Ever After at Sweetheart Ranch (6 page)

That made Lyndsay feel better. “Why did you break up?”

“It's not like we even had anything official enough to warrant a
breakup,
” Jessica began slowly. “We just . . . went out a few times and that was that. I think we both found other ­people or something. I don't think we had a lot of sparks.” She shrugged. “It was last year. I barely remember.”

“Then it's settled,” Kate said happily. “Lyndsay should date him. There were a lot of sparks at this table.”

“You're right, there were,” Jessica said with interest.

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” Lyndsay said, raising both hands. “I haven't even asked him out yet. He could say no.”

And then Will sauntered in from the back room, both fists raised. “Pool champ!” he called loudly.

A general cheer rose. Kate and Jessica grinned at each other and said at the same time, “He won't.”

Lyndsay gave a helpless laugh. “You're supportive friends, that's for sure. And you don't even need to warn me about what I'm getting into, how he's never serious about relationships. I'm not expecting any dramatic reversals of his usual dating pattern.”

“Why not?” Kate demanded. “You might be just the woman he's looking for.”

Lyndsay laughed aloud, causing Will to glance with interest at their table. She felt the sizzle of awareness, like she'd gotten too close to a campfire. She definitely had to explore this attraction she felt for him—­the attraction that she'd put down in a book, she reminded herself. That sobered her up a bit. Even if they went out on a few dates, it didn't mean she had to tell him how she'd immortalized him in fiction.

“I'm glad you're giving this a shot, Lynds,” Kate said. “Maybe you've been stuck in some kind of rut, doing things the same way and not being happy about it.”

Lyndsay thought of her job but put it out of her mind—­there was nothing she could do about that right now.

“You really haven't seemed all that happy since I got back,” Kate continued gently.

For so many reasons,
Lyndsay thought in frustration
, but lately because I haven't been able to tell you my good news.
Yet a public tavern wasn't the right place—­especially not with Will so close. “You don't think Tony would have a problem with this, do you?”

“He did mention once that he'd told his friends not to date you in high school because it would be weird for him if you broke up.”

Jessica's eyes widened, and she glanced at Lyndsay expectantly.

Lyndsay shrugged. “He said the same to me. I didn't necessarily agree, but after he and you—­” She broke off.

Kate gave a rueful grin. “I'm not happy that in some ways he was right. Our divorce
did
hurt the friendship between you and me. But we're all adults now.”

Lyndsay wondered for only the briefest moment if Will had taken such a warning from Tony to heart—­but he'd hardly wanted her from afar since high school.

“I don't know if I should take dating advice from you,” Lyndsay teased.

Will appeared at her side and straddled the chair next to her. “What dating advice did you take?” he asked.

Lyndsay gave Kate a lopsided smile. “The last guy she wanted me to date—­he and I were friends before that—­ended up breaking it off with me the night I thought he would propose.”

“That sucks,” Will said, reaching for a handful of the popcorn. “Is that the guy you dated for years in college?”

Lyndsay eyed him with surprise. “Yeah. I can't believe you remember that.”

He shrugged. “I remember. And Tony told me he got his just rewards—­didn't he date a prostitute?”

Jessica giggled. “Oh, I heard about that story. He was named in the paper, wasn't he?”

Lyndsay bit her lip, knowing it was funny now, but at the time she'd felt like the heroine of a tragedy. “To be fair, I'm not sure he realized she wasn't just a Zumba instructor.”

“He paid money at some point,” Will said, “enough to get himself arrested. Got what he deserved.”

“Why . . . thank you, Will,” Lyndsay said.

Tony came through the door with a tray. “Hey, Lynds, brought you something. I thought you looked tired, so here's a pick-­me-­up.”

She gasped at the perfectly displayed plate. “Ooh, the beer-­braised bunny nachos? Love those. Thanks, Tony.” She took the plate, along with the beer he'd also brought. Her third—­but who was counting?

“Bunny,” Jessica said with a shudder, then gave Lyndsay a meaningful gaze of encouragement. “See you guys later.”

After a brief wave, Lyndsay focused on her treat.

Kate sighed. “She's eaten like this her whole life and never gains an ounce. Never.” She shook her head. “Makes me ill.”

When Tony rolled his eyes and walked away, Kate stole a nacho, then followed him into his office, leaving Lyndsay alone with her nachos—­and Will. She'd decided to ask him out but hadn't given any thought as to when or how. But right here, where her brother could overhear? No.

“So is Tony right about you being tired?” Will asked, stealing his own nacho.

Lyndsay pushed the plate into the center of the table. “It's Friday, and I've had a crappy day at school—­heck, a crappy week.”

