Cowboy Tough (19 page)

She stepped toward him and touched his arm. He tensed, uneasy with the unexpected contact.

“There's nothing to worry about, Mack. I'm not here to lure you into my lair. You did me a big favor when you walked away.”

“Really?” He remembered the tears and recriminations, and the stony silence that followed.

“Really. Oh, I know I gave you a hard time about it. But I needed to step out on my own.” Her eyes took on a happy glow. “I'm doing all the publicity work for the arena. Attendance is up almost fifty percent. And we were voted Best Small Town Rodeo by
Western
Horseman
last year.”

He nodded. “That's good.”

“I was trying to define myself with a relationship, but I needed to cut loose and find myself. And I did.” She swept off her hat and raked one hand through her hair. “So how about you? Did you find what you were looking for out there?”

He opened his mouth to answer, then simply shook his head. If Emily was looking for revenge, she'd found it. Here she was, confident and sure of herself, content with her place in the world, and he was still—what was he doing, anyway? Searching for something, that was for sure.

He just didn't know what the hell it was.

Neighbors and band members thronged around the fire pit, working their way through plates of slow-cooked ribs, beans, and the inevitable biscuits. It was nearly dark before the SWAT team took the stage, tuning up with a series of squeaks and squawks that set Mack's teeth on edge.

He liked music well enough; it was dancing that made him nervous. His mother was already arranging the guests in two neat rows and teaching them the basic elements of country line dancing. Emily was front and center, hands on hips, confidently leading the group as the band started up a rousing up-tempo version of “San Antonio Rose.” Madeleine called out the steps, clapping her hands.

“Kick one, two, and
kick
three, four. Spin and turn and clap! One,
two
, and three…”

The students dutifully spun and kicked, clapped and turned, following her lead. Gradually the mishmash of separate steps turned into a choreographed chorus line as everyone caught on and fell into matching rhythms. The students had hauled out their best cowboy duds for the occasion, but Cat was dressed as her sweet city self, in a glittery, loose-fitting top and a mass of sparkling beads draped around her neck. Bangles dangled at her wrists, and a pair of gypsy hoops hung from her earlobes, winking as they caught the firelight.

He'd gotten used to the simplicity of those big shirts she wore for painting and forgotten what an exotic, otherworldly creature she was. She hadn't dressed like this since that first day he'd seen her. Her jewelry swayed as she danced, and he knew if he stepped closer it would chime together with a faint gypsy jingle.

Her steps were more dutiful than graceful, and she certainly couldn't match Emily's enthusiasm. But Mack couldn't help watching her. It was that danged top, the way it skimmed her curves and draped over her hips. All he could think about was running his fingers over the silky smooth fabric, brushing the tips of her breasts, and watching her shiver in response.

But he wasn't about to join the line. Cowboys might dance in music videos, but those were barstool cowboys—Nashville types who wore the hat and boots as a costume on Saturday nights.

Ed was evidently happy to be a barstool cowboy. The old man was executing the steps with his trademark enthusiasm for all things Western, almost falling over as he lifted one foot to slap the side of his boot, then spun in a circle.

Cat flashed Mack a tight smile, but mostly she seemed preoccupied, staring straight ahead as she danced. It wasn't until the band started trading solos, riffing on the infectious melody of Stevie Ray Vaughan's “Honeybee,” that she seemed to come alive. As the fiddle player careened up and down the scale, unreeling a tune that sounded more old-style blues than cowboy, she glanced up and down the line. She did one last shuffle and kick, then faded back into the shadows.

Impulsively, he strode through the crowd edging the dance floor and went in search of her. He didn't have to look far before a glint of metal caught his eye, then a flash of pale skin. She'd backed into the darkness under the eaves of the Heifer House. Her eyes closed, she swayed with the beat, lost in the music and some sweet faraway dream.

