One Wild Cowboy (3 page)

“Absolutely,” Greta said, her tone definitive.

“Because I can see how that would seem to make sense to you,” Emily continued, working up a head of steam. “Me and the new diner owner, becoming a thing.”

“Believe us,” her mother said firmly, “the two of you are
not
a match your father and I would ever try and make.”

“That's too bad,” said a smug teenager with trendy, bleached-blond-hair, catching the tail end of their conversation as he sauntered in to join them.

He was just under six feet tall, wearing a burnt-orange Cowtown Diner T-shirt, jeans and the most ridiculously expensive and ornate pair of ostrich boots and gold belt buckle Dylan had ever seen.

Ignoring him, the kid grinned at Emily and extended his hand. “Because I would very much like to get to know…and date…you!”

 

E
MILY'S JAW DROPPED
even as she did the polite thing and accepted the proffered greeting.

“Xavier Shillingsworth, owner of the soon-to-be-open Cowtown Diner.” The teen continued holding her hand long after it would have been polite to let go. He leaned in even closer, inundating Emily with expensive cologne. “And you
must be the Emily McCabe, head chef and owner of the Daybreak Café, that I've heard so much about.”

Emily forced a smile and wrested her hand from the young man's grip. “Yes. I am.”

Xavier continued sizing her up with undisguised interest. “I hear we're going to be in hot competition with each other—since our two restaurants are the only table-service establishments in Laramie that serve breakfast.”

Emily had been brought up to be courteous, even to those who were pushy and borderline rude. And that rule went double in business situations. “I'm sure there is room for both of our establishments,” she said pleasantly, injecting the situation with the down-home hospitality for which Laramie, Texas, was known.

“If not, may the best restaurateur win,” Xavier taunted. Grinning confidently, he aimed a thumb at his chest and proclaimed, “I know who my money's on!”

The look in his eyes briefly telegraphing he'd had enough, Dylan stepped forward, putting his tall body between Xavier and Emily. “I don't believe we've met. I'm Dylan Reeves. One of the ranchers in the area. And I know a lot of people here tonight who would like to meet you, too. Especially Emily's three brothers. So why don't we go—” Dylan slapped a companionable hand on Xavier's shoulder and spun him around toward the door “—and talk up your new establishment.”

Quick steps were made, and the door shut behind them.

“That was nice of Dylan,” Greta said.

“No kidding.” Emily breathed a sigh of relief.

Shane shook his head. “Shillingsworth is going to be unpleasantly competitive.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “You think?”

“So, if you need help putting him in his place…” Shane growled, all protective father.

Emily lifted a palm. “I can handle the situation, Dad. Just
like I can figure out, on my own, how to rev up my personal life.”

“So it's true?” her mom interrupted, with furrowed brow. “You do have a date with Dylan this evening?”

Talk about putting her on the spot! “In a manner of speaking…” Emily cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I know you mean well, but I really don't need any help finding a man to hang out with. So I'd rather not hear any suggestions on who I should be seeing. And I certainly don't want to be fixed up on any dates by anyone in the family!”

Finished, Emily braced herself for the emotional argument sure to come. Instead, to her utter amazement, her mother completely backed off. “You're right,” Greta murmured, looking at Shane for verification, as if wanting to make sure they were on the same page.

Shane locked eyes with Greta. Something passed between them. “It would be a mistake for us to try to matchmake at this point,” Emily's father concluded finally.

Well, that was easy, Emily thought with relief. Astoundingly…almost suspiciously…so.

“We came in to tell you that the opening ceremony is about to start,” Greta said.

“I'll be right there,” Emily promised. “I just need to get a few trays of chocolate and lemon-meringue pies.”

“We'll all help,” her dad said.

Five minutes later, the pies were set out on the buffet tables. Shane and Greta—the charity event's hosts—were stepping up to the microphones. They spoke about the Libertyville Boys Ranch, and how much the facility helped juvenile delinquents turn their lives around.

“The institution has been so successful, they are expanding again. The problem is, they need more therapy horses for the kids to care for. So,” Shane said, “I've made arrangements with the Bureau of Land Management to purchase three wild
mustangs for training. Dylan Reeves—the renowned horse whisperer in the area—is going to be doing the schooling.” Wild applause erupted. “When they are ready, the horses will go to the boys ranch, where they will be adopted into a very good home….”

Incredibly impressed, Emily made her way through the crowd to Dylan's side. In shock, she murmured, “I had no idea you were a philanthropist.”

