by Cindy Kirk
“Doesn’t that seem a bit bold to you?”
“The early bird gets the worm.”
“Yeah, and the early worm gets eaten.”
Rachel merely shot her a saucy smile. When she started across the room, Shannon hurried to catch up. Rachel looked adorable in her black skinny jeans and a color-block sweater. Shannon had chosen a wrap dress of emerald green but wondered if she should have worn pants tonight instead.
The two men speaking with Quinn were strangers. Shannon had heard through the singles grapevine that both were unattached and each owned large ranches in central Texas.
She and Rachel had almost reached the men, when she felt a hand on her arm. She paused but Rachel continued on without her, obviously wanting dibs on the cowboy of her choice.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Shannon turned and immediately found herself drowning in the liquid depths of Oliver’s blue eyes.
“Hello, Oliver.”
He looked terrific in dark trousers and a gray shirt. He smelled terrific. Not a scent she recognized but it was nice, very nice. And the spot where his hand now rested on her arm sent waves of heat throughout her body.
“You look lovely.” His gaze traveled all the way down from her face to the tips of her heeled boots. “You should wear that color more often.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Get off the personal, she told herself. “How did Ollie do when you dropped him off at your mother’s?”
Josephine had been thrilled when Oliver had asked her to watch Ollie overnight. It would be the first time the toddler had spent the night since arriving in Horseback Hollow. Though Oliver hadn’t appeared concerned, Shannon was worried.
A troubled look appeared in his eyes. “He cried. I felt like a heel walking out the door and leaving him there.”
“I wonder how he’s doing.”
“Better. I called before I came in. Mum said they were playing with his trucks.” Oliver expelled a breath. “Bedtime may be difficult.”
Shannon had gotten into the habit of rocking Ollie to sleep at night. She knew she should probably just put him in his crib—or cot as Oliver liked to call it—and let him cry. But he’d been through so much in his young life, and the closeness seemed to comfort him. “Did you tell your mother he likes to be rocked to sleep?”
“I did.” His lips tightened. “I got the feeling she thought it unnecessary.”
When someone took her empty glass and handed her another Crazy Coyote, Shannon accepted it automatically. “I hope she at least gives it a try.”
“I hope so, as well.”
“What are you two talking about?” Jude stopped beside them, one arm looped around Gabi’s shoulders. “You look way too serious.”
“Nothing important,” Oliver said smoothly.
“Those Crazy Coyotes pack a punch,” Gabi said to Shannon. “Watch yourself.”
Shannon glanced down, surprised to find the second drink in her hand. “I will. But I’m safe anyway. Rachel is the designated driver.”
“Rachel?” Gabi glanced curiously at Oliver. “You two didn’t come together?”
“Nope,” Shannon said, taking a gulp of her drink.
Gabi frowned. “How odd.”
“Not so odd, sweetheart.” Jude smiled. “Shannon works for Oliver. They’re not dating.”
Though she couldn’t have said it better herself, for some reason the words stung.
The fact that Oliver merely sipped his glass of wine, his eyes dark and unreadable, only made it worse.
Time to seek out Rachel and those two gorgeous cowboys. Men who’d grown up in Texas and would stay in Texas. One of them was bound to be just the kind of man she was looking for.
But as Shannon crossed the room, she found her mind drifting to the two men she couldn’t have, one a handsome charmer with dark hair and wicked blue eyes, the other a miniversion of the first, a little boy with a toothy grin who called her “Mama.”
* * *
Oliver watched Shannon flirt and laugh with a tall blond-haired cowboy at every house on the progressive dinner circuit. The evening was coming to a close, and by the way the guy was looking at Shannon, baked Alaska wasn’t the only thing he wanted for dessert this evening.
He’d started the evening with a glass of wine but had since switched to water. Not Shannon.
In addition to dessert, Christopher and his fiancée, Kinsley, had made a variety of after-dinner drinks available to their guests.
