One Wild Cowboy (8 page)

The tension between Dylan's shoulder blades eased. “You just told me no. I respect that, and I will honor that.” His gaze gentling all the more, he flashed her a crooked smile meant to conciliate. He stepped closer and lifted a hand to her cheek, briefly touching the side of her face. “That doesn't mean I still don't want to have sex with you. So,” he said, and slanted her a telling look, “if you change your mind and decide you would like to have sex with me again, it's up to you to let me know.”

Emily wasn't used to guys being this reasonable. Aware her face was still tingling from his brief, sensual touch, she drew a deep breath. “Okay, then.”

“Okay.” Another pause. He scanned her Western-wear-clad form. “Did you want to help with the mustangs?” he asked finally, as cheerful as ever when it came to his work.

Emily smiled, glad her efforts to redirect their relationship had worked out so well. “I would love to.”

Dylan turned and headed for the training area. “Salt and Pepper have already been put through paces today.”

Falling into step beside him, Emily teased, “Saving the best for last?”

Dylan winked. “I figured you would show up, and since Ginger clearly is your favorite…” He walked into the round pen, motioning for Emily to join him.

This time, when he shut the gate, Ginger came right over to him. Everywhere Dylan went, the mustang followed. He petted her nose, her mane, her neck. Ran a hand under her abdomen, across her flanks and down her legs. The beautiful mare seemed to not just tolerate his handling of her, but welcome it.

A phenomenon Emily understood all too well…

“I noticed you're not disagreeing with my assessment that you've been playing favorites with the herd,” Dylan said.

Flushing with guilt, Emily shrugged. “What can I say? Ginger's complicated and challenging. I'm trying to understand her.”

Dylan nodded his agreement, looking as if that was a conundrum
he
understood all too well. “The question is, will she
allow
us to tame her?”

“What do you mean?” Emily watched rancher and horse interact with teamlike proficiency. “It's been less than a week and Ginger is already following you around the pen, going wherever you go….”

“You're right, she is watching my every move. Unfortunately, her curiosity is more than a demonstration of interest—it's an expression of fear.” He met her eyes. “A horse doesn't bother to investigate something that it is not afraid of. A horse isn't curious unless it harbors some uncertainty. And that underlying fear can make a horse unpredictable.”

Emily watched Dylan pick up one hoof. Ginger bucked slightly and wrested her leg from his light, testing grasp.

Dylan went back to stroking Ginger all over. When she was calm, he tried again, picking up her foot. Again, she resisted but he didn't back down.

And on and on it went, until at last Ginger gave in and let Dylan touch and rub and inspect all four feet without complaint.

“Now you try,” Dylan said, while holding on to the light-weight training halter on Ginger's head.

Emily—whose only experience had been with the tame-from-birth quarter horses her father bred and trained—moved away from the wall.

Ginger eyed Emily warily while Dylan murmured soothingly and stroked her face. She pricked her ears and lifted her head slightly, inspecting Emily with her dark, soulful eyes. She seemed to be waiting to see if she could trust Emily as much as Dylan.

Emily took her time, just as Dylan had. Murmuring softly, she explained every step she took, every move she made. Ginger reacted in kind, calmly allowing Emily to pet her all over. Then finally, tenderly nosing Emily's hands, before gently nuzzling her face.

“I think she's in love,” Dylan said softly.

I think I could be in love,
Emily thought.
With both of you. If I were foolish, that is. Good thing I'm not.

The mustang wasn't hers to keep, and neither was Dylan. Ginger had a home to go to—when she was trained. Dylan already had a home of his own; he'd made it clear for years now that he didn't want to share it with anyone.

Nothing about that seemed to have changed.

Emily shrugged off the compliment. “She knows kindness when she sees it.”

Dylan slipped outside the gate and came back with two apples. He tossed them to Emily. “Reward her.”

She did.

Dylan returned Ginger to the paddock with Salt and Pepper, then strode back, praise in his eyes. “Now it's time for me to reward you,” he said, flashing her a sexy grin.

Emily knew what quickly sprang to
her
mind, despite their new just-friends status. Afraid she would get herself in just as deep as she had the night before if she didn't watch it, she warned herself to slow down. She put up a staying hand. “You really don't have to do that, Dylan. Just being able to spend time with Ginger is thanks enough.”

“You don't want to owe anyone anything? I don't want to be beholden to anyone, either.” He looked at her, his mind clearly made up. “So I'm taking you to dinner as payment. It's up to you to say when and where.”

Dylan waited while Emily stood, tapping her foot and considering her options. “Tonight. The Cowtown Diner.”

