Meeting Her Match (2 page)

Poor J.P.

It wasn't as if he'd been planning to fall in love, either. He'd been blindsided by it just as much as she'd been.

Still, it had happened. Everyone who'd been at that wedding reception saw that love at first sight had struck him like a bolt of lightning. Only it wasn't with Sheri.

Sheri still felt slightly light-headed thinking about it. They'd been attending a wedding reception together, and she'd asked J.P. to get her a cup of punch. Just an innocent cup of punch. He'd been his sweet self, strutting off toward the punch bowl.
Bam!
Just like that, it had happened.

Love at the punch bowl.

Bizarre but true. Tara, the bride's friend from Houston, had come up for the wedding and was serving punch. When Tara and J.P. locked eyes with each other, that was it. They were goners.

“Goners for sure,” Applegate Thornton had put it.

It was old news now. Really, really old news. It had been two months ago that the bolt of lightning had struck. However, their wedding had been yesterday, and instead of closing the book on
Poor Little Jilted Sheri,
it had only amplified the matchmaking posse's pity party for her. Actually, the entire town still felt sorry for her. Why, old Applegate and Stanley Orr were even giving her the sorrowful eye this morning.

Mule Hollow's resident grumpy old men, Applegate and Stanley, played checkers at the table by the front window of Sam's diner most mornings and lately some afternoons. When they looked at her as if she was some poor pathetic soul, it was almost more than she could take.

What was wrong with being a single gal, a
happy
single gal, thank you very much? Why were married
women and old men convinced that marriage was the only way to happiness? She'd lived through more than her share of marriages with her parents. Nine, to be exact, and none of
them
had led to happiness.

As her mother was always saying, “Some people just aren't good at being tied down.” How many times had Sheri heard that phrase? It was so true. Before J.P., she'd always grown bored and moved on after a few months. Sheri recognized that she was like her parents. This sudden ache in her heart only meant that she'd foolishly thought she might want more. That she'd changed, that her past didn't matter… She'd prayed about it a few times even though she hadn't expected an answer. She'd realized early on in her life that God spoke to some and she wasn't one of them. She hadn't let it get to her before, but lately that, too, was starting to bother her more and more.

As her footsteps pounded on the gravel road, Sheri felt as if she could burst with frustration. There had been times over the last two months jogging down this road that she had wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She'd actually done it a couple of times—almost scared the cows to death. Still, there had been a certain freedom in letting loose.

As she rounded the bend in the road her mind locked on the matchmaking posse's unwanted plans for her life. Now, she thought with a grunt, might be a really good time to feel some of that freedom.

She opened her mouth to let a holler rip—and thankfully, spotted the truck before she screamed and embarrassed herself.

She slowed her pace. The dusty truck was parked off the road between the ancient roping pen and the shack that had always reminded her of something the first settlers had built when they'd come to the West. She slowed more, her gaze locking on the cowboy standing at the tailgate. She was more than glad she hadn't screamed. By the looks of this cowboy, if she'd startled him he'd probably have come running, guns ablaze. Of course, on closer inspection he wasn't wearing a holster, but that didn't take anything away from the impression he made.

She squinted but didn't recognize him. She headed his way. It never hurt to keep tabs on who was out here in the boonies of Mule Hollow.

He was unloading gear from the back of his truck, which was odd given that this was an access road to the interior of Lacy and her husband Clint's ranch. Lacy hadn't mentioned to her that anyone was moving in.

Actually relieved to have something new to take her mind off her own dilemma, Sheri jogged up the drive.

“So, how's it going, cowboy?” she called before she reached him. “Looks like you're moving in.” She came to a halt a few feet behind him and placed her hands on her hips, awaiting a reply. None came.

Instead, as if he hadn't heard her, he reached for a coil of rope that lay on the tailgate beside a duffel bag and saddle. He slid the rope to his shoulder, then finally turned toward her.

If she'd been wearing four-inch heels, she'd have fallen straight off them. The man was gorgeous! The rugged, black-haired cowboy cocked his head toward
her and met her startled gaze straight on with eyes the color of a stormy night sky.

Oh, my, my, my, looking at this handsome stranger confirmed what she'd known all her life. What she was trying to get the posse to realize about her.

She was not marriage material.

And that was
not
with a capital
N.

Honestly, if all it took was one look into some stranger's eyes to remind her of the main reason she didn't make commitments—then there ya go. It was a done deal.