Was it possible the two of them had more in common than they knew?

Not surprisingly, Dylan looked irritated by her compliment. “Don't view me as some sort of saint. I'm not,” he muttered gruffly, and then for good measure, added, “I'm being paid.”

“Just not your normal rate,” Emily guessed.

Dylan scowled. “It's a challenge,” he said flatly. “I like working with mustangs. I like the fact the horses will find a good, loving home at the boys ranch.” He regarded her, all tough lonesome cowboy. “Don't make more of it than that.”

 

H
OURS LATER
, Emily turned to Simone, as the after-event cleanup commenced. Emily followed Simone's gaze to where her son, Andrew, stood talking with that same group of boys.

“You're worried, aren't you?” The kids were from a neighboring town and looked like bad news.

Simone stacked serving platters onto a wheeled cart.

“I have a feeling he's going to ask me if he can go out past his curfew tonight.”

“If it's not a good idea,” Emily counseled, “you have every right to say no.”

“I know that,” Simone sighed. “It just seems like that's all I say these days.”

The group of kids were edging toward a late-model pickup
truck with extra lights mounted across the top. They seemed to be encouraging Andrew to ditch the cleanup, forgo getting permission and just take off.

Emily touched Simone's arm. “Why don't you go on?”

Simone's posture relaxed with relief. “Thanks. I'll make it up to you.”

“No problem.”

Emily cast a glance at Dylan, who was busy helping a group of ranchers disassemble the bandstand. Her brothers were off with her dad, in another direction, taking down the strings of banners and colored lights.

Pleased the event had turned out so well, she finished loading up her cart and wheeled it in the direction of the café.

No sooner had she gotten inside than a light rap sounded on the door. Xavier Shillingsworth stepped in, all young bravura. “I was thinking…the two of us should go out on a date.”

Emily did not like hurting anyone's feelings. Still, this was ludicrous and she had to make her would-be suitor realize it. “How old are you?” she asked gently.

“Nineteen.” Xavier slicked back his hair with his free hand. “But that shouldn't matter.”

She arched a brow. Was he talking down to her?

“You can't be
that
old.”

“I'm twenty-eight,” Emily said drily. “That's nine years older than you. It's a big difference.”

Xavier shrugged. “Doesn't matter to me. I've always wanted to go out with a cougar. And you're hot!”

Was he serious? Apparently so.

Emily went back to loading dishes in the machine. “I'm curious. You are obviously a smart guy with a lot going for him. Why aren't you in college?”

Xavier seemed flattered by the attention. “I didn't want to go. So my dad bought me a franchise restaurant to run instead.”

Of course. Can't solve a problem so throw money at it instead. And while you're at it, get the problem kid out of the picture, too.

Emily smiled with encouragement. “You both may want to rethink that. College can be a fun, exciting time…with lots of girls your own age who are dying to go out on dates.”

“I don't want a girl. I want you!”

Emily sighed and walked toward the exit. “Well, it's not going to happen.”

“See?” Xavier caught up with her as she reached the dining room. He clamped his arms around her and crowded her all the more. “That's what I like about you. You're a real spitfire.”

Not about to let him so much as try to kiss her, Emily stomped on his toe with all her might. “And you're a real horse's rear end,” she spat out.

“Ouch!” Xavier hopped up and down in pain.

The door to the café opened and Dylan strode in. It took him all of two seconds to size up the situation. “Allow me.” He grabbed Xavier by the back of his Cowtown Diner T-shirt and escorted him to the door.

Dylan let him go just inside the portal. “If you ever touch her again, you're going to have to deal with me.”

“On what grounds?” Xavier straightened his shirt. He regarded Dylan pugnaciously, clearly spoiling for a fistfight.

She was afraid there just might be one if the kid didn't cut it out.

“I don't see an engagement ring!”

Eager to be rid of the callow youth, Emily swung open the door to the café and glared at the teenager. “I don't need a ring to be his. Now go.”

“You heard the lady.” When Xavier didn't immediately comply, Dylan shoved him out the door and shut it firmly in his face.

Emily turned to Dylan. She knew it was unnecessary and
politically incorrect of her, but she really liked the idea of Dylan jumping to her defense. Unfortunately, it wasn't an action she could let stand as precedent.

She rolled her eyes comically. “Obviously, I was exaggerating…about being your woman.”

The way Dylan was looking at her—as if he didn't know whether to kiss her or chide her—forced Emily to remember exactly how good it had felt to be held in his embrace.

