Not My 1st Rodeo 2
by Donna Alward, Jenna Bayley-Burke, and Sarah M. Anderson
Copyright © 2017 by Donna Alward, Jenna Bayley-Burke and Sarah M. Anderson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Chapter One of Donna Alward's Seducing the Sheriff
Dinner at the Forge was the best that Joe Lawson could offer a date in the small town of Foundry, Colorado. He straightened his tie, rubbed the toe of his boot against the back of his jeans, let out a massive breath, and then opened the door to the restaurant.
Tracy had set him up on another blind date. He’d tried to get out of it, but his sister knew how to be a real thorn in his side. The woman’s name was Janique and she was new in Tracy’s office. He scanned the seating area, looking for a woman who matched Tracy’s description: early thirties, blonde hair, blue eyes, nice figure. Of course, it helped that he knew just about everyone. It didn’t take long for him to spot his date—or to realize that she was looking at her watch, rather impatiently.
His nerves doubled. He was sheriff in this town. He shouldn’t be afraid of a single, harmless female. But he was.
He made his way over to the table, ran a hand over his hair, and put on a smile. “Janique?”
She looked up, her blue eyes assessing before a small smile flirted with her lips, as if he’d somehow passed a first test. “Yes. You’re Joe?”
He nodded. “I am. It’s nice to meet you. Sorry if I’m a bit late.”
She glanced at her watch. “Twenty minutes late, actually.”
Heat crept up his neck. “I got hung up at the station. Occupational hazard.” He tried another smile. “May I sit?”
“Of course.” She leaned back in her chair, the relaxed pose helping to ease his nervousness only a little.
A waitress appeared at his side. “Hello, Joe. Can I get you something to drink?”
He looked up. Cassidy Strong owned the Forge, and as far as he knew, she was able to take on any job in the place, including cook. “Hello, Cassidy. I’ll just have water, please.”
“Sure thing. Another club soda for you, miss?”
Janique looked up and raised an eyebrow. “It’s tonic water. And yes, please. With a fresh slice of lime.” She emphasized the “fresh.”
Cassidy’s eyes sparked for just a moment and he wanted to smile. In his experience, Cassidy was friendly to a fault. He was glad to see she had a little fire left in her. The last time he’d seen her, it was because she’d called the department when her ex, Darren, refused to leave her apartment. When Joe and his deputy arrived, he’d been shocked to see Cassidy so…beaten. If not physically, emotionally. Her body language had made it perfectly clear she was in self-protection mode; her shoulders had been hunched and she’d made herself look smaller, submissive. It hadn’t matched his usual impression of her, which was of an attractive, strong, confident woman.
It was also clear that Darren hadn’t expected she’d call the police. Surprise had been written all over his face when Joe and Tim stepped to the threshold. Then Darren had turned aggressive and started mouthing off. The resulting names hurled in Cassidy’s direction had been enough to put Joe’s back up. Escorting Darren off the property had been more of a pleasure than it should have been, professionally speaking.
He’d had a bit of a soft spot for Cassidy ever since.
“Of course,” Cassidy said pleasantly, ignoring Janique’s snide tone. “I’ll be right back with menus.”
When she was gone, Janique sighed. “Ugh. I know this is supposed to be the nicest place in town, but the service here leaves something to be desired.”
Joe raised an eyebrow. The place was nearly full to capacity; it was a Friday night, after all, and payday. Other than Cassidy, only two waitresses hustled about and one teenage boy bussed tables. “They seem fairly busy. The food will make up for it. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”
She launched into a monologue about her work, her failed marriage, the fact that she had a six-year-old son, and a litany of life complaints that had Joe tuning out after about a minute and a half. Cassidy delivered their drinks and menus; he thanked her, but Janique barely even paused for a breath. She certainly didn’t bother to say thank you. How on earth had his sister ever thought that they’d be a good match? They had absolutely nothing in common. And while he’d politely inquired about her, she hadn’t asked a single question about him.
Janique finally stopped talking and scanned the menu. “Wow. Three whole vegetarian options. A Portobello burger, pasta and marinara, and salad. Predictable.” She closed the menu and made a sound of disgust.
Date from hell number…a zillion. At least that’s what tonight felt like. His sister, Tracy, was definitely a girl when it came to some things—she liked her manis and pedis and a good wine and so on, but she wasn’t demanding. Janique screamed high maintenance. She pulled out her phone and started tapping the screen with long, red fingernails.
He decided he’d order a steak.
Cassidy came back, ready with a smile to take their order. “Are you ready to order?”
Janique sighed. “I suppose I’ll have the pasta with marinara. Do you have gluten-free pasta?”
“Of course.”
“I’d like a salad to start, as well. House dressing is fine, but on the side, please.”
“Very good. And for you, Joe?”
