck’s lock, and grabbed the John Deere cap from the passenger seat, before turning sharply to scan the half-crowded sidewalk. Strange. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled like he was being watched. He chuckled and shook his head. Unless Stormy and Great Uncle Sam hunted him down, the lack of sleep and leftover hangover were making him jumpy.
He jogged across the street, ducked inside the convenience store, and grabbed a pack of beef jerky, a sandwich, corn nuts, four king-sized candy bars, and a two-liter bottle of Coke. That should hold him over, for a few hours anyway. People always asked where he put it and his typical response was to raise an insinuating eyebrow. The truth was, he ate whatever the hell he wanted and his body kept the same rangy physique typical to all the Kane men. He wasn’t as tall as his two big brothers, but at six feet, no complaints.
When he stepped back outside, the weather had turned well and truly foul. Rain in the desert? Now he’d really seen everything. The torrent pissed into gutters, splashing his jeans as he crossed the street. He leapt into the cab of his truck, tossed the plastic bag of goodies on the seat and started the engine.
The radio played Willie Nelson, “On the Road Again.” Good ol’ Willie, there’s a guy who knew what’s what. Archer put the truck in reverse as an unexpected pang struck. Freckles might be saying “I do” to her lucky bastard right now.
Maybe, someday, he’d be a lucky bastard too.
He glanced in the rearview mirror and started to reverse, slamming the brake when someone lightly tapped his window. A person stood beside the truck, in the pouring rain. And not just any person. Freckles, red curls plastered to the sides of her face, as white as the wedding dress she wore. What the hell was she doing out in this weather?
He threw the truck in park and jumped out, tearing off his jacket to hold it over her head like a poor man’s umbrella.
“Hey there, C-c-cowboy.” Freckles didn’t stutter. Her teeth chattered. This wasn’t the time to ask what was going on. Her stare held enough surprisingly wild recklessness to make his heart pound, even as it clenched.
“You can’t stay out in this rain.” He got her settled into the passenger seat before jogging back to the driver’s side to start the engine and blast the heat.
She pushed the wet lock of hair from her face. “Bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here.”
“The thought crossed my mind.” He smiled in spite of himself. “But first, are you okay?”
“The weather turned fast but I’m more or less f-fine,” she said, as if testing out the words and seeming to realize they were true. “This is going to sound crazy, but hear me out, please. I need a ride.”
His brows shot up even as his stomach sank.
“To the chapel?” Christ, what next? A request to walk her down the aisle?
“No, Brightwater.”
“Brightwater?” he repeated blankly. That set him back a bit. “My town? Why?”
“I’m Eden.” She held up her hand. “Eden Bankcroft-Kew.”
“Eden.” He cocked his head. She certainly did look like a piece of paradise. He almost added a habitual wink, but something checked him. Freckles—Eden—didn’t seem to need or want the flirty version of himself. “Archer Kane.” His grip enclosed her small hand and he pressed tight, as if able to infuse warmth into her skin. Her name niggled in the back of his mind. “Bankcroft, huh?”
“Quincy Bankcroft is my first cousin on my mother’s side. He recently moved to Brightwater. Are you acquainted?”
Freckles had relations in the Brightwater Valley? The muscles in his stomach knotted as his chest warmed. “No, but everyone knows he bought the biggest house in the county.”
“Yes! That’s it. The Dales.” She shot him a swift look before redirecting her gaze out the windshield. “He emailed me real-estate photos last month. A lovely old estate.”
“It’s practically a castle.” He kept the truck idling in neutral and softened his voice. “You should have asked me for a ride at the diner.”
“I could have, but discovering you were from Brightwater seemed too good to be true . . . and then the words didn’t come fast enough. What you said, about how my fiancé should treat me . . .” She frowned, shaking her head. “Turns out he’s not a good man.”
“No wedding?” He kept his features outwardly calm, but inwardly, tension radiated through his back.
“No wedding.”
She filled him in on the cheating fiancé situation in short, unadorned sentences that left his blood boiling. He gripped the steering wheel, imagining it was that sack of shit’s neck.
“What a rat bastard,” Archer said grimly. He’d like nothing more than to track this Reggie down and give him a hard lesson in how to treat a lady. It’s not as if he was Captain Chivalry, but sleeping with one woman while marrying another was the lowest sort of low. Instead, he tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, wanting to move his hand to her brow and erase the worry lines. “I’ll take you to Brightwater, and promise to do whatever is in my power to help you succeed.”