“I am aware of that,” he retorted.

“And for the record,” Emily continued stiffly, telling herself she and Dylan would not end up kissing again, no matter what, “I don't need you to come to my rescue.”

The corners of Dylan's lips twitched. “It would appear you did.”

Was it possible he had enjoyed defending her honor as much as she had? Emily pushed the bothersome thought away.

“No,” she corrected forcing herself to stay on track. She needed to keep her emotions under wraps. “I didn't.”

“Uh-huh.” Dylan came closer, all sexy, determined male. “If you change your mind…”

Emily's pulse jumped. “Why would I do that?”

“Because guys like that don't like to be told no,” Dylan said in a low, cautioning tone.

Emily had been successfully fighting her own battles for as long as she could recall. “Well, in this case the kid is going to have to get used to it, because I am not interested in being his cougar.”

One corner of Dylan's mouth curved upward at the notion. “He actually said that?”

So, she wasn't the only one who found the teen's proposal to her completely ludicrous!

“It was part of his come-on,” she explained. “I think in Xavier's teenage fantasy I was just supposed to melt in his arms or something.”

Dylan grunted in response, his disapproval evident.

“Anyway,” Emily rushed on, anxious to put the embarrassing situation behind her, “I'm sure that after what just happened he'll leave me alone now.”

Dylan's expression was suddenly as inscrutable as his posture. Deliberately, he inclined his head. “If he doesn't…you're welcome to be ‘my woman'…anytime.”

“Dylan Reeves really called you
his woman?
” Simone echoed in the café kitchen early the following day.

Doing her best to keep her focus on getting ready for the morning rush, Emily shrugged nonchalantly. “He was mocking me because of what I said to that boy in the heat of the moment.” The fact that Emily warmed from head to toe, every time she recalled it, was her own foolishness. “Obviously, Dylan didn't mean it because it's not true.” She brought an extra large pan of golden-brown cinnamon rolls from the oven, and slid in a pan of buttermilk biscuits.

Simone manned the sausage and bacon on the griddle. She winked. “He could be—if you wanted it. Seriously…he's got the hots for you.”

Emily guffawed. “You only wish my life were that exciting. Dylan is the kind of guy who roots for the underdog in every situation and he thought I was disadvantaged in that moment.”

“Were you?”

Emily gave the hash-brown potatoes a stir. “I had just stomped on Xavier's toes and planned to escort him to the door. But…Dylan beat me to it.”

“Wow…” Simone comically fanned her chest. “Two men fighting over you.”

Emily blushed despite herself. “I wouldn't call Xavier a man,” she said.

“I know.” Sympathetic, Simone furrowed her brow. “What's up with that? How old is he?”

“Nineteen.”

“That is way too young to be running a restaurant,” Simone said.

“No kidding. But I imagine he's going to find that out the hard way.”

The bell on the service door sounded, as Billy Ray and Bobbie Sue Everett came in. The married couple waited tables at the café during the day and attended community-college classes at night. Normally very down-to-earth and unflappable, they were giddy with excitement. “You-all have got to see this. We've never seen anything like this!”

All four of them rushed to the front windows. Dawn was barely streaking across the sky, but there it was—on the opposite side of the Laramie town square—a big burnished-bronze trailer-style restaurant, with an old-style saloon front, sitting on top of an enormous tractor-trailer bed. Next to it was the enormous crane that would move the Cowtown Diner onto the lot where a gas station had once stood.

Emily's heart sank. It really was happening.

“Can you believe it's actually going to be open for business by the end of the week?” Billy Ray said.

Aware the customers would soon be lining up outside the door to be let in when the café opened at six o'clock, Emily went back to the kitchen and brought out the platters of homemade cinnamon rolls and sticky buns that would be on display.

“It's only possible,” Emily said, “because the building is delivered ready to go and everything they serve in the restaurant is prepackaged and pre-made.”

“It's still amazing,” Bobbie Sue murmured, while quickly helping her husband set up the tables.

Emily had a sinking feeling her customers were going to think so, too.

 

T
HE LUNCH CROWDS WERE
finally thinning when Dylan walked into the café at one-thirty, so he was able to get a table right away. To his surprise, Emily came out of the kitchen personally to bring him a menu. After the events of the previous day, he had suspected she might try to avoid him. He couldn't blame her; he had done as much this very morning, choosing to eat breakfast on the ranch instead of coming to the café, as usual.

But then he'd thought about it and decided that was pure foolishness. He was blowing this all out of proportion and really wanted to get back on solid ground with her.

