Courting Her Rebel: (Taken by Cowboys: Part 2) A Billionaire Western Romance (4 page)

Fishing—that sounded easy enough. Hook some bait, throw your line out, and wait—how hard could it be? “Sounds good,” she said, relieved that Nate wasn’t going to try to talk her into giving Oreo another try.

Once Nate had taken the horse back to its stable they exited the pasture and started down a long dirt road. On either side of them, fields of wildflowers grew in a riot of color among the tall grass. The sky was the purest Easter egg blue, with fluffy white clouds floating across it like froth on the water’s surface.

“This landscape is just stunning,” she said. “I can see why you and Spencer struck out for Wyoming after all that time in the city.”

“There’s really nowhere else like it—a true earthly paradise,” he agreed. “Actually, Spencer was a pretty hard sell.”

“No kidding?” she said. “He seems pretty happy here.”

“Oh, he is now. But you should have seen him at the beginning.” He gave a low whistle. “He’s a true city boy, born and bred. He couldn’t handle all this fresh air and wide-open space. He said it made him nervous.”

She giggled. It was funny to imagine Spencer being spooked by wide-open spaces.

“Yep, Spencer’s a great guy,” he said. “I’m the first person to say so. But not the most adaptable. When we first got out here, he was all ‘Where’s the Starbucks?’ and ‘What do you mean, I can’t get pad Thai delivered?’”

Her giggle had turned into a full-fledged laugh. Spencer seemed so comfortable here at Getaway—she remembered his ease in leading the group hike up the mountain the other day—so it was funny to think of him as an out-of-place city slicker.

“What’s your impression of Spencer?” Nate asked suddenly.

The question caught her off guard. Why was he asking? It could have been a perfectly innocent question, but then again . . . “He seems very nice,” she said weakly. She could feel the blush rising to her face.
Ice water. Buckets of ice water
,
she commanded herself. She was never any good at hiding her emotions. Was it her imagination, or did she see Nate stiffen?

“Here we are,” he said. They had arrived at a creek, similar to the one that Spencer had taken her to but without the screen of pine trees hiding it from view. The clouds that swept over the mountains were reflected in its limpid surface, as was the peak of the nearest mountain. This encounter would not end as that one had, though—that was one thing she was sure of. Again, she felt her face flush with the memory of her impromptu tryst with Spencer after a sweaty day of hiking.

“What are we doing here?” she asked.

“Fly-fishing,” he said, setting down the bag. “Ever done it?”

“I can’t say I have,” she said.

“That surprises me,” he said.

“Really?” she said.

“Nope,” he said drily.

She laughed. Nate unzipped the bag and removed two long fishing rods that trailed yards and yards of blue line. “Lucky for you, there’s not too much skill involved,” he said.

“Hey!” she exclaimed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why, only that you came to Getaway to relax and not to work yourself to death!” he said innocently, a smile playing in his eyes.

“I’ll give you that,” she conceded. “Alright, lay it on me so I can find a way to mess it up.”

He saluted her. “You got it, captain.” He plucked a tiny object from his pocket. “This form of fishing is called fly-fishing because you cast a line with a little fly on the end instead of a lure. We call that kind of fishing spin casting, or spinning with gear—baiting the fish with something that’s heavily weighted. Here, we’re fishing for trout and using weightless flies.” He showed her what looked like a bit of scruffy fur on a tiny hook.

“You really expect a fish to go for that?” she said dubiously. “I thought they were more into worms.”

“They go for it, alright,” he said. “Anyway, would you really rather spear a wriggling worm onto the end of this line?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Good point.”

He handed her a pair of dark sunglasses and put on a pair himself. “You’ll want to put these on,” he said. “Polarized lenses.”

“Gee, thanks, but I’m not too worried about looking cool out here in the middle of nowhere,” she said.

“You look cool enough as it is. No, these glasses are purely utilitarian. You’ll see why you need them in a minute,” he said.