“The T-bone, medium. Load the baked potato, and whatever the vegetable of the day is, I’ll have that.”
She smiled a little. “Got it. Can I get you anything else? More to drink?”
Janique shook her head.
“No, thanks, Cass. I think we’re fine.”
She left again. Silence overcame the table.
They managed to make stilted small talk until their meals arrived. First came the salad, which looked delicious and fresh to Joe’s eyes, but apparently lacked flavor in the dressing. He ordered a beer.
When their mains were placed before them, she seemed at least a little satisfied, but glanced over at his steak with derision. He cut into it with more pleasure than he should have felt. If he had to sit through this dinner, and foot the bill besides, he was damned well going to get a meal he enjoyed.
Then her phone rang.
“Excuse me. It’s my babysitter.”
She answered the phone and he couldn’t help overhearing the conversation. “Oh yes, put him on. Yes, honey. Mommy can come home if you don’t feel well. Are you sure? I’ll leave right now.”
Joe put down his fork and steak knife as she hung up.
“I’m sorry, Joe. My little guy isn’t feeling well. I’m going to have to cut this short.”
Her excuse sounded a little too convenient, but he really wasn’t that disappointed. “That’s okay. Kids come first.”
“He’s just been sniffly, but his cough is getting worse. Kids just like to be cuddled when they’re sick.” She smiled again, then reached for the back of her chair for her coat. As she did so, she put the phone down on the table.
The screen lit up while she was turned around, tugging on the wool jacket. Joe caught a quick glimpse of an incoming text.
You’re welcome for the exit strategy. G xx
He leaned back in his chair, disgusted. That was it. No more being set up on dates by his sister. This was the last one.
She pulled on her coat and picked up her phone, dropping it into her pocket as she stood. “It was nice to meet you, Joe. Sorry about this.”
“Don’t worry about it. I understand completely.”
She left so quickly, she almost created a wind tunnel in her wake.
Well. Joe rolled his shoulders and let out a sigh of relief. That torture was over. But it was also kind of awkward, sitting in a restaurant with an empty chair and barely-touched meal across from him.
He dug into his steak. What the hell.
Cassidy came back to the table. “Wow. What happened? Did your date leave?”
He chuckled down low. “Yeah, I got ditched. Of all the blind dates I’ve had, that might have been the fastest exit.”
“She was a blind date.”
“Thanks to Tracy.”
Cassidy laughed. “Oh. Well. She did seem a little…hard to please.”
“Come on now. She just wanted a fresh slice of lime and dressing on the side and you don’t have enough vegetarian options, by the way.”
Cassidy frowned. “Hmm. That might be something to remember.”
He shrugged. “The steak’s top notch, though. No complaints from me.” He looked up at Cassidy. She wore black pants and a black, button-down shirt, with a little black apron at her waist. Her dark hair was pulled up in some sort of weird twisty knot, and her brown eyes sparkled at him. She was a pretty little thing. He’d never really noticed that before, but since her divorce it seemed she smiled more. She…glowed.
Damn. Glowed? He must be getting soft.
“Hey, Cassidy? When women go on dates, do they have an exit strategy? A way to get out of it or something?”
A blush crept up her cheeks. “Um…well… Yeah, I guess. Sometimes people will have a friend go to the same place and they’ll have a sign, you know? Like on a dating site, when you’re meeting someone new. A wingman.”
“Oh.”
“If Tracy set you up…what happened? How come she bolted?”
“She got a phone call. From her kid, apparently. But when she was getting ready to go, she got a text that said ‘you’re welcome for the exit strategy.’” He frowned. This was all so complicated. Whatever happened to the days when you met someone, planned to go out, and just got on with it?
Cassidy laughed. “Did she have her phone out earlier?”
“Come to think of it, yeah. Just before we ordered.”
She looked around, then slid into the vacant chair. “She probably texted someone, told them to call her to give her an out. Sorry, Joe. For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t ditch you on a date.”
Her eyes sparkled at him again. The teasing was just what he needed. “I’m not sure I’m dating material,” he answered. “But maybe now Tracy will let up.” He spread his hands wide. “I’m a hopeless case.”
Cassidy shrugged. “Eh. You’re better off. She seemed a little too uptight for you anyway. A little too city.”
“You’re right.”
“Now I’ll let you finish your steak before it gets cold.” She got up and then nodded at the barely-touched pasta. “You want me to take that away for you?”
“Yeah. I’m not going to eat it.” He immediately regretted how it sounded, so he amended, “I mean, not that it’s not good. It’s just…”
“Relax. It’s all good, Joe.”
“You could stay, if you like. Keep me company.” Did he really just say that? Wouldn’t that be hilarious? Start dinner with one woman and finish it with another.
And damned if she didn’t look tempted. “Sorry. I’m busier than a one-armed paper hanger tonight, and we’re short-staffed. But thanks.” A crooked smile touched her lips.
