Shotgun Vows (7 page)

When he came back, there was a strange, almost angry look on his face.

“Who was it?” she asked.

“Ethan.”

“Really?” she said, pleased that the cowboy had come to the door. She waited for Dawson to give her the message, but he didn't say anything. “Did he have a purpose for ringing the doorbell, or was it just a case of ding-dong ditch?”

“Ding-dong what?”

“Ditch. You know. Kids do it all the time. You ring someone's doorbell, then run away.”

He shook his head. “I don't think I ever played that.”

She sighed. “Were you ever a child, Dawson?” She held up her hand. “Never mind. Don't answer that. You'll no doubt turn the words back on me, and I'll be sorry I asked.” She realized he hadn't told her what Ethan wanted. “What did he say?”

“Who?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Ethan, of course.”

“Oh.” He stuck the tips of his fingers in his pockets, and took so long to answer that she wasn't sure he was going to come clean. “He said to tell you not to forget the poker game tonight.”

“No worries about that,” she said, pleased that the cowboy would go out of his way to remind her. “He told me earlier today that the hands usually go to town on Saturday night, but decided to have a game instead. And they thought to ask me. As if I could forget that.” When Dawson mumbled something, she asked, “What did you say?”

“Just that I wish you would—” he stopped, searching for words “—put dinner on the table.”

“I will when you finish setting it,” she answered. “But let me give you a hand.”

When she applauded, he sighed and shook his head. Then he lifted plates and bowls out of the cupboard. After setting the salad, a basket of corn bread, and the steaming pot of chili on the table, she sat down.

Dawson was about to do the same when the phone rang. “I'll get it. Stay,” he commanded.

Mattie felt like the faithful family pet.
Stay?
She didn't even train horses with commands like that. Semi-annoyed—her usual mental state around Dawson—she watched him. He lifted the receiver, said hello, then asked to take a message. He hung up and joined her at the table, sitting at a right angle to her.

She spooned chili into his bowl and set it on his plate. “Who was that?” she asked.

“Bobby Lee.”

He had that tone again, she noticed. The same one he'd used when Ethan had shown up at the front door: a cross between incredulity and irritation. Something told her they were about to play twenty questions again.

“What did he want?” she asked.

“You,” he answered.

“I'm sitting—rather
staying
right here. I would have taken it. Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because you're eating dinner.”

“Technically, not yet. But I'll ignore that. Did he say
why
he wanted me?”

Dawson had a funny, dark, almost angry look on his face. “Not really. Something about watching a video. If you want, call him back when you finish dinner.”

“I'll just call him back now.” She started to get up. “Did he leave the number at the bunkhouse?”

One corner of his mouth lifted as he looked far too pleased with himself. “Don't you have it?”

“No, I don't,” she said, irritated. “Guess I'll just stop by and see him in case he's not going to the poker game.” When he mumbled something again, she asked, “Did you just say ‘over my dead body'?”

He shook his head. “I said
bread.
How do you think chili would taste over corn bread?”

“Dreadful,” she answered. “And I think you ought to have your
head
examined for even thinking of it.”

They started to eat, and she studied him, sliding him looks from beneath her lashes. He was scowling at the food and almost attacked it with his fork. What was wrong with him?

They hadn't taken more than a couple of bites when the doorbell rang again. This time Mattie jumped up before he could. “I'll get it.”

“No, let me—” He started to rise.

“Sorry, beat you to it.” She hurried through the house and opened the heavy wooden front door. The light beside it was on, illuminating the porch and the walkway beyond. But no one was there. She peered into the darkness, but couldn't see anyone.

Glancing down, Mattie saw a single red rose, and bent to pick it up. She stepped back inside and nearly bumped into Dawson.

“Who was it?” His voice was two parts annoyed, one part angry.

“No one.”

“Ding-dong ditch?” he asked, half smiling.

“Not exactly. Someone left this,” she answered, holding out the flower for his inspection. “I guess it must be for Willa.”

He pointed to the front porch. “There's a note.”

Before Mattie could make a move, he bent over to grab it up. Then he shut the door behind him and made a great show of reading the words on the paper. When he finished, all he said was “Hmm.”

“Let me see.” She reached for it.

He was too quick for her. “Not so fast.”

She pointed an accusing finger at him. “You're lying.”