“I don't remember the last time you had something good to say about teaching.”

So he'd been paying attention. She chewed and swallowed a sinful nacho. “I used to love it with all my heart. The kids made it special from the beginning, and that hasn't changed. I love watching the light of discovery in their eyes, or seeing their growing pride in their accomplishments. But other things about the profession have changed. Maybe it's all the testing, leaving no time for us to be creative. Maybe it's the brand-­new way we have to learn to teach. Plus, it's the end of the year, and the kids are restless, knowing how much is at stake with these tests—­I don't know. Sorry for going on and on. We all have our bad days.”

“Not me. I'm lucky—­I love my job.”

“You
are
lucky. And it's a hard one, too. Do you still love your job when you can't find a cow in a blizzard?”

His white teeth gleamed as those hazel eyes focused just on her. “I'm not saying there isn't the occasional bad day. Like when we lose a calf before it even has a chance at life—­that's terrible.”

She nodded solemnly.

“I'm not saying my work has life-­and-­death consequences compared to yours,” he added.

As if he didn't want to hurt her feelings. She was touched, and it made her feel mellow and happy as she ate another nacho. Maybe this should be her last beer . . .

“I know what you meant,” she said softly. “Both of our jobs matter. You feed ­people. I teach them. It's just a shame that lately I can't take the same kind of joy in it that I used to.” She scooped another nacho off the plate and enjoyed that, at least. “You know, I like something else about your job. I like the family aspect of it. You Sweets and Thalbergs—­you share a bond with your families that many ­people envy.”

“Oh, come on, I see how you are with Tony and your dad—­it's no different.”

“Sure it is. I don't have any grandparents left. You have your grandma Sweet.”

“I do. And I'll admit she's one of a kind.” He leaned closer. “She shared some secrets with our family the other day—­want to hear?”

“Family secrets?”

“No. And she didn't say it in private. There were even people not related to us there. I say it's fair game.”

Lyndsay folded her arms on the table and propped her chin in her hand. “Then go ahead.”

Will smiled in a way that made her insides do a little dance. He was obviously still amused by the Captain Kirk discussion. Imagine how he'd laugh if he knew what else they'd talked about behind his back.

“Apparently, the feud between the widows and my grandma goes back to high school. Grandma let me in on the name the widows used to go by when they were young.” He paused dramatically. “The Purple Poodles.”

Lyndsay laughed with delight. “Well, it was the fifties, after all. I think it fits them perfectly.”

“But she also told me more. Seems the Purple Poodles were the bad girls of high school, the outcasts.”

“Those three sweet little old ladies? It would be difficult to choose which one I'd want for my own grandma. I don't know if I believe this,” she scoffed.

“Scout's honor,” he said.

“You were in Future Farmers of America, not Boy Scouts.”

“You know too much about me.”

And I'm determined to know more,
she thought
.

“Really, the feud started even before that,” Will continued. “It seems my great-­great-­grandma had the first car in Valentine Valley and accidentally ran into a Thalberg cow.”

“I heard that one,” she said. “Brooke told me it wasn't an accident.”

He shrugged good-­naturedly. “I wasn't there. All I know is that my grandma and the widows didn't get along. Mrs. Palmer was the leader of the Purple Poodles, a rebel who smoked cigarettes and dated a biker.”

Lyndsay choked on her beer and took the napkin Will handed her. Mrs. Palmer was a feisty fast-­talker who made her own wild clothes and considered herself an expert at reading tarot cards.

“Maybe I can believe this of Mrs. Palmer,” she said. “And Mrs. Thalberg has always been a strong ranching woman who didn't care what ­people thought of her. But Mrs. Ludlow, proper schoolteacher—­a bad girl?”

Will shrugged. “All I know is what I was told. Maybe her heart was broken. Maybe college changed her, veered her away from the other Purple Poodles. Maybe that's the reason she and my grandma get along. There's more, but I'll have to tell you another time. We have to dance.”

She laughed, knowing he wasn't serious. “I've got my beer and my food. I'm happy, really. And I think you have more gossip but you just don't want to tell me.”

But he took her hand, pulled her up from the table, and into the back room. He brought her near the pool table, where there was a little room next to Dom Shaw and Will's cousin Theresa, who moved their bodies in time to the fast music, shaking their hips, doing a ­couple moves that inspired scattered applause. Oh, great, she and Will would soon be known as the “Do not ever dance in public again” duo.

“Will, I'm not really a dancer,” she began, then blinked as he started to shake his shoulders out of time with the music. She covered her mouth against a snicker of amusement.

