A Real Cowboy Never Walks Away (Wyoming Rebels Book 4) (14 page)

She frowned. "Of course it has meaning. Every song you write has depth."

"Not anymore." He sighed. "Listen, Lissa, I don't want to talk about my music. This is the same conversation that Mariel had with me, trying to make music matter again, I bought into it, and it was bullshit, so I'm not interested in going there again."

She raised her eyebrows. "So, you're giving up?"

"No. I'm smartening up. It taught me a lesson I should never have forgotten." He searched her face. "I told you this not because I wanted advice or to change. I wanted you to understand why I can't be the man you deserve, so you would never think it was you. I also..." He swore, not sure how to explain it. "But that's why I needed to meet you. I need to be shown that there is one person in this world who is good, who I can believe in, who wants nothing from me. You don't care about my money or my career, and you don't care about my bad boy reputation from high school. You owe me nothing, but you somehow give me a foundation again." He smoothed her hair back from her face, searching her eyes. "You have a truly beautiful soul, Lissa. I need to be around you. I want to be with you every second of every minute, because it's only then that I feel like I'm alive again...but I can't stay. I have to leave, and you need a life, one that's better than any I could ever give you." He swore. "I can't ever be the man you deserve. That part of me is dead forever. I can't ever get that close again. With anyone. Not even my brothers."

She sighed, tracing her fingers across the frown on his forehead. "I don't understand how you think there's no joy left in your music. Even the way you talk is beautiful, like poetry. The words, the emotions, the journey. Your songs are still inside you, Travis. The reason that Mariel was able to make you believe in love was because she was right that you aren't truly broken. Yes, maybe she was being self-serving, but you heard her because it was true. Don't let this one woman define you, and take away your music."

He shook his head. "It was gone long before her. Singing became about money, sales, concerts, and trying to find a way to please my fans. It lost meaning for me right about the time I signed my first deal." He shrugged. "My brothers will get my money when I die. It will set them up for life, and give their kids a shield to protect them if anything bad ever comes for them. I used it to protect Mira. I'm giving a bunch to Zane for the camp he's setting up on the ranch for youth who have fucked up lives. I'll use it for whoever needs it. So, I sing for the money it will give them. It's enough."

She studied him for a moment, then, to his surprise, she shook her head. "No, it's not. It's not enough. You're wasting your life and your talent."

He scowled at her, his mood darkening at the words so reminiscent of the ones Mariel had used to reel him in. "Really? You abandoned an engineering dream so you could earn money. You did the same thing."

She sat up, frowning at him. "No, I abandoned a career path I was pursuing for money and prestige, so that I could open my heart to my daughter. I might not be rich, and I might have weeks like this where I can't be with her as much as I want, but I have an amazing kid, some great friends, and, I've learned that I love to bake. I love her. I love this town. I love that my life has meaning." She searched his face. "Don't close your heart, Travis. Maybe you don't want to be romantically involved, but at least welcome your brothers. Chase said you aren't even going to see him while you're here. You said you haven't met Steen and Zane's wives. They're super nice, Travis. You have family already. Don't rob yourself of that. If you don't need the money, and you hate singing, why keep going?"

He scowled. "What else am I going to do? It's all I know."

"What do you love?"

"Nothing! There's nothing I love. I just..." He swore. "I just exist. It's what I do. I exist, I avoid drinking, and I beat the hell out of my punching bag."

She shook her head, her expression almost like...disgust. No. He had to be wrong. She'd never condemn him. She
understood
him.

"Break the cycle, Travis." She leaned forward, searching his face. "Seriously. You have an amazing family who would do anything for you. You have all the money in the world. You can do
anything
that matters to you. Find it! Stop letting bad people run your life! If I had that kind of money—" She paused, her brow furrowing.

He should be pissed at her lecture. He knew he should. She was riding him about things that were deeply personal, giving him speeches too much like the ones he bought into before...but he wasn't mad. He was... Shit. He didn't know. No one had ever talked to him like that before. The words were similar to what Mariel had thrown at him, yeah, but the emotion, the conviction, the lack of personal agenda, the honesty... It made him think. It made him think that maybe he could be more. That maybe he
could
do something. That maybe there was a chance he didn't have to be who he was.