Tilting her head back, she twisted her hands and stretched them over her head in a sinuous motion that echoed the grace of the fiddle player's fingers on the fretboard. There was almost no moon and a faint mist obscured the stars, so she was lit mostly by the remnants of firelight that cut through the darkness. Light flared up in her hair as she spun, then glanced off the curve of her swaying hip and lit the pale underside of one arm.

She obviously thought she was alone. A flash of firelight stroked her face and he realized her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted.

Caught by the lure of her body, he stepped closer. She seemed to sense him before he touched her, and her eyes opened lazily, like she was coming out of a deep sleep. She gave him that languid come-hither smile she'd given him the night before.

Sliding his arms around her waist, he pulled her to him and the two of them swayed like blades of grass teased by a shimmering breeze. Behind him, he could hear his mother, still calling out the line dance steps. He knew the others were slavishly following the routine, but Cat couldn't fall into line even if she'd wanted to. She'd never fit in out here, but for some reason she seemed to fit him.

Maybe that was the reason he'd never found a woman he'd wanted to stay with. They were all too ready to follow the leader. Cat moved to her own beat.

He tightened his arms around her and bent his head, brushing her lips with his own. Without hesitation, she let him in and the two of them slowed their movements, shifting the energy that had set them swaying to something a little more intimate and a lot more potent.

The music stopped, the kiss ended, but she didn't pull away. He looked down into her eyes, glistening in the light from the fire, and thought maybe he'd found what he was looking for after all.

***

Cat looked up at Mack and felt her heart dance a little Riverdance jig against his chest. What was it about this guy? She'd never had this kind of deep-down, unthinking response to a man before. She could hardly quell the urge to grab him by the hand and drag him off to the Heifer House.

Judging from the warmth in his gaze, he was thinking the same thing. She couldn't look at him and not touch him, so she turned away.

“We'd better wait,” she said. “I can't just walk away from my students, you know.”

“I don't see why not.” Mack nodded to the front of the stage, where the guests had taken a break from line dancing and were enthusiastically clapping along with the SWAT team version of “Li'l Liza Jane.”

“I just can't.”

She leaned back and he clasped his arms around her, lacing his fingers at her waist. It felt good, having the solid bulk of him behind her. What would it feel like to have a man like this backing her up every day?

Stifling, right? Restrictive. But hard as she tried to tell herself she didn't want to deal with a strong, possibly overbearing man, it just felt good.

They stood there on the perimeter of the crowd, watching the guests mingle with the neighbors. Madeleine had introduced Cat to most of them, and she reviewed their names and stories as she watched. Ed and Emma were chatting up Jodi Treadwell, a strikingly beautiful cowgirl who ran a therapy riding program north of town. Abby was deep in conversation with Nate Shawcross, another local rancher, while his wife Charlie danced with their adorable redheaded daughter. Another couple, Luke and Libby Rawlins, were sitting quietly by the fire, so content with each other's company they seemed oblivious to the rest of the crowd. Real estate agent Lacey Caldwell was pointing out the finer features of the ranch house to her husband Chase, who seemed far more interested in the barn.

Maddie was watching the shindig she'd set up with obvious delight. She was standing with Hank, and when the band struck up a new song she reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. Cat felt Mack stiffen, then sigh and relax. It had to be hard to see your mother fall for a man who wasn't your father, even if your father was gone and the man was as obviously devoted as Hank.

She scanned the crowd for a distraction.

“Who's that?” She pointed to an older man with a face that appeared to be worn by hard living rather than the weather. His hair was Ronald Reagan black and oily. He was strolling up from the direction of the improvised parking lot with his hands in his pockets. It was an easy, casual posture, but Cat instinctively felt he was up to no good.

Mack tightened his grip on her. If his hackles had been raised before, they were bristling now.

“That's Ollie. Son of a bitch. I didn't think he'd have the nerve to come here.”

“Your stepfather?”

“My mother's second husband. No father of mine.” He grabbed her hand, practically dragging her past the fire toward the new arrival. They almost knocked over a couple of dancers in his haste.

