Loving A Cowboy (2 page)

If the tuning up was any indication, the band was getting set to play.

“Hey, Chance, good run.” A small, lanky cowboy hit Chance hard on the back.

“JT. You too,” Chance shot back as he cocked his head in the man’s direction.

“Well, who’s this lovely, lovely lady?” JT flashed a white-toothed smile and gave her a wink in case she wasn’t getting his message.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chance stiffen.

“My wife.”

JT’s eyes widened to the size of half-dollars. “The hell you say?” he challenged.

The back of Libby’s neck dampened as heat stole up her cheeks. “Ex-wife,” she managed to get out.

JT looked at Chance. “I’d never have taken you for the marrying kind, buddy.”

“Everyone has a weak moment.”

Her head was telling her to just leave, let the lawyers handle it, but Libby knew her legs wouldn’t carry her right then. Besides, she wanted him to hear it from her.

“It wasn’t really a marriage.” Libby felt the need to explain.

“Hell it wasn’t,” Chance said. “It was legal
and
binding.”

She forced a smile in JT’s direction. The man looked like he’d stepped on a rock with a snake under it. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ll leave you two to work this out. Seems you’ve got some catching up to do.” And with that, JT escaped into the crowd heading for the dance floor.

“We’re dancing, Libby.” Chance spit out the words like he was inviting her into the boxing ring instead of onto a dance floor.

Libby nodded and willed her legs to work. Dancing with Chance beat fighting with him any old day. Might as well enjoy the moment while she could. There would be plenty of time for the fireworks that most certainly would follow.

Gratefully, the dance was a two-step. That meant only their hands would touch for much of the song, but when he had to place his hand on her waist, it was like he set a branding iron to her. And all the time they twirled and whirled, their feet in sync with every step, his eyes were focused on her. As if he could see inside her, into her very soul. The frown on his face said he wasn’t happy with what he found there.

The song ended, and he spun her to face him. When both of his hands grasped her waist and tugged her closer, her feet moved to him as if they had a will of their own. Or no will.

“Like old times—almost,” he said against her ear as the scent of his aftershave filled her senses.

Despite the tension between them, the heat of his breath and the warmth coming off him caused a shudder. Her body had never forgotten him.

The band slid into a ballad. He moved, and involuntarily she leaned against him. Muscular arms captured her, and like an ice cube warming in the sun, she melted into him, laid her head on his shoulders, and together they swayed to the music. It felt so right, too right, when it should be all wrong.

“How have you been?” His question whispered across her ear and lodged in her heart.

“Managing.” She wondered that she didn’t paint it any prettier than that, considering.

“Me too,” he said, burrowing his face in her hair.

The scent of liquor teased her nose. Alcohol was probably to blame for this intimate moment, but she didn’t care. For one last time, she would hold him, be held by him, knowing that this had to be a forever good-bye.

She fit him perfectly, even now that she was rounder, fuller, more of a woman than a girl. Her sleek, shoulder-length blonde hair smelled of the rose scent he’d forever associate with Libby. He slid his hand down her silky camisole, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. He couldn’t help wonder what it would be like to kiss her again and feel her response, taste her sweetness. In tight jeans and a sexy top, she looked like a fantasy girl.
His
fantasy girl.

“You did get the divorce decree, right? I mean, considering what you said to JT.”

Reality was a bitch.

Until the moment he’d opened the envelope, he’d held hope of getting her back. He gone to work on the rodeo circuit like a crazy man, trying to earn enough money to come back and throw it in old man Brennan’s face and reclaim his wife. Because he knew money was the only hope he had of making his case—to Brennan and to Libby. “You mean from that judge your daddy bribed? How you could have signed those papers, Libby—”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“You
chose
to walk away. From me. From us.” That was the truth of it. If only she would admit that she had a choice. And she didn’t choose him. Maybe that would knock some sense into his heart.

Instead, she buried her face in his shoulder. He felt the damp warmth of her mouth through his shirt. A mouth just a second ago he’d imagined kissing, before the sting of betrayal had become fresh in his mind, jabbing him back to reality.

