Jackson also took in the ranch hand’s mustache, recognizing him yet again from the Hitching Post and the Rock Creek Diner.
“Who’s that?” he asked, gesturing toward the cowboy.
She looked, then said, “Duncan Brooks.”
The cowboy had spotted Jackson and Laila in the truck, and he slowed his steps, paying too much attention, setting Jackson on edge.
“And just who is Duncan Brooks?”
“Drive and I’ll tell you.”
Jackson gunned the accelerator, and when he glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw that the ranch hand was still watching them.
“You were saying?” Jackson asked.
Laila held up her hands while shrugging. “He’s had a thing for me for a while. Shy, soft-spoken guy, works on Bo Clifton’s ranch. I’ve never encouraged him.”
“Just one of your army of admirers, huh?”
“What—are you afraid of a little competition?”
She laughed, and he did, too. But he was remembering how Duncan Brooks had been at that lunch counter the day Jackson had stupidly told DJ that he had been attracted to Laila because of her looks and that, once he left Thunder Canyon, she would be out of sight, out of mind.
The first town hall meeting for Traub Oil Montana’s Bakken Shale project came a week later.
Laila wandered around one of the large tents that had been erected outside of DJ’s Rib Shack, which was connected to the Thunder Canyon Resort. The meeting had already adjourned, and it had featured a presentation by Austin Anderson about his ideas for environmentally sound oil extraction and how Traub Oil’s business could benefit the community. Now the citizens who hadn’t gone next door to the food tent for DJ’s ribs were milling around, talking to Austin, Ethan Traub and Jackson near the front.
She took a moment to watch Jackson, who was wearing a sharp suit today. And, yow. He wore it well, even with his cowboy hat.
But what impressed her even more was how he listened so attentively, how he seemed to know the way to ease the fears about change among those who had come to the meeting with questions.
Had he gone from a rebel to a more solid man during his time in Thunder Canyon?
She noticed how Ethan stood by his brother’s side, a subtle grin on his face. Even a proud one, if Laila said so.
It warmed her that Jackson could stand tall with his successful siblings now. Oddly, his success meant as much to her as her own…
A man’s voice broke into her thoughts.
“He did real well.”
Laila turned to find Corey Traub standing nearby, watching Jackson, too.
Tall, with light brown hair and brown eyes, Corey seemed just as satisfied with Jackson as Ethan was. “You’ve been a good influence on him, Laila.”
She should have been used to blushing by now— Lord knows she had been doing it enough since Jackson had come to town—but here she was again, fighting the heat on her face.
“He did this all by himself,” she said. “I’ve got nothing to do with it.”
Corey gave her an amused glance. “So you say.”
When Laila caught sight of her neighbor, Mrs. Haverly, approaching from the left, Corey squeezed her arm and wandered off.
Mrs. Haverly wasn’t alone—she was accompanied by a towering plate of free ribs as well as Joelle Vanderhorst, a silver-haired, hoity-toity woman who was known far and wide in Thunder Canyon as a cutting gossip.
Wonderful.
Mrs. Haverly was as sweet as pie when she greeted Laila. “Your boyfriend sure puts on a good meeting.”
Her boyfriend?
Had Mrs. Haverly been keeping track of Jackson going in and out of Laila’s apartment?
Double wonderful.
Laila didn’t bother to tell Mrs. Haverly that boyfriend didn’t describe what Jackson was to her. “I’ll tell my friend you said so. He’ll be pleased.”
The older woman didn’t react to the innocuous description; she merely chowed down on the ribs as Joelle stood there with her arms crossed.
“Your ‘friendship’ with him is very surprising,” she said to Laila.
Before Laila could think better of engaging in conversation with the biggest town busybody, the woman added, “Who thought you would take up with a stranger as opposed to one of the local boys who spent so much effort courting you over the years?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Vanderhorst,” Laila said. “I didn’t realize my life was up for analysis.”
The woman put a hand to her chest, obviously affronted. Mrs. Haverly chuckled, her mouth ringed with rib sauce.
“I’d take up with that Jackson Traub,” she said.
At least Laila’s horny neighbor was on her side, and Laila sent her a grateful smile just before excusing herself.
Who cared what any of the others thought?
It bothered her more that she cared so much that there was a stinging ache inside that wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she tried to chase it off.
As Jackson shook hands with Theo Cushing, a small business owner who had asked a few questions about the Bakken Shale that had been answered today, he kept an eye on Laila across the tent.
She had retreated to a corner of it, near the beverage table, where she was pouring herself a cup of water. For some reason, after she had left Mrs. Haverly and the stately older woman who had joined them, her shoulders had gone stiff and she seemed…
Bothered?
He was about to go to her when Mike Trudeau, Laila’s boss at the bank, approached Jackson. Ethan shifted his position so he could check in on the conversation that Austin was having with a science teacher from the high school.
Trudeau shook Jackson’s hand with hearty enthusiasm. “Fascinating stuff you’ve brought to us today. Thank you for it.”
