The Cowboy Takes a Bride (17 page)

Ila planted both palms on his chest and shoved him out through the side door. The door slammed shut behind them. Mariah noticed Cordy got up and trotted after the duo. What was that all about?

“Well?” Clover held the empty beer pitcher balanced on a serving platter. “Do you need some time to think about it?”

“I’ll let you know tomorrow,” Mariah said. She did want some time to think through her options. She wasn’t sure she could handle this.
Yeah? What choice do you have? You need money.

“You seriously considering working at the Horseshoe?” Joe picked his cowboy hat up from the floor, dusted it off.

“Tossing the idea around.”

They stood there staring at each other, undercurrents of energy flowing between them.

So what? You could ignore it.

“Thanks,” she said. “For the rescue, but I could have handled it. You didn’t need to get beat up on my account.”

“I have no doubt.” Joe settled his hat back onto his head. “But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

“Even if that means acting like a fool?”

A wide grin split his face. “Even if.”

The grin churned her knees into butter.
Dangerous. Proceed with extreme caution.

“I gotta be up early in the morning,” he said.

“Oh.” What had she been expecting from him? An invitation to a make-out session in the parking lot?

“Past my bedtime.”

“You’ve got to hit the mattress. Right, right. Nighty-night. Sleep tight.”

Crap! She was idiot-babbling. And why had she said the word “mattress”? It sounded like she’d been thinking about mattresses in conjunction with Joe. She wasn’t thinking about mattresses. Well, now she
was
thinking about mattresses.

His gaze roved over her as if he too was thinking about the comfort of mattresses. Then just before he turned to go out the door, he said, “Sweet dreams, Little Bit.”

“W
hen are you going to stop pining for Joe?”

“What?” Ila’s head came up.

She’d just deposited Lee Turpin in the passenger seat of his girlfriend’s car, after the woman had promised to drive him straight home to sleep off his drunk. Cordy had been hanging around throughout the whole process. They were in the back parking lot of the Silver Horseshoe, the October night wind cutting through her cotton dress like a razor. Joe hadn’t even noticed she’d worn a dress for his benefit.

“When are you going to stop pining for Joe?” Cordy repeated.

His statement caught her unaware, but Ila wasn’t about to let him see that. She snorted indelicately, went to put her hand on the butt of her pistol that wasn’t there. It was an unconscious gesture she performed when she was feeling insecure. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Joe’s never gonna love you the way you deserve to be loved.” Cordy’s voice was low, dark.

Ila schooled her features not to give herself away. “You’re nuts.”

“Nuts over you.”

Startled, Ila sucked in her breath, took a step back. Cordy was her buddy. Nothing more. Never anything more than that. She loved Joe.

“It must have killed you. Loving him when he was married to your baby sister. My heart breaks when I think about it.”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

But Cordy did not shut up. He just kept talking and moving closer. “I know it strikes a nerve and I know you can’t help who you love, but Ila, if you’d stop moondogging Joe Daniels for half a second, you could see what’s standing right in front of you.”

A lump formed in Ila’s throat. She thought she’d been so cool, so unobtrusive, hiding her unrequited love for Joe under the guise of friendship. But here was Cordy Whiteside, of all people, calling her on it. “I have no idea what you’re yammering on about.”

“Sure you do.”

She held up a palm. “Back off, short stuff.”

“Insult me all you want. It’s not chasing me off.”

Goose bumps rose on her forearms. The wind. That’s all it was. The wind.

But Cordy was saying everything she’d ever wanted Joe to say to her. It was unsettling. She tilted her chin down and stared him straight in the eye, hardened her jaw, determined to let nothing, absolutely nothing show in her eyes. “What do you know about anything?”

“You’re not the only one who loves someone who doesn’t love them back.” Boldly, Cordy held her stare.

He wasn’t a bad-looking man. In fact, some women might even find him handsome. He had curly brown hair and winsome green eyes, and she
had
noticed his butt could rival Bruce Springsteen’s in his prime butt days. But Cordy was slight. Compact. A dinky little guy.

“You mean you?” she said.

He reached out, took her hand. “Ila, let go of Joe and give me a chance. He’ll never feel for you the way I do.”

Panic flared through her like wildfire. Ila yanked her hand back, tucked it underneath her arm to keep it away from him. “B-but . . . you’re shorter than me.”

“You’re almost six feet tall, Ila. Most men are shorter than you. Did you know the average height of a man in North America is five-foot-nine?” Cordy straightened. “I’m five-eight and a half.”

“In your cowboy boots.”

“If you discount any man under six-foot, you’re already limiting your dating pool.”

He was right. She automatically discounted any male under six-foot tall.

“You’re prejudiced,” Cordy accused.

“What?”

“Heightism. You’re a heightist.”

“There’s no such thing as a heightist.”

“You have a bias against people who aren’t as tall as you.”

“I don’t have a bias.” She bristled. “I just want to dance cheek-to-cheek with the man I love.”

“Like you dance cheek-to-cheek with Joe?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Cordy.”

“I’m what you need, Ila. A man who challenges you. Not one who cries on your shoulder, then goes off with some other woman.”

“I’m not listening to this.”

“Joe’s interested in Mariah.” Cordy swallowed hard; his Adam’s apple bobbed visibly.

“Only because she looks like Becca.”

“So you noticed it too.”

Ila waved a hand. “She’ll be gone quickly enough. I’m here for good. Joe’s my best friend.”

“And that’s all he’ll ever be.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re not a good fit.”