“It was the only thing that made sense. He would have made both of us miserable. You’d been through so much already.”

“Yeah. What’s one more person walking out of my life going to do to me, right? Is that what you figured?”

“You know it wasn’t, Chance.”

“Seems where you’re concerned, Libby, I didn’t know anything.”

He’d been a guy from the wrong side of the tracks making it with the town princess. Only she’d meant so much more to him. Her faith in him was what had pulled him back from the brink of failure and made him want to try. And then, without a backward glance, she’d walked away as if he had never mattered.

He couldn’t do it. Hold her in his arms. Feel her body next to his. Imagine what could have been, knowing what was. He stepped back, dropped his arms. She stumbled a step before righting herself. He needed to say good-bye and get the hell out of there.

“Libby—”

“We need to talk,” she exclaimed over the din. “Somewhere private.”

He swallowed hard past the lump that had lodged in his throat. They did need to talk. But he doubted she’d like what he had to say. Telling her, finally, what he really thought of her might just be the best thing. Then he could stop thinking about her, stop wondering what if. Stop hurting. It had been five years—and he still hadn’t been able to move on. “Outside.”

She started toward the door. He followed. Their pretty waitress was just setting down the drinks at the table. As he passed, he pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and slapped it in her hand.

“This is for the drinks,” he said and grabbed the shot glass resting on the table. The Lagavulin whiskey he’d ordered slid smoothly down his throat. He’d need it tonight.

Two long steps brought him right behind Libby, who hadn’t broken stride. The crowd parted to let them through. He couldn’t miss the lingering male glances that followed her. No doubt she had some boyfriend waiting in the wings. Some suit from one of those eastern schools she’d attended. Because that would please her father.

As she reached the exit, he swung out his arm and pushed open the door, nearly knocking aside the couple entering. He begged their pardon before stepping out behind her. The summer night air felt warm after the air-conditioning. She moved into the golden glow of two lamps guarding the club’s doorway. The light shimmered around her like a backlight to an angelic statue. His head said he wasn’t ready to do this, but the pounding in his chest said he had to.

Chapter 2

Libby stepped between two pickups parked out front and wondered how she could say what she had to say. She’d never been comfortable with confrontation, though Chance seemed born to confront. And maybe that had been the attraction back then. Chance had been the fighter—she had been the one who wanted someone to fight for her.

Clear of the back fender and facing an ever expanding sea of vehicles, more pouring into the lot with each step, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

“Where do you want to do this?” she asked. Her nerves were jumping at the prospect, but she was a big girl now, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to duck and run. Hadn’t she’d come to clear the air and gain his agreement?

“My truck.”

An image of another time, another “this” they’d done in Chance’s old beat-up Ford pickup, burst into her thoughts, crackling through her mind with vivid intensity. So vivid she could almost feel his body pressing on hers, his gentle touch, his—

“This way.”

He strode off ahead of her, his long, lean cowboy silhouette a dark object against the gray night sky. She followed, breathing deeply to slow down her runaway pulse.

The black Ford F-150 he stopped at was a beauty—sleek, polished, and expensive. Clearly top of the line. It spoke volumes when compared to his old dented red one. Volumes about how far he had come. He yanked open the passenger door and stood, gesturing for her to enter.

“I won’t bite,” he said.

Heat rushed up her back as she thought about the veracity of that statement given some of their more passionate moments, but a glance at his tensed jaw and rigid expression pushed those thoughts, gratefully, from her mind.

She slid onto the butterscotch leather seats. He closed her door and circled to the other side, slipping behind the wheel into the driver’s spot. New-car smell permeated the air. The interior of the extended cab was as well appointed as her father’s top-of-the-line Lincoln. Wood-grain dashboard, built-in GPS screen, more dials and buttons than a private jet. She took a shallow breath and waited for him to speak, because she didn’t know how to begin. How to say what she had to say. How to ask what she had to ask. How to fix what seemed more and more unfixable with every passing minute.

