Once Upon a Cowboy (12 page)

“Okay, okay.” Cole nodded. “You’re right on that score. Still can’t believe she signed up for marriage with the likes of you, but there’s a touch of crazy in everybody, right?”

Daniel socked his arm. “You’ll see. Someday you’ll want it, too. You’ll want the crazy right along with the rest.”

“I don’t know.” Cole shook his head. “Not sure I’m equipped for
any
of it, especially
the crazy.”

“You say that now.”

“I
mean
that now.”

Daniel nodded. “I know. But seriously. That woman’s going to be on a plane again, heading east again, and where are you going to be? Right here where you started, right here beating yourself up over not at least giving it a try.”

“Don’t make me call you Doctor Phil again.”

“I’m not kidding. Mark my words. You sit back and let this opportunity
go by, you’re going to regret it. Next time she comes out to visit, she could bring somebody with her. Maybe a boyfriend, maybe a fiancé. Hell, maybe you’ll be heading to Boston for
her
wedding.”

“Shut up.”

“Would suck, right?”

Cole shook his head, taking a long drink of his beer.
Suck
didn’t even begin to describe the fist that clenched his gut when he thought about Jess with someone else.
For these past two years, he had kept her single in his mind, because the thought of someone else touching her— kissing her, loving her—was too much to handle.

He looked at her, laughing as the three of them sang along with the cheesy country song the deejay was playing. Yeah, maybe he’d be playing with fire. But hell if he could think of anything
but
her these days, and that thinking was getting
him nowhere but frustrated and agitated.

Daniel was right. Next year at this time she could be engaged, married, or hell—maybe not even
come
back out to Whisper Creek. He sighed.
Shit.

But if he moved too fast, she’d shut down and he’d have lost his chance forever. Hell if he knew where the sweet spot was there.

But he’d be damned if he didn’t want to find out.

Tonight.

“I hate tourist season. We might be safer standing up.” Hayley grumbled as yet another tipsy woman jostled into her head. “It’s like a ranch town version of reality television.”

Kyla laughed. “You mean beer-soaked and loud?”

“You know it!” Hayley swept her arm in an arc. “And before you say it, Kyla—I know. You depend on tourist season, so I’m trying to learn to love it. I mean, look
around, ladies! Check out all of the eligible men!”

Jess raised her eyebrows. “I see two, and they’re not pretty.”

Hayley smiled. “That might be two more than the usual pickings. I think those are Brody’s new guys.”

Jess wrinkled her nose. “Brody obviously hires by skill alone.”

“He can’t help it,” Kyla said. “Our ranch already has all the hot cowboys.”

Jess sat back in her chair, perusing
the crowd on the dance floor, trying to get her eyes to focus properly. “I still can’t believe you’ve convinced Decker and Cole to pose for a Whisper Creek calendar. What did you have to promise them, anyway?”

“Nothing.” Kyla shrugged.

Hayley snorted. “Baloney. Tell the truth. Wait. Let me guess. Pies.”

“Oh, please.” Kyla shrugged. “I
like
baking pies.”

“You like baking two a week? For the
next year?”

She sighed, smiling. “I will learn to like it, I guess.”

Jess laughed. “You bribed the men with pie? How classic fifties of you!”

“I know. I’m not exactly proud. But it worked, right? Those calendars are going to fly out of here!”

Jess shook her head. “Stop rubbing imaginary money between your fingers. I think Hayley has already acknowledged that you’re a genius.”

“Ha.” Hayley
shook her head. “I only acknowledged that it was refreshing to see someone put an MBA to actual use.”

“Selling calendars?” Jess laughed.

Hayley shrugged. “You take what you can get, right?” Then she turned to Jess. “Speaking of which—”

Jess tipped her head. “Speaking of which—what?”

“Cole’s here.”

Jess’s stomach jumped. Of course she’d chosen the one chair that faced the wall. “He is?”

“Yup.” Hayley smiled. “And he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he walked in.”

