The Hard-to-Get Cowboy

by Crystal Green

  A trill sang through her, but she told herself that, after this afternoon, there would be absolutely no more dates. She was hoping that Cade would hear about this one, and it would serve its purpose, letting him know that she had—without a doubt—no interest in the marriage he’d suggested.

  “You really think you’re that persuasive?” she asked Jackson as he returned to his truck and brought back a cooler. “Commanding the weather to do whatever you want it to?”

  He offered a cat’s-gonna-eat-the-canary smile, and she glanced away before her body did something silly, like flushing so red that she would sigh, just to cool it off.

  “I can be persuasive enough,” he said, sitting down next to her.

  Close.

  So close that she could smell the scent of pines—and she knew it wasn’t from the trees. It was mixed with the musk of man. Of him.

  She reached into the food tote, just for something to do, and started to pull out a loaf of French bread that he’d obviously picked up at the market, along with the bottle of Beaujolais wine he was taking out of the cooler.

  As he began to uncork it, she finished unloading the tote—the cheeses, the apples—and got out a plastic plate or two, along with a knife for cutting.

  “You certainly know how to stock a picnic,” she said, motioning to the wine.

  “You know what they say. Somewhere in the world, it’s Happy Hour.”

  “Just not in this part.”

  He sent her an amused glance, his dark eyes alive with that glint that so often sent her belly spinning.

  “Why, Laila,” he said, “you’re rather prim, aren’t you?”

  She concentrated on opening a packet of Havarti cheese. “Today? Yes.”

  “Because you think you need to raise your defenses with me. Well, I guess I understand why that’d be. You don’t know me from Adam. Why shouldn’t you be on your guard, especially after everything you’ve heard about me?”

  “Is everything I’ve heard wrong?”

  “Probably not.”

  She sliced the cheese, careful not to look at him, lest her heart start thudding and she began to think something could happen here. Something fun and…

  She put an end to those thoughts. “It’s just interesting. You’re…different from the rest of your family. Your brothers, at least.”

  “There’re a lot of us. Six, altogether. Standing out ain’t such a bad thing.”

  She finally peered up to find that he’d drawn one leg up so he could lean his arm on his knee. He was looking at the mountains, almost as if he was somewhere else.

  Intrigued, she paused in her work, just in time to see him shrug, then pick up an apple and a knife, cutting into the fruit.

  “My mom has told me a few times that I remind her of my dad,” he said. “My real one. Not my stepfather, Pete Wexler.”

  The way he said it made her think that he’d loved his real dad a lot. More than he cared to let on to her.

  “Did they get divorced?” she asked. “Your mom and your real dad?”

  “No, he died when Jason and I were six. Oil rig accident.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, but she noticed that the cuts he was making to that apple were turning it into a ragged thing.

  “Two years down the line,” he said in a casual voice, “Mom married Pete. Most of us thought it was too soon, and we weren’t what you’d call dream children for him.” A smile swiped his mouth. “I might have very well been the worst of anyone.”

  “And that’s how you became a rebel.” She thought about the pieces of their conversation from the Hitching Post, tying them into the fragments he was giving her now.

  “I guess I did test the new man of the house to his limits,” Jackson said, “until I figured out that Pete had a high threshold for tolerance, and he was going to take whatever I, or the others, dished out to him. That’s when he earned my respect, even if I wasn’t always so good at showing it. I still looked to my older brothers as the leaders of the family, but there was something about Pete’s outsider status that I appreciated. And, let me tell you, my mom appreciated that I appreciated. Believe it or not, I was the first Traub boy to come around to Pete.”

  And just when Laila thought they might be having an actual revealing conversation, he peeked from under his lowered gaze, and she knew that he’d just been giving her enough to lead her into another hour of this date. Then another.

  He really was an expert tease, doling out information like bread crumbs.

  “Your turn,” he said, as if daring her.

  All right then. “My story is that I know when a man has parsed out just the right amount of information to lure in his date.”

  He seemed caught off guard by being called out like that, but then he put down the knife and apple, taking out wineglasses from the cooler and pouring the light red liquid into them.

  “Well played, Miss Laila,” he said. “Well played.”

  He handed her a glass, and they clinked. A tiny spark of happiness bubbled inside her. She liked trying to keep up with a guy like Jackson Traub.

  They drank, and the wine slid down her throat. It seemed to go to her head right away, but that couldn’t be right.

  Could it be that she was already feeling lightheaded, thanks to him?

  It wasn’t long before he was back to drawing her out again.

  “I hear you’ve got six kids in your family, too,” he said.

  “Five girls, one boy. My parents kept trying for a son until Brody, the youngest, came along.” Actually, it’d been her dad who’d yearned for a son so badly that Mom had agreed to keep going.

  Again, Laila thought of Mom sitting alone at the kitchen table, along with all those college catalogues and a wistful expression.

  “A house of girls,” Jackson said.

  “Don’t you go near any of them.” He chuckled.

  “I’m serious,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t do any such thing.”

  “Don’t you have a reputation to uphold?”