“I didn't lie. You have to make a statement to do that. All I said was ‘Hmm' and ‘Not so fast.'” He raised one eyebrow.

“It's a lie of omission if you let me believe it's for Willa.” She tried to get the note again, and he put his hand behind his back. “It's for me, isn't it.”

“You're awfully nosy. Not to mention egotistical. Why would you think this is for you?”

“Because I got my hair cut and put on makeup!” She jammed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You didn't notice?”

“Ah. Is that what's different?” he asked. “I thought there was something.”

“Yes, there's something.” She heard the angry pitch in her voice and couldn't seem to stop. All the patience and discipline she'd learned to use in dealing with horses went out the window when she was around this exasperating man. And no wonder. He was about as dense and observant as a mule.

He didn't say a word, just continued to stare at her with that amused expression on his face, as if he'd just become aware of the change in her.

She glared at him. “Everyone has noticed.
And
complimented me. Everyone but you. Like I said before, you need to have your eyes examined.”

“Actually, if memory serves, you said I should have my head examined.”

“So I did. Let me rephrase. Eyesight is the first thing to go as old age creeps up on you. You should have yours checked.”

Satisfaction trickled through her at his frown. “Maybe I will,” he said.

“Quit stalling, Dawson, and give me the note.” She held out her hand.

“Come and get it,” he said, waving it under her nose.

“
Now
who's acting like a child?” she asked.

But adrenaline and exhilaration flooded Mattie at his challenge. She felt so alive with the blood singing through her veins. Without warning, she lunged forward and tried to grab the paper, but he snatched it away. He put it behind his back again. She reached around him, got hold of his wrist and tried to pull his arm out—a failing proposition, since he was much more powerful than she.

All's fair in love and war,
she thought. Fighting dirty would level the playing field. She reached out and tickled him.

He hunched forward to protect himself, allowing her to pull his arm to her chest. She held it there with one hand, while she tried to pry the paper from his grip with the other. One by one she pulled his fingers away from the note, but he was toying with her. When she just about had what she was after, he closed his hand into a fist again.

She tried to tickle him, but he grabbed her wrists and backed her up against the wall. Using the lower half of his body, he pinned her and rested both of his hands, with hers prisoner in his palms, on the wall on
either side of her head. Her breathing was ragged from the exertion. So was his, she noticed. A couple of other things didn't escape her. His eyes held a dark, intense, almost hungry look as his gaze rested on her mouth. And his mouth was barely an inch from hers.

His right eyebrow lifted when he noticed that half of her overalls bib was hanging. The soft material of her T-shirt left little to the imagination, and her bosom, at least half of it, was right there. As he gazed at her, his eyes filled with a tension that she didn't understand, but something about his expression sent a thrill through her. The sensation touched her femininity.

Mattie decided every girl had to experience a first kiss. The brothers Fortune had joined ranks and kept her isolated from the opposite sex. She was five years past sweet sixteen and never been kissed. It was about damn time she knew what it felt like.

By virtue of his gender, Dawson qualified. Since there was nothing between them and never would be, if she did it all wrong, there was nothing to lose. And she would gain practice. She needed that to be able to kiss her soul mate with finesse when she found him. And Dawson was about the best-looking man she'd ever seen. So without further thinking about what she was about to do, she puckered up, leaned forward an inch and pressed her mouth to his.

His lips were soft and warm, rather pleasant, she thought. And very surprised. When he lifted his mouth from hers, a sad little sigh escaped her. He studied her for several long moments. Mattie wasn't sure what he saw in her eyes—maybe her regret that he had ended such a pleasant experience.

A moment later he mumbled, “Oh, hell.”

Then he kissed her again, and there was nothing
sweet about it. He slanted his mouth across hers and took charge. Her heart hammered; blood pounded through her veins, a thunderous roar in her ears. She couldn't catch her breath and couldn't find the will to care. Never in her life had she felt anything so exciting, so hot, so wild.

