“You’re always looking out for us. Thanks, Katie.” He glanced around the kitchen.
Tim and Lyle, his two ranch hands, were at the table talking, but there was no sight of the pretty blonde lodger Katie had taken in.
“Where’s the girl?”
Katie glanced back at him as she set the beans on the table. “Claire? She hasn’t come in for dinner yet.”
He frowned. “She realizes chow time isn’t flexible, right?”
“Easy, Wy. Maybe she’s not hungry.”
“And maybe it’s rude not to show up to a dinner you’ve been invited to.”
His sister gave him a matching frown as she passed him on the way back to the kitchen. “You got a bee in your Stetson? If she doesn’t show up it’ll be all right. I can dish up a plate for her and put it in the fridge.”
“That’s not how we do things around here, and it sounds like more work for you.”
“I don’t mind. Though”—she hesitated as she reached for a large knife and began to slice the meatloaf—“I still need to give her the key. I just dropped her off and promised to give it to her at dinner.”
He jumped on it. “I’ll go take it to her.”
“Sit down and eat already, I can take it over to her while you guys are having dinner.”
“I don’t mind.” Hopefully she didn’t hear his stomach just growl.
Why he was insisting on taking the guest the key, he wasn’t sure. But a part of him still nagged to figure out where he might have seen her before.
“I’ll just run it over and come back.” He insisted. “You sit your bottom down and enjoy the food you spent the last hour cooking.”
Katie hesitated and then sighed. “Fine. But you be polite or so help me—”
“I’m always polite.”
She narrowed her eyes. “She’s in cabin one. You know where the keys are?”
“Yeah.” He was already striding out of the kitchen to grab them.
A couple minutes later he stood outside the door of cabin one and delivered two sharp knocks.
Nothing.
No reply, no sound of movement.
Crap.
She could be in the shower. She could be sleeping. She might not even be in there. Or she could be hurt.
Where the hell that last thought came from, who knew, but he couldn’t leave without checking on her now.
He slid the key into the lock and opened the door just enough to peek his head in. His gaze slid immediately to the bed off to the side where, sure enough, she had passed out on top.
She lay on her stomach, one knee drawn up like some fancy ballet move. Her hands were tucked under her cheek, with blonde curls spilling over the red plaid pillowcase.
Unwittingly his gaze slid over the pert curve of her backside. His chest rose with the slow breath he drew in and his blood pumped a little faster.
You’re acting like a damn perv, Wyatt, checking out a sleeping woman.
He dragged his gaze away and stepped fully into the cabin, trying to keep his steps light. The dresser was just a few feet away in the opposite direct. He’d just leave the key on it and be on his way.
There was the faint squeak of the bed springs, before a raspy, “You have three seconds to get the hell out before I put a bullet in you.”
Every muscle in Wyatt’s body went rigid, even as his blood began to pound.
With eyebrows rising toward the roof in shock, he turned slowly to look at her and found himself staring down the barrel of a Glock.
Jesus Christ.
She looked scared out of her mind, gripping a gun like it was her first time. Her hands trembling.
Anger seared through him as he took a step toward the bed. What in the hell was wrong with her?
“You even know how to use that thing, honey?” He kept his tone deliberately calm.
She blinked, most of the fear fleeing from her expression as she seemed to finally recognized him.
“Aim and pull the trigger,” she muttered as she lowered the gun. “It’s not that hard.”
“You ever done it?”
“Sure.” Her gaze slipped away, and he knew she was lying. “Why do you look so angry? I thought everyone out here has a gun.”
“I’m angry because you pointed it at me.” He bit out. “And I can promise you, if we own them, we know how to use them. You don’t even know how to hold a gun correctly.”
“I pointed it at you because I didn’t know it was you. What are you doing sneaking into my cabin anyway?” she demanded, ignoring his comment.
Her cabin? “Last I checked, I own this place.”
“Maybe, but you’re renting it to me.”