Where she was likely to run into Xavier Shillingsworth again? “You're joking,” Dylan said mildly.

Her expression innocent, Emily swept off her hat and ran her fingers through her silky locks. “I figure we should be neighborly. And since you're paying…”

Dylan knew trouble brewing when he saw it. “I think it's a dumb idea,” he said bluntly.

“Really.” She plopped her hat back on her head and shot him a sassy look, determined to do what she wanted no matter what he thought. “How so?”

“Tonight is the grand opening for the dinner rush.”

“So?” Her lower lip slid out in a sexy pout.

“So we're likely to have to wait for a table,” he said.

Emily shrugged. “I'm okay with that. The only thing is, I want to go home and shower first.”

Dylan was the first to admit he needed to do the same. “You want me to pick you up?”

She nodded. “Seven-thirty okay with you?”

“Fine with me.”

It was the rest of the evening he wondered about.

 

D
YLAN WASN'T SURE
what he had expected Emily's apartment to look like inside. The glimpse he'd had of the adjacent bath
and bedroom revealed a pink and frilly décor. This surprised him, because he'd never seen her wear anything pink or frilly, since he'd been in town.

The living area where he sat was a lot more predictable. She had a large overstuffed ivory sofa and a pair of mismatched wing chairs. Blinds, but no drapes. There were a lot of throw pillows in different fabrics and sizes. A couple of throws—one in burgundy velour, the other a soft sage-green knit. Nice lamps. And one wall that was all bookshelves, filled with fiction, cookbooks and horse stories.

An antique leather-and-brass steamer trunk served as her coffee table. Cooking magazines, especially ones that featured Southwestern-style cooking, were piled high. A small round table and two chairs and a kitchenette that could only be described as woefully inadequate. It didn't even have a stove or microwave, just a hot plate, sink and dorm-size fridge.

Emily swept back out, shutting the bedroom door behind her. But not before he'd caught sight of the wardrobe crisis that had just ensued. There were clothes scattered everywhere.

He liked the ones she had on, though.

Emily strode toward the kitchen counter and snatched up her purse and keys. She spun around in a drift of floral perfume. “Ready to go?”

Ready for something…that's for sure,
Dylan thought, feeling an uncomfortable pressure at the front of his jeans.

To distract himself, he let his glance sift over her pretty turquoise dress and surprisingly high heels. Damn, but she had a nice body. Nice legs, too.

“You look good,” he said gruffly. “Too good to be eating in an unscrupulous competitor's restaurant.”

Her soft lips curved in a parody of a smile. “Thanks. I think.”

Resisting the urge to pull her close and kiss her again, he
said, “You know Shillingsworth is probably going to conclude you dressed up just for him.”

Emily's brow arched. “Then he would be wrong—you're my date. Not that I dressed up for you,” she amended quickly. “I dressed up for me. Because I like to look nice when I go out.”

He studied the rosy color in her cheeks, the emotion shimmering in her eyes. “Well, you look gussied-up, all right.”

Her gaze swept over his cleaned-up form, making him glad he had taken the time to iron his shirt and polish his boots, instead of just showering, shaving and finding a clean change of clothes. “So do you,” she said softly.

Basking in the compliment, Dylan followed her down the stairs and into the alley behind the row of historic buildings downtown. On the other side of it was a row of slanted parking. Emily's car was there, beside his pickup truck.

Instead of going toward the passenger side of the truck, she hesitated and looked up at him. The last of the day's sunshine glimmered in her molasses-colored hair. He had to fight the urge to reach out and touch the soft, silky strands. “Want to walk or drive?”

“It's a nice evening.” She caught his gaze. “It's only a couple of blocks. How about we hoof it?”

Anything to ease the pressure in the front of his jeans. “Sounds good.”

She fell into step beside him.

He observed the pulse throbbing in her throat. “I've got a question.”

“Fire away.”

“This evening, are we still pretending we're dating? Or are we now publicly owning up to being ‘just friends'?”

Her lips compressed. “Good question, since only one of my brothers has produced a potential love interest for me thus far,
and my parents have ceased and desisted their matchmaking efforts entirely since we allegedly became a pair.”

“Want my advice?” Dylan asked.

She cocked her head to one side and waited.

“Unless some gal has come in and swept Shillingsworth off his feet in the past twenty four hours or so, I very much doubt the little twerp has given up on making you his cougar.”

She elbowed him gently. “Careful, cowboy, you're sounding a mite jealous.”

“Not jealous,” Dylan corrected. “Matter-of-fact. And I'll lay odds Shillingsworth makes another pass at you tonight, whether he thinks I'm your date or not.”