He released her wrists to slide his arms behind her and pull her closer. She savored the freedom to twine her arms around his neck and lean into him. Sensations washed over her, but she didn't miss the hard ridge of his desire pressing against his jeans. A thrill went through her just before Dawson invaded her mouth with his tongue. Instantly her lower body began to throb, creating an aching need. A moan escaped her—

Dawson froze, then pulled his mouth from hers and backed away, still breathing as if he'd run a marathon. Every feminine instinct she possessed cried out in protest. What had she done wrong? He'd kissed her back. She was naive, not stupid. She knew he'd kissed her back. It was wonderful. Surely he'd felt it, too. Had she done something wrong? She couldn't imagine what, but even
she
knew a guy didn't walk away from a hot kiss like that unless there was a problem. Should she know what it was?

She gulped in air and managed to slow her breathing to something close to normal. Mattie wanted desperately to find out why he'd pulled away. But if she asked, he would know that she was a beginner. She felt too vulnerable, too raw, too exposed. The one and only time she had put her heart on the line, she'd been ridiculed.

She couldn't stand it if Dawson made fun of her. He was so convinced she was just a kid. No way would she ask him for pointers to improve her kissing
technique. But she couldn't think of anything to say as they stood there and stared at each other, both breathing hard. At least she had the satisfaction of watching him struggle to draw in air, too. That was a good thing. Right?

“So,” she said, and released a long breath. “Say something.” With great effort she controlled her voice, trying to keep it light. She thought she succeeded.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I think I'm going to take your aunt up on her offer to stay here at the ranch while my house is being renovated.”

T
hrough a haze of out-of-control desire, Dawson studied Mattie's glazed expression, and knew the exact moment his words sank in. She blinked twice, and her gray eyes suddenly caught fire.

A pleased smile pulled at her lips, swollen from his kiss. “It was that good? You're going to hang around for more?” she asked.

He could see she was trying to act savvy and sassy, but he sensed the insecurity lurking at the edges of that grin.

More than anything he could think of at the moment, he wanted another kiss. That was exactly the reason he had to discourage her. His job was to watch over her. The cowboys on the Double Crown were showing far too much interest in her. He figured the best way to do his job was to move to the ranch.

It was his bad luck that he'd figured that out right after kissing Mattie and discovering how very much he enjoyed the experience. On a sliding scale with ten being best, Mattie Fortune was about a fifteen.

His temptation quotient had just multiplied by a hundred, and he would have to spend even more time with her fighting his baser instincts. But with Griff out of town, Brody getting ready for the wedding and Reed on his honeymoon, there was no one he could dump her on. At least, no one he could trust. The
question was, just how was he going to explain his decision without
A
—encouraging another kiss, and
B
—crushing her spirit when he discouraged her from more kissing.

He took in a deep breath. “It just occurred to me that staying here while my place is being painted would be so much easier.”

“Just now you were thinking all that?” she asked. “You mean while we were—you know?”

“Kissing,” he answered. “Yeah. I was thinking how much I like the color of these walls. That reminded me of Lily's invitation to stay here. I think I'll take her up on it.”

Mattie started pacing. “You mean to tell me you could kiss me like—” she thought for a minute “—like Burt Lancaster kissed Deborah Kerr on that beach in
From Here to Eternity,
and the whole time you were thinking about paint chips?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, more determinedly than warranted. Trying to convince himself as well as her. “You could say that.”
But it would be a lie.

“So you dropped me like a hot rock because you were deciding whether or not you want Navajo white or eggshell parfait on your walls?”

“Sort of,” he said. He wished Griff hadn't made him promise not to tell her what was going on. He was almost tempted to break that promise, because he hated letting her believe he was that big a jerk. Not to mention how unfair it was to her, keeping her in the dark this way.

“I guess I'll have to practice some more—work on my technique,” she said.

“There's nothing wrong with the way you kiss.” It had nearly caused
him
to do something they would
both regret. He'd been about to carry her off to bed, and he didn't much care whose. He still wanted to, he thought, folding his arms over his chest. Then he leaned a shoulder against the front door. “It's just that this isn't the time or place. And you and I—” He shrugged, hoping she would draw the same conclusion he had: they were like oil and water.

God, this was a mess. The last thing he would ever do was use a woman and toss her aside. His father had done it to his mother, and Dawson had helped her pick up the pieces. Earlier, Mattie had asked him if he'd ever been a kid. The answer she would never hear was no. After his father left, his mom had become angry and increasingly bitter. As a boy, he'd felt more like her counselor than her son. But it had taught him to keep his own relationships superficial so that he'd never hurt anyone.