“I don't need to see that,” Dylan said, determined to keep the exchange as casual as possible. “I memorized the offerings on your menu the first week you opened.”

And like most ranchers in the area, he had been eating her “cowboy cuisine” frequently ever since.

“You sure? I've put a few new things on the menu, just today.”

He was sure. But since it seemed to mean so much to her, he opened the laminated menu anyway. A hand-lettered inset offered two new sandwiches and a fried jalapeño-cheese popper appetizer that was a customer favorite at the Cowtown Diner chain. “Competing already?” he drawled.

He'd figured the sight of the rival establishment would have upped Emily's competitive spirit.

Curious to know just how far she would go, he leaned back in the red vinyl booth and prodded, “Or just stealing another restaurant's signature dish?”

She ran her hand lightly over the red-and-white-checked oilcloth. “Ha-ha.”

“You're better than that. Your food is better than that.”

Her feisty gaze met his once again. “Says the man with the bottomless pit for a stomach.”

Well, at least she still had her temper. Enjoying the exchange more than he had a right to, he angled a thumb at his chest. “Hey—you make a lot of money off me.”

Emily folded her arms in front of her. “Not today, since I assume you are here to collect on my promise of free food for however long you want it.”

Was it possible that the feisty, inimitable Emily McCabe was actually depressed? Dylan didn't want to think so, but there was something different about her eyes.

“I'll have the chicken-fried steak meal with all the vegetables you got, biscuits, a strong pot of coffee and two glasses of water, to start. We'll see about dessert later.”

Their fingers brushed briefly as Emily took the menu and insert back. Dylan wondered if she'd thought about their kisses as much as he had last night and today. Not that it mattered, he told himself, since it wasn't going to happen again.

“And be sure you bill me for every last morsel,” he added sternly.

Emily arched a delicate eyebrow.

He looked her square in the eye. “No lady pays my way.”

Emily laughed out loud, ready to challenge him on that and a few other things. “So now you're calling me a lady?” Her bow-shaped lips curling in an appreciative smirk, she pocketed the order pad in her apron.

That was a lot less dangerous than calling her “his woman.” Dylan figured they both had to know that.

He worked to get their conversation back on its usual smart-aleck track. “And a hothead. Not to mention a damn fine cook.”

Abruptly, moisture gleamed in Emily's eyes.

Before he could question her about it, she ducked her head and turned to leave. “Coming right up,” she said hoarsely over her shoulder.

Five minutes later, Bobby Sue was there with his dinner. It was as hot and fresh and delicious as always.

Dylan downed it all with relish.

He was considering whether or not he had time to order dessert before the café closed at two, when Emily's father walked in.

Dessert was going to have to wait, because he had business to conduct.

Dylan stood to greet the elder McCabe, as previously arranged. “Everything going okay so far?” he asked.

Shane nodded. “The horse trailers are due to arrive any minute.”

Emily walked out of the kitchen. Obviously surprised to see Dylan standing there with her dad, she looked from one to the other. “What's going on?”

Shane greeted his daughter with a hug.

“The mustangs are coming in. We decided to meet up here because I thought you might like to take a peek at them before they're taken to Dylan's ranch.”

That swiftly, the light was back in Emily's eyes. She smiled, her love of horses as apparent as ever. “I would. Thanks, Dad.” She hugged her father, then turned to Dylan awkwardly. She started forward, as if to hug him, too, then reconsidered and made do with a shy nod. “Dylan. This was nice of you.”

He cleared his throat. “No problem.”

Emily turned back to her dad. “Tell me about the horses,” she said eagerly.

“Two of them are less than twelve months old. They're traveling two to a trailer, as per bureau of land management rules. The three-year-old mare is in a stock trailer by herself.
She's not yet fence-or halter-broken and may be a problem when it comes to unloading her.”

Dylan figured that was an understatement. “Any of them got names?” he asked Shane.

The older gentleman shook his head. “Just registration numbers. So feel free to name them whatever you see fit while you're training them.”

Simone's son, Andrew, walked in on the tail end of the conversation. A backpack slung over his shoulder, he appeared ready to assume his duties as part-time dishwasher and kitchen help. He looked at his mom, who'd come out of the restaurant kitchen. “Can I go see the horses? Maybe help the guys unload them?”

Simone shook her head. “It's too dangerous, honey.”

Andrew's expression fell. “But…”

“And you have homework to do, don't you?” Simone insisted.

