Breaking Emily's Rules

by Heatherly Bell

  “My whole family is shamed of me,” Nika continued. “And not one will come to wedding.”

  “Visa trouble?”

  “They say now I’m capitalist whore.”

  “I thought it was pig.”

  “For me, they say whore.”

  “It’s my fault. This whole thing is my fault.” Greg waved a hand in the air as if he would dismiss any other possibility.

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Emily cast a significant look in his direction.

  Nika seemed to ignore that comment and dabbed at her eyes. “Baby first is not traditional Russian Orthodox.”

  Neither, Emily assumed, was the kitchen floor, but that hadn’t stopped Nika.

  “It means a lot you forgive. I don’t have right, but you come to my wedding?” Nika asked.

  Brain freeze. Speechless. Words would be nice right now. Ones that could convey shock and disgust. Oh, and outrage. That was a good one. But no, wait. She had to be kidding.

  Say something. “Um, what?”

  “Please.” Nika’s brown eyes pinched, as if they would start fake leaking again.

  “But—I—” It was true Nika didn’t have any US friends. Women didn’t trust her. Except for Emily, and look how well that had worked out. No. No way could she do this. Nika didn’t deserve Emily’s forgiveness. Going to the wedding was never going to happen.

  The waiter appeared again at Emily’s elbow with another glass of wine. “From the gentleman at the bar. He wants to know if you’ll accept this drink from him.”

  “Thanks.” Emily tried a smile in the direction of the man who, for the love of God, looked to be about her father’s age.

  “You certainly are popular tonight,” Greg said.

  “Some people like me, Greg. Because I’m nice. And loyal.” And now she was beginning to sound like a dog.

  “And there is the dress.” Greg’s mouth turned up in a smug smile. “I honestly thought this might be too difficult for you, and I warned Nika.”

  Too difficult?

  Emily opened her mouth just as her phone buzzed. Rachel.

  How’s it going? Remember, you are Emily Parker, wild woman!

  Yes, she was, so why was she having such trouble telling these two off?

  “Oh boy.” Emily stared at her phone.

  “What is it?” Nika said.

  “An emergency. Sorry, I have to go.”

  “Seriously? What kind of emergency could an event planner have?” Greg said.

  He had never respected her work. As far as he’d been concerned, she just booked events and everything else magically happened.

  “There’s a sale on doves, if you must know! And if I don’t get mine tonight it might be too late.” She stood, ignoring Greg’s confused look.

  “I’ll call you!” Nika said as Emily walked away.

  If either Molly or Rachel could see her now, they’d probably give her thirty lashings for sheer stupidity. Speaking of doormats. Emily could have created a scene, splashed water on pregnant Nika and hot coffee in Greg’s lap. And then when Nika cried real tears and not that horrible reality TV–level acting, well, Emily would just harden her heart and walk out the door with her head held high.

  Unfortunately, her hot little dress wasn’t made for driving in a truck, and Emily felt the cool breeze of night air hit her ass as she climbed in, pulling down on the hem of her dress to preserve her dignity. She stuck her key in the ignition and then hit the steering wheel with her fist so hard her horn went off. A man a few cars away jumped and when his eyes fixated on her, he gave her a dirty look.

  Emily honked again then rolled down her window as he passed nearby. “That’s right. I honked my horn. Do you want to do something about it?”

  The man quirked an eyebrow at her before he hurried into the restaurant.

  That felt kind of nice. Powerful. And a little stupid. But maybe crazy stupid was what she needed tonight because she was certainly dressed for it. Rachel was right in that Emily needed to loosen up a little bit. Let go a teensy bit. Emily started up the truck and headed toward the Silver Saddle. She hadn’t been back there since the night she and Molly caused a bar fight, but at least Molly wouldn’t be there tonight. She’d gone to San Francisco for a night out on the town with a friend. Maybe it was time for the other Parker girl to make an appearance. Show everyone how much living she’d been doing these days. Flying the friendly skies. No more hiding in the shadows.

  Greg was getting married, and it was amazing how much that didn’t bother her. It was all she could do to call up her righteous indignation. But the baby. That bothered her. She’d wanted kids. A lot. And now Greg and Nika, who’d done such a bad thing, were ahead of her on that end. It wasn’t fair.

  But it wasn’t a race, as Grammy liked to say.

  The parking lot was practically empty, a few straggler cars belonging to some other sad and lonely people who had found themselves with nowhere to go on a weeknight. She could go home to her prison loft, but she’d been in that cage too long. The world had kept revolving without her, traitor that it was.

  Time to rejoin the merry-go-round.

  Jimmy was behind the bar. “Hey, you. Haven’t seen you for a while. What’s up?”

  Emily took pains to properly sit on the stool and not let everyone in the bar see half her ass. “I’ve been around.”

  “Heard you’re taking flying lessons.” Jimmy winked.

  “Yep, that’s right. Soon enough I’ll be a pilot and I can take all of you on a ride.”

  “Not me.” Jimmy slid a Coke toward Emily. “I hate heights.”

  Emily pushed the Coke back. “Let me have a tequila shot.”

  “But it’s not Saturday night.” Jimmy deadpanned.

