The Trouble With Cowboys (7 page)

7

H
ere you go, darlin’.”

Dylan accepted the Coke from Brenda Peterson and tossed her a wink. “Thanks, Brenda.”

The Chuckwagon was bustling tonight. The Silver Spurs cranked out their first tune, a country-and-western song that had drawn half the place to the dance floor. His date, Marla, was chatting up an old friend across the room.

Dylan’s eyes swung past the dancing duo of Annie and John Oakley. He wondered if she’d ever considered what her full name would be if she married the banker.

He shook his head even as he took a second look. Oakley’s beady little eyes gawked at Annie. His eyebrows jumped at
something she said, bumping his receding hairline farther north. What did she see in the guy? He was stiff as a two-by-four and twice as square.

Dylan scowled. John Oakley. If she wanted a good time, Spreadsheet wasn’t the answer.

“Hey, Dylan. Where’s Marla?” Abigail Ryan settled into the seat across from him. Her green eyes sparkled under the lights. Motherhood agreed with her, teething baby or no.

“Over there,” he said over the music, gesturing. “Leave the Code-meister at home tonight?”

“Shay’s got him. We traded him for Olivia.” Abigail nodded toward the floor where Shay’s daughter was dancing with Wade’s fourteen-year-old Maddy. Her hand, though badly bruised, hadn’t been broken after all.

“I’d say you got the easier end of that bargain.”

She smiled. “I’d say you’re right.”

“Right about what?” Wade settled next to his wife, drawing her into his side and setting a kiss on her head. She turned into his chest.

Show-off. Dylan looked away.

“Our trade with Shay. She’s probably up to her eyeballs in smashed squash and zucchini, poor girl.”

Dylan made a face as his eyes swung toward Annie in time to see the couple part as the song ended. Annie returned to their table while Oakley headed toward the restroom. Just before he hit the door, he withdrew his phone from his starched pants and detoured out the back door with a hand over his ear.

“Now’s your chance,” Wade said.

Dylan shot him a look, then watched Annie accept a basket of food from Brenda.

“Am I missing something?” Abigail said, looking between them.
“Our friend’s got a crush.”

“What are we, in kindergarten?” Dylan said.

Abigail turned around, then faced him again, her smile widening. “Annie Wilkerson? Oh, Shay is going to love this.”

Dylan stood. “Excuse me. There’s a lady in need of my attention.”

“You be nice to her,” Abigail called. “She’s a good girl.”

He made his way toward Annie’s table and sank into the opposite chair, treating her to his best smile.

Her blue eyes widened and her lips parted before she clamped them closed and blinked away the surprise. “Seat’s taken.”

“How’s the prettiest filly in all Park County?”

She rolled her eyes, and her long eyelashes got tangled in her bangs. Mesmerized, he watched her blink.

“What do you want, Dylan?” She cast a look toward the restroom hall.

“If you’re waiting for Spreadsheet to save you—”

“Spreadsheet?”

“You’ll be waiting awhile. He took a call.”

Annie glared, but he wasn’t fooled. Deep down she liked the attention—she just didn’t know it yet.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to eat.”

He gestured toward her food, then leaned his elbows on the table, watching her pick up the loaded burger. She took a bite and dabbed her mouth with the napkin, chewing.

“How’d the article finish up?”

She gave him a look, pointing to her full mouth.

That was okay. He was a patient man. He propped his chin in his hand, waiting.

She swallowed and took a drink. “It turned out fine. I have a
new batch of letters to go through for next week. How’s Braveheart?” She took another bite.

“He misses you. When you coming back?”

Annie pointed to her full mouth again, finished chewing, and pushed the basket away with a sigh. “What day works for you?”

“Any evening.”

She pursed her lips. “Thursday, I guess. Let’s just make it every Thursday.”

“Perfect.” The song ended and the Spurs started a slow tune. “Dance with me.”

“I’m here with someone else.” She looked at him pointedly. “And so are you.”

She’d noticed. He tried not to let that go to his head. “It’s just a dance. My feet are itching.”

“I’m sure you can find another partner.” She glanced toward the exit again, clearly hoping for the timely arrival of her date.

He remembered what Wade had said about Annie being hard to get. He was starting to think his friend was right. Well, there were plenty of other willing fillies.

He rose to his feet, winking. “All right then, be that way.”

As he made his way back to his table, Marla appeared at his side and pulled him onto the dance floor, laughing. But as he held her in his arms, all he could think of was whether or not Annie saw them and if it bothered her the way it bothered him to see her and Oakley together.

And half an hour later, when Annie and her date slipped out the back door, he wondered if she’d wind up in Oakley’s arms yet again before the night was over.

Dear Frustrated,

    
Sometimes loving someone else means letting go.

8

A
nnie turned off her alarm and crawled from bed, her thoughts turning immediately to the night before. An image of Dylan appeared unbidden. How vexing that the man whose face surfaced first wasn’t even her date.

She washed her face and trudged to the kitchen to start a muchneeded pot of coffee. Dylan and his winsome ways. So annoying. The way he just plopped down like he belonged there, never mind that she had a date or that he had one too. Love the one you’re with, that was his philosophy. And then show up at church on Sunday with a Bible and a happy-go-lucky grin. It was so Dylan. But what did she expect?

So stop thinking about him, Annie Wilkerson
.

