A Real Cowboy Never Walks Away (Wyoming Rebels Book 4) (7 page)

Lissa flashed through his mind before he could stop it, but he quickly shook his head. "No."

"No? What about Lissa McIntyre? Heard you helped her out last night." Chase gave him an appraising look, and Mira's smile widened.

Travis stiffened. Last night had been
his
night. Private. Not public, not even for his brother. She was one light that he would take with him, the one moment of peace he'd been given in his life. "She was short-staffed. Just being neighborly."

"You aren't neighborly," Chase said. "You hate the world."

"Yeah, well, so it is what it is." He glanced at his watch. "I gotta go. I need to sign autographs in the main tent."

"You coming to dinner this week?" Chase asked, not moving out of his way.

Travis hesitated. A part of him wanted to go to the ranch one more time, to see his brothers, to see the place that had been his salvation during his youth. But at the same time, he knew he didn't belong there. There was no respite there from his nightmares, and he didn't want to go back there. "I'll try, but I don't think so."

Chase scowled. "I don't know what's going on with you, Travis, but we've got your back. All of us. Whatever you need, whenever you need it."

Travis nodded, his throat tightening at the same words Chase had said to him so long ago, when he'd been seven years old and scared to death that he was going to be killed by his father that night. He'd never forget that loyalty, but he also knew when there was nothing they could do. It was his battle, and he was losing. "I know, bro. Thanks."

Mira touched his arm. "Come to dinner. Even for an hour."

Travis inclined his head. "I'll try. Gotta go." He kissed Mira on the cheek, and brushed his fingers over the baby's head. "Catch you guys later."

He ducked out before they could protest, but he heard their whispered concerns as he walked out of range.

He was surprised at how much it hurt like hell to walk away from his brother's offer, but at the same time, he knew that if he showed up at the ranch and tried to fit into a life that didn't fit him anymore, it would shatter the fragile threads that were barely holding him together.

* * *

L
ater that night
, Lissa had to force a smile as she set the plates down in front of her customers. "I'm so sorry it took so long," she said, trying to keep the stress out of her voice. "Free dessert for the delay, okay?'

She'd given away ten free desserts tonight, and she was afraid it wasn't enough. It was barely seven o'clock and she was already so behind. It was even busier than last night, and without help, she was never going to make it.

No one had been available to help her out. Anyone who had free time had already been scooped up by another local business, and the rest of the Rogue Valley residents wanted to enjoy the fair, not waitress for tips and minimum wage.

Tears burned at the back of her eyes as one of the customers shoved back his chair and stormed out, complaining loudly about the poor service. God, this was never going to work. She couldn't afford to lose her income from this week, but there was no way she could keep up. She'd have to shut down some of the tables and close part of the café. She'd have to turn away business…and then what? Start staying open for dinner every night to make up for the lost income? Never see her daughter?

She bit her lower lip, fighting against the cascade of hopelessness trying to overtake her.

No. She wasn't giving up yet. She could do this. She could find a way. She
had
to find a way.

She swept the abandoned table clean, resetting it with record speed while she tracked the cooking time of the burgers on the grill in her head. She gestured for a waiting couple to be seated, then practically sprinted into the kitchen with the dirty plates—

And then stopped dead, in absolute shock.

Travis was at the grill again, wearing her pink apron, cooking.
He'd come back to help her.
Instantly,
the tears she'd been holding in so ruthlessly spilled over.

He looked up, and she was shocked by the depth of emotion in his eyes. Anger. Fury. Desperation. He looked lost and embattled, stark and raw, as if he'd been dragged through hell and barely survived. He didn't look like a superstar. He looked like someone barely hanging on.

As his gaze settled on hers, however, the darkness vanished from his face, and the anger faded. He swore under his breath and strode over to her. "What's wrong?" He brushed his thumb through the tears trickling down her cheek.

She shook her head. "I just..." She wiped her palm across her cheek, trying to erase the evidence of her weakness. In that moment, she didn't care if he was a celebrity or a homeless man. All that mattered was that he'd come back to help her. God only knew why he was there, but in that moment, it didn't matter. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice choked. "I couldn't keep up out there, and I couldn't find anyone to help—"

"I got it covered." He framed her face with his hands, his thumbs rubbing across her cheeks. "Don't worry about the food. Just flash that gorgeous smile of yours at the customers, and they'll all forgive you."

She nodded, not even bothering with the polite facade of refusing his charity. She couldn't afford to say no. Later, she'd figure it out, but right now, she could do nothing but accept it. She threw her arms around him, hugging him as fiercely as she could. "Thank you!"

He grinned. "No problem. Now get out of here." He swatted her on the butt, and her heart leapt, but she had no time to dwell on it.

She just grabbed her notepad and hurried out the kitchen door, with fresh hope surging through her. There were still more nights to get through before the fair was over, but tonight she'd been granted a reprieve.

Tonight was saved.

But as she hurried out to her customers, she couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen when the last customer left, and she and Travis were alone. Travis the superstar. Travis the cook. Travis, the man who'd made her heart sing only twenty-four hours ago.