But he'd thought that before, right? And he'd had his ass busted.

But right now, in this second, it felt...different. Like the future was suddenly, precariously, unwritten, undetermined, and unfettered. "If you had that kind of money, what?" he prompted, suddenly desperate to hear her answers, as if she could shed some kind of great light into the darkness that consumed him so ruthlessly.

She cocked her head, her face thoughtful. "I'd sing."

He scowled. "No. I wasn't asking what you think I should do. What would
you
do?"

"I just told you. I'd sing—" She glanced at the clock, then gasped. "I open in fifteen minutes. I gotta go." She scooted off him and raced into the bathroom, abandoning him in less than a second.

She'd walked out on him. In the middle of a discussion that had felt pretty damn significant. What the hell?

His mood growing blacker by the moment, he threw off the covers and stalked across the room and into the bathroom. She was already in the shower.

"What do you mean, you'd sing?" He jerked the curtain back, and promptly forgot his question.

Her hair was on top of her head in a soapy pile, and she was frantically scrubbing. Rivulets of soapy water ran down her back, over her hips, as if they were creating art on her skin. She was soft and round, her curves pure female, vulnerable and beautiful. During the night, it had been dark, so he hadn't really seen her, but now, he was stunned by his response to her.

She answered easily, clearly not minding his presence, making him realize that she hadn't bailed on him. She'd just had to get ready for work. "I've always loved singing. I used to sing in private, all the time, practicing for when I became famous. I used to have these visions of walking out on the Grand Ol' Opry stage and showing all of them that despite their treatment of me, they hadn't killed the beauty of my soul."

He stepped into the shower, drawn both by her, and by the dreaminess of her story. He remembered when singing had been a dream as well, but his dream had been to get the hell out of Rogue Valley and earn enough money that he never had to be dependent on anyone again. Her dream had been about the glow of her inner soul. No wonder he'd lost the joy. He'd never had it from the start. Not like her. "You wanted to be a singer? Really?" He grabbed a washcloth and ran it over her back, awed by the curve of her shoulder blades, the angle of her spine, the fullness of her hips.

"Yes, but I can't actually sing very well." She turned to face him, tipping her head back to rinse the suds from her hair, her hands flying through her hair with ruthless efficiency as she rinsed it. "So, if I had money and time, I'd take voice lessons until I became a decent singer. That's what I'd do."

"I like that dream." He ran the washcloth over her breasts, the ones that he'd kissed only a few hours earlier.

"Me, too." She put some sort of conditioner on her hair, and then began to brush it through, her movement quick and efficient, not a seduction.

He wanted a seduction. He wanted to linger. "Let me." He took the brush from her hand and began to brush her hair, the bristles sliding through her wet locks.

Lissa closed her eyes as he brushed, her arms falling to her side as she surrendered to him, pausing for a moment. For one minute, maybe two, they stood there under the hot water, steam rising around them, while he brushed her hair. It was so simple, so innocent, so intimate, and so personal. A moment frozen in time, where nothing else was around to taint it.

Then she stepped back into the water, tipped her head back, and rinsed the conditioner. "Is this it?" she asked, her eyes still closed.

"Is what it?"

"The last of our moments?" She wiped the water out of her eyes and looked at him, her brown eyes steady and unblinking. "When I get out of the shower, do you go back to being Travis Turner? Will you go off to your concerts and appearances? Is this where it ends?"

A cold terror suddenly seized his gut at the thought of never seeing her again after this moment. "I'm in town for the week."

She didn't move. "That doesn't answer my question."

He went still, his heart suddenly pounding. He wanted every minute with her for the next week. He wanted to work in her kitchen, make love to her all night, and talk about shit that he'd never talked about. He wanted to meet her daughter. He wanted to brush her hair. He wanted to help her out in the café. But he had so many things he was supposed to be doing instead. "I have a lot of obligations this week."

Her face was impassive. "I understand. But I can't survive this week if I'm constantly watching the door of my café, wondering if you're going to come, and then being crushed every time it's not you. If you walk out the door and tell me you're not coming back, then you can't come back. Then I can treasure the night for what it was, and move forward. If you walk out the door and tell me you'll see me tonight, you have to come back. I know this is a short term thing, but I need to know if it's one night, or seven." She lifted her chin. "I waited for Rand for a very long time. It's absolute hell not knowing. Either way is fine with me, but I need to know."