As her mom always said,
“Some people just aren't good at being tied down”
—but it wasn't only the echo of her mom.

Sheri just liked dating. There, her secret was out.

This was exactly the reminder she needed that the matchmakers were on a mission that would ultimately fail. And why she shouldn't feel bummed about it because really she enjoyed dating. She absolutely loved this. There simply wasn't anything as exciting as the initial spark of interest between a man and a woman. Like now, it was breathtaking. Then again, Sheri realized suddenly that the cowboy seemed to be breathing just fine.

Sheri reined in her runaway exhilaration and put her feet back on the ground. Her reaction to this handsome stranger had been so strong that it took a second to see that he didn't appear to have been bitten by the same bug.

Drat.

Instead, his steel-gray eyes skimmed over her with
disdain—as if he were looking at the latest order of pesticide.

Sheri's eyes widened as he adjusted the rope on his shoulder, then without uttering a word slung the saddle to his back and strode away.

Sheri realized suddenly that a little caution mighta been in order.

She hadn't lived in the city in a while, and obviously her guard was down. His cold look yanked her straight out of her imaginings and slam-dunked her right back into reality. She was standing in the middle of nowhere, alone, with a man who looked as though he could stare down a wildcat and never blink.

Who was she kidding? He looked as though he could shoot it, skin it and eat it for supper. Raw!

At last, she reacted like a smart woman and took a step back. But that dismissive glance…it bothered her. Sheri had come a long way from being the once shy little girl who expected to be ignored, so this just didn't sit well with her.

Oh yeah, baby.
Danger or no danger, Sheri Marsh refused to be ignored by anybody, anywhere, anytime. She could excuse a guy for almost anything, even for falling in love with someone else, but she
would not
excuse a guy for ignoring her. Her hard-won “I'm here, I matter” personality demanded more.

“Hey, cowboy,” she snapped and glared at his back.

“I don't know where you come from, but around here cowboys have manners. When someone speaks, an answer is generally appropriate.”

That got his attention, and he glanced over his
shoulder at her. She met his stare with her own. That's right, locked her spine, threw her shoulders back and dared him to ignore her again.

“Pace Gentry,” he said without halting. “Not that it's any of your business.”

Okay, as if that made her feel any better. Sheri's eyes narrowed to slits. The man hadn't even broken step as he disappeared inside the shack. Of all the unmitigated gall. She felt like the lid of a pressure cooker barely hanging on as she waited for him to reappear.

In an instant he returned and strode back to his truck…swaggered was more like it. Passed her by without so much as a glance. It struck her then that this wasn't any kind of cowboy she'd ever encountered. He was different in actions and in dress. It was subtle, but there were distinct differences.

Besides his collar-length hair, he had a strong jawline shadowed by a flat-rimmed, black Stetson devoid of the more traditional crease. Around his neck he wore a large checked bandanna tied loosely, as if he might pull it up at any moment to protect him from the trail dust of a hard cattle drive—

Or, with the dangerous glint in his eyes, maybe to rob a bank!

Then there were the spurs sticking out from beneath his chaps. They were more ornate than any Sheri had seen on the cowboys around Mule Hollow. These spurs were either for show or for intense business. From the look on his face, Sheri couldn't envision anything about him being for show.

Nope, this man was all business, easily mistaken for
a cowboy fresh off the trail a hundred years ago. Still, it was his intense gray eyes that told the story…this cowboy was one hundred percent authentic you-don't-want-to-mess-with-me cowboy.

Again, good sense mandated she turn around and get out of there immediately.

Yeah, right!

“Look, this is my friend's property, and I'm just making sure they know you're setting up camp out here.”

She felt a sense of achievement when he stopped mid-swagger to glare at her. Suddenly, it felt as though he'd just weighed and measured her, and she'd come up lacking.

“Like I said,” he drawled, his eyes cool. “Not that it's any more your business now than two minutes ago, but Clint knows I'm here.”

The gravel in his drawl sent a shiver up Sheri's spine that had nothing to do with fright. “Lacy would have told me if someone was moving onto the ranch around the bend from me.”

Hoisting a duffel bag to his shoulder he slammed the tailgate closed. His spurs sang a little ditty with every step he took away from her.

He'd dismissed her again!

“Hey, mister, the macho man thing's not really working for me.”

He scowled down at her from the rickety porch. “Look, lady, I'm here to break horses. If you've got a problem with that, then take it up with Clint Matlock.”