Not only had Shannon drank a couple of Crazy Coyote Margaritas earlier, she’d enjoyed wine with dinner and had another glass in her hand now. The cowboy, Oliver noted, had switched to coffee.
Though Oliver told himself Shannon wasn’t his concern, there was something about the man he didn’t like. When they’d been introduced, he’d noticed an arrogant immaturity, a meanness that he hid quite well behind a charming smile.
“Your nanny and the cowboy look like they’re having a good time,” Jensen observed, coming to stand beside him and noting the direction of his gaze.
“Her name is Shannon.” Even as he spoke with his brother, his gaze remained focused on her. He saw her glance around as if searching for someone. “She’s looking for Rachel.”
“Rachel left. I heard her tell Kinsley she wasn’t feeling well.”
“She was Shannon’s ride home.”
“Rachel probably assumed you’d take her home.” Jensen took a sip of wine, gazed up at his brother. “Or the cowboy.”
Oliver’s lips tightened. “I don’t like the way he’s looking at her.”
“You mean like she’s a piece of meat and he hasn’t eaten in a week?”
“Excellent summation.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
Oliver exhaled a ragged breath and turned away. “Nothing. Shannon’s personal life is her business. Not mine.”
That feeling lasted until it was time to leave and he headed toward his car. Most of the others had already left, but he’d stayed behind to speak with Chris about the work of the Fortune Foundation.
There was a shiny red pickup truck parked not far from his car. As Oliver drew closer to his car, voices resounded in the still night air.
He realized one of those voices was Shannon’s. Oliver stopped and listened, his fingers on his key fob.
“I told you no.”
There was frustration in her voice. Anger, too. And fear?
“C’mon, you’ve been teasin’ me all night. No need to play the shy virgin.”
“I don’t want you to touch me. No. Wesley, stop.”
Oliver saw red. Not even conscious of covering the last few feet to the truck, he jerked the door open and yanked the cowboy off Shannon.
Taken by surprise, the man fell to the ground with a hard thud.
“Are you okay?” he asked Shannon, her eyes too bright and her face pale.
She nodded, her lips trembling.
The cowboy was now on his feet, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “What the hel—”
Oliver took a step toward the man. He wasn’t a street fighter but he had displayed a talent for boxing in his younger years. He resisted—but barely—the urge to tear the man apart. “When a lady says no, she means no.”
The man’s mouth turned sulky. “We were just havin’ us a little fun.”
“When a lady says no, she means no,” Oliver repeated, his words like ice.
By now Shannon had scrambled from the car and moved so that she stood behind him.
“I don’t have a beef with you.” Wesley raked a hand through his shaggy blond hair. His gaze slid to Shannon. “Didn’t mean no disrespect.”
Oliver watched as Wesley turned, jumped back in his truck and roared off.
“There goes my ride.”
Oliver whirled and gave an incredulous laugh. “You’re upset he’s not driving you home?”
“It was a joke.” Shannon offered a shaky smile. “A poor one.”
He extended his hand to her. “Let me take you home.”
“He wouldn’t listen to me.” Her lips began to tremble in earnest now. Tears welled in her eyes. “I think if you hadn’t come along, he might have...” She faltered, her breath coming in gasps. “He might have—”
Suddenly Oliver’s arms wrapped around her and he pulled her to him, holding her tight while her tears drenched his shoulder. “He didn’t. Shh. You’re okay.”
The words were soft and gentle, as soothing as the ones he said to Ollie when the boy cried. Thankfully, the man hadn’t injured her. Or had he?
“Did he hurt you?” Oliver asked abruptly, holding her at arm’s length, his gaze desperately searching her still-moist eyes.
“My wrist.” She held up her right hand and he could see the red marks from pressure. “But no, I’m okay.”
She trembled all over now; even her teeth chattered. “Could you hold me again? J-just for a s-second. I’m s-s-so c-cold.”