She slipped away, taking the bowl of pasta and the half-eaten salad with her.
It didn’t take long for him to finish his meal; with no one to talk to, and a very real awareness that he was sitting alone in the middle of the restaurant, he didn’t really feel like lingering. Cassidy came back carrying a plastic container.
“I’ve brought the bill…and some dessert for you to take with you.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
She put it down on the table and slipped the bill beside it. “Hey. Consider it my way of saying sorry you had such a crappy date. I mean, if that had happened to me, I’d have probably been face first into a tub of ice cream by now.”
He laughed. “Thanks.” He handed over his credit card, and she took the machine from her apron and processed his payment right at the table. He studied her while her head was bent and her gaze was fixed on the keypad. Why was she still single? She and Darren had been divorced for a while. She was pretty, hardworking, friendly. Beautiful. He couldn’t deny that, either. Maybe she was still gun shy about the whole thing. Her ex had been a real jerk.
He might consider asking her out himself, except she scared him a little bit. He’d seen her that afternoon when they’d answered the call at her place. Who knew what had really gone on during their marriage, if it was that acrimonious after it ended? The accepted story was that her ex had cheated and left her when she found out, but he knew very well that what was common knowledge was usually just the tip of the iceberg. His gut clenched at the thought of her being hurt in any way. That kind of relationship had to leave a woman with some significant baggage to overcome. She deserved someone who would treat her with kindness. Be gentle and patient.
“Have a good night, Joe.” She put her hand on his shoulder briefly.
“You, too, Cassidy.”
He got up and put his wallet back in his pocket, then picked up the take-out dish and left.
It wasn’t until he got home, half an hour later, that he opened the dish and saw the note, speared with a toothpick and stuck into a giant piece of cheesecake.
Sorry for the bad date. Dessert is on the house. If you ever want to try my marinara, hit me up.
He got a fork and dug in while thinking about her note. Hit me up? What did that mean? Was it meant to be casual and funny, or was it a subtle invitation?
The chocolate melted on his tongue, rich and sweet. Still, it wasn’t the dessert that was the sweetest part of the evening. He couldn’t stop thinking about Cassidy’s little lopsided smile and the momentary longing in her eyes as she’d turned down his offer to join him. Maybe he’d overlooked something…someone…who’d been right in front of him the whole time.
Chapter One Jenna Bayley-Burke's Captivating the Cowboy
Slade Weston’s broad shoulders led the way as he pushed through the heavy mahogany doors and into the wood-paneled lobby at Cattlemen’s, the only steakhouse in the three-stoplight town of Opal Creek. Jules’s stomach dropped as he glanced behind her, to the table he’d vacated minutes ago. With as busy as they were on a Friday night, she’d reset it as soon as he’d cleared the sidewalk.
“Did you forget something?” She didn’t have to check the seating chart to know they were full; there were two tables about to turn, but they were reserved for the couples waiting patiently in the lobby. Sure, people could drive the half-hour from here into Mollalla for more selection, or even the hour into Portland for a food cornucopia, but just as many people made the trip in the other direction. Her uncle had made a name for himself with his blue-collar brand of upscale dining. Cattlemen’s topped the list of the best steakhouses in Portland every year, all the way out in Podunk.
Slade closed his eyes and shook his head, his light brown gaze piercing through her when he opened them. “I should have mentioned I was coming back.”
Yes, but that didn’t solve the problem. She snagged a leather-bound menu and crooked her finger at him to follow. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”
She didn’t know who she felt worse for, Slade or his ditched date. For almost a year now, he’d been coming in every Friday night with a different woman each week. There weren’t that many available women in Opal Creek, but apparently everyone from the neighboring counties had gambled for a chance at his glass slipper.
The whole town knew sexy Slade wanted to get married. At least that was the rumor going around. But a man who looked like that wouldn’t have any trouble tying the knot if that’s what he genuinely wanted. Any red-blooded woman would exchange her panties for a ring from a Weston brother. Well, marriage-minded women. Which she was not.
Tucked behind the bar were four high-backed leather booths. They kept the one in the back corner empty for employees, loyal customers who needed a favor, and situations like this. She set the menu in front of him as he slid into the booth.
“Do you need some time with the menu, or should I have them walk a rib eye near the grill?”
Oh, that smile. Yes, he must be a player of the first order. Because his grin was irresistible.
“Am I that predictable?”
“Apparently not, since I was sure you’d left with your lady of the evening.” She tucked the menu under her arm. Curiosity niggled at her to find out what his obsession was with first dates. He might be toying with his parade of women, but she sensed something more.
He pushed back his sun-streaked hair. “Isn’t that a hooker?”
“Where?” Jules scanned the sedate restaurant. Nothing exciting ever happened here, even on the busiest nights.