He leaned toward her ear and said loudly, “I didn't say I could dance, but I know how to have fun and cheer you up.”

“And distract me.”

She felt the warm tickle of his breath, could have sworn his lips just grazed the shell of her ear.

And then the beer did its job. She loosened up and started dancing with him, dropping her arms on his shoulders, hopping back and forth on each foot.

He laughed aloud and tried to match her, and they were both terrible together. In a wild twist of her body, she ended up bumping into Dom, who caught her by the shoulders with strong hands and steered her back toward Will. She forgot her school troubles, her insecurity about asking him out, even the lingering terror and excitement over her book publication. She just danced until she was breathless.

And stared into Will's face, with that chin dimple that only emphasized his charisma. She probably didn't write enough about that dimple in her book, she thought, then laughed aloud at herself.

“Glad you're having a good time!” Will practically shouted.

She took his hand and spun beneath his arm, but neither of them was good enough to know what to do next. The fast music died away, and before she could retreat, it turned to a country song, slow and moody.

“At last, something I know how to do,” Will said.

And then he pulled her up against him, put one arm around her waist, and took her other hand in his. She stared into his t-­shirt, too stunned to even look into his eyes. She could feel his hips brush hers, then the long length of his thigh. His hand was warm and callused where it gripped hers, and his other hand might as well have been leaving an imprint on her back, she noticed it so much. Her right hand hung awkwardly for a moment in the air, until at last she set it hesitantly on his broad shoulder, covered only by a t-­shirt. She could feel well-­toned muscle and bone . . .

And then he grinned down at her, those hazel eyes alight with mischief. “Wow, I didn't realize you couldn't even slow dance.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, “distracted by thoughts.” She let him begin to move them from foot to foot, swaying.

“I must be losing my touch. Surely Captain Kirk would be able to make a woman focus on him while they danced.”

A smile quirked her lips.

“There, that's better. Relax. School has to be pretty bad if you're this tense.”

She let him think what he wanted. She wasn't about to say,
I'm thinking about how to ask you out . . .

 

Chapter 5

W
ill swayed, but he kept his eyes open. He was worried that if he didn't, he'd start to concentrate too much on the feel of Lyndsay in his arms. It was taking everything in him not to pull her right up against his body, to bury his face in her hair just so he could figure out her elusive scent, something flowery or citrusy or—­hell, he didn't know. Like he'd ever cared all that much about a woman's scent before. He liked the feel of her small hand in his, the curve of her back against his other hand. He could feel lithe muscle and—­

Okay, enough of that. He was going to have to hold her deliberately away from his hips if he wasn't careful, like he was still a horny high school kid.

“I don't think we've ever danced,” he said to distract himself.

Then she tipped her head up to look at him. Talking had been a mistake. Her eyes were luminous in the low light, and he found himself searching their chocolate depths for the glimmers of gold again.

“Sure we danced. At Tony and Kate's first wedding.”

“When we were teenagers? I don't remember at all.”

She gave a low laugh that sounded far too throaty for his peace of mind.

“I'm not surprised. They had the reception right in the Rose Garden, threw up those tents that ended up leaking, remember?”

“Well, yeah, I remember that, but—­”

“They had beer in tubs in the corner, and you guys figured out pretty quickly that if you approached from outside, you could stick your hand under the flap and grab a beer without anyone being the wiser.”

He chuckled. “I might have a vague memory of that.”

“And little else, I bet. You boys got pretty drunk, and eventually your parents figured out what was going on and kept an eye on you. From then on you were forced to remain inside.”

“So only the boys got drunk? Not you?”

“Of course not!” she said, taking a deep, indignant breath.

And that made her breasts brush his chest. If he inched her closer just a bit at a time, maybe—­

“How could I drink? I was the maid of honor. I had important duties, like holding the bouquet and straightening the train of her gown.”

“Yet you agreed to dance with a drunk teenager.”

“You begged me to.”

“I did not.” He tried to frown his disbelief, but he couldn't help smiling down into her amused face.

“Oh, yes, you did. Doing your duty and dancing with girls who needed partners was the only way you could get away from your angry parents.”

“That's not the only reason I danced with you,” he said dismissively.

“Of course it was. You'd been back to your regular dating self again by then, so . . .” She trailed off for a moment and her smile faded. “Sorry . . .”

“Brittany. It was a long time ago,” he said softly.

And then there didn't seem to be any more to say. He tried to imagine Brittany at his age, thirty-­three. Maybe they'd have gotten married and had kids. Maybe they'd have gone their separate ways. He'd never know. And she'd never gotten the chance to live her life and find out.