“Just be sure to go next door for some of those ribs,” Jackson said. “DJ’s are the best.”
“I can’t disagree with you there. The wife won’t let me within a mile of that other place.” He was obviously talking about LipSmackin’ Ribs. “She says it’s terribly lacking in class.”
Good to know that they had an ally in this prominent businessman.
Then Trudeau glanced across the room, to where Jackson’s gaze had strayed again.
To Laila. Always Laila.
“She’s really quite a woman,” the older man said.
“Yes.” Jackson felt the same pull toward her that he always did. “She is.”
“Yup, those pretty ones are sure great to have around. Laila’s the jewel in our bank’s crown, if you ask me. I suspect we have a good many customers who come in just to look at her.”
Jackson bristled. Was this man insinuating that he took Laila for granted? Or even that he had given her promotions and entertained her proposals for all the wrong reasons?
“I hope I’m wrong,” Jackson said, doing everything he could not to let his dander rise and take over. “But it sounds as if you don’t take her all that seriously, even if she brought you a hell of an idea recently.”
Trudeau seemed to realize he had misspoken. “No, no—she did bring a damn good idea to me this time. I was just saying—”
“That she’s pretty.” This man had pushed a button in Jackson because he knew how much it hurt when people took Laila only at face value. Jackson also knew how much her boss’s comments would bruise her if she were privy to them.
It probably even mattered that Jackson was trying to make up for having said something just as stupid himself, to DJ, at that diner.
As Trudeau started looking as if he wished he could take everything back, Jackson told himself to calm down.
To keep following Laila’s advice about mellowing the kick-butt attitude.
“Just so you know,” he said to her boss, keeping his voice friendly, “Laila’s more than a jewel in a crown. She might glitter real nicely, but her value comes from what’s beneath that sparkle.”
He had said it with such emotion that Trudeau’s gaze had gone soft, as if he was seeing som
ething about Jackson that even he wouldn’t acknowledge.
But it was clear now—clear for all the world to see.
Jackson Traub was…in love.
Trudeau patted Jackson on the upper arm, and it seemed at first to be because he was apologizing. Yet there was also an admission there, man-to-man, one guy who had recognized that the other had spoken in defense of his woman.
Trudeau left, but Ethan, who was standing next to Jackson again, had apparently heard everything.
He leaned over to whisper in Jackson’s ear. “Another Traub bites the dust, huh? Weren’t you the one preaching against matrimony at Corey’s wedding?”
Jackson cursed under his breath, then said, “It’s strictly casual between me and Laila.”
“And that’s strictly BS,” Ethan said.
Unfortunately, Jackson didn’t have much of an argument, especially when he saw Laila across the tent looking at him, then glancing away as if she didn’t want to be caught in the same impossible place he had found himself in.
Chapter Ten
After the town hall meeting, Laila had taken a seat inside the open, three-story-high lobby of the resort’s main lodge. It seemed that business had picked up today, thanks to the event, and people milled around the free-standing fireplace as well as the life-sized elk statue.
She had come in here, where warmth from the fireplace toasted the area, to wait for Jackson, and her nerves were wavery as she waited for him to arrive. She had seen her boss, Mike Trudeau, talking to him, and it looked as if Jackson had gotten upset for some reason. Also, he had kept glancing over at Laila, which only added to her suspicions that they had been chatting about her.
Had Jackson even been defending her because of something her misogynistic boss had said?
Her heart beat like delicate wings at the thought of Jackson being her knight in white armor. Yet his behavior didn’t sound like it belonged in any “fling.” It almost felt as if the rules were changing on Laila, and she didn’t know what would be coming next.
Heck, she didn’t even want to know what the conversation had been about, and she didn’t want to ask.
Her phone dinged, and she checked it to find a text from her sister, Jazzy.
Mom and Dad are requesting the presence of you and Mr. Jackson Traub at Football Day tomorrow. Be there or you’re on your own for birthday cake, missy!
Laila kept staring at the screen. She had nearly forgotten that, the day after tomorrow, she would be turning the big 3-0. All this running around with Jackson had kept her mind off it and, for that at least, she was grateful.
But…an invitation from her family to bring Jackson to Football Day? No matter how much he and Laila had been trying to keep everything on the down low, their efforts clearly hadn’t paid off if her family thought it was time for him to meet them.
The ultimate sign of commitment, she thought. Meeting the parents….
“What does that text say that’s so interesting?” It was Jackson, sitting down beside her on one of the leather sofas that decorated the lobby.
Laila angled her cell away from him so he wouldn’t see the invitation on the screen, but as she ran her gaze over him, she felt a sighing thaw—the realization that she actually wanted Jackson to come with her to her family’s. That, in spite of her grand public announcement at the Miss Frontier Days pageant, she Might. Like. To. Be. Married.
To him.
Someday.
How hopeless was that, though?
A sense of sorrow welled up in her. Leave it to Laila Cates, single girl extraordinaire, to fall hard—and for the most entrenched bachelor on earth at that.
As Jackson tipped back his hat and gave her a smile—not a charming grin but a real smile that dug way down into her heart—she fell for him that much more.