“A lady of the evening. That’s what they called hookers in the westerns my dad and granddad used to watch.” He tilted his head, and she couldn’t tell if he were amused or annoyed. Amused she could work with, but she couldn’t let him leave tonight displeased. Weston Ridge provided the prime beef for Cattlemen’s, and her uncle would have her head if he lost the deal.
“Oh, that’s not what I meant. You’d never have to pay for it.” Her eyes widened, her common sense slapping her upside the head as he laughed. “And now I owe you a beer as well as dinner. I’m going to go put in your order before I put my foot in it again and wind up having to sign over my first born.”
Jules clutched the menu to her chest as she sped to the bar. She keyed in his order, grateful the bartender wasn’t busy and could deliver the draft. Thank goodness, she only had a few more weeks in this town before she finally got to head back to New York. No telling what she might say next week when Slade Weston brought in yet another first date. She sure as hell wouldn’t be giving away his table again, even if he bailed before the entree.
…
Slade Weston studied the sepia-toned photo of a barn hanging on the exposed brick wall, the wood-beamed ceiling, and the wagon wheel chandeliers in the dining room. Anything to keep his gaze off the toned ass of the hostess. He always made a special effort to try not to notice she wore a different dress each time he saw her, or that her eyes were the same bottomless blue of Crater Lake. It didn’t do to notice another woman while you were on a date.
Not that he was anymore. He’d done the despicable, and faked an emergency to get out of this one. She’d seemed nice enough on the phone, but they hadn’t even ordered and she’d regaled him with the history of Weston Ridge and their rise from family ranch to successful cattlemen. And he knew what it meant when he’d been the keyword in a Google search. Was it really too much to ask to want a woman to see him and not dollar signs?
This close to the kitchen of Cattlemen’s he could hear the sizzling steaks popping over the croon of Sinatra on the sound system. The unbuttoned steakhouse was perfect for a date night. Everyone in the place was coupled up, only he’d spent the better part of the year looking for his plus one with no luck. And he was done. With summer coming, work on the ranch would be ramping up, and he’d be too busy to be bothered with looking for the next Mrs. Weston.
He took a long draw of the hoppy brew the bartender had delivered. Every date was another step away from what he needed, and he’d made no progress all damn year. The only thing that kept him trying was how much he hated going home alone. Friday nights were the worst. The kids were at his in-laws, which made his place hauntingly quiet. After growing up as one of five kids on a bustling cattle ranch, silence was one of the few things that unnerved him. That, and the meddling matchmakers around town.
A friend had told him about the Not My 1st Rodeo dating site, a service that specialized in matching people within the western lifestyle for the divorced or widowed. Like him. He took another drink. He missed Amanda every day, but Friday nights were the hardest. Friday nights, holidays, and each time he had to take April to the doctor. Two-year-olds were supposed to talk.
He leaned his head back against the booth and wished he could get drunk. But he’d spent the first few months after Amanda died in a stupor, and his behavior caused more problems than it solved. He had to cowboy up, keep trying to find a wife, whether he liked it or not. Because his kids deserved a mother.
The scent of hot steak and grilled onions brought him back to reality, and a burning punch of attraction hit him in the gut. She delivered his plate, her black lace dress reminding him of lingerie as she leaned down, gifting him with an ample view of her cleavage.
“One Weston, rare.” She slid into the booth opposite him, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. She’d brought a glass of wine so pale it could be water. “Am I forgiven?”
“For what?” He cleared his throat, trying to focus on her heart-shaped face. A woman like her could catch the eye of a hurricane.
“Giving away your table, calling your date a hooker. The usual.” She rested her slim fingers on the white tablecloth. She had a sparkly ring on each hand, but not on that finger.
“The table was my fault. But no harm, no foul.”
“Good, because now that I have you alone, I’ve been dying to ask you something.”
He licked his lips, wary of whatever it could be.
“You’re here every week, but never with the same girl. Tell me, are you burying them in your backyard? Aren’t you running out of room?”
A bark of laughter escaped him as she grinned. “I’m a serial dater, not a serial killer.”
“Pity, I was thinking I had the scoop. Why is it you’re the king of first dates?”
He shifted against the leather of the seat. “That’s not a crown I want to wear. I liked being married. I want a wife, and more kids. I’ve been using this dating website, but the matches haven’t clicked.”
“Then try a new one.”
If only it were that easy. He sliced into his steak and tried to explain. “This one worked for my sister. Though she did have to drive three hours south.”
“Road trip!”
He shook his head. “No, she wound up moving, and I’m rooted to the ranch. Honestly, I’m exhausted by the whole process. And summer’s coming, so the ranch is busy. I’ll pick it up again in the fall.”
“Screw the website. I’ll be your wingman.”
