Trouble in Cowboy Boots (8 page)

He pushed away from the counter where he’d been leaning. “Ready?”

Emily rubbed her hands nervously on her jeans. “I guess so.”

“Fun, Emily.” He took her arm and led her out the back door. “Remember? We’re having fun.”

But she knew she’d be under scrutiny from all the people in town who knew him.

His friends. Other ranchers. Whoever. It was Friday night and Chaps, being the only game in town, was sure to be crowded.

“Relax.” He helped her up into the truck cab. “You’ll be fine. It’s much easier than Las Vegas.”

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Desiree Holt

A lot you know. I don’t have my protective professional suits on or my Blackberry in my
hand like some electronic sword.

Her other problem was that in a very short space of time she’d found herself falling for this sexy-as-sin cowboy. Not good. Obviously he had no plans for anything permanent and she was only focused on getting away from Mesa Blanco.

She sighed, wishing she didn’t spend her life painting herself into a corner.

The parking area outside Chaps was jammed with pickups and SUVs. Wyatt managed to squeeze the truck into a spot at one corner of the bar, then came around to help her step down. She swallowed back her nerves as he pulled open the door to the building and she was assaulted by sound—people talking, laughing, jukebox music blaring into the crowd.

There didn’t seem to be an inch of space left anywhere in the honky-tonk. People lined the serving area along one wall, clamoring for refills while the Roxie and another bartender, somehow unfazed by it all, simultaneously served the bar customers and took orders from the two waitresses. Every table and booth was filled, people were crammed onto the miniscule dance floor moving to the music blasting from the juke box, and the clink of balls signaled a pool game in progress.

Wyatt elbowed them some space at one end of the bar, grinned at Roxie and held up two fingers.

“Lone Stars, when you get a minute.”

“How do you know I drink beer?” Emily found herself shouting to be heard.

Wyatt put his mouth close to her ear. “Sugar, it’s the national drink of Texas. You gotta have at least one.”

Nick had liked to dance, but his idea of dancing was groping to music. Now that she thought about it, his idea of everything had always been about what he wanted.

What he liked. As it was with most of the men she’d dated. Years ago her college roommate had told her she had crappy taste in men. She picked them by how they looked—expensive—not by what they were. But Emily had a plan in life. Corporate 58

Trouble in Cowboy Boots

success for herself and a partner of equal or greater value. Then it had all come crashing down on her head, disappearing and Nick along with it. she’d chosen Nick because she thought he’d look good on a formal Christmas card.

Well, that was what she got for being so superficial.

But Wyatt Cavanaugh was real. She just had to remember he was temporary. He wasn’t looking for wife and she wasn’t ready to settle down in the middle of godforsaken nowhere.

His warm breath tickled her ear and the touch of his arm across her shoulders singed her flesh. She picked up a bar napkin and fanned herself with it, hoping the rise in her temperature was due to the crowd of people in the room and not Wyatt Cavanaugh. Despite the fact that everyone in the place seemed to be focused on having a good time, she was acutely aware of many eyes on her as she and Wyatt had walked in. She wondered how many other women he’d brought here, or who of the women in the place he’d dated. Taken to bed. Whispered his special brand of sex talk.

Stop it! You’re only staying around long enough to score some bucks and keep traveling,
and he certainly hasn’t given a hint he’s looking for more than fun and games.

Roxie plunked two frosty bottles of beer down in front of them and smiled at Emily.

“Rox, I didn’t know you were such a whiz at bartending,” Emily commented.

“How do you think I earned my way through the School of Hard Knocks?” Then she was off to serve another customer.

“Drink up,” Wyatt said, handing her one of the bottles.

Someone tapped her shoulder and she turned around to see Lola standing behind her with the sheriff, Sam Campbell.

“You look great, honey.” Lola grinned. “I take it things are going okay?”

“Oh, sure.” She paused to take a sip of her beer. “Wyatt’s a good guy to work for.”

“Uh-huh.” Lola winked. “And play with, too, I’ll bet.”

“Lola!” Emily did her best to look indignant but couldn’t quite pull it off.