“Says you. Joe and I are so much alike. We love to fish and hunt and we love the Dallas Cowboys and the Texas Rangers and the TCU Horned Frogs and—”

“That’s the problem.”

“That we’re compatible?”

“That you’re too much alike. It makes for a great friendship, sure, but where’s the spark? The fire? The chemistry?”

“We’ve got chemistry,” she insisted, knowing in her heart it was a lie. Cordy was making her face things she did not want to face.

“You don’t or you would have hooked up before now. Have you ever slept with him?”

“That is none of your business.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Cordy stepped closer, chin up so he was looking her square in the eyes. The moon glinted off his earnest face. He was drawing aside her curtain of self-deceit and she resented him for it. “Your favorite color is blue. Your favorite meal is enchiladas with refried beans and Spanish rice. When you were six you had a crash on your bicycle and you have a moon-shaped scar on your shoulder and—”

Feeling as if she’d been stripped naked, Ila reached up to touch her shoulder.

“You got a hardship license to drive when you were fifteen because your daddy was working out in the Gulf of Mexico on an oil rig and your stepmother refused to drive you where you needed to go. You could have made straight A’s in high school, but you didn’t want to look smarter than everyone else so you purposely missed questions on your exams. Your favorite singer is Toby Keith and you lost your virginity to Ryan Tumley when you were twenty-one on your daddy’s pontoon boot on Lake Twilight,” Cordy said.

Ila’s mouth dropped open. “How . . . how do you know all that?”

“The same way you know all those same kind of details about Joe.”

She’d suspected Cordy had a bit of a crush on her. But she’d never imagined it was more than infatuation.

“I want you, Ila Brackeen. I’ve wanted you since I was eighteen years old. I can’t get you out of my head.”

“You’re shorter than me,” she said, clinging to the only objection she could grab at.

“So?”

“How would that look, you asking me to reach up and fetch something for you at the top of the cabinet?”

“It would look like a tall person helping out a shorter person.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would being with the most honest, goodhearted woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to know bother me just because she was a couple of inches taller?”

“Three inches,” she corrected, “and that’s when you’ve got your boots on.”

“Big damn deal.”

“Wouldn’t it be weird kissing me?”

“Why don’t we try it and find out?”

Ila was still stunned at everything he’d just confessed. “Because I love Joe.”

“Of course you love him, but not in the way that you think you do. Joe’s a good guy, but you don’t fit. You and him together? It’s like two left shoes. You need a right shoe, Ila. Someone who’ll challenge you, call you on it when you’re fooling yourself. Someone who can’t wait to get home to you. Someone who gives thanks to God every night that he’s so lucky to have found you.”

“That’s you?” she whispered.

“If you let me be the one. Give me a chance,” Cordy said. “Let me prove it to you. Let me show you that I can be far better for you than Joe ever could. Let me wipe him right out of your memory. Let me do for you everything he never could.”

Her stomach went all shaky. “Well shit, Cordy, why didn’t you say something before now?”

“I was waiting for you to let go of Joe, but I’m almost thirty. I can’t wait around any longer. I’ve got to speak my piece. Here it is. I’m putting my heart on the line.”

Just then Joe came out of the Silver Horseshoe, headed for his pickup truck, his ripped shirt flapping in the breeze. Music spilled out after him. Etta James on the jukebox, wailing “At Last!” Joe raised his hand in greeting.

Cordy muttered an oath, scowled. “Worst timing ever.”

Head reeling with the sentiment Cordy had just professed, Ila broke from him, ran toward Joe. “Hey,” she breathed, looking into his face. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, your poor eye.” Ila reached a hand to his forehead.

Joe pulled back from her touch, stared at her oddly. “You’re giving me sympathy and not flack? What’s up, Il?”

Ila stood there, her hand still raised, her heart quivering with the fear that Cordy was right, that Joe could never love her as anything more than a good friend. A sister-in-law.

“Il?”

She felt the pain like a broken bone snapping. All this time she’d been waiting, waiting, waiting for something that would never happen. She’d had chances, boyfriends, lovers, men who wanted to marry her. But she’d never sunk deep into any of them because she’d been holding out for Joe. After he’d married Becca, she’d tried to move on. Tried and failed. Stumbled, fallen, lost.

But this, this was the camel-back-breaking straw. She could love him forever and he would never love her the way she ached to be loved. Never touch her with the passion she deserved.

Joe.
Her heart wailed.

“Was there something you needed?” he asked softly, kindly, without a trace of desire. He did not look at her the way he’d been looking at Mariah Callahan.

You! I want you. Can’t you see me? Don’t you know? I’ve loved you since I was six years old.

Grief flooded her, a fountain of loss. Everything she’d clung to was dust in her hands. She couldn’t let him see it in her face. Couldn’t let him know her pain. She was too proud.

“Just . . .” She paused, her lungs banded too tight to breathe.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful on the way home.”

“Have a good night, Il.” Joe waved at the man standing behind her. “Cordy.”

She turned, hand to her eyes, willing herself not to cry. Couldn’t speak. The weight in her chest was so heavy she thought it might pull her clear into the center of the earth.

Cordy stood in the shadows watching.

Was he hurting as much as she was? Knowing that she loved Joe the way he loved her? Talk about FUBAR.

She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a bleak chasm. How easy just to step into it. Freefall.

Choices. Bad ones made. Wrong paths taken. Time wasted. Dreams shattered.

Here she stood in the parking lot of a honky-tonk, the sky filled with stars, her hopes eviscerated in a messy spill. Caught between moonlight and pain. A ship wrecked on rocky shoals. Staring down a narrow tunnel. Waiting for the oncoming train.