Oh hell no. He did not need a personal dating assistant. Especially one with such a lush pink mouth that had him thinking about kisses. Which he hadn’t enjoyed for far too long. “It’s not getting dates that’s my problem, it’s finding a woman worthy of my kids. Besides, I don’t know you. How old are you anyway?”
“Old enough to know better than to answer that question. Don’t worry, my ID is legit.” She leaned back in the booth, giving him a view of her tight little body wrapped up in black lace. “I’m not trying to wreck your Friday, I’ve just been watching you come in here for almost a year now. What you’re doing isn’t working.”
“Thanks, lady who gave away my table.” He shoved a bite of steak into his mouth, not even tasting it as he chewed.
“Jules O’Connor. I thought everybody in here knew my name.”
“It’s not like you wear a nametag. Or the same dress twice.”
Was that a blush? “I sell them.”
“Nametags?”
“The dresses. Finding clothes out here is a lesson in futility, so I design what I like and women who come in ask where I got it, and voila, sale. I even have my own rack at Macie’s.”
“The department store?”
“The boutique on Main and First. Though maybe someday. That’s why I’m going to design school in New York.”
He drowned his shock with the rest of his beer. “You’re eighteen?”
“Twenty-three. My sister is graduating high school, and we’re heading back to New York together. Eight years in this town is enough.” Her big blue eyes widened and she rubbed her forehead. “Except you rule the town so now I’ve insulted you. Again. What is wrong with me tonight?”
“I don’t rule the town.”
“The Westons own practically everything. Kind of like medieval feudal lords. Everyone in Opal Creek works for you in some capacity.”
He shook his head. “Ace likes the world to think he owns it, but my brother is only legendary on his own land. It’s quite the spread, but we worked hard to get it. The town is separate. And we all work for a living. Despite what you and my date may have heard, the only thing we’re rolling in is cow shit.”
“Oh, is that why you got rid of her? Good call.”
“Thanks?” She watched while he ate, but didn’t leave. “Don’t you have people to seat?”
“They roll up the sidewalks in this town at ten. I sat my last tables while Uncle Ben made your dinner.” She took a sip of her wine, then leaned across the table. “I do think I could help you.”
“I’m not looking for help right now.” He pushed his empty plate to the side and caught her gaze. The way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth grabbed his libido as surely as if she’d grabbed his cock.
“You said you were done with your dating site for a while. Why not let me try?”
“Try what?” He’d said far too much already, much more than he’d intended. He knew better than to be swayed a pretty face and a rocking little body. Yet, he was desperate for the dating game to be over. He drained the last of his beer.
“Finding your next wife. You must be over thinking it. You have a good job, you want kids, and you’re the hottest Weston brother.”
He choked on his beer. Her honesty was refreshing, yet with as much dating as he’d packed into the last year, he didn’t know if she were coming on to him or not.
“I can’t be the first woman to tell you that. It’s the shoulders, I think. Or maybe the hair.”
“Careful, I married the last woman who told me that.”
Jules shuddered and scrunched up her button nose. “Forget I said it then.”
“Maybe we should forget this whole evening.” Because from her reaction, she hadn’t been flirting. And he had no intention of his dating life being this chick’s pet project.
“No,” she reached out and rested her slim fingers on the back of his hand. Her touch set off a spiral of longing that went deeper with every second she touched him. “I just need to think before I speak. Most of the women in this town want what you have on offer. The house and the kids and the cowboy to come home to. I just can’t relate to that.”
She released him, tightening her hand into a fist before she gripped the stem of her wineglass. He pressed down on the white tablecloth to keep from reaching for more.
“When you know what you want, you can develop a plan to get there. I want to design clothes, so I’m going to design school. You want a wife, so we find you one. But first I need more information.” She twisted in the booth and looked back at the dining room.
“Purely on a physical level, what’s your type? See that woman in purple? What about her? Those boobs are real. Are you a boob man?”
He gave his best blank stare. He’d put all of this onto the dating site. He preferred brunettes, on the tall side. He didn’t give a fuck about clothes or makeup. He wanted a partner, not a princess.
“Okay, so you’re not into boobs. Oh, what about Amy McKenzie? Her ass is on point. She teaches some kind of dance aerobic thing at the gym.”
“I had no idea women objectified other women.” If he were to say the same thing, he’d be slapped.
“Don’t get judgey. Women dress for other women, not for men. I doubt you notice the difference between a shift dress and an a-line.” She swirled her wine in her glass before taking a drink.
“What?”
“Exactly my point. So tell me, what’s your type?”
He shook his head. He was not doing this. “I’m taking a break. I’m tired of chasing after a relationship. I should just let it happen. It’s been almost of year of trying to connect with women I never have anything in common with.”
“Some guys would think a new woman every week is ideal.” She tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, her diamond drop earrings sparkling in the light.