"
P
ie time
."

Travis looked up from scrubbing the last of the tables as Lissa walked in from the kitchen, carrying two plates of pie topped with ice cream. It was almost two in the morning, and he was tired as hell, but not as tired as Lissa looked. He'd worked his ass off all night, chopping vegetables for tomorrow on every break he got. He'd needed to stay busy, to work so hard he had no time to think, and no time to feel. The kitchen was spotless, dishes washed and put away, everything prepped for the next day. It had all been done by the time the last customer left.

And now, he was on the last table.

There was nothing else to do.

Nothing to distract him.

He didn't want to sit down. He didn't want to think. He just wanted to keep going, to outrun the darkness trying to destroy him.

But Lissa set the plates down on one of the tables and took a seat.

He gritted his teeth, tempted to make an excuse, leave, and go for a three-hour run until morning came...but then he thought of the tears in her eyes when she'd found him in the kitchen, and something inside him softened. She'd been desperate, beyond coping, and he'd helped her.

It felt good. Better than any moment he'd had in a long time.

And now, as she propped her chin up on her hand, he could see the weariness in her shoulders. Again, something softened inside him, something that wanted to feel instead of shut down.

He tossed the towel on the table and sat down across from her. "All the prep is done for tomorrow."

"I know. I saw." She studied him, her gaze thoughtful. "Thank you."

"No problem." Something about the way she was looking at him made him tense, as if she saw things that he kept hidden. "So, good night at the till?" He scooped up a sizeable helping of blueberry pie and ice cream.

She nodded. "I saw your poster at the fair today."

He froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth. "What?"

She kept looking at him, searching his face. "Why is Travis Turner working in my kitchen?"

Fuck.
He put down the spoon. "Travis Turner is a façade," he said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Is that what you saw when you walked back there tonight? Travis Turner, superstar, at your grill?"

She touched the back of his hand gently, just barely, but it stopped him dead. "No." Her voice was soft. "What I saw was a man who had come to rescue me. I saw hope that tonight wasn't going to be lost." She sighed. "Honestly, Travis, I felt so stupid at the fair today when I found out you were Travis Turner, but when I walked in there tonight, it didn't matter. It was just you."

He ducked his head at the sudden tightness in his chest. What the hell was it with her? Why did she make him feel? Why did she make him want to sneak in her back door and chop cucumbers for her?

"But you
are
Travis Turner," she continued, still touching the back of his hand. "It doesn't make sense for you to be in my kitchen." Her voice broke. "Until last night, I hadn't kissed a man in a very, very long time. It meant something to me, but I felt like a naïve fool when I found out you were a celebrity who probably has a dozen women in every city."

"A dozen women?" Bile rose in his throat, and suddenly, he didn't want the pie anymore. He tossed the spoon back on his plate, the dessert uneaten. "Is that what you think?" He was so tired of people who judged him based on his music, his bank account, and his celebrity. Lissa had been a respite last night, and to think she was like the others, judging him based on his public persona, stripped all the magic from the night, from the moment, from the memories. "Forget it."

He shoved back his chair to leave, then noticed the stricken expression on her face. The hurt. The betrayal. Guilt rushed through him, and he sank back into his seat. "I didn't plan on lying to you about who I was. I'm sorry."

She searched his face, as if she could find truth in his eyes, not his words. "Tell me why you were here last night. Tell me why you came back tonight. I need to know the truth. Was it to amuse yourself? To slum with the working class? To hide from an ex-girlfriend? To—" She cut herself off, waiting.

He swore under his breath. He didn't want to answer. He didn't want to tell her the truth. It was too personal. Too brutal. Too...everything. But at the same time, he couldn't bear the look of betrayal in her eyes. He knew about betrayal, and it cut deep and mercilessly, the wounds going deeper with every day that passed.

He knew that Lissa had given him her real self. She was strong, courageous, and somehow, he'd made her vulnerable.

After taking away her shields, he owed her the truth...or at least some of it. "I needed to escape."

"Escape what?" Their pies sat uneaten, the ice cream starting to melt.

"I—" Shit. He ran his hand through his hair. "When I walked in last night, I was going to get takeout and sleep in my truck. I couldn't deal with facing anyone, either as Travis Stockton or Travis Turner. But then...you smiled at me. That one smile, so full of warmth and exhaustion." He picked up his spoon, turning it over in his hands restlessly. "You made me forget my problems. All I wanted was to fix yours." He looked at her. "Last night was an oasis for me, Lissa. I had a rough time today, and the only place I wanted to be tonight was here. I wanted to be in your kitchen, I wanted to help you out, and..." He swore under his breath. "I wanted to be with you. You're the only one who has been real with me, and I needed that tonight."

She searched his face, saying nothing, but he could feel her wanting to believe him, to understand.