Before she could react, he disappeared into the tiny cabin and closed the door. Slammed the door was more like it. In her face, practically.

“Of all the rude, unmannered—” She halted mid-rant. He was probably inside the cabin watching through the window. No doubt laughing at the sight she must make standing in the middle of his drive with her mouth hanging open, her fists clinched at her sides. If only she had a mirror; she was no doubt fire-engine red with indignation.

The worst part about the entire situation was he was right. Boy, did that ever just annoy the thunder out of her. Well, not exactly right, she consoled herself. Fact was Clint and Lacy were her friends and she'd just wanted to make certain no funny business was going on out here on their property.

But since this Neanderthal was actually here for a reason then she had no right to continue questioning him. Spinning on her running shoes she raked a hand through her ponytail then jogged back to the road and headed home.

She'd only just begun her run, but she suddenly wasn't in the mood for jogging. Nope. She was in the mood to make a phone call and find out why Lacy hadn't seen fit to let her know she was about to have a neighbor.

If
neighbor
was what you could call the fierce-looking man she'd just met.

P
ace Gentry placed a few more pieces of wood on the campfire and watched the embers flutter as he settled into his bedroll for the night. Clasping his hands over his chest he relaxed and gazed up at the canopy of stars glittering above him. He could have slept inside the cabin, but tonight he needed to be outdoors.

He needed the connection to what he'd left behind.

He needed to feel the breeze whispering across the pastures to the north of him, hear the lonesome song of the coyotes and the occasional bawling of the cattle that grazed in the dark pastures surrounding him.

The sounds that made him feel at home.

The sounds that made him think for a moment he was back in the Great Basin, lost in the high desert of the Idaho range. Alone, with nothing but himself, God, his herd…

And his horses.

He loved his horses. It was in his blood. Nothing would make him happier than to die an old man as his dad had,
atop a good ride. His dad had lived and died on his terms. Like his father, Pace understood bronc breaking was a tough way to make a living. He'd chosen it anyway.

Lived and breathed it.

With his dad's nomadic way of living, Pace hadn't ever really known any other life, but it hadn't mattered. Even if he'd turned out to be the worst cowboy around, he figured he'd have found a way to keep at it.

Pace watched a shooting star travel across the sky—something he'd have missed if he'd been inside. The howl of the coyote rippled into a full-blown serenade. Pace was forever grateful for the life he lived. Or had lived, he reminded himself, his gut shifting momentarily with doubt. He was on a new path. Like a surly bronc, for the first time in his life he felt the bit in his mouth and was fighting hard to get used to the feel of it.

If his earlier encounter was a measuring stick of how his transition was going to go…things weren't looking so good. Pace was the first to admit that he had some rough edges. Animals he could deal with, but people—he had little patience with interfering people. Meeting his pushy neighbor had proven those edges hadn't smoothed out on the long haul from Idaho to Texas.

He'd been his usual blunt self, a reaction he was going to be hard put to change.

Pulling his Stetson down over his eyes, he crossed his booted feet and settled in for the night. He figured the Lord had his work cut out for Him when it came to smoothing this rover's edges. But then, God was God, and if He could create the universe Pace figured, He could whip an ornery two-bit buckaroo into shape, too.

Pace just had a streak of buck left in him, and like the mustangs he was about to tame, that natural wildness was an instinct strong and deep in his soul.

Despite Pace's new commitment to change, more than likely this transition promised to be a rough ride.

 

“Rise and shine, Sheri,” Lacy sang. “The mustangs are coming!”

Sheri bolted up from a dead sleep and squinted at the figure of Lacy standing in the stark light she'd flicked on as a wake-up call. Blinking and having murderous thoughts she peered at the red lights of her alarm clock. “Lacy! It's five o'clock in the morning. Are you
insane?
”

“Aww, now don't be that way,” Lacy laughed.

Slamming her eyes shut, Sheri plopped back onto the bed with a thud and covered her face with her pillow. She didn't
do
early morning…and predawn—well, that wasn't even a time frame she acknowledged.

A fact Lacy was well aware of, but obviously ignored.

“C'mon, girlfriend. Up and at 'em. The mustangs are coming, and I want you to be there when they arrive. Here we go—”

Sheri yelped when her pillow and covers were abruptly yanked away, leaving no barrier against the hundred-watt bulb glaring at her from above. She needed to change that light, pronto.