She’d think about John instead. About his sort-of cute face and the kind-of endearing way he poked his glasses into place. About his soft hands and his gentle good-night kiss. He’d be a good husband to someone, a faithful provider. He’d be a good father too. She’d never once heard him raise his voice or lose his temper. Though, come to think of it, she hadn’t yet seen him with a child. Ryder was always in bed by the time he brought her home.

Dylan, on the other hand . . . If he ever managed to narrow the field down to one woman, she was sure it wouldn’t last long. He’d get bored in a month or two and be on to the next. And there would, no doubt, be a line of silly ninnies just waiting.

And here she was, thinking about him again. What was wrong with her?

“Aunt Annie, where’s Mommy?”

She turned from Mr. Coffee to find Ryder rubbing his sleepy eyes. The night before, Sierra had headed out the door minutes after Annie had returned.

“Morning, Bed Head. She’s probably still asleep. We get to go to church this morning. Wanna help me feed Pepper?”

Ryder shook his head. “Mommy’s not in her room.”

Annie frowned, ruffling his hair as she passed, even as her stomach clenched. Thinking back, she hadn’t heard Sierra come in. She’d started her favorite book,
Pride and Prejudice
, read until eleven, and then fallen into a sound sleep.

At the end of the hall she stopped. Sierra’s bed was empty and unmade. But then, it was always unmade. She checked the bathroom. Empty.

Ryder appeared at her side. “I’m hungry.”

Annie smiled and fixed him a bowl of Cheerios with a calmness she didn’t feel. Sierra liked to stay out late, but she always came
home. Always. She’d said she was going to the Chuckwagon, but it closed at midnight. Where had she gone after that? What if she’d had an accident on the way home? What if she’d met some dangerous drifter passing through town or hooked up with some weirdo? She was so young, only twenty, and she didn’t have the best judgment.

Annie put away the milk and checked her cell phone, hoping for a message. Her heart beat up into her throat. No voice mail, no text.

Just then a rumble sounded. She peeked through the curtains and saw her sister’s car coming up the drive. The adrenaline drained suddenly, leaving her weak, shaky, and angry. She paced across the room, waiting, catching her breath, and trying to calm herself.

Her jaw ached from clenching by the time Sierra crept through the door in last night’s jeans and spangled top, her mascara smudged under her eyes. They widened when she saw Annie, and she gave up on sneaking in.

“Where have you been?” She kept her voice down for Ryder’s sake.

Sierra dropped her bag on the recliner. “Sorry, I meant to make it in before you woke.”

“You didn’t even call. You have a child, Sierra—you can’t just stay out all night like an irresponsible teenager.”

Sierra’s elfin features hardened. “I
know
I have a child. He was perfectly safe here with you. And I didn’t call because I didn’t want to wake you both.”

“Where were you?”

She pulled off a pair of heeled boots that looked ridiculous on a quiet Sunday morning. “With a new friend.”

“A man?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Stop treating me like a child.”

“Since when do you have one-night stands?”

“That isn’t what—”

“Is that who you are, Sierra? Where is all this leading?”

“All
what
?”

“All this—cavorting with men, staying out till all hours on Saturday nights, skipping church—”

“I’m going to college, I’m raising a child—”

“You should be out looking for a job instead of trying to turn the head of every man you see!”

“On a Saturday night? I am looking for a job. What more do you want from me, Annie? I’m the oldest twenty-year-old ever!”

“Where was you, Mommy?” Ryder appeared, drawn no doubt by Sierra’s raised voice.

Sierra lifted him, kissed his milky mouth, and set him back down.

“I was—outside, puddin’.” She ruffled his dark hair and smacked his rump. “Go finish breakfast, then I’ll put your new movie in.”

“Yippee!” Ryder scampered toward the kitchen.

That should keep him busy while Sierra slept. So much for her promise to go to church this week.

Annie crossed her arms. “So you’re lying to your child now too.”

Sierra set her small chin. “Stop judging me, Annie. And stop trying to tell me what to do. You’re not my mom!”

“You’re my responsibility. How do you think I felt when I couldn’t find you? I was imagining all sorts of awful things!”

This was exactly what their grandfather had feared. Annie was doing a terrible job. She wasn’t keeping her promise at all. Tears stung her eyes.

Sierra’s face softened. She looked so young with her makeup all smudged under her sleepy eyes. She tried for a smile. “Sorry I worried you. I promise I’ll call next time.”

She couldn’t believe her sister. “Next time? What if something
had happened? All moral implications aside, you can’t go running off with strangers!”

“He isn’t a stranger, exactly. He’s a friend of Dylan’s from the rodeo circuit, in town for a few days. Dylan introduced us at the Chuckwagon and we hit it off. We didn’t—”

“Dylan?”

Sierra grabbed her bag, sighing hard. “You don’t even listen to me, Annie. I’m an adult and it’s time you started treating me like one.” She turned and strode into the kitchen.

Annie could hear the clang of the silverware drawer, hear Sierra chatting with Ryder, hear his laughter. It all sounded like a perfect little family.

Annie put on her boots and left the house, seething. Even her chores didn’t soothe her temper, and by the time she got to church, all she could think about was getting hold of Dylan Taylor, wrapping her hands around his thick neck, and squeezing the daylights out of him.

Dylan slipped into the pew late. Chores had set him behind, and he’d been trying to take extra time with Braveheart every morning. That hadn’t happened today. As it was, the music had already begun.