“Stop it. How long has he been here?”

Kyla looked at her watch. “About ten minutes, and it’s true. He’s trying to pretend he’s not looking, but he’s looking.” She paused. “Ooh! It looks like he and Daniel are on their way over here to play knights in shining armor—or leather, as I prefer mine.”

Jess fought the urge
to turn around, but didn’t have to do so for long. Cole was suddenly at her shoulder, and as he leaned down toward her ear, she caught a subtle whiff of his aftershave.

“How’s it going, cowgirl?” He pointed to the tiny tower of cups she’d just finished building. “Are you drinking these to get
ready
for the dancing? Or to recover from it?”

She cleared her throat carefully, placing another cup
on top of the others. “I’m proving that I’m still coordinated.” She pointed at Hayley and Kyla. “Doubts have been expressed.”

“Want me to help you prove it?” He reached out a hand, head cocked in challenge, eyes crinkled with amusement.

“By dancing with you?”

“What better test would there be?”

“Oh, sweet honey. Hayley? Do we have any more?” Jess sorted through the empties, finally coming up
with one they hadn’t slurped yet.

Cole smiled. “Sure you want to do that?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Jess squeezed the shot into her mouth, then placed the empty carefully on the table, where it promptly fell off the edge. “Oops.”

“Come on, cowgirl. Let’s dance.” Cole waited until she put her hand gingerly in his, and then pulled her gently toward the dance floor, where people were already forming
lines.

“Oh, no, you don’t. This is one of those line dance things.” Jess cringed.

He put his hands on her shoulders and positioned her in one of the lines. “Just follow the people in front of you. Do what they do, and you’ll be fine.”

“You say that now. What’s the penalty here for tourists stepping on local toes?”

“No worries. You’re not a tourist.”

“I totally am, Cole. And I have cowgirl
boots on.” She pointed down, like he couldn’t see them for himself. “Serious toe-crushers.”

He laughed. “You’ll be fine.” The music started, and he grinned at her. “Here we go, cowgirl. Let’s dance!”

Fifteen minutes later, Jess was laughing and sweaty and had somehow managed to completely tangle herself up in Cole’s arms as they did some complicated spin that she never quite mastered. The quick
beat of the line dance faded into the slow tempo of a country love song, and although she knew she should let go, her arms weren’t cooperating.

Neither were his.

Her back was pressed against his body, and his arms crossed under her chest as his chin almost rested on her head.

“Want to slow-dance?” His low voice sent shivers cascading down her neck as he spoke close to her ear.

“Um—” She swallowed.

“You have to think about it? I’m hurt.” His feet shuffled gently, back and forth, swaying her in his arms. “If it helps you decide, think of it as a charity mission.”

She laughed. “You’re hardly the type to need charity, Cole. I imagine pretty much anyone in this place would dance with you if you asked. Or even if you didn’t.”

“Maybe.” He ducked his head lower, spinning her ninety degrees to
the right. “But there is one particular woman who has her eyes firmly on my arse, and I need protection. Check out the blonde over by the Budweiser sign.”

Jess looked toward the sign, catching sight of a familiar face and an all-too-familiar strut. “Oh God. Is that that Marcy woman who tried to break up Decker and Kyla?”

“The very same.”

“And now she’s set her sights on you?”

“Well, I
am
single.”

Jess laughed. “Is that her only requirement?”

“Not really.” Cole chuckled. “She has sort of a warped definition of the word.”

Jess turned her head to look up at him. “So me dancing with you—that’d get you out of dancing with her? That’s what you’re saying?”

“Yes. No.” He shook his head. “I mean, yes, it would. But that’s not why I want to dance with you. I want to dance with you because I—want
to dance with you.”

Jess laughed as he shook his head again. Was he—nervous? Couldn’t be. Nervous wasn’t an emotion Cole did.

“All right, cowboy. I’ll dance with you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll even pretend to like it, but that might cost you.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against his shoulder. He was so strong and solid, and yet the way he was holding her made her feel like she was
a baby kitten he was trying not to hurt.