Like a turtle without a shell, Sheri glared accusingly up at Lacy. Her pale blond hair stuck out from beneath her orange ball cap like pie meringue gone bad. A picture Sheri could easily visualize since right then and
there she would love nothing more than to splatter a cream pie right smack in the dead center of her beaming face.

Of course, she wouldn't. “It's too early,” she groaned instead.

“Get out of that bed, woman!”

Okay, maybe she would like to toss a pie, she thought, popping an eye open, watching Lacy drop the covers to the floor. When Lacy spun and reached for her hand, Sheri scowled at her as the fluffy cream pie sailed across her mind's eye.

“C'mon, Lacy, give a girl a break,” she groaned again but couldn't help chuckling at the look Lacy gave her. The I've-heard-that-before look.

Nowadays, no one would realize that Sheri had been an extremely shy child until Lacy had befriended her. After being tugged along on Lacy's escapades, Sheri, the shy girl who'd learned to blend into the wall and not be seen, had slowly come out of her shell. It had totally been an act of survival.

But there were times, like now, that Sheri had to remind herself how grateful she was that Lacy had come along and changed her life for the better. Sheri dug her feet in at the bathroom doorway and stared at Lacy. “You know, I'm going to get you for this,” she yawned.

“Trust me, Sheri. I have a hunch you're going to thank me once you down some coffee and see exactly what's waiting at the horse pens. Now get on in there, and I'll have you some coffee made when you get out. But you have to hurry, hurry, hurry!”

Before Sheri could make a comeback, Lacy gave one
last shove and yanked the door closed between them. “Just think, Sheri. Wild mustangs! Real, live American heritage at our ranch. It's the coolest thing.”

“Yippy yiyay and yada, yada, yada,”
Sheri said softly as Lacy's chattering and the clunk of her boots retreated across the hardwood floor.

Peace and quiet at last. Sheri sighed. Slumping against the door, she raked her fingers through her hair, yawned, and thought about coffee.

Lacy made good coffee….

After a quick shower, she headed toward the kitchen feeling a bit more human. Although she wasn't sure she looked more human. For the sake of time and the early hour, she'd opted to yank her hair into a ponytail and slap her pink ball cap over it. And forget makeup. She and Lacy would just be a mess together, because no matter what—it was way too early in the morning to worry about appearances.

“Okay, girlfriend,” she said, entering the kitchen. “Why did you drive all the way over here to wake me up and drag me all the way back over to your ranch? Especially when you know how grumpy I am at this hour.” She latched on to the steaming mug Lacy held out to her, held it beneath her nose and let the rich aroma seep into her senses.

“Because with all the talk focused on you and J.P., I didn't have a chance to tell you about Pace and the horses. They're going to be in the pens around the corner from your house.”

Sheri took a sip of coffee, only to wince at the reminder of the cowboy. “Speaking of which, I tried to call
you about that last night. How could you not tell me someone was moving in over there? Is that place even fit for someone to move into?”

“Hey, I was goin' to tell you.”

“
Goin' to
don't cut the mustard, sister.”

Lacy made a face at her. “I can't help it. The girls came in and started up about all that J.P. business, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise. I did tell you that Clint's friend was moving to town to start a horse-breaking business. It was a while back, though, and believe me, from what Clint says that shack is a palace compared to what Pace was used to living in back in Idaho. Why, the man practically lived like a caveman.”

“
That
I would believe.”

Lacy smiled. “You met him, huh?”

Sheri did not smile. “Affirmative. The guy is definitely a Neanderthal. He's like, like…angry.”

“He's not angry.”

“So says you. The man is a grizzly. An angry grizzly.”

“Sheri, he's just used to being alone. And he, well, he is here under duress, but he's willing, so he's not angry. He's just a fish out of water, so to speak.”

“Maybe a barracuda.” Sheri took another drink of coffee, ignoring the memory of those serious gray eyes.

“But he's cute, huh?”

Sheri rolled her eyes as she headed toward the door.

“Come on. Admit it, Sheri girl. He's, like, a hunk, and since when have you not noticed a hunk within a ten-mile radius?”

Since I very nearly got my heart trampled, that's when.

Sheri pushed away the thought and walked out onto
her porch, shocked all over again by the darkness and the fact that it was, by all appearances, still snoozing time. “Lacy, we're up before the roosters. Do you realize that?”

“Hey, it's good for you.”