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“That’s okay, sweetie. The sheriff is teaching me his own special brand of law enforcement.”

“So you’re doing okay?” Emily asked.

“I’d say so.” She shrugged. “The job’s a lot better than I expected. The owner’s a real nice lady to work for, I’m getting to know the customers and she’s letting me use the little apartment behind the restaurant.”

“Any word on the car?” Lola had agreed to take the lead on that.

“Yeah, but the word isn’t so good.” Lola sighed. “Sam’s been checking every day at the garage, and when they told him how much it would cost just to get it started and out of town I didn’t have the heart to tell anyone.”

“Damn.”

Emily’s stomach muscles cramped. She had only taken the job at the Lazy Aces because it was temporary. She not only didn’t intend to spend her life cooking for a bunch of cowhands, she was sure her
thing
with Wyatt would run its course and then what?

“You don’t look like life’s treating you too badly.” Lola winked at her. “How’s the cooking going?”

“Oh, hell.” Emily took a long drink of her beer. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t set fire to the kitchen before this is over.” She lowered her voice and bent closer so Lola could hear her. “At least Wyatt took pity on me and got the foreman’s wife to teach me a few things.”

“Oh?” Lola arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like he might be interested in keeping you around.”

“All things are possible.” Wyatt’s voice intruded into their conversation.

Emily jerked, embarrassed that he’d heard Lola’s comments. “Um…”

He plucked the bottle from her hand. “Excuse us, Lola, if you don’t mind. I think I’ll try and find us a square inch of space on the dance floor.”

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Trouble in Cowboy Boots

A square inch of space was about all they got. Couples were jammed together, doing little more than moving their feet in place. Wyatt pulled her against his long, lean body, wrapped his arms around her and began swaying to the music. She could feel every inch of him against her, including his belt buckle and his thick erection.

She inhaled his scent, a heady mixture of clean laundry, soap and something woodsy. His hands were warm on her back, holding her in place. She recognized a ballad by Brad Paisley, one of her favorites, and let its sound wash over her, wishing she could freeze this one moment in time.

She didn’t even realize the music had stopped until someone jostled them. Then she heard the sultry voice with the Texas drawl and all her senses went on alert.

“Well, hi, Wyatt. I haven’t seen you out two-steppin’ for a while.”

Wyatt’s hands tightened on her and Emily looked at the woman trying to glue herself to Wyatt’s body. Tall, with a head full of dark, bouncing curls, dark eyes, and breasts that stuck out all the way back to West Texas. She’d managed to tug one of Wyatt’s arms from around Emily and now had her own linked through it in obviously possessive gesture.

“Hello, Diana.” He extricated his arm from her grasp and tried to move away, but the dance floor was too packed to allow room to maneuver.

Her eyes narrowed and her gaze raked Emily from head to toe. “And who’s this little toy you’re shuffling around? Not your usual speed, cowboy.”

Wyatt’s grip on Emily tightened. “Emily, meet Diana Landry. My neighbor.”

Her full lips cracked in a wide smile. “Oh, honey, we’re so much more than that.”

She winked at Emily. “Much more. Wyatt and I are…very good friends.” She switched her gaze to him. “I’m home for the next couple of weeks, hot stuff, if you want to pay a neighborly visit.”

Emily was stunned that the woman would be so blatantly predatory when it was obvious Wyatt was with someone else. She wondered if it would be possible for her to shrink down to miniature size and jump into Wyatt’s pocket. No doubt about it. That 61

Desiree Holt

was the only word for this woman—predatory. But she had to admit to herself that Diana Landry looked to be much more Wyatt’s style than she was.

The man standing with Diana stared at all of them impassively. “Come on, Diana.

Let’s get another drink.”

“Oh, but I—”

“Good idea. I think we’ll do the same.” The juke box had cranked over to another tune and as everyone began what passed for dancing, Wyatt grabbed Emily’s hand and tugged her through the crowd, back to the end of the bar. He signaled Roxie to bring them two more beers.

Emily picked up the bottle and took a long swallow. When she set it back down she was irritated to see her hands were shaking. She’d dealt with a lot of women like Diana Landry in Las Vegas, but she’d always been the one in control. Here she was completely out of her element. She wanted to tell him she’d changed her mind about everything but this wasn’t the place to discuss it. Right now she just wanted to leave.