“Yeah. We are.” He raised the key up so she could see it. “I was bringing you this and making sure you knew about dinner.”
“I know about dinner.” She set the gun on the table and stood up, her gaze still wary as she came to take the key. “And, thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
Irritation slid through him and he folded his fingers around the key before she could take it. “But you will be in a few hours, and we’re not a McDonalds you can just pop into at any time.”
“I don’t expect you to feed me. It’s fine. I’ll skip a meal, thanks.”
Rude. She was just so damn rude and unappreciative. They didn’t even rent out the cabins this time of year, and his soft-hearted sister had gone out of her way to do it for this unappreciative woman.
What was her name again? Claire?
And, damn it, where the hell did he know her from?
“Where’ve I seen you before Claire?”
She stilled and the flash of panic in her eyes made him know without a doubt he knew her from somewhere.
And her confusing reaction made him realize he might not like the answer.
Chapter Three
“We’ve never met,” Claire struggled to keep her voice calm. “At least not that I remember.”
It was amazing how much he affected her still. She’d convinced herself that the night in Vegas had been a fluke. Too much tequila. But she knew now she’d been wrong. Just being this close to him sent her heart racing and had butterflies taking up residence in her stomach.
He took a step closer, so she had to tilt her head to look up at him.
She drew in a deep breath and was hit with the smell of leather, grass, and a hint of sweat. It wasn’t unpleasant. If anything, it was potently male. Exciting.
“You from around here?”
“Bozeman.” At least that was where she’d called home for the last ten months.
“My sister says you’re in the band that’s playing at the dinner Saturday night?”
“That’s right.” Why was he still here asking questions? She’d skipped dinner so they wouldn’t have to interact any more than they already had.
Yet here he was. In her cabin.
God, she hoped he didn’t figure it out. Didn’t remember the heavily made-up rock singer he’d met in the lounge that night in Vegas. Why would he? It had only been four hours out of their life.
“What’s the name of your band, and what kind of music do you guys play?”
That was a left field question, and yet, maybe not. Her pulse quickened. “Bourbon and Boots. Country. Is there any other kind?”
He grunted. “Thought I might have heard of you, or seen you guys before, but I don’t think so.”
Oh, yeah, he was trying to place her. “Can I have the key? I’d really like to grab a shower and crash.”
Clearly still deep in thought, he gave a distracted nod. He handed her the key and turned, making his way toward the door.
Feeling a little guilty that she’d pulled a gun on him, she said gruffly, “Maybe next time just knock, okay?”
He grunted. “I knocked. You were just sleeping like the dead.”
A wave of unease slid through her. She rarely slept that heavily. Being in that deep of a sleep just left her vulnerable and she was done being vulnerable.
How long had
he been inside the cabin? Had he been watching her? The idea of it sent a confusing mix of anger and warmth through her.
With her arms folded beneath her chest, she watched him head to the door. He paused, turning to glance at her again and tipped his hat.
“You have a good night, Claire. I’ll see you at breakfast. Seven a.m. in the main house. Don’t be late.”
Not a chance would he see her at breakfast.
She waited a few seconds after he left the cabin and then locked the door behind him.
Even though it was a cool night, she felt a little overheated.
Nothing a shower won’t cure. She shook her head and went to check out the bathroom.
*
Despite her intentions to avoid breakfast at the main house, skipping dinner had left her starving by morning.
She brushed her hair and teeth, then exchanged her flannel pajamas for jeans and a lightweight V-neck sweater. She pulled on her socks and boots, and left the cabin a few minutes later.
Each step to the house sent a stab of nerves through her.
“Stop it,” she muttered. “You’re just being paranoid.”
Wyatt hadn’t placed her yet and he probably wouldn’t. Cowboys like him—ones that won rodeos—probably slept with women left and right. She would’ve likely just been another tiny notch on the back on that giant belt buckle he’d been so proud of.
She tilted her chin up and quickened her stride. She wouldn’t spend her weekend living in fear of discovery. It just wasn’t going to happen.
