The Trouble With Cowboys (13 page)

“All men aren’t like that. Your grandfather wasn’t. Mine either.”

“Nevertheless, she has a child to support. She needs to depend on herself, not some—man.” She checked her watch, but it was too dark to see. Surely the concert was almost over. The fireworks would start soon, then he’d go away. But maybe he wouldn’t . . .

“Some cowboy, you mean?”

“I said man.”

“But you meant cowboy.”

She turned a glare on him and ignored his flirty smile. “Anyone ever tell you you’re exasperating?”

“Lots.” His eyes softened and the world whittled down to the two of them. His smile was a table set for two, complete with flickering candles. “Usually just before I take them in my arms and change their minds.”

Her breath seemed locked in her lungs. “Exasperating
and
cocky. How can they resist?”

He bumped her shoulder. “I don’t know, Annie, but you could sure give lessons.”

“I really should. It would save countless heartaches.”

“You think I’m a heartbreaker, huh?”

“Do you mind? I came for the music.” His shoulder was still against hers, warm and hard, entirely too close. She shifted away.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun. You should try it sometime.”

“Isn’t there someone waiting for you? It’s almost time for the fireworks, you know.”

“Come to Yellowstone with me Saturday. Just you and me and God’s beautiful creation. I know a spot where the moose come to feed in the water.”

How did he know it was her favorite place? That seeing moose
wade into the water was the highlight of her trips—when she managed to spot them.

“Last time I was there a mama and her calf showed up,” he said. “It was amazing. I watched them for an hour.”

She’d just been with John, but she imagined a different kind of day with Dylan, camped out by some rippling brook, behind the brush, waiting for moose. They’d huddle together on a blanket, waiting, talking. Then he’d point and say, “Shh, look over there,” his mouth next to her ear, and—

“Whaddaya say, Annie?”

She shook the image from her head. What was she thinking? He’d probably toss her in the creek and think it was all great fun.

“I just went Saturday. Anyway, I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

She straightened her legs and leaned back on her hands. “John and I are seeing each other exclusively now. I’m sure you can find someone else to keep you company.”

Dylan’s expression went unchanged, but something in his eyes flickered. “Exclusive, huh? That was quick.”

“Not really. We’ve been going out—”
How long?
“Awhile. Two months,” she guessed.

“Barely time to know his boot size. Not that he owns a pair.”

She ignored his dig. “We’re thinking long term and looking to settle down. Besides”—she gave him a pointed look—“there’s no one else I want to go out with.”

He grinned. “Ouch. You wound me, Annie.”

“I’m sure you’ll get over it soon enough. Isn’t Marla waiting somewhere? I’m sure she’d like to watch the fireworks with you.”

“She’s helping load them.”

Oh, great. Now she’d never get rid of him. And she really did
need to get rid of him. Her breath felt trapped in her chest and her palms were damp against the quilt.

As he straightened his legs, his thigh brushed hers. Her heart shot out a warning flare.
Danger. Danger
.
Danger
.

The man couldn’t take a hint. But if she couldn’t make him leave, at least Sierra and Ryder would be back soon. She would set Ryder right between them, a squirming four-year-old buffer. Dylan would find another blanket to sprawl on soon enough.

The tune ended, ushering in thunderous applause. Sierra and Ryder left the dance floor, skirting chairs and blankets on their return. Finally.

They stopped near Shay and Travis, talked a minute, then plopped down and made themselves comfortable.

Thanks a lot, sis
.

Sawyer began the intro for “Smitten,” and Annie applauded with the crowd.

Dylan nudged her. “Dance with me.”

“No, thank you.”

“I won’t step on your toes.”

She sighed, tired of being pestered, tired of being polite, tired of getting nowhere. “Please go away, Dylan. This is my favorite song.”

“I’ll go away if you dance with me.”

She shot him a look.

“Otherwise . . .” He shrugged. “Well, I have it on good authority it’s a veeerrry long fireworks display this year. I have nowhere else to be and I find your cute little quilt extremely cozy.”

Of all the—

“One little dance or forty minutes of fireworks . . . your choice.” He leaned back on the quilt and crossed his feet at the ankles like he was settling in for the night.

“Oh, all right. Fine. I’ll dance with you if it’ll shut you up.” Besides, she’d take four minutes over forty any day of the week.

Dylan smiled broadly. “Thought you’d never ask.” He sprang to his feet, surprisingly spry.

She walked slowly, pretending it took all her attention to navigate the obstacles. She didn’t settle for the fringe of the dance floor but wound her way into the heart of it. Not only did it eat away the clock, but she didn’t want news of their dance to reach John’s ears.

She turned and Dylan walked right into her arms, not stopping until she planted her palms against his chest.
Close enough, buster
.

His lips twitched and his eyes danced under the brim of his black hat. He took her hand and she set her other on his shoulder.

She focused on the music, on the rich melody wrapping around her, on the words Sawyer crooned.

And I’m just gonna say it.
Gonna lay my heart
there on the line.
When I wrap my arms around you,
whisper in your ear, I realize
that I’m smitten
by your love.
Baby, I’m smitten by your love.