Chance was staring straight ahead as if the side of the building doused in soft yellow light from the overhead parking lamp was more interesting than anything she might have to say.

“What are you doing here, Libby?” he said with a growl akin to a panther and producing a similar chill.

“I live in Cheyenne, in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget. That’s why I haven’t been here the last few years. But I honestly thought you were still at school back East.”

“I finished up my MBA and came home this May. For good.” She shifted so she could see his face, get a better bead on his emotions, but his stoic expression revealed nothing.

He snorted and slid back in the seat. “So you’re living with dear old Dad.”

It was painful to admit, but she should be beyond caring what he thought.

“I’m working for Brennan Motors.” Her father had begged her to step in and help with one of his three car dealerships. She’d resisted as long as she could, but with the job market the way it was, she’d had no choice. She was starting on Monday.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I don’t know. Why doesn’t it?” she said, irritated, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She needed to just ask him. Get it over with.

“Hell, Libby, you ever make a decision on your own?”

She was about to make the biggest decision of her life. And she couldn’t refute that her father was a big part of it. But just because her father approved this time didn’t mean it wasn’t her decision.

Chance continued to look straight ahead as if looking at her might turn him into stone or something. Not that he wasn’t as cold and hard as one already.

He hadn’t been like that back then. He’d been tough, a bit rough around the edges, but surprisingly tender and supportive. With him she’d felt they could take on the world. When she’d found out all he’d been through, she’d ached to make it better. Thought she could. Thought their love could conquer anything. Then reality hit.

“My father is part of my life.” A part Chance never could accept. “But I didn’t come to talk about him.”

“What the hell did you want to talk about? How you walked out on me, on us? ’Cause that’s something I sure would like to hear about.” He stole a quick glance in her direction and then returned to staring at the wall.

Libby hoped she wasn’t shaking as hard on the outside as she was on the inside. Sitting next to him, she could see the tensed muscles of his outstretched arm, tan and sculpted, as his large fingers grasped the wheel in a white-knuckled grip. His stubbled jaw was set, and she caught the subtle movement of grinding teeth. Her sidelong glance traveled down to his muscular thighs, used to hugging a bucking horse with enough strength to last eight tension-filled seconds. She’d been so familiar with his body once…she’d felt his weight and strength in her dreams, vibrant and real. Now, it was a stranger’s body. Hard, muscular, solid, and foreign.

She gritted her teeth and girded for the truth. He deserved an answer. If only she had one he’d accept.

“I was young, Chance,” she said.

“You were of legal age. Old enough to make your own decision. But I guess this was just some stunt, on your part, to get to your father. I was just the poker you used to provoke him.”

“No, it wasn’t like that.” At least, she’d never intended it to be. “I did want him to take me seriously. To respect me as an adult. But I also wanted to be your wife. To love you and be loved by you. And then I got scared.”

He would never believe how difficult it had been to walk away from him—the fact she had negated any justification she might provide. There may be two sides to this story, but she knew he didn’t really want to hear hers. Still, she needed to try.

“We were too young to know what we were getting into. It was for the best, for both of us.”

He turned toward her then, his eyes shining in the lamplight. She wished she could crawl under the seat and hide from the storm brewing in those eyes. But she needed to face him. She needed to hear his truth, even if it wasn’t hers.

“Well, your daddy made it crystal clear what was best for
you,
Libby.” His voice held even and steady as he talked, making it all the more unnerving. “And it surely wasn’t being married to a poor cowboy. I was out trying to make money, hoping you were waiting for me to come and claim you when I had some, even though you ignored my phone calls. Then I reached in the PO Box one day and pulled out that envelope.”

“He would have destroyed you, Chance.”

“You’re trying to say you left me for my own good?” He barked out the words like a lone dog ready to fight the world. And that was probably what he felt like. Her heart pinched. “Is telling yourself that how you sleep at night? Truth was, Libby, you just didn’t believe in me. Didn’t believe I could take care of you. Didn’t believe I’d make something of myself, that I could handle your old man.”