He laughed close to her ear, sending more shivers flying. “I’ll pay whatever price you’re asking.”

Then he took her hands in his and spun her slowly out from his body, making her practically ache to return. When she looked back at him, his eyes had lost their laughter, and she saw an intensity that should have sent her flying for the door. Instead, she
felt heat flush her cheeks and make its way south as she struggled to swallow.

He pulled her back toward him, taking both of her hands in his and sliding his fingers to link with hers. She felt her pulse in her ears, pounding relentlessly as she registered the scent of his soap and aftershave in the same breath.

But the moment she was struck with an indescribable desire to step closer to him—to
meld herself to him—he smiled, somehow breaking the intensity of the previous moment.

“Want to try that tricky spin again, cowgirl?” He started to twirl her, but the drinks were catching up with her, and she grabbed his arm.

“I think I’m not quite sober enough for spinning, cowboy.”

“Gotcha. Want to head back to the table?”

No. No, I want to stay out here on this sticky dance floor all night
long, just feeling your heat and smelling your soap and wanting you.

“Or would you rather stay out here and dance?”

“Um—”

“I know. It’s a tough call. Go back to a too-small table with too many people already at it, or keep dancing with Mister January.”

“Mister Jan—” She sputtered out a laugh.

He sighed. “Kyla made me and Decker flip for it. He got December.”

“Because?”

“Because we refused
to take off our shirts and wax our abs, so we couldn’t be the summer guys. Which is
just
fine with me. I’m already mortified to be on a frigging calendar.”

Jess laughed. “I really need to see this calendar.”

“Yeah, so do I, so I can buy up every single copy and never let them off the ranch.”

“Is Ma going to make them available on the website?” Jess pretended to think. “They’d make a great present
for my gals back in Boston.”

“I mentioned the part about how much I hate this idea, right?”

“Yes. Yes, you did.” Jess tried not to smile, but couldn’t bite her cheek before one slipped out.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe? A little?”

“Right.”

“Okay, a lot. Yes, I’ll admit it. But think about it: Women have been degraded for decades on these ridiculous calendars.
I’m kind of okay with a hot cowboy one for a change.”

“Even if I’m one of the cowboys being degraded?” He nodded, smiling through his attempt at a serious face. “I see where this is going.”

“Kyla’s a very talented photographer. I’m sure her shots are classy and respectful.”

“Well, you let me know when you see them. She refuses to let any of us look until the damn calendar’s printed.”

“Ooh.”
Jess manufactured a concerned expression.

“What does
ooh
mean?”

“Nothing.” She smiled brightly. “I’m sure it’s all fine. She definitely wouldn’t have dug up old pics from the past, right?”

Cole stopped moving. “What kinds of pics?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugged, picturing one particular shot Kyla had showed her last year of Cole hosing himself down after a long, dusty afternoon on the trail.
“Certainly not one of you…with a hose…and no shirt.”

He growled and pulled her back into his chest, laughing as he swayed back and forth with her nestled in his arms. “There better not be one of those in circulation.”

She rested her cheek against his chest, feeling the reassuring
thump-thump
of his heartbeat through his shirt. His arms tightened around her back, but instead of inciting her panic
reflex, it made her sigh in contentment. When she felt his hands slide to brace her rib cage, she didn’t flinch.

When he pulled a few inches away and tipped up her chin with his fingers, she—for the first time in years—didn’t try to run.

But he did.

“Shit.” Cole thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand as he drove out of the Salty’s parking lot half an hour later.

“Oh, boy.” Decker rolled down his window, laying his arm on the frame. “What are you so worked up about?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. Not Jess, then.”

Cole sighed, frustration coursing through his body. “I was trying to do the right thing.”

“Looked to me like the
right thing might have been to kiss her.”

“She’d been drinking, Decker.”

Decker shook his head. “She was a little tipsy. Not drunk.”