"Listen." He leaned forward. "I haven't written a new song in over a year. My performances suck. Music used to be my escape, my respite, but it's gone now. It's just...it's just like a brutal treadmill that has no soul anymore." The moment he said it, he realized that he'd finally articulated the problem. "Music has lost its meaning for me," he said. "It used to be what held me together, and now, it just slips through my fingers. Every night I go on stage, and it's a lie. It's like my heart no longer beats...until I walked in here last night. Until I met you. Until I stood there sweating over your grill for four hours." He paused. "Until I kissed you."

He stopped, unsure if he'd said too much. He hadn't meant to, but once he'd started talking, the words had kept coming. It felt almost like the days when he'd been writing music, when the words had flowed so freely, when the pain had sought release through his words.

Lissa silently picked up her spoon and scooped up a bite of pie. She ate it, still silent, still watching him. Waiting?

"What?" he asked. "What else do you want to hear?" He wanted to strip the wariness out of her eyes. "I would never fuck you over," he said. "Ever. I swear it."

Lissa put her spoon down, the metal clattering on her plate. "Your voice is beautiful," she said finally. "When I heard you singing today, it felt as though you were reaching inside me and touching all the parts of me I've kept shut down for so long."

He blinked, startled by her change in topic, after he'd basically bared his soul to her. "What?"

She folded her arms on the table, leaning forward on her elbows. "Last night, when you were sitting at the bar and I was rushing around, every time you thanked me for a glass of water or said anything, I felt like all the chaos disappeared. The world seemed to go still. All I wanted to do was sit down next to you and have you talk to me for the rest of the night. It didn't matter what you said. I just wanted to sit there and feel the way your voice wrapped around me, like a beautiful sunrise. You have a voice that touches souls, Travis, and I'm so sorry you've lost your connection and joy with it."

Something inside him tightened, and he had to look away for a moment. He'd never heard anyone describe his voice that way, and it hurt. It hurt because he wanted to be that guy, and he knew he wasn't. But he also knew that she'd meant it. Maybe she was the only one on the entire planet who saw him that way, but that didn't change the fact that she had.

"Travis." She slipped her fingers through his, drawing his attention back to her. "I'm sorry that I judged you today. I just... Sometimes, I feel like I'm running on fumes, and I'm so afraid of making that one mistake that will cause everything to crash down around me. I got scared that I'd made that mistake."

He turned his hand over, tightening his grip on her hand. "So, basically, we're both completely screwed up. Is that what we're saying?"

She smiled, a tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I guess so."

He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. "Still soft."

She looked down at their joined hands. "It feels weird to hold hands."

"Good weird, or creepy weird?"

Her smile widened ever so slightly. "A little of both."

"You want me to let go?"

"Not really."

That was enough for him. He took her hand in both of his and turned it over. He began to trace the lines of her hand, noting the calluses on her palm, and the wrinkles from washing dishes. Her hand showed her toughness, but at the same time, it was so petite and delicate. He cupped his hands around hers, dwarfing it between his palms. "I want to kiss you again."

She laughed softly. "I think we should skip that tonight."

He didn't like that answer. "Why?"

Her smile faded. "Because you're leaving town in a few days. Because I can't afford to remember how good it feels to be held by a man. I need to keep my life the way it is, and even if this thing between us is temporary, which it would have to be, I can't do anything that will make it too hard for me to live my life after it's over."

Her words made sense, but he didn't like them. He didn't like the deep weariness in her voice, the strangled courage in her eyes. "If your life isn't enough, you deserve more."

"It's more than enough." She kept watching their entwined hands. "It's full of amazing blessings." Her gaze flicked to his. "Like this moment."

"Like this moment," he agreed. He raised their entwined hands to his lips and kissed each knuckle. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to sit right there and never move. "How do we make this moment last forever when it's over?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "I wish I did."

"Me, too."

"Maybe write a song about it?" she suggested.

His sense of peace vanished immediately, and the familiar vise clamped around his chest. Panic started to build, creeping down his spine. He swore and pulled back, gripping the edge of the table as he fought off the rising stress.

She frowned, watching him astutely. "You weren't exaggerating," she said softly.

"I told you. I can't write anymore." God, he felt stupid. Weak. Pathetic. "Listen, I should go—"

Her gaze suddenly flicked past him to the street, and her face paled.

Warning bells exploded in his head, and he swung around immediately. Several cowboys were loitering outside her store, but one of them was peering through the glass, looking right at her.

Travis narrowed his eyes. "You know them?"

Lissa didn't answer, and Travis turned around to look at her. Her face was stricken, and she looked like she was going to pass out. All his muscles tensed, and wariness prickled down his spine. "Who is he?"

"I—" She swallowed, and stood up. "I need to talk to him."

Travis rose to his feet. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I know it's not, but he won't go away unless I talk to him." She put her hand on his arm, staying him, her dark brown eyes searching his. "Can I ask another favor?"

"Anything. Name it. You got it."

"Don't leave, okay? Please."

Travis looked past her to the window, where the cowboy was waiting, watching them both with a dark scowl. "Yeah, I'll stay." Hell, yeah, he was staying.