What a Bride Wants (11 page)

Morning-afters were problematic, decided Sawyer, as Samuel T. Emerson stepped through into the kitchen from the side door and stopped dead.

It was half ten and the roads were supposedly still under a foot and a half of snow, although perhaps not anymore
, given that Ella’s father was definitely, undeniably here. Sawyer was here too, smelling of sex and this man’s daughter, and he was pretty sure he had a bite mark on his stomach, just above the cut of his hip.

And another one on his shoulder.

Ella was in the shower.

Ella had woken him at dawn to listen to the weather report
, because apparently cowgirls did that, and then she’d burrowed back down into the bed clothes hooked an arm over his chest and slid straight back to sleep. Sawyer had gathered her closer, buried his face in her hair and done the same.

They
’d woken again not ten minutes ago. Sawyer had come down for coffee and a shower of his own, and, yep, Samuel T. Emerson was still standing there.

Eyes narrowed.

“I see you got the position,” Samuel said.

“
Kind of not thinking about it in quite those terms, Samuel,” he offered quietly.

“
What kind of terms
are
you considering?”

Good question.
Sawyer ran a hand though his hair, not entirely sure it would do in lieu of a comb. Samuel’s gaze fixed on a spot of skin just under his arm, a place Ella had really liked, Sawyer looked down and hastily lowered his arm because… more marks.

Awkward.

“You want to go and put a shirt on, son?”

And then Ella barreled in, dress
ed, thank God, took in the scene and smile brightly.

“
I
thought
I heard someone pull up,” Ella said casually. “Did you get a look at the group two steers on the way?”

“
They’re fine,” her father replied dryly. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“
Haven’t you already met?”

“
Ella,” her father said, and the one word warning was enough to set her back some. Not so confident now as she backed up and began the introduction.

“
Cameron Sawyer, this is my father, Samuel T. Emerson. Daddy, this is Cameron. Cameron kept me company last night.”

Her father
’s eyebrows rose. Ella held his gaze with a steady one of her own. “Is now a good time to tell you that if I have my way he’ll be doing it again?”

Sawyer would
have probably chosen a different time, but that was just him.

“
How about you get an old man a coffee, Ella, while I think on it?” her father said gruffly, before turning a carefully neutral gaze on Sawyer. “What do you think of the place?”

“
It’s beautiful.”

“
Impressive?”

“
That too.”

“
Best valley on God’s green earth. Where are you from, Cameron?”

“
Sydney. Noosa. Copper Creek. Brisbane.”

“
And Washington state,” said Ella, moving in and reaching around him for the jar of coffee grounds.

“
Not exactly a stable existence.”

“
No.”

“
Glad to see we’re all getting along,” said Ella. “But I think I might have left something in the living room, so…” She glanced up at Sawyer. “I just have to go and do a couple of things. In the living room.”

Most of their clothes were still
scattered across the living room. The wine was heaven knew where. Good idea for someone to get to them before her father did. And Ella was the only one who knew where all the rugs and cushions went.

Well, except for her father.
Sawyer gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

“
Grab his shirt while you’re there,” said her father.

Guess no one had ever accused Samuel T. of being slow.

“Go,” Sawyer nudged her with his shoulder as Ella’s cheeks went bright red. “Your father and I can stay here and bond.”

“
Is that likely?” she murmured.

“
Notice that I’m willing to try.”

Ella shot her father a quick glance
, and then stood on tiptoe and kissed Sawyer’s cheek. “Thank you.” Her smile could have gotten him to do just about anything.

He was so screwed.

Ella left. Her father stayed and took a seat at the kitchen bench. Still awkward. “How do you take your coffee, Samuel?”

Strong and black, with one.
”

Sawyer made the coffee in silence and
sat it down in front of the other man. He was used to serving others. He saw no slight in it. If he were in Samuel T’s shoes he’d want a coffee too.