  That’s when he got serious, too. “I’ve got one beautiful Cates woman right here. That’s enough for me.”

  She blushed furiously, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he seemed to mean the compliment with every beat of his heart or if it was because he’d used the word beautiful.

  Couldn’t he have said smart? Or engaging? Or…

  She stopped right there. She’d never complained about her looks. It was just that she wished he knew that she brought something more to the table.

  For some reason, Jackson had brought the conversation to a standstill.

  Was it something he’d said, when all he’d been doing was being genuine?

  Whatever it was, a shadow had rolled over Laila’s gaze, and it wasn’t from the clouds above.

  She took a slice of cheese, nibbling on it. He tried not to watch her mouth, the sensuality of each movement, the fullness of those lips he was dying to kiss.

  Instead, he got things back on track—if he didn’t, there would certainly be no kisses at all.

  “See, I need to follow my own advice,” he said, lightening his tone. “I told you at the Hitching Post that this kind of talk isn’t suited for first dates.” And he’d meant it, too, at the time—before he’d gotten way too comfortable here with Laila and found himself telling more than he usually would have.

  At his comment, the corners of her mouth turned up, as if she was fighting a smile.

  Encouraged, he went on. “So how about those… Hey, what sports teams do you all have here in Montana?”

  “College and high school ball. Most don’t generally talk about professional sports much around here, unless you’re in my house on a Sunday during the fall. That’s Football Day—a real big deal. I even forgo sleeping in, and I get up by seven in the morning to take a jog to the Stop ‘N’ Shop market for chips and dip to bring. It’s my big contribution to the festivities.”

  He didn’t
want to go back to the family talk. It was too personal, and he’d given up as much as was safe.

  “Okay,” he said. “Since sports talk isn’t the conversational subject of choice here in Thunder Canyon… How was work yesterday, honey?”

  The mischievous endearment made her quirk her brow. “Just like any other day, darling.”

  There. Back on track.

  “Rumor has it that you’re a real mover and shaker at that bank,” he said.

  “Sometimes I wonder how much moving and shaking I’m doing, to tell you the truth.” She tilted her head. “Listen to me—I sound like I’m not content with my job.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “Yes. For the most part. It’s just that…”

  He felt another serious moment coming on, but he didn’t stop it. This was where it always seemed to end up with Laila. There was much more to her than he’d expected, and she turned him upside down in more than just the lust department.

  Jackson tossed a bit of apple into his mouth. Yup, Laila Cates would’ve made a good woman for settling down with, if that was in his nature. Or hers.

  She still hadn’t finished her sentence, so he urged her on.

  “It’s just that what?”

  She gave him a look, as if asking if he was truly interested in this.

  She must’ve read in him that he was.

  “It’s just that I’m frustrated with my boss,” she said. “I’ve got a proposal sitting on his desk—and not the first one, either—but I can guarantee that he hasn’t given it the time of day. You know, he was supportive in promoting me to the manager position, but sometimes I think that he doesn’t want me to go beyond that. He’s got… I guess you could say old-fashioned ideas of where a woman belongs…and that’s below a man.”

  The shadows Jackson had seen in her gaze earlier had come back now—the same ones that had arrived when he’d pointed out that she was beautiful.

  Was this the same woman who’d entered a beauty pageant not a week ago and won with flying colors?

  But why had she entered if not for a crown?

  He recalled her speech. Y’all have shown tonight that age and life experience are important—that they add to who we are and how others see us.

  Age and life experience.

  Laila wanted to be more than just a beauty queen.

  Realizing just now how far out of his depth he was—he was the last man on earth she should’ve been sitting here with, even on just a lone date—Jackson steered the discussion to where he was more comfortable.

  “You ought to turn up the heat inside that bank,” he said, teasing again, reaching over to the thermal bag to take out the hot food he’d purchased from the market. “You should march right up to that boss of yours, ask him if he’s read your proposal and take names while you’re kicking butt. Forget the sweet approach.”

  “You’d know about kicking butt, wouldn’t you?” she asked, but there was a smile there.

  It drew his gaze to the beauty spot at the tip of her lips.

  Play it slow, Jackson, he thought, as his desire revved right up again.

  He spooned some Swedish meatballs—comfort food—onto the plates. “Yes, Laila. I’d know about kicking butt, but I only did it with Woody Paulson because he started up something he shouldn’t have.”

  And Jackson hadn’t been smart enough to end it in a better way.

  “You know what you ought to do?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid I’m about to hear.”

  Undeterred, she gestured to him with her wineglass. “You ought to try the sweet approach instead of kicking butt.”

  “The sweet approach.” What did she think he was—a pansy who liked to tiptoe through the tulips?

  His Texas-sized ego cringed at the thought.

  But it also let him know that Laila was right, even if he didn’t have to be sweet, for God’s sake.

  He would just have to…mellow.

  He watched as she leaned back her head, enjoying the day, smiling to herself. The gesture made something glow inside him, too.