The song ended, and Lyndsay moved out of his arms. He thought she seemed a little unsteady, and he took her elbow. “Lynds?”

“I'm okay.”

“Speaking of drunk—­”

“I'm not drunk,” she said, waving a hand. But even that made her stagger. “I might have a slight buzz . . .”

“Okay, time for you to head home. If you drove, you know I'm going to take your keys.”

“I didn't drive. I live too close.”

“Then I'll walk you home. I'll wait awhile before driving myself.”

“That's okay. Kate will give me a ride.”

They both looked around and spotted Kate in Tony's arms, dancing the next slow dance so closely that a molecule couldn't have gotten between them.

“Kate's busy,” Will said.

“Lyndsay, do you need a ride?”

Will turned to see a guy he didn't recognize, looking with concern at Lyndsay.

“Hi, Sean,” Lyndsay said, then blinked up at Will. “Have you met Sean? New guy in town. He's a web guy—­designer.”

“Will Sweet.” Will reached out a hand, and Sean took it.

“Sean Lighton. Nice to meet you.”

But he wasn't looking at Will—­he was all about Lyndsay, eyes full of concern—­and it was annoying.

“Lyndsay, you look like you need a ride,” Sean said.

She opened her mouth, but Will interrupted. “And that's why I'm escorting her home.”

“Oh. Got it.” Sean gave him a lame smile. “Take it easy, Lyndsay.”

Will turned Lyndsay about before she could respond, then asked, “Did you bring a purse?”

“It's behind the bar. But really, I can get home myself.”

“You're swaying—­you do realize that.”

Her lips parted, but she said nothing. So he took her hand and began to lead her through the dancing ­couples and out into the main bar.

“Don't worry about your reputation,” she called, chuckling.

When they reached the bar, he stuck his hand underneath, then handed her her purse, eyeing her. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“The fact that you're holding my hand and leading me out of here. No one will think anything of it, including your current girlfriend. Who is she again?”

He'd always liked this side of Lyndsay, relaxed and funny. He led her toward the front door, grabbed his jacket off the crowded hooks, then escorted her out into the dark night, where the air chilled right down. The lightest snowflakes were falling. He shrugged on the jacket. “I'm not dating anyone right now.”

“Oh. Caught you in between, I see. That's kinda rare.”

She rummaged in her purse and held up a Windbreaker in triumph. The gesture almost tipped her backward until he caught her arm. She pulled the jacket on and zipped it up.

“Aren't
you
worried about your reputation?” he asked. “That dentist you're dating might get the wrong idea.”

She snorted. “You remembered he's a dentist? We broke up. Mutual thing.”

But she frowned a moment before shaking it off. Literally shaking it off. He tried not to laugh.

“Should I say I'm sorry you broke up?” he asked.

She leaned her head against his arm and smiled up at him. “We should always tell the truth.
Are
you sorry?”

And then he spoke the truth without thinking. “Nope.” Maybe he'd had too much to drink, as well.

She started across the parking lot, and he had to take her hand again. “Wrong way.”

This time he didn't let her go; he just steered her through the parking lot, then north on Seventh Street. They passed beneath one of Valentine's old-­fashioned lampposts, and it gave her skin a soft glow. There were snowflakes in her hair. He found himself wanting to draw the walk out.

“You said we're telling the truth tonight,” he reminded her. “I think there's something you're holding back about your breakup with the dentist.”

She wrinkled up her nose endearingly. “Oh, yeah. I didn't tell anybody this, but . . . we're telling the truth, right?”

He nodded solemnly, hoping she didn't change her mind.

“So . . . it wasn't a mutual thing, like I told everybody. I'm the one who broke it off. He thought it was time for me to meet his kids.”

Surprised, Will said, “And kids make you run screaming for the hills?”

She burst out with a laugh. “ ‘Screaming for the hills.' Ha! I used that exact phrase as I worried over everything. But no, it wasn't because of the kids. I've got a nephew, don't I?”

“And you're a teacher.”

“Right. Love kids. But
meeting
a guy's kids? That's serious. A real relationship. And I realized—­I wasn't ever going to be as serious about him as he seemed to be about me. You know?”

“I know.” His words came out softly, and he thought of all the women he'd tried to let down gently, for exactly the same reason. “So why did you tell everybody it was mutual?”

She eyed him as if debating whether he was worthy of an honest answer. “Because . . . I don't really know why. It's hard to tell ­people you had a guy really falling for you, but you didn't feel the same. I
want
to feel the same,” she added softly, sadly. “I really do. It's kind of pathetic.”