She shrugged and put them on, surveying herself in the reflection from Nate’s shades. “We look like the cowboy version of Bonnie and Clyde.”

“I am a man with a record, after all,” he said, affecting his best Warren Beatty impression.

She laughed. “As long as you don’t get me to rob banks.”

“I made be a bad influence, but I’m the kind you were secretly praying for,” he said. She felt a rush of heat flow over her face—and this one had nothing to do with the sun that was beating down. Nate was a first-class charmer.

“Now. Back to the task at hand.” He assumed an exaggerated air of seriousness. “When we fly-fish, we’re casting the line itself, not what’s on the end of it,” he explained. “Now, when you hold the cork handle of the rod, you don’t want to squeeze it too tightly. Just give it a little handshake.” He demonstrated.

“Don’t squeeze the rod too tightly,” she repeated. “Got it.” She felt her blush intensify. She hadn’t meant to sound quite so flirtatious—or had she?

“That’s it,” he said, a shade of his wicked grin returning to his face. “And the other important thing is to keep your thumb on top nice and straight. Wherever your thumb is pointing is where the line is going to land.” He put his hand on top of hers, adjusting her thumb into the correct position. His hands were broad and his touch firm.

“Now, as for your stance, you want to stand nice and square, with your left foot set just a bit forward and your right foot a bit back,” he said, standing with his feet firmly planted. “That’s how you’ll stay stable once you hook a big fish.”

“
If
I hook a big fish,” she said.

“No
ifs
, Jess,” he said. “I’m like a good luck charm. Fish with me, and you’ll hook a big one.” His grin was infectious.

“Now, the cast is made up of two simple motions: an acceleration to a stop, and another acceleration to a stop,” he explained. “All of the action is in your forearm, not in your wrist. That’s a common beginner’s error.” Holding the rod in front of him with his arm at a ninety-degree angle, he hinged his forearm up towards his shoulder, and then straightened it out again.

“So now you’re ready for a false cast. You reel out a bit of line, which you call your working line, and hold onto it with your other hand, which is your control hand”—he did this—“and then shake out a bit of line and tip the rod down. Then you simply accelerate and stop back.” He pulled his forearm back and the line flew behind him. Jess jumped back in surprise. “And then do the same thing forward.” He repeated the motion going forward, and the line flew forward. “You do that a few times—think of the first few as warm-up—and then you let her go!” The line rippled out into the stream. He smiled at her. “And that’s it!”

“I thought you said this was simple,” she said.

“Nothing to it, girl!” he said. “You’ll get the hang of it in no time.” He handed her a rod.

She took it and then tried to remember what to do next.
Come on, Jess, he
just told you
this.
There was some kind of stance . . . something about forward and back . . . and not squeezing too tightly? For some reason that last one was the only bit of instruction that had stuck in her mind.

“Spread your feet a little bit,” he said, standing behind her and putting his hand on her right hip. Gently he eased it slightly back. He put his arm over her shoulder, resting it on hers, as he corrected her grip on the cork. Again, she had the sensation that she’d experienced after she’d tumbled off the horse, as if the breath had been knocked out of her. “Forward and back, forward and back—that’s it.” Standing directly behind her, the line whizzed past her ears. With an extra push and an abrupt stop, together they cast the line far into the creek.

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “That was actually pretty cool.”

“Told you so,” he said, his warm breath grazing her neck and sending a rippling shiver through her body, just like the line she had just cast. He moved away, and she felt a pang of longing.

“You seem to have a real ability with horses,” she stammered in an effort to bring her thoughts back to neutral territory.

“Well, I grew up around them,” he said as he picked up his own rod and cast it. “I come from a long line of ranchers outside of Tucson. I guess it runs in my blood.”

“So how did you end up working on Wall Street?” she asked. It was hard to imagine a cowboy from Arizona spending fourteen hours a day in an office high-rise, eating takeout and sweating over dollar signs.