Dylan moved effortlessly to the tune, making the dancing part easy. It was the breathing she struggled with. Thank God he was so much taller. It was easy to avoid his eyes, which, she was sure, were mocking her even now. She needed something to talk about. Something to distract her from her thrashing heart, from the romantic words and stirring melody.

“So . . . you haven’t told me how Braveheart’s doing today.”

When he didn’t answer, she looked at him and found a little smile on his lips.

“What?”

“Searching for a safe topic?”

“It’s called small talk.” She huffed and looked away, but his broad shoulders blocked out everything. She settled for the white pearly button on his black shirt.

“You can’t fool me, Annie. I know you feel it too.”

She swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His thigh brushed hers as if to provide a case in point. Like she needed one. She put some space between them.
It’s just the music
.
Sawyer Smitten and his magic melody
.

“Call it chemistry or electricity or whatever you want. . .” His voice rumbled low. “There’s enough of it between us to make my neck hair stand on end. And believe what you want, I don’t say that to just anyone.”

“First one this month, huh? I’m flattered.”

She wondered if he could see her thumping heart through her shirt. She drew in a slow breath and exhaled as casually as she could.

“Actually . . .” He lifted her chin until their eyes met. “I’ve never said that to any woman.”

Have mercy, his eyes were serious as a county bake-off, and there was something in them that hinted at vulnerability. His smile was long gone.

His lips looked soft and oh, so kissable, and she suddenly realized why every other woman in Park County had fallen prey to his charms. It wasn’t the boisterous, flirtatious Dylan. It was
this
. This quiet, unguarded, you’re-the-only-woman-in-the-world Dylan that was so dangerous.

And tempting. Heavens to Betsy, yes, he was tempting. She wasn’t going to lie to herself. No sense in that. Her thudding heart and empty lungs had already figured it out.

He looked as if he meant every word. As if he were somehow more attracted to her than anyone else. More than pretty, outgoing Marla Jenkins, more than sultry Bridgett Garvin, more than the gorgeous blonde who’d thrown herself at him ten short minutes ago.

He was still staring at her with those wounded puppy dog eyes . . . Oh yes, he was good. No wonder he left a string of broken hearts in his wake. It was cruel of him to tease women this way. To tease
her
this way.

She pushed him away. “I think I’ve had enough.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I danced with you, now leave me alone.” As Sawyer belted out the bridge, Annie walked off the dance floor and swooped her quilt off the ground. She’d had enough fireworks for one night.

Dear Bowled Over in Billings,

    
There’s a lot more to love than chemistry.

15

A
nnie stifled a grin as she watched Dylan read the letter from someone signed
Brokenhearted
. The temperature had cooled as the sun sank behind the mountains, and now a slight breeze made her shiver. Nevertheless, after last week’s dance she wasn’t about to step foot inside his house, not even if a snowstorm rolled through.

She’d had a full week to review those moments, and review them she had. At first she’d felt guilty. It didn’t help that Dylan had managed to stir more with mere words than John had been able to rouse with lengthy kisses.

But after thinking it through, she put her guilty feelings aside. It was just Sawyer’s song. It got to her every time. And maybe a little
pheromones mixed in. All she had to do was keep her distance from Dylan, stay upwind, and all would be fine.

Dylan looked up from the letter with a smirk. “Cute, Annie.”

She widened her eyes and shrugged. “What?”

He squinted at the paper. “Let’s see . . . in love with a Casanova cowboy . . . promises me forever even while he dates others . . . string of broken hearts . . . can’t resist his smooth-talking ways . . . Should I go on?”

So she’d handpicked the letter. “Does that sound familiar or something?”

“It’s the way
you
see me—not the way I actually am.”

She laughed. “Okay . . . let’s go with that.”

He handed her the letter and settled into the swing, still smiling congenially. “That’s not me, Annie.”

“You haven’t left a string of broken hearts?”

“I don’t lead anyone on. They know right from the get-go I’m not looking to settle down.”

She thought of the way he’d looked at her during their dance. The way his eyes had said so much. “Promises aren’t always verbal, Dylan. They can be a look or a touch. People’s feelings are fragile. You should take more care.”

She pressed her lips together. She’d said too much. She could tell by the way his eyes narrowed, by the way his easy smile fell away.

“Is that what’s bothering you? What I said the other night when—”

“Of course not—”

“—we were dancing?”

“No.”

“That’s just the bare truth, Annie. Since you’re all hung up on total honesty, you should appreciate that.”

Her face burned against the cool night air. It had been stupid to
choose that letter, but she’d wanted to put him in his place. Had she really thought she could best him in a game of verbal sparring?

Dylan watched a flush bloom on Annie’s cheeks. Tough if she didn’t want to hear the truth. It had taken courage to admit his feelings, and her response had been humbling.

He’d been uneasy about having her over tonight. She’d dashed in and out of church on Sunday, and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her all week, even though one of his hands said she’d been working with Braveheart in the afternoons.

Truth was, he liked her. She challenged him with her smart comebacks and sassy attitude.

Good thing she already had a boyfriend.

Annie cleared her throat. “The point is, Casanova Cowboy hasn’t been honest with Brokenhearted. Can we agree she needs to keep her distance?”