The older man left the coffee on the bench
and ran his hand across his mouth instead. “Wish my wife was here,” he offered at last. “Twenty years she’s been gone and I still miss her every damn day.”

Sawyer hadn
’t tended bar on and off for years without learning a thing or two about encouraging another person to share. “Ella showed me her portrait.”

“
That wasn’t her. It’s too serene. Caroline could walk into a room and set my world on fire.”

That
’d be right, thought Sawyer. It was hereditary. “Mr. Emerson, I’m not about to tell you that this isn’t what it looks like. It’s exactly what it looks like. As for where it’s going I can’t say, because I don’t know. But I won’t hurt your daughter. I’ll put myself on the line before I do that.”

Samuel T. reached for his coffee.
“Maybe that’s all a father can ask.”

Sawyer never meant for him and Ella to become inseparable, but one week passed and then another
, and not a day had gone by without talking to her on the phone or seeing her at the saloon or in the mornings before he started work. By mid-morning Ella had usually already put in half a day’s work at the ranch and had no hesitation when it came to sauntering into the truck yard and hammering on his door. Her father didn’t think it was a good look for her.

Sawyer agreed.

Not that Ella had taken the slightest notice of either of them. Short of buying or renting a house in Marietta, there was nothing to do but start getting up and into town earlier and texting Ella his whereabouts before mid-morning, or if she was short a hand, heading on out to the ranch. She was still trying to make a cowboy out of him. He was still telling her it was never going to happen, but the truth was he enjoyed the physicality of it and he
loved
seeing Ella in her element.

He had a midday start at the saloon today but he was meeting Ella for an early lunch at the deli. He
’d been expecting to see her in her usual work wear, but today she’d gone all dynasty princess on him and was wearing good jeans and boots, a pretty shirt, and jewelry.

“
What’s the occasion?”

“
Ball gown shopping at the local bridal wear shop,” she offered glumly. “And trust me that never ends well. By the way, I have a spare ticket for the Valentine’s Ball at the Graff Hotel next weekend. It’s a big affair. Huge. Think ballrooms and chandeliers, fairy lights, pink champagne and feathers.”

“
Feathers?”

“
Okay, I’m not sure about the feathers, but it’s to launch a big competition. They’re giving away a wedding. Do you have a formal suit?”

“
Er…”

“
For the ball, not the wedding,” she offered somewhat dryly. “Although I’m pretty sure that Mr. Armani or someone of his ilk is going to tailor-make you a wedding suit, should you win the competition.”

“
How do I win the competition?” he asked warily. “I don’t just have to walk through a doorway or something, do I?”

“
You and your significant other would have to write a persuasive five-hundred word essay on why you want to get married. And then agree to a whole flood of publicity.”

“
I’d rather elope.”

“
I’m sure you’re not alone. Meanwhile, I need a gown. Maybe even a pink gown. Possibly with feathers. Or sparkles. Or something.”

“
Good luck.”

“
And
you
, should you choose to accompany me, will need a suit.”

“
With feathers?”

“
I think not. Will you come? Will you even be here?”

There was an underlying thread of anxiety to her words that Sawyer didn
’t like. “I finish up at the saloon Tuesday week. Nothing stopping me from heading to my place on the Wednesday, picking up a suit, airing the place out, and being back here on Friday. You can come too, if you want?”

“
I do want.” Ella’s wistful expression confirmed it. “But we’ve a new bull buyer coming to the ranch on Thursday and my father’s away. May I take a rain check?”

“
You may.”

She
leaned forward, over the table, and kissed him square on the lips in front of half of Marietta, Montana, and Sawyer grinned and slid his hand in her hair and made it count.

“
It’s not working, this attempt of yours to cultivate a bad girl image,” he said when she pulled back. “Too many people around here have known you since birth. I live in a truck stop bunkhouse and work behind a bar. I’m a lean, mean flirting machine and I’m becoming respectable by association.”