“Well, yeah,” the fifteen-year-old admitted with a reluctant shrug, “but…”

“You'll have a chance to see the mustangs later,” Simone promised. “When they're tamed.”

Andrew sulked. “That'll be forever.”

“Knowing Dylan and the magic he works, probably not as long as you think.” Simone put her hand on her son's shoulder. “Right now you and I need to help Bobbie Sue and Billy Ray get the kitchen closed for the day. See you later, everyone.” The two of them went back into the café kitchen.

Emily glanced out the window at the commotion outside. “Looks like they're here,” she said, and smiled.

Shane turned back to Emily. “Do you have plans for this evening? Because if you don't, your mother and I would like you to come over to the dance hall and have dinner with us. Maybe do a little brainstorming about how you're going to weather this new competition?”

Emily bucked at the fatherly interference, even as she started for the door. “Thanks, Dad,” she said over one slender shoulder, “but I've got it covered.”

Shane persisted. “Just dinner, then?”

Emily pressed her lips together firmly. “I can't.” Her glance shifted to Dylan's face. She gave him the look that beseeched him to play along with her. “I'm going out to Dylan's ranch, to help him get the mustangs settled.”

Dylan felt for Emily. It couldn't be fun to be on the end of such constant meddling. But that didn't mean he wanted to sacrifice his own professional standing with her father—one of the most respected horse-ranchers in the state—just so she did not have to do her parents' bidding.

He tamped down his own irritation. “That's okay, Emily,” Dylan said just as firmly, holding her glance deliberately. “I think I've got it.”

“Oh, I know you
could
do it without me.” Emily slipped out onto the street and strode toward the horse trailers, as excited and energetic as the animals whinnying in the confines. “But I really don't want to miss this!”

 

“A
T WHAT POINT
are you going to stop using me to dodge your familial difficulties?” Dylan asked Emily, after the papers transferring financial responsibility to Shane and care of the mustangs to Dylan were signed and they were headed out to their vehicles.

“Never?” Emily paused at the door of her car.

Dylan peered down at her. “Think again.”

She hit the unlock button on the automatic keypad. “Look, I owe you for last night, and thus far you've refused to let me pay you back with free food, so I'm left to come up with another way to pay off my debt. This is it.”

Dylan curved a hand over the top of her open door as she
climbed in behind the wheel. He leaned down so they were face to face. “I repeat. You do not have to do this.”

“Sure I do. For the very same reason you don't ever let a lady pay your way.”

He should have known she would use his words against him.

She smiled, unperturbed. “So I'll help you with the mustangs.”

Damn, if she wasn't used to getting her own way, even if it meant upsetting the hard-earned tranquility of his life.

“Just understand,” Dylan said, “when you're out there, playtime is over. I'm putting you to work.”

Turning the key in the ignition, she shot him a sassy look. “Bring it on!”

 

E
MILY COULDN'T WAIT
to get a good look at the horses. She bounded out of her car the moment she arrived at Dylan's ranch. She set her hat on her head and strode toward him. “What do you want me to do?”

Dylan turned, all business and all cowboy. “Honestly? Stay out of the way,” he said, grimacing.

Emily blew out a disappointed breath. Before she could figure out how to persuade him otherwise, he took a step closer and growled, “I mean it, Emily. I don't want you getting trampled.”

Emily followed him over to a big round corral with high metal-bar sides. “I've been around horses all my life.”

Dylan opened the gate wide and motioned for the truck carrying the two yearlings. He directed the driver to back slowly toward the opening. “These mustangs are completely different from the domesticated cutting horses your father breeds and trains. These horses are wild, down to the core.”

Hand to her shoulder, Dylan guided her to the outside of
the pen, then walked back around to the rear of the enclosed vehicle.

Emily's heartbeat picked up as he opened the trailer and let the first horse out.

It was a filly, about six months old, with a speckled white coat and an ivory mane, her beauty marred only by the identifying freeze marks on her neck. She whinnied as she came barreling out of confinement and raced to the other end of the pen. Emily could see she was frightened—she was standing with her tail puckered tight against her hindquarters and the back of her legs.

Dylan stood quietly, as did Emily, as the filly trembled and kept her head up.

Dylan let the second horse out—a jet-black gelding about a year old. His head was up, too—his tail wringing in anger. Obviously, he had not appreciated the long ride. Or maybe the procedure that had put the freeze marks on his neck, Emily thought. He galloped across the pen, his ebony mane flying, and took a protective position next to the smaller white filly.