Wyatt cupped her chin and pulled her face close enough to hear what he was saying. “You’re thinking so hard I can almost hear it, even over this crowd. Ignore Diana. She isn’t worth wasting one minute of your time. We’re neighbors, no more.

Right now I’m sorry we’re even that.”

Emily shook her head. “You don’t owe me any explanations.” Then she stopped talking. She’d have to shout to say more and she didn’t want anyone around them to know their business. “I appreciate your efforts to entertain me tonight, but maybe it would be better if we just left.”

Wyatt set his beer bottle down carefully on the bar and took Emily’s hand. But instead of heading for the door he led her right back onto the dance floor, positioning them so they were far enough away from Diana and her date not to bump into them but close enough to be seen. He proceeded to wrap his arms around her, holding her tight to his body, every inch of them touching.

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Trouble in Cowboy Boots

Butterflies were doing the tango in her stomach but the muscles in her pussy were fluttering, her panties were wet and her breasts ached with a painful need. Close contact with this man made her brain take flight and her body scream for more. Oh, this was so not good.

She tilted her head back as much as she could and looked up at him, “Wyatt, I think—”

He put his mouth right on her ear. “That’s your problem, sugar. You think too much.”

She would have said more but conversation in here really was impossible. Instead she just let herself lean into him, savoring the scent and feel of him. Surely he’d realized what a poor substitute she was for someone like Diana Landry and that was all right.

She wondered why she had such a letdown feeling. She’d expected something like this.

Maybe tomorrow she’d have one of the hands drive her into town and bunk with Roxie or Lola while she figured out what to do. But right now she’d enjoy the moment.

The song ended but Wyatt made no move to leave the dance floor. Instead he tucked her head into his shoulder and rubbed his big hands up and down her back in a public show of possessiveness until the next sound boomed out. Once, when she sneaked a sideways glance, she saw Diana at a table with three other people staring daggers at her and pressed herself even closer to the man holding her.

He made dancing as intimate as sex, insinuating one long leg between hers, so when she moved her cunt rubbed against his thigh. The thickness of his erection behind the denim of his jeans was like a branding iron burning into her. When he bent his head lower he nipped at her ear and licked at the edge of her jaw before shifting his head again.

The music changed again and one of his hands slipped up to the nape of her neck, his fingers threading through her hair and gently massaging her scalp. He moved enough to the music to allow her breasts to rub against his chest. If only they were alone 63

Desiree Holt

and she could rip off her blouse and his shirt and feel the soft dark-gold hair on his chest against her swollen nipples.

Emily had no idea how long they danced—if what they did could be called dancing—but after a while she felt as if they were in a cocoon by themselves. The crowd and noise fell away and she was only conscious of Wyatt’s body against hers, his thick cock, his warm hands, his lips and teeth taking secret nips.

By the time he led her from the dance floor her legs were wobbly and the pulse of need inside her beat insistently. Wyatt stuck some bills under their empty beer bottles then tugged her toward the door with him. He had it partially open when she heard Diana Landry’s sultry voice again, right at her elbow.

“Nice seeing you, Wyatt.” She trailed her fingernails along one arm. “I’ll be up very late if you want to drop by.”

Wyatt stopped away from her. “No, thanks, Diana. Been there, done that, and it wasn’t all that great.”

Diana’s eyes widened, an angry flush stained her cheeks and she drew back her hand as if to slap him.

Wyatt grabbed her wrist. “You don’t want to do that. Believe me.” He pushed the door open and nearly dragged Emily into the parking lot. Even in the limited light from the parking lot she could see the angry flush staining his cheeks and the rigid set of his jaw.

Emily buckled herself into her seat and sat quietly as Wyatt backed the truck out of the lot, spitting gravel, and roared out onto the highway. They’d driven a good five miles before his jaw unclenched and he broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

She turned her head and stared at him “
You’re
sorry? For what?”

“For my past sins, I guess. I would have insisted Diana apologize to you but that just would have started another scene.”