  Maybe one date wouldn’t be enough with her. He had the feeling that he could use more of Laila Cates during his temporary stay here in Thunder Canyon. He needed her kind of balance if he was going to keep his temper as well as his promise to his family.

  But could he do that without having this become an actual relationship?

  They dug into the meatballs, mashed potatoes and broccoli with Hollandaise sauce that he’d laid out, small-talking about nothing much more than Thunder Canyon. She told him about the gold rush a few years ago, the rise of the resort, the struggles the town had endured.

  All the while, he couldn’t help but watch her more, wanting her.

  Determined that he would have that kiss by the end of the date.

  While they cleaned up, stowing the bags and cooler in the tarp-covered back of the pickup, he glanced at the sky once more.

  Still cloudy.

  But when had clouds ever kept him from anything?

  “What do you say we take a walk?” he asked. “Work off some of this food?”

  Laila slid a hand to the back of her neck, holding up her blond fall of wavy hair. She flushed, no doubt from the Beaujolais.

  “Working off some of those brownies you got for dessert might not be a bad idea,” she said.

  He took that as a yes and walked away from the truck, waiting for her to catch up.

  They didn’t talk much as they strolled, just taking in the ruffle of water on the lake from a slight wind, the sound of silence up here in the mountains. A deer darted across their path, coming out from behind a boathouse attached to a dock.

  Its hooves thudded on the wood, and as the animal ran toward the pines, its footsteps were cushioned by the dirt. Right afterward, a rabbit sprinted behind the spindly-legged creature, as if scrambling to catch up with it.

  Laila laughed. “Bambi and Thumper.”

  He laughed, too, and their gazes fused.

  And, damn if her blue eyes weren’t just as big and wary as Bambi’s.

  His gaze rested on her mouth. Those lips—lush and red and set off to perfection by that beauty spot.

  Before he knew it, he was bending closer to her, hearing her soft intake of breath, feeling the heat rumbling through him.

  But maybe it wasn’t him at all, because her lips formed words.

  “Thunder.”

  Another roll of it shook the sky, just before rain started to patter down.

  Just before she took his hand and ran toward the boathouse.

  They clattered inside, leaving the door open, laughing just as the sky opened up to let loose a spill of rain.

  “What were you saying about clear weather?” she asked, her face damp, her hair just the slightest bit wet—enough for him to reach out and touch it, just to tame a rain-kissed wave.

  Then he did what he’d been dying to do before: leaned down to press his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Four

  Laila had been thinking about what his lips would feel like for the last hour, so she wasn’t sure if this kiss was really happening…or if it was just a fantasy.

  Because fantasies were a lot like this: the pressure of his mouth on hers, wet and warm, at first soft but then growing more insistent with every thud of her pulse. The scent of him—masculine, clean, filling her senses until her head swam and her knees went weak.

  This was a kiss.

  This was more real than real could have ever been for Laila, and it had taken nearly thirty years for her to get here, to a place where she was feeling a need so deep inside that it actually ached.

  But why him—the wrong kind of man for her?

  Or maybe the very right one.

  She grabbed onto the lapels of Jackson’s coat, just as he pulled back ever so slightly—just far enough so that she could still feel his breath on her lips.

  “Glad we got that out of the way,” he whispered.

  She could tell that he was smiling while he sai
d it, even though her eyes were still closed, as if she didn’t want to come out of the wonderful haze of this desire.

  “Glad?” She finally asked, and she sounded like a dolt. But her brain was in too much of a muddle for it to be functioning properly.

  All she wanted was for his lips to be back on hers as the rain tapped away on the roof of the boathouse, imitating the rhythm of her heartbeat.

  “I never,” he said softly, “leave the first kiss until the end of the date. There’s too much jumpiness beforehand. Better to get it out of the way so that you can enjoy that second kiss—the one that comes when a man drops off a woman at her doorstep.”

  “Just before she invites him inside?” She didn’t want to ask how many women had done just that to Jackson Traub. Didn’t want to know anything but that he was going to keep on going right here, right now with her.

  He laughed, and it rumbled through his chest. She could feel the vibration in her fingers, where she was still holding on to his coat.

  And that was his only answer.

  Then…

  Then it wasn’t Jackson who continued the kiss.

  It was Laila who stood on her tiptoes, putting her hand on the back of his head, winding her fingers through his thick hair and bringing him down to her lips again.

  She thought she heard him make a sound—almost a groan—and he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her mouth against his as she lost her balance and stumbled backward until she was against the wall. Something fell from a hook next to them, but she didn’t bother to see what it was, although it felt like a length of canvas had come to rest against her leg.

  No, she was too lost in him, responding like a wild woman, a perfect match for the notorious Jackson Traub as he brought her against his hard body. His belt buckle dug into her belly when he lifted her and, from the feel of what was beneath that buckle, she realized just how excited he was.

  He entered her with his tongue, exploring, making her breathing come so fast that it burned in her lungs. Every inch of her skin was on fire for him and, as they came up for oxygen, she just had time to realize that she was a little bit afraid of what he was doing to her.