The sassy Aussie packed a powerful punch. He'd never met a woman like her, and he couldn't help being intrigued. But he would be a fool to let it go any further.

She needed a different kind of man, one who was good at relationships. He wasn't. So showing an interest, then dropping her like a hot rock, as she'd so eloquently put it, would be cavalier and cruel. He wouldn't use Mattie, knowing they couldn't have a future.

“You and me?” she asked, repeating his words. She lifted one eyebrow questioningly. “Interesting thought. Everyone needs a goal.” She turned and started to walk away.

He took two steps and grabbed her arm. “And what goal would that be?” He braced himself for the answer he somehow knew he wasn't going to like.

“To make you forget about paint chips
and
your number crunching.” She removed his hand from her arm.

That was two goals, but now wasn't the time to point that out. “Mattie, you need to—”

Ignoring him, she turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.

“Wait—” Dawson started to follow, and the toe of his boot nudged something. Looking down, he saw the rose she'd dropped on the floor when she'd wrapped her arms around his neck. At least he'd made her forget to ask who'd left the rose. Unless she brought it up, he didn't plan to volunteer it was from Ethan.

Even now, the memory sent the blood rushing through his veins in a southerly direction. He was painfully hard. It had taken every ounce of his self-control not to lift her off the floor and urge her to wrap those long legs of hers around his waist—right in the foyer of her uncle's home. If that wasn't bad enough, her uncle Ryan was his friend and a man he respected more than he had his own father. And Dawson worked at the family company. How could he take advantage of the man's niece like this? Dawson figured there had to be something wrong with him to behave this way. But he couldn't seem to help himself.

More than anything, he needed to turn his back on Mattie Fortune before this crazy attraction got too hot to handle. But judging by the calls, drop-ins and secret admirers, every cowboy on the Double Crown felt the same way about Mattie that he did. And she didn't plan to do anything to discourage the attention.

That really chapped his hide.

He bent down and picked up the flower, then placed
it on the table in the foyer. He needed to stay close to her. Just until Griff got back, he amended.

He shook his head. This was nuts. His life was out of control. It had started with his promise to Griff, and had gotten worse with Mattie's new look.

Haircut plus lipstick equaled trouble.

 

Mattie had never been so irritated and frustrated in her whole life. It had been two weeks since she and Dawson had kissed. On the heels of that life-altering experience, he had insisted on escorting her to the poker game that same night. It had given her immense satisfaction when the ranch hands were not nearly as glad to see him as they'd been the first time. In fact, they had practically ignored him and fallen all over themselves in their attention to her.

She shook her head and angrily jammed the shovel into the muck on the stall floor. It's what she had longed for since her arrival in Texas. But the timing of all that attention was the pits. If only it had happened before she'd kissed Dawson. What the heck had she been thinking? How could she ever have believed that it would be harmless? A test? Practice?

At least Dawson hadn't laughed at her, like her one and only crush had before they'd ever gotten to the kissing stage. And Dawson hadn't taunted her with her plain-Jane nickname. He'd just been thinking about paint chips. Disgusted, she shook her head.

It had been two weeks and there hadn't been a single opportunity to follow up on her challenge to make him forget about paint.

“Perverse man,” she grumbled to herself.

Every time she thought about Dawson, his arms around her, his mouth pressed to hers, she got that
warm, tight feeling low in her abdomen. Then a throbbing started between her legs. She'd thought that kissing him would somehow bring her closer to her goal of finding a soul mate and creating a family. But she had discovered that kissing a man once was like trying to eat one piece of chocolate. It couldn't be done. She wanted more. What she'd gotten was a long, disappointing dry spell. And more frustration than any woman should suffer.

Not to mention questions—lots of 'em.

The most important being, would it be as much fun with another man? Oddly enough, she wasn't anxious to do the deed with anyone else. She wanted to try again with Dawson. But since she wasn't getting any younger, she had to hedge her bets. She was ready, willing and able to find a man who would assist in her research to discover if kissing just any man would be as good as it was with Dawson.

There was just one little problem. Actually, he was just under six feet tall and had some serious muscles that made him more of a
big
problem.

Dawson Prescott.