“It was certainly an unexpected turn of events, I’ll admit,” he said. “I suppose the simple answer is ambition. I was always a pretty bright kid. I got good grades in school and I had a knack for numbers. My folks were happy when I got a scholarship to college, but I think they thought I’d come back to run the family ranch after I was done. They never expected that I’d take off for the big city.” He sighed and cast his line out. It went far and wide.

“Were they upset?” she asked.

He was silent a minute, his handsome brow furrowed. “Upset is not quite the right word,” he said finally. “Disappointed, maybe. Mostly confused. They didn’t get it. I think my old man thought I fancied myself too good for the family business. My mom was more understanding, but I think she figured I’d just be gone for a year or two, then get beaten down by the life and come back home.”

“But you never did go home,” she said.

“Not for more than a visit,” he said. “But I guess a life lived mostly outdoors always appealed to me. I spent so much of my childhood outside, riding horses, exploring. You can’t ever really take that out of a man.”

“New York must have been a tough adjustment,” she said.

“You’ve got that right. When I had a free moment from working at the hedge fund I would sometimes just sit in some overgrown patch of Central Park and stare at the grass,” he laughed and shook his head. “It’s hard to believe that was really me.”

“New York does that to people,” she said.

He nodded. “Look at me, talking a blue streak,” he said. “I’m boring myself. What about you, Jess? What’s your life been about?”

“I work in fashion PR,” she began. “Well, I did until I quit.”

“I know that already. I mean, what’s your life really
about
?” he said.

She paused as she considered his question. The only sound was a dragonfly buzzing over the creek. “To be honest, I’m still trying to figure that out,” she said. “For the past year and a half, I’ve just been getting up, going to work, maybe meeting up with friends for drinks afterwards, complaining about my job, and then doing it all over again, day after day.”

“That’s life in the big city,” Nate said. “Are you happy there?”

“What a question,” she said with a sigh. “I think it’s one that most of us don’t like to ask ourselves. Well, I’m paying the bills and my student loans and I guess I’m happy enough. I mean I don’t have any massive problems. I know I should be grateful for that.” She paused again.

“But?” he asked for a moment. His voice had a gentle, quiet timber that she hadn’t heard from him before.

“But . . .” She trailed off. “It feels like something’s missing. I couldn’t name what that thing is. It’s just a feeling, a lack.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. He was looking out over the creek and into the distance, as if remembering a long-forgotten feeling. “I got it frequently when I was working on Wall Street. Everything was going great, as far as my ambition was concerned. I was living the dream. Raking in the dough, able to secure good tables at exclusive restaurants, no trouble getting dates, either.”
I don’t doubt that
, she thought. A man with Nate’s looks, charm and money couldn’t keep swarms of New York women away. “But I’d have these moments—like when I was staring at the grass in Central Park—when I had this feeling of emptiness that was as big as my inflated ego.”

She was struck by his self-awareness—something she hadn’t noticed in any of the men she’d dated. Behind his easy smile and jokes, Nate was a sensitive soul. “Did you figure out what it was after you left?” she asked.

“I’m still figuring it out, frankly. But I will say I feel much more fulfilled now that I’m here. The simple life is sometimes the best one. I think I was distracting myself with work and dollar signs, like those were some shortcut to satisfaction. I know it’s not that easy now,” he said. “It was a slap in the face when we got booted out, but now I know it was a blessing in disguise. Sometimes you have to get away from the story you tell people.”

Suddenly her arm jerked forward. There was a rough tug at the end of her line.

“Hey, I think you hooked one!” he said. “Reel it in!”

She let go of the bit of line she was holding and started to wind the reel towards her. “Like this?” she asked.

“You got it!” he said.

She started to wind up the reel. It was tougher than it looked. She felt a strong pull at the end of the line. “Little help here?” she panted.

Nate reeled his line in quickly and dropped the rod onto the bank. He came up behind Jess and put his hand on hers. Together they wound back the reel, and after a minute a big silver fish popped out of the water.