He shrugged. “Maybe in my rodeo days, but even then…not so much.”
“Variety is the spice of life.” Her blue eyes shone with mischief.
He coughed and leaned in close so he could whisper. “I’m not sleeping with them. It’s a first date.”
She pushed her wineglass aside and lowered her voice as well. “So you haven’t had sex since you started Project Replacement Wife?”
He straightened. “I’m not replacing my wife. It’s not like my coffee pot stopped working and I’m shopping for a new one.”
“How long has it been?” She leaned closer, and the scent of roses and early summer blocked out everything else.
“Not quite two years.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Everyone had drilled into him that you did not talk about your wife on a date. And so he never talked about her at all. But this wasn’t a date. Even though he was more attracted to Jules than he’d been to all of the other women he’d had dinner with here, put together.
“You haven’t had any action since she died?”
He pushed back from the table, away from the pity in her gaze. “This conversation has gone off the rails.”
“Like, at all?”
He shook his head. He wasn’t a saint. “I had a rough time the year she died. Wound up pretty disgusted with myself. Sleeping around is different after you have kids.”
“Wow. You’re like the bizarro cowboy.” She reached for him again, her fingers resting on his forearm. The thin cotton of his shirt did nothing to block the heat of her touch. “That’s a compliment.”
“Good, because I couldn’t tell.” He met her gaze and despite himself, felt his cheeks lifting in a grin that matched hers. When he started dating again, he’d have to find a new restaurant. Even after she left for school, this would be Jules’s place in his mind.
“If you were a woman, I’d tell you to date yourself. Take the pressure off and just do what you want to do.”
“But I’m a guy, so…”
“Believe me, I know. But what you’re doing isn’t working. Instead of trying to see thirty years with someone, just think thirty days. Give yourself permission to have something that works for now, not forever.”
“That’s not really an option for me. Like you said, in this town people have an expectation of what I should do. If I tried to date anyone, their friends and family would have us married in their heads before the second date.”
“You need someone who doesn’t want to get tangled in the strings, or tie you in them. It shouldn’t be that hard.” She took the last sip of her wine and looked at him. “We could have fun.”
“I’m having more fun here than on a year of dates put together.”
She tilted her head to the side, her sleek blonde hair brushing her shoulder. “Hmm, maybe you aren’t ready for what I had in mind.”
“More wine?” He lifted her empty glass. He wanted to keep her talking, find out where her mind was going.
“Yes. My apartment’s upstairs.”
Chapter One of Sarah M. Anderson's Roping the Rancher
The drink hit Tommy Tucker square in the face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Stacy asked as she stood and grabbed her things.
Well, for starters, he was now wearing an amaretto sour. “Baby,” Tommy started to say, but he wasn’t fast enough. Not that he was trying to be all that fast.
Stacy was not that into him. A nine-dollar drink to the face made that pretty damned clear.
“Don’t you ‘baby’ me, you ass.” Stacy threw her coat over her shoulders and shot him a mean look. “Why did you even want to be with me if you think you want to see other people? I didn’t say anything about seeing other people. I thought—”
Oh God. Her lip quivered.
“—I was what you wanted.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Tommy protested, but he was talking to nothing but air. Stacy was gone—just like all the others before her had gone, with a huff and a cutting look.
For the life of him, Tommy didn’t even know why he’d brought up having an open relationship. He’d only been seeing Stacy for about five weeks—by some standards, that wasn’t even long enough to be exclusive in the first place.
He’d brought her here tonight with the intention of telling her about his father’s upcoming wedding. But at the last second, he’d changed course. Almost without realizing what words were coming out of his mouth, he’d asked instead if it’d be okay if they slept with other people.
That was a hell of a far cry from a wedding invitation.
Stacy should have been perfect. She was hot and smart and…hot. She liked cowboys, and she loved riding reverse cowboy. What more did a guy need in college, right?
But then she’d had to go and celebrate their first-month anniversary last week. She’d gotten him a rose, for crying out loud. Who the hell marked a one-month anniversary with flowers?
He wiped the amaretto off his cheek. His shirt would never be the same. That was his own damn fault—he had to stop wearing white shirts on dates.
“That didn’t look like it went so well.” A towel appeared in front of him. “You all right, hon?”
Tommy wiped off his face and looked up at his savior. Carlene. He didn’t know her last name—Carlene was all her nametag said.
He didn’t know much at all about the woman standing before him, only that she was a waitress here at Peachtree’s. She was older and she didn’t wear a ring. He didn’t know how much older, though. She wasn’t a college girl, that much was clear. She had a woman’s curves.
Not that he’d noticed. He hadn’t. Not much, anyway.