What if she was wrong about him wanting to be a bachelor for the rest of his days? Was it too much to hope that, like her, he had undergone a profound change in such a short time?
Now she wanted to know, so she sucked up her courage and showed him the screen of her phone.
He read it, his expression impartial as he leaned back against the sofa, carelessly stretching his arm along the top of it.
When he spoke, he had reverted back to that amused tone that made her wonder what she had been thinking when she had questioned whether or not he was capable of change.
“It seems,” he said, “that I’m being summoned.”
“That’s fair to say.” She eased back against the cushions as well, training her gaze on the comers and goers walking from one end of the lobby to the other, feeling Jackson’s arm against her upper back, loving the sturdy sensation of him against her, even though she knew it was fleeting. He had reminded her of their temporary situation with the way he had reacted to that text.
So she protected herself, falling into the same flirty groove that had always defined them. The safe way.
“You should consider yourself lucky,” she said. “My parents’ house is something of a sanctuary for me. You’d be the first ‘companion’ of mine to breach Football Day.”
“Are you telling me that your parents’ house is like my ranch…or a cabin in the woods?”
“Just like either of them.”
As he toyed with the hair at her nape, she nearly fizzed into a pool of contentment. She almost wished tomorrow and Football Day—or any other part of real life—would never arrive, just allowing them to sit here, never minding what would eventually come down the road for them.
A few people glanced over at them, but who cared if she and Jackson looked like a couple right now? They had been fooling themselves for a while, thinking they could hide what was going on between them—to avoid all the expectations being “together” would bring.
Why not live for the moment while they could?
Her heart felt heavy as he asked, “Why haven’t you ever invited a date to your family’s house, Laila?”
“Because the ranch is off limits on Football Day. It’s a time I’ve only shared with my sisters, Mom, and my dad and brother. It’s a separate little world.”
“And you’ve never wanted all your worlds to collide.”
“There was no reason for them to. I’m pretty good at compartmentalizing.”
“I have been, too.”
She noted the use of past tense, felt them both getting in deeper.
He said, “What happens when your brother and sisters bring people over?”
“Nobody has ever shattered the walls of Football Day. My sisters have invited guys for dinner on Saturday night so they could meet my parents, but the entire family hasn’t been there.”
So why was Jackson being summoned in front of the whole family? Laila reached for a reason. “I’ll bet they invited you tomorrow because of the birthday thing. See, I made them promise that they wouldn’t make a big deal of my thirtieth, so we agreed we would just eat some cake tomorrow and that would be it. Everybody’s even going to give me presents on their own. I’m sure they want to include you because they think…”
She trailed off.
But he knew what she had been about to say.
“They think that, no matter what you’ve told them, we’re serious about each other.”
Laila exhaled, and he stopped playing with her hair.
“It’d be a lot of fun if you came over,” she said, “but please don’t feel that you have to.”
She hadn’t meant to say it dismissively. Had she done so because she was getting ready for him to bug out of the invitation, anyway?
He cupped her head, pressed it toward him, spoke into her ear, stirring her hair. “But they’re serving birthday cake, Laila. Is there a human being in existence who’d say no to that?”
Leave it to Jackson to inject some levity.
“My big, bad birthday,” she said. “I guess you should be there to see it run me over like a semi.”
He kept his mouth against her head, just above her ear, and it felt so natural, so right, that she went o
n talking.
“I used to laugh about the whole idea of being nervous about aging. Why care? Who cares? That’s what I used to think, anyway.”
His steady embrace told her it was okay. “I heard your Miss Frontier Days speech, so I have an inkling of what your thirtieth birthday means to you. Everyone else in town might think that Laila Cates has the big, bad birthday under control, but most women wouldn’t go out of their way to compete in a pageant to prove a point about how being older means being better.”
“It was a real silly thing to do.” Then she went a step further, telling him more than she had ever told anyone else. “It was even vain.”
“It was human.” He took her chin between his fingers, turned her face toward him, so that she was looking into his dust-devil-colored eyes. Now, though, it seemed there was calm there, a settling.
“It’s just like you said at the pageant,” he murmured. “You’re getting better with every day. And I imagine that’ll extend to every year, as you learn new things, gain new experiences.”
Like this one with him?
Would she be older but wiser after they parted ways?
“How would you know that I’ve improved when you just met me a short time ago?” she asked.
He lifted his eyebrows. “You’ve grown on me every day.”
She was a mess by now—in a good way. A whipped-up, stirred-up storm of affection.
Not wanting to torture herself any more, she conjured a smile, moving on.
“Really,” she said. “You don’t have to suffer through pink cake and a truly terrible rendition of the birthday song at Football Day. I grant you a reprieve, Jackson Traub.”
He laughed softly, kissed her on the temple.
She pulled back from him, scanning his expression. Today might have been the first time they had acted like this in public, but from the intensity in his brown eyes, she was certain that he had done it without regret.
Did he care for her more than she knew?
The Hard-to-Get Cowboy Page 13