“Same thing.” Cole growled as they pulled onto the highway, heading back to Whisper Creek. The girls were two cars ahead of them, with Daniel at the wheel. “She had liquid courage on board. Tomorrow morning, she would have regretted it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, Decker. Somehow I do.”

Decker drummed his fingers on the window frame, whistling as they followed the taillights of Daniel’s truck. “So what are you gonna do now?”

“I don’t know. That woman has my head completely spinning.”

Decker smiled. “Scary, eh?”

“Shut up.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I say you should go for it. I might be an old married guy now, but it’s dead obvious that Jess
wants you just as much as you want her.”

Cole shook his head. “Did you get a chance to talk to Kyla yet?”

“No.” Decker turned his head. “You are really in deep here, aren’t you?”

“No. Yes. No. Maybe.” Cole sighed, thumping the wheel again. “Yes.”

Decker laughed. “Wow. My little brother. In love.”

“Not in love.”

“In serious, unrequited lust?”

Cole reached across and socked him. “You’re going
to be in serious, unrequited
shit
if you don’t stop.”

Decker turned back to face the windshield. “I think you might be right.”

“Right about what?”

“About Jess. You’re right. She’s been off. Can’t put my finger on it, but something’s different.”

“Exactly.”

“So the question is—are you going to try to find out what’s going on?”

“Hell, I don’t know. I have a feeling once she sobers up, she’ll
be a closed book again.”

“Then maybe you need to get to her before she sobers up.” Decker raised his eyebrows. “We’ll be home in five minutes. Maybe you oughta check and make sure she gets to her cabin all right?”

Cole grimaced. “Right. Because that wouldn’t be transparent.”

“You’ll hate yourself if you don’t, Cole. Maybe she’ll talk. You never know. But if you don’t give it a try, she might
be on a plane again next week, and maybe you won’t get another chance, right?”

“You and Danny have the same playbook tonight.”

Cole sighed as he put his blinker on to exit the highway. As hard as he was trying to ignore it, he couldn’t stop thinking about how her body had felt nestled against his, how her smile had lit a fire deep down inside him, how the feel of her soft skin just made him
want to caress every inch of her.

And that was getting him nowhere but frustrated.

An hour later, he’d finished up the nighttime rounds and was still debating whether to go knock on Jess’s cabin door when he spotted a twinkle of light coming from one of the windows in the empty spa building. Was Jess in there again?

He battled with himself for a few long moments, then headed toward the spa.
He knew he shouldn’t go near her, but what if it wasn’t candles burning in the windowsills? What if the new electrical system had sparked and he was seeing the starting flickers of a fire?

His throat closed as he thought back to the barn fire they’d had two years ago. It had started with a careless ash dropped from a careless guest ignoring the
No Smoking
rule, and had almost ended with another
damn funeral.

Yeah, he had to check.

He headed across the stable yard and up the hill toward the spa, watching the flickers as he went. They weren’t growing. But still he kept walking. And when he got close enough to see through the windows, he sighed.

It was Jess. Of course it was Jess.

Sitting in a pool of moonlight, legs crossed under her and head tipped toward the ceiling, she looked like—a
goddess. Her creamy neck looked iridescent in the moonlight, her features outlined in soft relief, her skin soft and inviting.

She was praying—or meditating—whatever she called that New Age hoodoo stuff. He could see her chest rising with every slow breath she took, but the rest of her body was perfectly still. He watched, unable to move, even though he realized he was probably in plain sight,
out here in the moonlight. She’d changed into a black leotard thing with a light skirt over it, making her look like a movie-version yoga or ballet teacher, all toned and trim.

Slowly, gracefully, she unfolded her legs and stretched herself into an arc with both feet and both hands on the floor, then flipped one leg up and over, followed by the other. She ended in a standing position, then leaned
all the way over and hugged her head to her knees, like she was folded right in half.

Thinking about her level of flexibility was something he should probably not be doing as he watched her, but good God. He was a red-blooded male, wasn’t he?