A moment later she knocked on the beautifully carved wood door at the main house.
It was swung open by a young twenty-something man in jeans and a flannel.
“You must be Claire. Heard we had a pretty guest on the ranch and you’d be joining us for breakfast.” He grinned and waved her inside. “Come on in. I’m Lyle.”
“Hi. Yes, I’m Claire. Thanks.” Claire gave a tentative smile and stepped over the threshold.
Pretty guest? Who’d told him that? Somehow she doubted it was Wyatt.
The smell of sausage frying made her stomach rumble and her mouth water. She made a mental note to avoid skipping meals in the future, no matter the reason.
The inside of the main house was just as gorgeous as it was from the outside. They passed through the living room, with two large leather couches—not prissy ones, but burly ones—and several matching high-backed chairs.
The vaulted ceilings were striking with the thick log beams. And the grand, stone fireplace sent a vision through her mind. Her curled up with a cup of hot chocolate in front of a cozy fire during the dead of winter.
Lyle led her into the dining area that was just off of the living room. The thick, wood table had eight chairs around it, three were already taken by three other cowboys—one of them being Wyatt.
Her gaze automatically swept to him. His attention was only on her, and she stumbled at the steady perusal. Heat sizzled through her and gooseflesh rose on her arms.
Why the hell did he have the ability to make her so unsettled and so aware of him?
“Have a seat, Claire,” Katie called out as she strode into the room, a plate full of biscuits in one hand and a bowl full of scrambled eggs in the other. “Sausage gravy is nearly done.”
Oh, God. Biscuits and gravy. Her stomach growled and again as she slid into the seat furthest from Wyatt.
When was the last time she’d let herself eat such amazing comfort food? She rarely went out to eat, and she sure couldn’t cook that type of thing herself. She did great at baking sweets, but not so much with real food.
Katie returned again with a deep bowl full of the sausage gravy and then sat down next to Claire.
“Lyle, pass her the thermos of coffee,” Katie ordered.
“Hope you like it strong.” Lyle moved to pour some into the brown ceramic mug in front of her. “It’ll put hair on your chest.
“Thank you. Strong is the only way I drink it.”
“You’re going to love these.” The man nearest to her offered her the plate of biscuits. “I’m Tim.”
“Thanks, Tim.” She smiled and plucked two biscuits off the plate and set them on the one in front of her. “They look and smell incredible. What brand is this?”
“Brand?” Katie’s brows drew together in a scowl and she looked just like her brother. “These are from scratch.”
“Oh, wow.” Claire sighed. “Anytime I’ve made biscuits they’ve come in those tubes where you peel the side away. You know?”
“Oh, right.” Tim grinned. “The ones that sound like a gun going off when they pop.”
“That’s about how I cook, too,” Lyle agreed, laughing and ladling his biscuit with gravy.
The last bit of tension and apprehension left her and she laughed. Her smile died when her gaze slid to Wyatt’s again. He stared at her with his narrowed eyes. She knew she was being weighed and judged, and had clearly come up lacking.
Whatever. She hadn’t grown up on a ranch with a nurturing mother who’d taught her how cook and sew like Katie probably had.
If Wyatt Marshall wanted to judge her then let him. It was no skin off her back.
She tilted her head and gave him a hard stare, before taking a bite of biscuits and gravy. Then any resentment was forgotten as she about died and went to heaven.
*
Wyatt’s censure switched to mild amusement as Claire closed her eyes and chewed her breakfast. Clearly she was enjoying those biscuits and gravy and made no attempt to hide the fact.
A moment before, though, she’d been blatantly irritated with him. He’d seen it in the defiant glance she’d given him. And weird as it might be, irritation was a cute look on her.
It was her eyes. Dark and doe-like. They reminded him of someone else’s eyes. Someone he’d spent nearly the last year trying to forget. He’d finally figured out late last night just who she reminded him of.
He’d heard everyone had a twin and if that was true, then Claire’s was a woman who went by the name of Sin who sang in in a Vegas lounge.