“Ollie.”

“Hey, son.” The older man widened his lips in a phony smile.

“I'm not your son. What are you doing here?”

“Came to see your mother.” The man's false bonhomie shifted to a tense, whining tone. “I got a right to see my ex-wife, don't I? I need to talk to her about some business.”

“You don't have any business here but signing the divorce papers.”

“Sure I do.” The grimace widened into a grin, showing off two unsettling rows of unnaturally straight dentures. “I'm not signing any papers. I'm here to mend fences with your mother.”

“That fence is beyond repair.” Mack let go of Cat and grabbed the older man's arm, swinging him back the way he'd come.

Ollie pulled away, then gripped his arm with a wounded look. “That's Maddie's call, son.”

“You call me son again and you'll be saying it from the ground,” Mack said, clenching his fists. “And stay away from my mother. You've done enough damage.”

“Somebody had to take care of this place,” Ollie said. “You weren't here. I did my best.”

“You did your best to milk it for all the money you could get. And now you're trying to hang on, string things out. You need to sign the papers.” Mack peered through the ground. “I saw Daniels here earlier. Maybe he's got the papers with him.”

“Forget your lawyer,” Ollie said. “Only person I'm talking to is your mother.”

***

Cat edged away from Mack and Ollie. She sensed a showdown coming, and she wasn't sure she wanted to see Mack lose his temper and beat somebody up again. Although he did seem to have a knack for finding men who deserved it.

And she couldn't deny the thrill this relationship had brought her. For once, she felt as reckless and sexy on the inside as she looked on the outside. Despite her bohemian clothes and flyaway hair, she'd always been a little bit of a prude when it came to men. And to some extent, her love life had been stalled by her friendship with Ames. This wasn't the first time she'd used their friendship to avoid intimacy, but she vowed it would be the last.

She spent some time with her students, chatting with Ed and Emma and dancing a quick two-step with Charles, who proved to have the floating grace that so often makes big men good dancers. As the party started to wind down, the night air turned chilly and she went in search of Mack.

Edging through the crowd, she craned her neck to see if she could spot him or Ollie. As she neared the Bull Barn, she heard male voices and paused.

“They're not yours to sell.”

Mack's voice. There was a note of desperation in it that chilled her heart. She shouldn't eavesdrop. His family issues were none of her business. But maybe she could help somehow.

Lightening her tread as much as she could, she crept closer to the barn. The two men were just inside the door.

“I'll talk to your mother about that.”

“They're not yours to sell,” Mack repeated. “So whatever deal you've got going, you need to cancel it and move on.”

“Until those papers are signed, I'm still her husband.”

Sensing he'd stepped over the line, Ollie backed up a step. Mack moved with him, one fist coming up fast. Ollie backed away just in time, then turned and fled for the parking lot. He beeped open a blue late-model Silverado and turned.

“I've been through the books. This place is shit, Boyd. Done.” He climbed into the truck. “It'll take a miracle to save it. Your mother and her crazy dude ranch plans aren't going to do it.” He slammed the door, then rolled down the window. “You might as well get back on the road. Rodeo's what you always wanted anyway.”

“No.” Mack straightened, then surged to his feet. “It's not what I wanted. Not without the ranch to back it up.”

“Well, then you'd better keep on romancin' that little painter gal, 'cause there's no other way you're going to get folks to stay at this dump.” He let out a cynical chuckle that made Cat's hackles rise. “Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘use it or lose it.'”

Mack grabbed the door handle and tugged furiously, slamming one foot against the truck in his effort to pull open the locked door. He nearly fell as Ollie rolled up the window and the truck surged forward, spinning out of the drive in a cloud of dust.

Cat backed away. Mack wouldn't want her to see his desperation, and he definitely wouldn't want her to hear what Ollie had said. Returning to the party, she eased into the line of dancers and picked up the steps as best she could, following Maddie's rhythmic calls.

“Kick one, two, and
kick
three, four.”