“Certainly.”
With great gentleness, Oliver wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Her body fit perfectly against his.
They stood there in the quiet, with the full moon shining overhead and the crickets chirping, until the trembling and the tears subsided.
She was the one who broke the connection, sniffling and swiping at her eyes as she took a step back. “I—I’m sorry.”
“He’s the one who should be sorry,” Oliver said, a grim note in his voice. “And he will be. I doubt Quinn will want to do business with him once he hears about this incident.”
“Oh, Oliver, please don’t tell Quinn.” She lifted her pleading gaze to his. “I shouldn’t have kissed him. It—it gave him ideas and—”
“You listen to me, Shannon Singleton, and listen carefully. There is no excuse for a man to force himself on a woman. You said no. You said stop. I heard you and he heard you, too. He chose not to listen.”
“He wouldn’t listen,” she said morosely. “No one ever listens.”
“Not people like him.” Oliver pressed his lips together and fought for control over his anger. “I know his type. All charm and full of compliments, underneath cold calculation. He saw you, he wanted you, and by God he was going to have you...regardless of your feelings on the matter.”
Shannon pressed a hand to her belly. “I feel sick.”
Without warning, she sprinted to the bushes and was violently ill.
When she returned, looking pale as death, he handed her a precisely folded handkerchief.
A ghost of a smile lifted her lips. “Where’d this come from?”
“My pocket,” he told her. “A gentleman never leaves home without a handkerchief.”
His words had the desired effect of bringing a smile to her lips.
“I believe—” Oliver held out his arm to her “—it’s time to head home.”
She met his gaze. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Chapter Ten
Shannon kept her eyes closed during the trip home. She couldn’t believe what a mess she’d made of the evening. For a second, before Oliver had pulled Wes off her, she feared she wouldn’t be able to stop him.
There had been something in the cowboy’s gaze only seconds before Oliver had arrived that had chilled her to the bone. For a second white-hot terror resurfaced and threatened to overwhelm. Nothing happened, she reminded herself. Still, she shivered.
“You’re shaking.” Beneath the calm, well-modulated tone, Shannon heard the concern. “Shall I turn on the heater?”
“The temperature is fine.” Even as she said the words, her teeth began to chatter.
Oliver shook his head. He pulled the car to the side of the country road. Reaching over into the backseat, he grabbed a jacket. “Put this on.”
She didn’t argue. Shannon shrugged into the cashmere coat and let the comforting warmth surround her. The exquisite softness coupled with the faint scent of Oliver’s cologne that clung to the jacket soothed her jangled nerves. By the time they’d gone a couple of miles, the trembling stilled.
Oliver had been amazing; a white knight riding—well, more like running—to her rescue. He’d stood strong against Wesley, stared the cowboy straight in the eye and told him what he did—what he’d been about to do—was wrong.
Now, being with Oliver in the luxurious confines of the car with the strains of classical music playing on the radio, Shannon felt as if nothing could ever harm her. Not as long as Oliver was with her.
When they pulled into the driveway, relief washed over her. She was home.
Shannon wasn’t sure exactly when she’d started thinking of the old ranch house as home, but it didn’t matter. This was another place she felt safe.
“Thank you, Oliver.” She unbuckled her belt and shifted to face him. “For everything.”
He surprised her by leaning close and cupping her face in his broad palm. “I’ll never let anything—or anyone—hurt you.”
The fierceness of his tone was at odds with his gentle touch.
Her heart thudded against her chest so loudly it was a wonder he couldn’t hear.
Or perhaps he did. Oliver’s hand dropped away and he sat back. “Let’s go inside. You’ve had a long day.”
When he opened her car door, Shannon stepped out, slipping her hands into the pockets of the jacket.
His palm rested lightly against the small of her back as they traversed the short distance to the house. Barnaby met them at the door, wagging his tail and offering several welcoming woofs before racing outside.