Something twisted inside his gut. "You'd be crushed if I didn't walk in the door?"

"If I was hoping you were, and you never did, yes." She didn't look away. "I need to get downstairs in four minutes, Travis. You have to decide before I leave." She gave him one more look, then turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and sprinted into the bedroom to get dressed.

Travis stood in the shower, not moving.

Four minutes.

Four minutes to decide whether to grab hold of the one thing that made him care if he lived, or to let her go before he ripped her light out by dragging her into his hell.

He knew she wasn't tough. She was vulnerable, and yet she'd trusted him. She'd given him her faith, and he knew damn well if he hung out with her for seven days, it would hurt like hell to let her go. He didn't care if he suffered, but if
she
suffered?

No. He wouldn't do that to her. He just
wouldn't.

He had to let her go now.

T
ravis still hadn't come
out of the bathroom by the time Lissa was ready to go. Her heart got tighter and tighter the longer she waited, until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

She realized she'd made a horrible mistake by sleeping with him. One night with him, and already the thought of him walking out of that bathroom and telling her that he wasn't coming back was crushing her.

How had she fallen so hard so fast? She
knew
he was leaving. She knew he had trust issues. For heaven's sake, she'd already fallen in love with one man who lived a life on the road. She knew that it didn't work. How on earth had she somehow gotten all twisted up with Travis already?

But she had.

It was too late to protect herself. Whether it was over now, or in a week, her heart was going to break when it ended. Would it be better to escape now, before it got worse? Or better to embrace it fully and make it the most it could be?

She stood in the living room, unsure whether to just walk out, or to tell him she was leaving.

She thought of the day she'd told Rand she was pregnant. He'd said he needed to think about it. She'd let him, and then he'd left. And now Travis was thinking about it.

Her fists tightened. She didn't want to be with a man who had to think about whether he wanted to be with her, even if it was for only a week. She deserved a man who would lunge for her, grab her hand, and tell her that he wanted every last second with her that he could have, no matter how crushing it would be to part.

That's what she deserved.

The fact that Travis was stewing in her room, trying to decide whether to grace her with his presence for the next week, told her all she needed to know. He wasn't worth wasting time on.

For so long, she'd been certain she didn't need a man. So certain that being a single parent was best. But after a night with Travis, she realized she'd been wrong. Yes, she didn't
need
a man. At all. But the right one could make the sun shine a little bit brighter with a little less effort. The right one could erase some of the shadows in her heart...which also gave him the power to create even more.

God, she didn't need any more shadows. She really didn't. Travis might have brought sunshine, but the way she felt right now was nothing but shadows, and she didn't need that, not from him, and not from anyone.

If she decided she wanted a man, it was going to be one that didn't hesitate for one second about whether she was worth spending time with. So there. She lifted her chin, and strode to the door that led downstairs. She grabbed the doorknob and paused, her head held high.
Good-bye, Travis.
She pulled the door open—

"Wait!"

She froze, her heart thundering like crazy. She didn't turn, but her fingers gripped the doorknob so tightly her hand was already cramping. "Too late, Travis," she said stiffly. "Even for a week, I don't want someone who has to think that long and hard about whether he wants to be with me." Her heart felt like it was tearing from her body, but she kept her shoulders back and didn't turn to face him. "It was a great night. One night. You showed me what it was like to feel special, and I'll never forget it. But that's all it was. Good luck with your music. I hope you find your path." She pulled the door open to leave—

Travis leapt up behind her, reached overhead, and slammed it shut, making her jump back in surprise.

"Damn it. Don't do that." She spun around, glaring at him. "I don't appreciate you treating me like—" She stopped in shock as he dropped to his knees in front of her. She was so shocked by the sight of him on his knees that she forgot to be mad at him. "What are you doing?"

He took her hand, and for a split second, for a single, irrational, stupid second, she thought he was going to propose to her. "When you walked out of the bathroom," he said, "I decided I was going to be a good guy for once in my life. I was going to let you go, even though I want nothing more than to spend every single second with you that I possibly can, burning you into every cell of my body, and etching you into my soul so that you're with me forever when I leave here."