Wyatt dove his fork back into a gravy-smothered biscuit as his thoughts drifted to a different woman and a night nearly a year ago in Vegas.
“So Katie tells us you sing, Claire?” Tim asked.
“I do. I’m with a band called Bourbon and Boots. We’ll be performing Saturday night.”
“Oh, hey, I’m familiar with them.” Lyle nodded. “Saw you guys last summer at a rodeo in Spokane. My family’s from there.”
Spokane rodeo? Wyatt narrowed his gaze on her. He’d been there more than once. Maybe he had seen her perform and that was why she seemed familiar. It had to be more than just those eyes.
Lyle shook his head. “Only, now that I think about it, I remember the singer being an older lady.”
“She was.” Claire dropped her gaze. “I only joined the band a few months ago when Lucy had to quit.”
“Ah, gotcha. Well, I haven’t heard you sing, yet, but you’re certainly prettier.”
Irritation slid through Wyatt at the younger ranch hand’s blatant flirting. Why it should bother him, who knew. He had no interest in the blonde musician. Musicians had gone onto his hypothetical do-not-get-involved-with list after Vegas. And the one sitting across from him seemed like nothing but high-maintenance trouble.
Claire seemed to have little interest in Lyle’s flirting, judging by her curt thank you and dropped gaze. Maybe she was even a little uncomfortable.
Wyatt shot the ranch hand a warning look and Lyle’s smile faded, before he cleared his throat and tucked into his breakfast.
“How’s the food?” Katie asked, glancing at Claire. “Everything okay? You need some pepper? Salt?”
“Not a chance. Your biscuits and gravy are amazing as is, Katie.” Claire seemed to relax again at the subject change.
“Thank you, Claire.” Katie preened. “I’m glad you like them. The guys seem to, but men eat just about anything I’ve realized. Except vegetables. Like arguing with
a toddler sometimes.”
“I’ll try and be better, Katie.” Tim sounded a little too enthusiastic with his proclamation.
Wyatt knew the ranch hand had nursed a bit of a crush on Katie for a while but, fortunately, had recently fallen hard for one of the Keen sisters in town.
Crushes on people one worked with could get messy. Add in the fact Katie was Wyatt’s sister, and it was forbidden. His sister was too sweet and a little too naive when it came to men.
Breakfast wrapped up shortly after and Wyatt watched as Claire helped clear the table. She laughed at something his sister said, and her whole face lit up.
Desire, unwanted and unwarranted, blindsided him.
Damn it. He didn’t want to be attracted to her.
Even as he thought it, Wyatt couldn’t pry his gaze from her. From the top of her curly blonde head, to the curvy bottom tucked in those jeans.
Yes, she was pretty, he thought grimly, and maybe he could acknowledge it. But it didn’t mean he had to like noticing, or like the way his body was starting to react every time she came near him.
Irritated with himself, he threw his napkin on the table and went to bring his plate to the kitchen.
“Need to get some things done this morning.” He tipped his hat at the ladies. “See you gals later.”
*
Crap.
Claire strode back into her cabin with fists clenched. Well that breakfast had gone about as well as expected.
Not long after Wyatt had left, she’d excused herself, declining Katie’s offer to go into town and watch the parade. Maybe a day of hibernating in a cute cabin was just what she needed.
She closed the door and made her way to the bed, plopping down on it and folding her arms above her head. She stared at the ceiling, replaying breakfast in her mind.
Even though Wyatt didn’t know who she really was, for some reason or another he had decided he didn’t like her. Claire had picked up on that right away in the bar.
At first it had bugged her that he could be so quick to judge her, but then she’d shrugged it off. It was better to have his dislike than his interest. Until breakfast this morning, she’d seen the glimmer of it in his eyes. The dislike had been replaced with interest. It had both thrilled and terrified her.
Protect Me, Cowboy (78th Copper Mountain Rodeo Book 2) Page 3