While the corgi’s welcome had been loud and exuberant, without Ollie, the house seemed too quiet.
Seconds later, Oliver let Barnaby back inside. The corgi did his best to herd Shannon deeper into the house, but her feet remained firmly rooted in the foyer. She knew she was stalling, but couldn’t bear the thought of going to her bedroom and being alone with her thoughts.
“How are Ollie and your mother getting along?” she asked, conscious of Oliver’s concerned gaze riveted on her.
“Step into the kitchen and have a seat. I’ll tell you everything I know.” Oliver gestured to the table. “It’s a fascinating tale.”
The kind understanding in his eyes told her he knew exactly why she was hesitating. Her heart swelled in gratitude.
“I want to hear it all. He’s been on my mind all evening.” Right now, it felt good to focus on someone other than herself.
Oliver crossed the room, flipped on the lights in the kitchen and then turned back to Shannon. “May I get you a cup of tea? I have chamomile infusion. It has no caffeine. According to Amelia, drinking it before bedtime practically guarantees happy dreams.”
Though Shannon’s stomach was still unsettled, he looked so eager to comfort her, she couldn’t refuse. “I’d love some.”
As Oliver proceeded to fill the kettle, Shannon finally got her feet to move. She glanced longingly at the sofa, but her mouth held a foul taste.
“I’m going to freshen up a bit,” she told Oliver.
“Take your time. The tea will need to steep.”
She felt his gaze follow her as she headed to the bathroom. After brushing her teeth, she splashed her face with cold water and got rid of the raccoon smudges below her eyes. Obviously waterproof mascara wasn’t the same as tear-proof.
Shannon pinched her cheeks to add color to the pallor, then sat on the edge of the tub and took off her boots and tights. Her legs were bare when she padded back into the living room. She hung up his cashmere storm jacket then took a seat at the table.
Oliver kept the conversatio
n light until he handed her a steaming mug emblazoned with Don’t Mess With Texas.
Wrapping her hands around the ceramic, she gave him a grateful smile while he sat across from her.
“You look as if you’re feeling better.”
“I am.” Even as she said the words, Shannon realized they were true. She rested her elbows on the table and fixed her gaze on Oliver. “Now, tell me all about Ollie’s evening.”
“According to Mum, it was a bit of a rocky road at first. He kept crying out for ‘Mama.’” Oliver’s brows pulled together. “It’s difficult for me to believe he meant Diane. From everything I heard, she hadn’t spent much time with him those last few months. And she’s been gone for some time now.”
“He calls me ‘Mama’ sometimes,” Shannon admitted. “I think it’s a term he uses for women in general.”
“I wasn’t aware...” Oliver rubbed his chin. “That explains a lot.”
“Did he finally settle down? Have fun?”
“Ah, yes, indeed he did.” Oliver seemed to shake off whatever thoughts had pulled him away and refocused on her.
“Tell me,” she prompted. “I want deets.”
“Deets?” He lifted a brow.
She laughed. “Details.”
“Ollie ate well,” Oliver told her, sipping his tea. “Mum said he appeared to enjoy all the attention. He asked for Barnaby numerous times.”
Hearing the sound of his name, the corgi rose from his dog bed, stretched and then moved to Shannon.
“Good boy.” She patted his head and gave him a brief scratch behind his ears.
Oliver watched the interaction with interest, smiling when the dog finally left Shannon to mosey over to him.
“I checked with my mother right before I left the party. She said Ollie went to sleep—after being rocked, I might add—and was sleeping like an angel.” Oliver’s gaze took on a faraway look. “She told me many times how much she enjoyed having him over.”
“Sounds like you may have a babysitter for life.”
He lifted the mug of tea, appearing to consider the statement. “While I’m in Horseback Hollow, anyway.”
Shannon’s heart plummeted. It was so easy to forget that Oliver didn’t belong here, to think this was his home. To imagine him being here forever. With her.