"Seriously with that?" Well, damn. Wasn't that exactly the kind of speech she'd wanted? But it was too late.
Too late.
Her throat tightened, and she raised her chin defiantly. She would
not
fall victim to pretty speeches when his slow-to-decide actions spoke the truth about how much she mattered. "Don't say stuff like that to me when you don't mean it. It's just cruel."

"That's the thing, Lissa. I do mean it." He pressed a kiss to the palm of her hand, ignoring the fact she was trying to twist free. "I can't be the good guy, the selfless one who lets you walk away. I'm a self-serving, ruthless ass. Just ask everyone in Rogue Valley. I'm a selfish, fucked-up bastard, and there's no way in hell I can be in this town with you all week and not see you." He held up a piece of paper that he'd scrawled on. "I wrote down my schedule for today, and marked off the times when I'm free and can get over here for a few minutes. So you don't have to wonder for one second if I'm coming, or when I'm coming." He pressed it into her palm. "This way, you know exactly when I'll come, and that I'll be here. I'm so sorry, Lissa, but I can't fucking walk away today. I can't."

Well, damn it. How was she supposed to be strong enough to resist that speech? "Put that in a song, and you'll be a star," she snapped, even as she let him slide the paper between her trembling fingers.

"Fuck stardom. I just want a week with you." He looked up at her. "I know it's going to break me into a thousand pieces when I have to walk away. I don't want that to happen to you, so if you can't do this for a week and then let go, just tell me. I'll walk out the door and I'll never bother you again. Just say the word."

She knew it would break her when he left. After one night, she already felt raw and vulnerable, and exposed...but at the same time, she felt vibrantly alive. Her heart was beating more strongly, she was breathing more deeply, and there was a fire burning through her veins, an excitement about life, about being who she was, about potential. And that was after one night.

After a week of being with him, where would that leave her? Powerful, vibrant, and ready to finally own her life? Or would she huddle under the bed in tears for days, utterly at a loss as to how to handle her own life, now that he'd made her see how much more it could be? "It might break me," she admitted softly. "It's already difficult to walk away, and it's been only one night."

Anguish flashed across his face, but he nodded and stood up. "I accept that—"

She touched his arm, her fingers instinctively encircling his wrist. "But I've been broken before, and I survived. I—" She swallowed, afraid to say it, afraid to admit it, aloud or to herself how much she was falling for him already. The last time she told a man she cared about him, he eviscerated her.

But even without her finishing the sentence, Travis's face softened into a smile so real, and so tender that her heart seemed to stutter. "Me, too," he whispered, pulling her into a kiss that seemed to heal the cracks threatening to break her. "I have a break at two. I'll be back then to help you prep for dinner, okay?"

She wanted to tell him not to come by. She wanted to tell him to protect them both from the stupidity of a week that had to end. But the words didn't come. She just sighed instead. "You don't have to help me cook—"

"I want to. I love it." He kissed her again. "Now, go. I have a radio interview in fifteen minutes, and you need to shower the world with the greatest food on this side of the Rockies. I'll see you at two." He nodded at the paper. "My cell number is on there. Call anytime." He hesitated, running his fingers along her jaw. "Okay?"

She knew he wasn't asking about whether it was acceptable to give her his phone number. He was asking whether he could come back. Neither of them was willing to say the words, but they both understood. No, it wasn't okay. No, he shouldn't come. No, this would break them both.

But did the protest make it from her brain to her lips? No, it didn't. She just nodded. "Okay."

Okay.

They were going to do this.

* * *

I
t was
ten minutes before two o'clock, the time when Travis had said he'd come by. Granted, she would have to leave soon after he arrived to go to the fair picnic with Bridgette, but she still wanted to see him, even if it was for just a moment.

Ten minutes until he was supposed to be there, and she was counting the seconds. Was that pathetic? She felt like it might be. The café was empty, except for a table in the corner that was lingering over coffee. Lissa had nothing to distract her from her obsessive thoughts. She couldn't help but watch the clock, and that was making her so annoyed. How could she possibly be obsessing about Travis? The man would be gone in a week. He wasn't a long-term option. She would be living life solo again within days. So, why did it matter if he showed up?

She knew why.