And then she spotted him through the screens.

“Are you going to stay out there all night, cowboy?”

Was it his imagination, or was her voice shaky?

He stepped closer and opened the door. “Just doing my nightly rounds. Saw the candles and thought maybe some of the teenagers had decided to sneak in.”
Right.

“No. Just me. I’m sorry. Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Again?”

She nodded. “Seems to be a problem lately.”

“So you come up here and—do yoga?”

“Yeah.” She hugged her arms around her midsection, looking defensive at the same time the color in
her cheeks made her look—aroused. “Or dance, I guess. It’s what I do at home when I can’t sleep. Benefit of living over my own studio.”

“Gotcha.”

“Want to—try it?”

“Try—” His voice ended on a question.

“Yoga.”

He cringed inwardly. “Not sure I’ve ever imagined myself doing yoga.”

“You’ve never tried it?”

“Nope. Not a lot of call for it out this way. It’s kind of a city thing.”

She laughed,
and the sound made him want to keep amusing her. “Yoga is not a city thing. Come here, cowboy.” She motioned to him with her index finger, and he felt like a sailor to the Sirens. His damn feet were walking toward the woman, without his permission.

No frigging way would he be caught dead doing yoga.

Twenty minutes later, Jess’s low voice had almost soothed him to a dead sleep as he lay on a
yoga mat in the middle of the studio. The tone of her voice as she walked slowly around him was both seductive and calming, and that combination made him alternately want to sleep—and pull her down on top of him so he could kiss her silly.

She placed some sort of cushiony thing over his eyes and pressed down gently, and he felt like he could smell the north meadow. Then she ran her fingertips
lightly over his shoulders, up over his scalp, and down his cheekbones. He’d be damned if she didn’t hit every damn nerve he owned along the way.

He lay still, just letting her trace his features, drinking in the scent of her body and the feel of her skirt swishing against him as she leaned to rub one shoulder, then the other. After a few minutes, he was so relaxed that he was afraid he might
not be able to actually stand up.

“Still hate yoga?” Her voice was low, soft near his ear.

“Never said I
hated
it.”

“There was definite disdain in your voice, cowboy.”

“I was uneducated. But now I know better.” A strange feeling down low made him wonder whether she treated
all
of her clients like this.

“And?”

“It’s got its pluses. I’ll give you that. Do all of your clients get this sort
of—attention?”

She laughed again. “No. You’re getting the super-deluxe private-edition lesson.”

“Sounds pricey.”

“Oh, it is. It’s going to cost you.”

He smiled, still only able to hear her, not see her. “What, exactly,
is
it going to cost me?”

“A dance.”

He pulled the cushion off from his eyes. “A dance? Haven’t you had
enough
dancing?”

She shook her head slowly, hands now clasped in her
lap as she sat by his side. Was there fear in her eyes?

“What kind of dancing would you like to do?”

Her face flushed, and her hand fluttered to her throat. “I liked how we were dancing at Salty’s. At the end. Before we—stopped.”

He looked at her, long and hard, then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about that. I just—I don’t know. Didn’t know how much—Jell-O—you had on board. Didn’t want you
to wake up with regrets.”

“From dancing?” Amusement started to crowd out the fear in her eyes.

“Well? Having you in my arms like that? I have to admit, I wasn’t thinking about just dancing.”

“You were just afraid of Marcy.” She smiled.

“Exactly. That’s what it was.” He rolled his eyes, standing up and reaching for her hand. “All right. I’ll dance with you, cowgirl. You have music?”

Jess nodded,
reaching down to grab her phone. She tapped the screen nervously, scrolling through list after list, but never settling on anything.

“How much music do you
have
on that thing?”

“Kind of a lot,” she admitted, still scrolling.

He reached out a hand. “Can I see?”

“Nope.”

He laughed. “Why not?”

“Because.” She cupped her free hand over the phone so he couldn’t see the screen. “My music choices
may tell you things about me that I’m not ready for you to know.”