What he did know was that he had been bringing various dates to this Peachtree’s in Helena, Montana, throughout his senior year at the University of Montana and Carlene had been his waitress for all of them. She had served him dinner and brought him beer through three different girlfriends, Stacy included, four other dates that went nowhere, and once when he’d been stood up by a girl from his economics class.
Actually, Tommy knew other things about Carlene. She wore tight, slim-cut pants—pants, not leggings or jeggings or whatever the hell the college girls were wearing. She wore actual pants, usually black, cut close to show off her ass. And she wore heels. Not comfort shoes and not trendy platforms. Not even boots, which during a crushing Montana winter, were everywhere. She usually had on black pumps with at least a four-inch heel.
While the other servers in the restaurant wore Peachtree’s emblazoned polo tops, Carlene almost always had on a button-up shirt, usually white and usually unbuttoned to the point where he could almost glimpse the edge of her bra when she leaned forward to set his drinks on the table. Almost, but not quite.
She liked sports. She frequently paused in the middle of her rounds, her eyes fastened on one of the seven screens that dotted the Peachtree’s bar as she watched a touchdown or three-pointer. If it was her team, she’d do this little shimmy in celebration that always made his mouth go dry. And if it wasn’t her team, she’d stomp her foot in frustration—all without ever spilling a drop of anything she was carrying. As far as Tommy could tell, she rooted for Denver and Seattle’s teams—football, basketball. He hadn’t been coming here long enough to know if she followed baseball.
“Yeah, I’m all right.” He glanced up to see Carlene watching him closely. He wasn’t exactly upset that Stacy had bailed, but he wished he didn’t look like such a loser in front of Carlene. He tried to make a joke to cover his embarrassment. “Another wild Saturday night, I guess.”
“Was that the second or third time one of those girls threw their drink in your face?” Carlene clucked at him. “I don’t know what you’re saying to them, but maybe you should try a different line.”
His cheeks heated. Was she scolding him?
But then her voice dropped as she said, “Here, you missed a spot.”
Before Tommy knew what was happening, Carlene had taken her towel back from him. She found a drier corner and began to blot amaretto sour from his forehead.
Tommy’s eyes fluttered at her touch, and he went more than a little bit hard in his jeans. Thank God for the table, because he’d hate to be busted sporting a hard-on in the middle of a family dining establishment.
Something about this wasn’t right. He was twenty-two, for God’s sake. He should not be sitting in Peachtree’s, seconds after being justifiably dumped for being an asshole, and getting hard as an older woman cleaned his face.
Carlene ran a manicured finger under his chin and lifted his face up. The tip of her nail scraped over his skin and he shivered. She felt it, too. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. A vision of her in bed, panting and moaning in satisfaction, made his mouth dry. “You keep coming in here,” she said in a much softer voice that sent shockwaves through him, “with all these pretty young things and it never seems to end well, does it?”
This was madness. But what the hell.
“Maybe I should try something else,” he said, gazing up at her. He hoped like hell he didn’t look like some lost puppy dog that needed to be taken home and fed a warm bowl of milk.
If she was offended, she didn’t show it. Instead, Carlene leaned down and ran the rough edge of the towel over his cheek as she said, “Maybe you should.”
Half hard? More like rock hard. Her voice vibrated right through his chest, and the tension between them began to tighten, pulling him closer toward her. He had the overwhelming urge to do something—pull her into his lap, fall down at her knees—anything to show her that he wasn’t some novice who needed to be taken care of.
He wanted to show her that he could take care of her.
If only he knew how. But even he could see the folly in asking his waitress out mere minutes after being dumped. Nothing would reek of desperation more.
Carlene’s eyes widened slightly, her pupils darkening. Hell, she was interested. But as he opened his mouth to say something, she straightened up, breaking the tension between them. “Keep the towel,” she said in her usual waitress voice. “I’ll bring you another beer—on the house.”
“You’re a wonderful woman, Carlene,” Tommy called after her and he wasn’t even joking about it.
She paused and shot him a look over her shoulder that made his blood run hot in a way Stacy’s looks never had. “Just figuring that out, are you?” And then she went to the bar.
…
He sat there for a long time—longer than he usually did when he brought his dates to her restaurant. Carly tried not to think about what happened between Tommy and his dates after they left together, arms slung around each other’s waists. It was none of her business.
Or it hadn’t been, anyway.
Saturday night was busy, and Carly had to manage the restaurant, but she kept an eye on the young cowboy. Men flirted with her all the time. It was one of those things that went with the job—a warm smile and prompt refills seem to be an invitation to some people and most of those people were men. Not always, but most.
Not that Carly was a waitress. She wasn’t. She was the assistant manager of this restaurant and the weekend was her regular shift. But Saturday, it seemed, was prime time for someone to call in “sick” and it was easier for Carly to fill in than it was to call in someone else. Well, it’d been that way in the beginning.