For the first time in years, a man had given her a promise, and she'd believed him. She wanted Travis to show up at two like he'd said he would, because she needed to know that she had been right to have faith in him, even if it was for something as simple as chopping cucumbers for the night's salads. She'd been burned so badly, and she hated the fact that she'd let her guard down around him. It made her vulnerable, and she hated feeling vulnerable—

The front door jangled, and she spun around...and then her heart froze as a tall, dusty cowboy walked into her café. Rand. His black collared shirt didn't hide his muscled frame, and he walked with the leisurely pace of a predator who knew he had all the time in the world. He nodded at her, tipping his cowboy hat back so he could inspect her. "Afternoon, Lis."

Her fingers tightened on the dishrag, and she went back to wiping the table. "Hi, Rand."

He sat down at the table she was wiping. "I'll have a turkey club. You know how I like it."

A memory flashed through her mind. Light rye. No mayo. Extra mustard. Lettuce. Tomato. Avocado. Lightly toasted. She pressed her lips together, her heart pounding. "I'm sorry. I don't remember how you like your sandwiches. You'll have to actually order." She pulled out her notepad and pen and waited, trying to keep her expression neutral.

He eyed her. "Liar," he said softly. "You've never forgotten, Lis. I can see it in your eyes."

He smelled the same. A faint scent of some sort of aftershave or something. Every time she'd smelled that in the last nine years, she thought of Rand. At first, the scent had sent a thrill through her. Then it had made her sad and lonely. Then it had made her mad. Then it had just made her aware that she didn't feel anything anymore...until now. That scent made a thousand emotions tumble through her in such a jumble she couldn't begin to sort them out, emotions she'd worked so hard to shut away for so long.

He'd been her first love, her true love, the first guy who had ever made her feel like she was more than her reputation. He'd saved her heart, and then shattered it beyond words, because his love was the only thing that had repaired it from a lifetime of abuse. He was her daughter's father, the one she'd waited on for so many years...and now he was back...again. Her lungs tightened, and she tried to take a deep breath, fighting against the stress descending ruthlessly down upon her.

But she couldn't breathe. The room started to spin.
Rand was back
.

"You look like you're going to pass out. Sit." Rand pulled out a chair and forced her to sit down...not that she had a choice. Her legs were trembling, and she felt lightheaded.

She folded her arms over her chest, and tried to look composed, but she could feel perspiration beading on her lip. "Why are you here? We both know it's not for the sandwich."

He leaned forward. "I made a mistake, Lis. A massive one that has been haunting me since the day I walked out."

She stared at him in numb disbelief. Was he really going to give her the speech she'd dreamed of for years? Right now, when she'd met someone else who made her heart sing? Someone who was leaving in a week? "What mistake?" she asked, her voice raw.

"Leaving the woman I loved because I was a selfish, terrified bastard." He leaned forward, his gaze searching hers. "I went back to town six months later, but you were gone. No one knew where you'd moved to. I tried to find you, but I couldn't, not until last night."

She shook her head, wanting to cover her ears against his speech, the one she'd wanted to hear for so long. "I don't believe you. I'm not that difficult to find, if you'd tried. Not that I wanted you to. I didn't." Her hands were shaking now, and she tucked them under her arms, trying to hide how much he was rattling her. It was all lies and manipulation, just like before. There was no way he'd looked for her. She'd used credit cards, and she owned the café. There were records of her everywhere.
He was lying
, just like he always had.

But to her surprise, he sighed, and nodded his acknowledgment of her claim. "Yeah, I admit, I didn't hire a private detective to find you, or anything like that. I figured you hated me, and I knew I deserved it. You deserved better than me, so when I couldn't find you, I figured you'd gone to school and were starting a life that was better than being the wife of a bum who was trying to earn money riding bulls." He took his hat off and set it on the table, a sign of manners he'd never had before. "I hadn't earned even a
dime
in those six months. I was flat broke. How the hell was I going to take care of a wife and a kid? I couldn't. We both know I blew off school. I had no chance of landing any job. I was an absolute fucking
failure,
and I knew it. That's why I took off originally. Because I was scared shitless about failing, the way my old man failed me. I figured I could earn some money and come back, but I didn't earn anything...but I came back anyway. I was going to quit the tour for you and get some shitty job, but you were gone. So, I left. And that was it."