  She was that predictable. “I’m trying something new on for size.” She fished in her purse and laid a twenty dollar bill on the bar. “Keep ’em coming.”

  He poured a shot and slid it in her direction. “Weekday drinking? You are getting adventurous. You’re giving me your keys, I hope you know.”

  “Yep. And you need to talk to Trish. She’s becoming one of those Bridezillas.”

  “Oh, shit. What now?”

  “She wants doves released after the ceremony! Doves! That’s so sad. Do you know what’s going to happen to them after you release them and they fly away? Death, that’s what! I won’t kill animals at weddings! We could do a chicken because at least they won’t go far. And speaking of chickens, you shouldn’t be one, Jimmy. Go up in the plane with me. Maybe you can impress Trish the Bridezilla.”

  “By going up in one of those teeny tiny planes? What the hell for?”

  “Because you might like it,” said a smooth and deep voice behind Emily.

  That kind of voice made her shimmy and shine. Emily turned to see Stone. Of course. That voice should be bottled and sold as an aphrodisiac. For all she knew, he haunted this place every night since she’d met him here. Picked up a girl or two or three. Ones that didn’t have rules. She gave him the once-over, her gaze drifting over the hard body dressed in jeans and a Henley shirt.

  “I had to fly once on a small commercial plane and dry heaved into a bag the entire time. I don’t call that fun.” Jimmy went to take care of another customer.

  Stone eased up on the stool next to Emily. “Hey.”

  Emily scooted her body as far away from him as she could, without falling off her stool. “Look who it is. The guy who turned me down. You’re all this night needed.”

  “Bad day?”

  “Try bad year.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Heck no.” She slammed her shot.

  “That bad?” His eyebrow quirked up.

  She, Emily Parker, was making men’s eyebrows quirk up. Two in one night. Oh, hell
yeah.

  “I did something stupid.”

  “Find someone else to take you up on The Rules already?” He grinned. “Because that would be stupid.”

  “No! Listen, mister, I don’t go around offering those terms to just anyone.”

  “That’s encouraging. So what did you do?” His eyes narrowed. “Is this about your ex?”

  “Of course you know about that. People in this town talk too much.”

  “They do.” He nodded.

  “Fine. Everyone in town already knows, so you might as well, too. He cheated on me. With my friend. The cleaning lady.” It was the first time she’d said the words out loud to a man. When a man chooses any other woman over his fiancée, what does that say about the fiancée? That she wasn’t anything special. Not worth keeping.

  “The cleaning lady.”

  “She’s Russian. Gorgeous model-type, about six feet. Huge gazongas. I mean, if you like that kind of thing.”

  “You must have trusted him a lot. Unless he’s in the very small male population that doesn’t appreciate huge gazongas.”

  “I got her the job! She wanted to stay in the country, and I was her only friend. I should have seen it coming. I’m an idiot.”

  “You’re not the idiot. The guy sounds like an ass. So does she.”

  “I’m too nice. That’s the problem.”

  Jimmy came back and poured her another shot.

  “Is that what he said?” Stone pushed the second shot away from her.

  She pulled it back. Slammed it. “He didn’t have to. Do you know I think I actually said ‘sorry’ when I interrupted them? On the kitchen floor, of all places.” These shots had turned out to be some kind of truth serum.

  “The kitchen floor?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Why? Doesn’t that sound erotic enough?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “The kitchen table, maybe. It would have to be sturdy though.”

  Dang, apparently the man had given it some thought. “Molly would have burned the house down. Anyway, that’s why I’ve been changing. No more Miss Doormat.”

  “I like you the way you are. And here’s the thing. I don’t see you as all that perfect.”

  She sat up straighter. “Are you here to cheer me up or insult me?”

  He cleared his throat. “Let’s start with your sense of balance. Every time we’re up in the plane, I’m grateful the cockpit is klutz-proof.”

  “Ha! You’re funny.”

  Jimmy poured her another shot. Stone waved him off.

  “You’re not drinking?” Emily said.

  “Nah. Never know if somebody might need a ride.” He slid her a look. A look that said he was talking about her.

  “I already asked you for a ride. You said no. Remember?”

  He grunted. “Yeah.”

  Emily heard some whooping in the back corner of the bar. Sounded almost like—but it couldn’t be. This night might finally be taking a turn. “Hey, Jimmy, don’t tell me Bertha’s back.”

  “She is, indeed.” Jimmy smiled and brought her over another draft.

  Stone gave him a dirty look and Jimmy lifted a shoulder.

  “Three years, and she’s finally back up and running. Good ol’ Bertha.”

  “Bertha?” Stone asked.

  “The mechanical bull in the corner.” Emily had been on Bertha once. She’d made it four seconds before being thrown off. The record was ninety, held by none other than Jimmy. Bertha was fierce. Bertha was ruthless.

  And Bertha would be Emily’s tonight.

  Emily climbed off the stool and rubbed her hands together. “I think I’m up for another chance at her.”