That’s not the way it still was. Not when it seemed like every other week that young cowboy came in with yet another girl. She shouldn’t be as invested in Tommy’s life as she was. She shouldn’t care what he did with his girlfriends, how many girlfriends he had—or how many threw their drinks in his face.
He was one of her regulars, that was all. She’d always been the kind of person who got involved with people—that’s why she was still in the restaurant business twenty years after she’d taken her first job as a waitress at the age of sixteen.
Besides, that young buck was far too young for her. That’s all there was to it.
Except he was still sitting there, nursing his beer and watching a Denver Nuggets game. And every so often, Carly would glance in his direction and catch his eyes on her.
She shook her head. Once, she’d let herself get infatuated with one of her patrons. She’d been twenty-one, putting herself through college by waitressing tables. Drake had been older, a distinguished professor who taught economics at her college, although she’d never taken one of his classes. He’d been lonely, sweet—or so she’d thought—and good-looking. Especially that.
The fact that he’d been picking up a waitress almost half his age should have been her first clue. But she’d ignored that warning sign and all the ones that came after that until it was too late. Instead, she’d tried to convince herself that if she could be the woman he wanted, he’d finally love her like he’d promised he would.
She’d married Drake Wilton before she was twenty-four. The marriage lasted less than three years before she’d gotten out.
Since then, Carly hadn’t gotten involved with the customers or co-workers—or anyone else, for that matter—at any of her jobs. Especially not here, where over the last nine years—since her divorce—she’d worked her way up to assistant manager.
She shuddered at the unbidden memories. She would never give up her hard-won security again. No man was worth the pain.
“Can I get you anything else?” she said, clearing the now-empty beer glass off Tommy’s table.
He didn’t say anything at first, and she braced herself for the cliché, “just your number!” But it didn’t come.
Instead, Tommy looked at her as if he was really seeing her, which always made Carly nervous. She had cultivated her work personality and she could play the part of the friendly waitress who cared about how you like your steaks cooked in her sleep. After the whole thing with Drake, she’d made sure to keep that waitress mask up and on at all times. The moment she arrived at work, she was Carlene, your friendly local restaurant manager. She loved cleaning up messes. She lived to refresh soft drinks. Nothing made her as happy as making sure that you had a good meal.
But that wasn’t who she was.
And for the first time in months, she wondered if someone could tell.
“Not tonight,” Tommy finally said, still staring at her as if she was a puzzle he could solve, if only he could find the right piece.
She shouldn’t. “You going to be okay on your own tonight?” It was the kind of offer that any reasonably red-blooded man would take exactly one way. She didn’t know why she said it. She didn’t even know how she wanted him to take it.
It wasn’t fair for this kid—and she was under no illusion that that’s what he was, a kid with one foot barely into adulthood—to look this good, even with the stains of his date’s drink marring his collar. His beautiful brown eyes widened and one corner of his mouth curved up into a lazy smile. He knew exactly what she had asked.
Dammit. She must be an idiot to even imply that she could take care of this boy. How could she get out of this without losing one of her best customers? Because Tommy was. He tipped generously and, aside from the occasional spilled drink, never left a mess.
He stood slowly, and Carly had the chance to take in all of him. Okay, so he was a boy playacting being a man. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a man’s body. He was at least six-feet tall—Carly knew that because she was five-eleven in her heels. But he wasn’t gangly. He might’ve been when he was younger, but he’d filled out. His shoulders were wide and his chest…
She shouldn’t be staring at his chest, no matter how broad and muscled it was. Nope. Not staring.
Not. Staring.
In a panic, she snapped her gaze back up to his face. Oh hell—busted. He was watching her watch him.
“Been thinking about what you said,” he said in a casual voice as he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and fished out two fifties—more than enough to cover his tab, especially since that last beer had been on her. He didn’t hand her the money, though. Instead, he laid it out on the table.
Carly cringed on the inside. Okay, so she might’ve started this—what with the towel and caring about if he was going to be okay tonight. But the problem with being a waitress who worked for tips—or even an assistant manager who worked for tips—was that when men hit on you, it always carried the stink of a transaction. Leave a nice tip; get some flirting. Leave an even nicer tip; he gets your telephone number—or more. It was the men who expected the more that made her skin crawl.
She didn’t want Tommy to think she could be bought.
“Yeah?” She didn’t miss the way her voice wavered a little bit. $100 on a $50 bill was a huge tip.
“Yeah,” he said, picking up his hat and putting on his head. With the hat on, he looked at least ten years older. He looked like he almost might have been her age, or close enough that it wouldn’t have been weird for her to be caught gaping at his chest like a schoolgirl. “I think I might be ready to try something different.”
And then, giving her that sly smile that did things to her that it shouldn’t, he touched the tip of his fingers to the brim of his hat, turned around, and walked out of the restaurant.
Well.
That’d been different, all right.
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