“
Hay
is for cows. And daybreak is for roosters,” Sheri grumbled, opening the passenger door of Lacy's beloved 1958 pink Caddy. Not wanting to lose a precious drop of her coffee, she waited while Lacy sprang over to the driver's door in her usual Bo Duke style. Once she'd landed with a happy thud, then and only then did Sheri sit down beside her—a routine learned after many cups of sloshed coffee and speckled shirts.

“I can't believe you're trying to deny Pace Gentry is a hunk,” Lacy continued as she backed the big car around and headed out of the driveway.

Sheri had learned over the years that it was best to keep some things to herself, or she would hang herself with incriminating evidence. With the matchmakers on red alert, now was not the time to admit that, despite his lack of manners, Pace
Neanderthal
Gentry was about the hunkiest hunk she'd ever seen. Even if that did sound childish and immature, it was the truth.

A thin, glowing line marked the horizon as they raced the hundred yards down the gravel road and around the corner to the cattle pens. She realized she'd been sleeping like a rock earlier because she hadn't heard any trucks passing by her house, and there had obviously been a parade of them.

There were cowboys milling around all over the place as Lacy guided the big car over every rut she
could find. Grinning mischievously, she watched Sheri fight to keep her coffee in her cup.

Sheri chuckled. “Like I said earlier, I'm going to get you back for this. You know that, don't you?”

“Wouldn't be fun if you didn't. At least you're looking a little perkier.”

“Thanks to the coffee, I might make it,” Sheri said as the car came to a jolting halt.

“Hey, Sheri,” several cowboys shouted in greeting as she slammed the car door shut.

“Mornin', boys,” she called while waving, always happy to acknowledge a good-natured cowboy, even if the posse had practically put a Husband Wanted poster out on her behalf.

“How many horses are coming?” she asked, her gaze snagging on the one cowboy who might be a hunk, but could never in a million years be classified as a good-natured anything. He was standing beside the wooden corral talking to Clint. Grudgingly, Sheri admired them. Together they made a formidable picture of pure strength and manliness. Both were well over six feet, lean at the hips, wide at the shoulders. Extraordinarily handsome. But it was Pace her eyes fixed on, noting his steely gaze following her as she moved to stand beside Lacy. Sheri had to admit, she hadn't ever seen a better-looking man. But there was more to a good man than his looks, and this one—well, something was missing in the good-man category. That was for sure.

This morning he had on jeans and shorter chaps that came just below the knees with a wide band of fringe and silver conchos running up the sides. Oddly,
Sheri thought they were cute. They added a little flash to his otherwise rugged outfit. Feeling defiant, she lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers at him. He might have dismissed her the day before, but he had another think coming if he thought slamming a door on her meant she was done.

He tilted his head, acknowledging her wave, but that was it. There was no smile. Not that she'd expected one, but there was not even a hint of a change in Pace's facial expression. What was his problem? The man was certainly peculiar.

“Clint said about twelve mustangs,” Lacy was saying. “You can only adopt four mustangs a year but Clint and Pace got special permission from the Bureau of Land Management to get a few extra, though they won't get papers on all of them this year. The government is very protective of the mustangs. Pace has plenty of horses to train. People are lining up waiting on him to work with their horses because he's so good. Sheri, are you listening to me?”

“Ah—yes, sure.” She yanked her gaze away from Pace, hoping Lacy hadn't noticed her staring at him. Then she wondered why she cared. She could stare if she wanted to.

The distinct sound of an 18-wheeler could be heard growling around the bend. Lacy, along with everyone else, turned toward the sound.

“Speaking of Pace, what's this guy's full story?” Sheri asked. Her gaze skipped back to the cowboy who was now watching the truck's approach. Despite his bad manners there was no denying that he intrigued her.
When she looked back toward the truck, she met Lacy's gaze. Drat, she'd been caught. The last thing she needed was Lacy getting any ideas. But Lacy wasn't smiling. Instead, a thoughtful gleam shone in her eyes.

“I don't really know much,” Lacy said, shaking off her serious look, “except what I already told you. How he lived in that cabin in Idaho alone for months is a mystery to me. I'd climb the walls. Can you imagine—no telephone, or water? He washes his clothes in the nearby river. The ice-encrusted river. He's really like a mountain man. But we're talking huge ranches here. Like five hundred square miles or more, not acres. Miles of barren, lonesome land. That's why he lived in the little shack like that. They need men spread out watching over smaller sections over the winters. Even in the summers he doesn't see much more than a handful of people. Not me, I couldn't handle that. I've got to talk to people.”