  “Tonight?” Jimmy asked. “But you’re not exactly dressed—and the last time you tried—”

  She waved him off and kept walking toward the back of the bar. “I can’t let a little thing like what I’m wearing stop me. I’ve let too many things stop me in the past. Oh, it’s too fast. Oh, I might fall. Oh, what if I break a nail?”

  “What if you break your arm?” Stone was at her elbow.

  She stopped in her tracks and turned to him, pointing to his chest. “This is one of the many things you don’t know about me. I have strong bones. I drink lots of milk. And I won’t break an arm.”

  “You’ve had three tequila shots tonight, so this isn’t a good idea. You have trouble with your balance on a good day.”

  Maybe, just maybe she could win Bertha over tonight. She could feel it in her bones. Tonight was her night. Because things couldn’t possibly get any worse. It was all uphill from here, and Bertha would see her through. They’d do this together. Two women who’d been through the ringer. Broken, even, but put back together again better than ever.

  The only thing she had to do was figure out how to, uh, straddle the beast and keep her dignity. This would be tricky but, with a little luck, she could manage. Maybe make it to twenty seconds this time.

  Because tonight, anything was possible.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  STONE WAS RELIEVED to find mats all around this beast everyone called Bertha. No stranger to mechanical bulls, he’d ridden one in Texas five years ago for sixty seconds and beat the evening’s high score. But he hadn’t been drinking.

  He wasn’t even sure why he was here, except he’d felt out of sorts all day, gone back to his father’s house and packed up more stuff. He’d finally become sick of staring at the same four walls, Winston following him from room to room with moony eyes. Yeah, Stone got it. Winston missed Dad and Stone was a piss-poor substitute. At eight, he made the decision to wander into the bar on the chance he might find Emily here because, let’s face it, with her there was never a dull moment. This example being much of what he’d come to expect from her. Times ten.

  Her hair was limp tonight, and she wore a skin-tight black dress riding up her thighs. That dress made him sweat. The dress got an A-plus, if he were grading. Which he wasn’t. Instead, somehow, he found himself in the rather ridiculous position of trying to talk Emily out of riding a bull named Bertha.

  Who the hell named a bull Bertha?

  Emily now waited in line for her turn with the bull, which he would refuse to call Bertha. Rider after rider, all men, were thrown off within a few seconds. Stone stayed right behind her. If he couldn’t stop her, at least he’d be nearby for damage control. He only wished he had a first-aid kit with him. Something told him this wouldn’t be pretty.

  “You sure about this?”

  “Oh, yeah, airman.” She saluted, he was sure, simply because she knew how much it annoyed him. “You just stand back and watch.”

  “Listen, let me tell you a few quick things about falling. There’s a right way and a wrong way. If you fall to the—”

  “Oh, look, it’s my turn!”

  He resisted the urge to throw her over his shoulder and haul her out of there because she was a grown woman. A grown woman with a great ass, and he might as well enjoy the show like everyone else would be doing.

  Emily kicked off her high-heeled shoes and climbed the bull. One deliciously curvy leg came down on either side, the dress riding up high. Stone tried not to salivate, but, man, it had been a long time, and he’d had that exact leg recently pressed up against him. The leg looked even better than it had felt. He needed to seriously reconsider this nice-guy scenario and go ahead and take Emily up on her offer.

  That dress was now up to her cheeky ass, sitting tight and covering just enough. Emily kept pulling it down in the front, which made it ride slightly up the back. Every time it did, one of the men in the small group surrounding the bull groaned a little.

  And this all before the ride had even started.

  “You ready?” The operator asked.

  “Hell, yeah!” Emily turned to them. “Let ’er rip.
Hey, guys, I bet I beat Jimmy’s record tonight. Wanna make a bet?”

  “What’s Jimmy’s record?” Stone asked the guy closest to him.

  “Ninety seconds,” the guy said, shaking his head. “Not gonna happen.”

  Jimmy had made his way out from behind the bar and now stood at Stone’s elbow. “Should you be doing this right now?”

  “He’s just afraid I’m gonna take his record. Right, guys?” Emily said.

  “Yeah,” the small crowd echoed, obviously more concerned with watching Emily gyrating on that bull than the honest truth.

  The bull started moving, slowly at first, but within a second, it was moving as fast as any bucking bronco. Emily hung on, to her credit, her blond hair tossed about in waves around her head.

  But not for long.

  Stone didn’t time her, but his educated guess would be three seconds. Emily flew off the bull and landed on the mat, her world-class ass sticking straight up in the air. Mooning the entire group of men.

  For a second, there was nothing but dead silence and slackened jaws.

  Stone turned to the group of men. “If any of you says a word about this to anyone, I’ll personally kick your collective asses.”

  “That goes double for me,” Jimmy said.

  Stone moved quickly after that and squatted at her side, simultaneously blocking everyone else’s view and helping to pull her dress down. “You okay?”

  “I did it!” Emily squealed as he helped her up. She pushed hair out of her eyes.”

  “You did great!” one of the guys called out, earning cheers from the group.

  “And you’re done.” Stone hauled her up in his arms.

  “Wait. I was thinking I might go again.”

  “No.” He proceeded to walk through the bar with her in his arms, earning no small amount of attention from the patrons. Jimmy had gone ahead of them and opened the door.