“It's not pathetic.” But he didn't truly understand it. He didn't want to feel that way—­about any woman. It was too dangerous.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, leaving behind Main Street, with its brighter lights, and heading into the more residential part of town, where the houses were small and cozy and close together. They turned up Mabel Street, and soon they were at her small ranch house. The front light was on, her car was parked in the driveway. He led her up to the door, where he could smell lilacs in bloom and see their ghostly shadow.

She began to dig through her purse. “Stupid keys,” she muttered.

“Want me to look?”

“I got it,” she said. “Aha!” She pulled them forth with a jingle.

It took her a ­couple minutes to get the key in the lock, but he knew better than to offer his help again.

The door swung wide, and she stepped inside to switch on a light.

“Good night, Lynds,” he called from the front stoop.

She came back, frowning. “You're not coming in?”

“Better not. Gotta work in the morning.”

She sighed. “Me, too.”

“Grading papers?”

She opened her mouth, then seemed to change her mind. “Yep, papers, that's right.”

He wondered what she'd first intended to say. “Good night, Lynds.”

“Night.”

But she didn't close the door right away. The longer he hesitated, the harder it seemed to be to turn away. But he finally did it, because he had to.

T
he next morning, Lyndsay sat bolt upright in bed, staring at the clock, which read 10:00 a.m. She'd meant to get up a ­couple hours earlier, since Saturday morning was usually a productive writing time for her. She put a hand to her aching head. Why hadn't she set her alarm?

Because she'd had too much to drink. And . . . something else had happened.

And then it hit her. She'd danced with Will—­and then she'd let him walk her home. Thankfully, she hadn't been so drunk that she'd burst out an invitation to date.

She covered her face with her hands and fell back dramatically onto her pillow. When she got drunk, she rambled. What had she said? She specifically remembered being in the parking lot when he'd turned her toward home—­

By taking her hand. He'd held her hand all the way home.

Because you were too drunk to know the way,
she reminded herself.

She remembered opening her door, inviting him in—­and that had been a worse invitation than a simple date—­but he hadn't come in. He'd been a gentleman, she reminded herself. She wouldn't have wanted him to see her stuff all over the house, right? No. More importantly, she wouldn't have wanted to see him come in, plop down on her couch, and turn on a Colorado Rockies baseball game like she was just one of the guys. She refused to think that's how he thought of her, or otherwise her dating plans would fall flat.

He'd danced with her, she reminded herself optimistically.

Only because she'd had a rough week, a little devil inside replied.

As it was, she'd spilled the real reason she'd broken up with her last guy. It was way too easy to talk to Will, especially when she was drunk.

So she was going to ask him out. It was the only way to stop feeling like this, to bury her renewed crush back with high school memories, where it belonged.

She was going to break other patterns in her life, too. She'd find a project at school to become more involved in. She had to stir things up, rediscover the reasons she'd become a teacher. Surely that would help.

Without bothering to shower, she went to her office to start working. But first, she'd send an e-­mail to her family and invite them to dinner. It was time to announce the good news about her book.

M
onday after school, Lyndsay sat at her desk, waiting for any students who needed help. She had lots of extra time, because she wasn't planning to attend the softball game that night. She decided it would make her nervous to see Will looking sweaty and gorgeous and posing for his female fans.

A ­couple kids filed in, and she spent about twenty minutes with the first two. After they left, she glanced up to find Matias Gonzalez watching her with hesitation.

Matias was a quiet kid, his curly hair deep black and shiny. He was a little short and chubby, when a lot of his fellow students had already sprouted up to lanky heights, like her nephew, Ethan. Matias always did his homework, even when he struggled with it. He didn't ask a lot of questions, and it was with the homework that she'd always been best able to help him.

The fact that he'd actually come for extra help intrigued her.

She smiled at him. “Hey, Matias, did you have a problem with today's math?”

He shook his head, got to his feet, and approached almost reluctantly. “No, Ms. De Luca, I think I understood it.”

“Then what can I help you with?”

He nodded. “The science fair.”

“The science fair is in a few weeks,” she said, frowning. “You don't have your project started already?”

He slumped into the chair next to her desk. “I keep starting one and stopping. I've tried three so far, and I don't like any of them.”

“Have you talked to Mrs. Jorgansen? Being your science teacher, she might have more ideas.”

“She's the one who gave me the ideas I don't like. I think she's getting sick of me. Or sick of teaching. She's pretty old.”

Amused, Lyndsay leaned back in her chair. “No one can get sick of you, Matias.” And ­people could get sick of teaching at any age.