He'd moved into her brother's room at the Double Crown. Just until Griff came back, he'd said. Although there'd been some delays, he was sure the house renovations would be finished just about the same time her brother returned. On top of everything else, the man was a psychic? No one ever knew when Griff would return, let alone tried to coordinate it with redecorating.

She shoveled more stall muck into the waiting wheelbarrow. Ever since Dawson had moved to the ranch, Mattie couldn't turn around without bumping into him. He was there when she fed the horses. He
dropped by during her training sessions. He turned up when she was hanging out with the other cowboys. He was always underfoot, because he was crunching his numbers right here on the ranch. He claimed to be getting more accomplished by using the phone and fax that her uncle had set up on the premises than by driving to the office in San Antonio.

There was one thing she was starting to learn about Dawson: things could always get worse. It wasn't so bad that he was sleeping in the room next to hers. But there was a bathroom in between that they shared. She could hear him taking a shower, which he seemed to take great delight in doing every night. In her own room, minding her own business, she was forced to listen to him. And listening forced her imagination into high gear. She couldn't help picturing all his manly muscles naked, wet, soapy and sleek. He was the devil in—or out of—an expensive suit.

For the rest of her life was she doomed, when she heard a shower go on, to get hot all over? Or feel the blood rush through her? Or experience a sensation at her very center that made her feel as if she would explode? Whenever a man's deep voice broke into a rendition—a very bad rendition—of Don't Fence Me In, would she want desperately to kiss him?

“Wait until I tell him he couldn't carry a tune in a duffel bag,” she complained to herself.

“Who can't carry a tune?”

Dawson. Without turning around, she closed her eyes and shook her head. She wasn't in any mood to be nice to him. “For a stuffed-shirt city slicker, you sure have a knack for sneaking up on a body.”

“Thank you,” he said brightly. “Although you
must have been deep in thought. I made enough noise to wake the dead.”

His voice was so cheerful, she wanted to scream. She turned around, and hated the fact that her gaze automatically zeroed in on his mouth. “That wasn't a compliment.”

“Oh. Could've fooled me.”

“Yeah, there's a lot of that going around,” she said, thinking about his kiss. “What are you doing here?”

He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the metal fence. “I was in the way up at the house.”

Here, too,
she wanted to say. Her mother would've been proud of the way she held her tongue. “What's going on up there?”

“Wedding preparations. Deliveries. Hustle. Bustle. It's starting.”

“'Bout time. The festivities are five days away. People will be arriving. Reed and Mallory are supposed to be back from their honeymoon that morning.” She sighed and settled her chin on her gloved hand that rested on the shovel.

“That was a very thoughtful sound,” he said. “What brought that on?”

“I was just wondering if Griff will make it home in time for Brody and Jillian's wedding.”

“He said he would.”

That piqued her curiosity. “When did you talk to him? Seems to me your paths wouldn't have much reason to cross.”

His fraction-of-a-second hesitation made her wonder. Then he said in a voice as smooth as a vanilla shake, “The day he left, he stopped by the corporate offices to say goodbye to Brody. Since we were involved in a business meeting, I happened to be there.”

Mattie would swear he looked guilty, but she couldn't imagine why. Apparently her imagination only worked when it was accompanied by the sound of a running shower.

“And what did he say about coming home?” she asked.

“He said he didn't know for sure when he would be back. But he would do his best to make it home for the wedding.”

She sighed again. “I hope he's all right. I worry about him with all this clandestine stuff.”

“I'm sure he's fine,” Dawson said. He moved away from the fence and stood in front of her. He lifted her chin with his finger and forced her to meet his gaze. “He's one of the good guys, Mattie. The good guys always win and return to hearth and home. Stiff upper lip, kiddo.”

Mattie struggled with her emotional response to his touch and his words. She couldn't breathe a sigh of relief until she saw Griff again and knew for a fact he was safe and sound. With Dawson standing so close to her, her heart went into a state of serious flutter, and she could hardly breathe at all. Then his last words sank in and she realized how Dawson had just addressed her. Kiddo, indeed!

What was it going to take for him to acknowledge the fact that she was a woman?

At the rate he kept turning up, she couldn't help thinking he liked her and wanted to spend time with her. But then, he never did anything but engage in idle chitchat. Like now.

“Dawson, was there some reason you came down here?” she asked testily.

“I told you. I was in the way up at the house.”