He laughed, putting out his hand. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, she handed over the phone, and he started scrolling through her playlists. Huh. Here he’d thought he’d find a bunch of instrumental New Age songs about ten miles long, but instead, he saw just about every eighties group he’d ever heard of.

“This is an impressive collection,
cowgirl.”

“What did you expect?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. A little Carrie Underwood, some Shania, maybe an undercurrent of an oldie like Hank. Definitely a bunch of yoga stuff.” He scrolled some more. “Do you have a favorite on here?”

“Depends on my mood.”

“Okay. Let me find one appropriate for a midnight dance with a charming cowboy.”

“Oh, I have a whole playlist for that. Happens all
the time.”

He felt a smile crack the corners of his mouth as she visibly relaxed. “Really.”

“Absolutely.”

He scrolled and scrolled. “Wow. You have a serious eighties addiction, hon.”

“It’s a problem, yes.”

“Love it.” He tapped a few times, then put the phone back down and straightened up. He opened his arms and motioned her closer. “Come here, cowgirl. Let’s dance. Maybe I can make you forget
about all of the
other
cowboys you’ve used this playlist with.”

She paused, and he could practically see thoughts flipping through her head. Did she already regret asking him? He stepped closer, slowly, like he would approach a scared horse.

“Dance with me, Jess.” He kept his voice low, soothing.

“Okay.” Her voice came out all breathy and low, and the sound of it hit him way down low. She stepped
toward him, into his arms, gingerly leaning her cheek against his chest. He felt her quiver as he settled his arms carefully around her.

“Are you cold?”

“Kind of? Maybe?” She paused, taking a breath. “No.”

“Nervous?”

“Yes.”

He chuckled, pulling her a tiny bit closer. “It’s just me, Jess. Just me. And I promise I won’t try any of those crazy lifts or anything while we dance. I won’t even spin
you.”

She laughed. “That’s a huge relief. Thank you.”

They danced around the floor in a slow circle, and as they stepped and glided and slowly spun, he felt her relax, degree by degree.

“So what do you do for fun back in Boston?” He spoke low in her ear. “I’m assuming midnight dances with cowboys are rare, even though you claim to have a playlist.”

“Or midnight rides to waterfalls?”

“Exactly.
Or karaoke nights at cheesy Western bars.”

She pulled back, smiling. “I’m sorry, but Boston’s got cheesy wrapped up. We have duck boats.”

“What in the world is a duck boat?”

Jess shook her head, rolling her eyes. “It’s a bus-slash-boat that gives tours of the historic sites, then drives into the Charles River.”

“Points for uniqueness. What do
you
like to do when you’re not working?”

“Take
duck tours.”

“Right.” He laughed. “What do you
really
like to do? Give me your best one-sentence online dating profile.”

Jess shrugged in his arms. “Let’s see. I’m on a continual quest to find the perfect lobster dinner, I love live jazz music, and I have a membership at the Museum of Fine Arts.”

“Yikes. Sounds like you’ve done that before.” He chuckled.

“I haven’t. Promise.” She smiled. “How
about you?”

“Oh, boy. I don’t like seafood, prefer country music by a mile, and—don’t hate me—museums give me hives.”

“Well, yoga gave you hives until ten minutes ago, right?”

He squeezed her gently. “True. Maybe I’ve just never had the right museum tour guide.” He shook his head. “But jazz? Really? I would have said you liked any style
but
jazz.”

“I like that it has rules, but it also doesn’t.”
She shrugged again. “I don’t know—it just appeals to me. Country, on the other hand—” She cringed, making him laugh as her phone switched onto a new slow song.

“And you call yourself a cowgirl?” He pulled away, mouth open in mock horror.

“No,” she laughed. “
You
call me a cowgirl.”

“Oh. Right. You’re actually just a poser.”

He saw her face change as he said the words, saw emotions pass over
it, then get erased on a deep breath.

“You’re right,” she said. “I
am
just a poser.”