Emily chuckled. “Enough to wager?”

“Depends on what the stakes are.”

“One home-cooked meal. Cleanup, included.”

Which meant another night alone together, wise or not. Dylan extended his hand. “Okay,” he said agreeably. “You're on….”

 

T
HE PLACE WAS HOPPING
, when Emily and Dylan reached the newest dining establishment in town. Throngs of people stood in a line that filled the old-fashioned, saloon-style porch and extended halfway down the block, and more were arriving even as Dylan and Emily joined the line. And the patrons weren't just residents of Laramie. Emily garnered from the bits of conversation floating around, they were flocking in from all around the county.

And why not? The Cowtown Diner oozed excitement.

Exterior speakers played popular country and western music. A waitstaff of college-and high-school-age kids kept tabs on the activity with wireless headsets, while less experienced staff circulated among the waiting area with platters of free appetizers and tumblers of lemonade, water and iced tea.

Despite herself, Emily was impressed.

Maybe Xavier Shillingsworth knew a lot more than she thought he did.

Maybe age wasn't the defining factor so much as vision. And, Emily had to reluctantly admit, Xavier had taken the ordinary visage of a franchise-restaurant into a definite step above.

“Jalapeño poppers?” asked a pretty young girl, in a short burnt-orange cowgirl uniform and boots.

Emily and Dylan thanked her and helped themselves. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Not as good as yours.”

It wasn't. “But darn close,” Emily whispered back.

If not for the faint aftertaste of frozen batter on her rival's hors d'oeuvre, it would have been a tie.

“Hey, Emily!” Without warning, Xavier zipped down to join them on the sidewalk. He nodded at her date. “Hey, there, Devon.”

“It's Dylan,” Emily corrected.

Dylan locked eyes with Xavier. “Nice job on all this,” he said politely.

Xavier seemed taken aback by the sincerity of Dylan's compliment. “Uh, thanks. Why don't you two come with me?”

He headed off, pushing his way past the line, leaving Emily to follow. Dylan was right behind her.

She expected Xavier to show them the restaurant kitchen. She wasn't expecting their host to cut through the line and place them at the next available table, an oversize booth that clearly could have sat six. “Whatever you want, it's on the house,” he told them, while the people they had bypassed grumbled unhappily.

“Not cool,” Emily sighed.

Dylan nodded, but said nothing.

A waiter appeared with a menu that was twice as extensive
as the one the Daybreak Café offered. Emily counted sixteen pages of choices, all accompanied by glossy color photos.

Dylan ordered the whiskey-glazed steak, baked potato and salad.

Emily ordered the grilled chicken, shrimp and steak trifecta, with spinach salad.

Both dinners were out within ten minutes. Both were absolutely delicious in the way that brand-spanking-new franchise food always was.

Xavier—who had been keeping a careful eye on them throughout—noted when they were done and promptly presented them with the dessert menu.

The Daybreak Café's sweets were all fresh and homemade. The selection here was clearly from the freezer section of a restaurant-supply store. The obligatory ice-cream sundae, New York style cheesecake and chocolate cake.

Emily breathed a small sigh of relief.

Until Xavier said, “Not on the menu are pecan pie, peach cobbler and hummingbird cake.” He rested his forearm on the table and hunkered down, close enough to ask Emily impertinently, “So what do you say, Em? Ready to go out with me yet?”

 

E
MILY RELEASED
an exasperated sigh the moment she and Dylan left the restaurant and headed off down the sidewalk. “Okay, cowboy. You win.”

He slung a companionable arm over her shoulders and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I've never see you blush like that.”

Emily let her head fall back to rest against the curve of his biceps. “That's because you and I weren't the only ones who heard what Xavier said.” She tilted her head to one side and looked him in the eye. “Did you see the looks on the faces of those older folks behind us?”

Laughter rumbled from Dylan's chest. “Not to mention the high-school kids to our left.”

Emily sighed. “His pass at me is going to be the talk of the town.”

Dylan dropped his arm and took her hand instead. “Make that all of Laramie County. Although I have to say, you turned him down very gracefully.”

They paused at the corner and waited for the streetlight to change. “I tried my best. Still, he did not look happy.”

Dylan shrugged. “The kid's clearly not used to anyone telling him no. To anything.”

A fact that could bode ill for the immediate future, Emily thought uneasily. Because guys like that, who were all ego to begin with, were usually a continuing source of trouble when scorned.

Dylan seemed to be thinking the same thing.

The light changed. They crossed the street, their fingers still loosely entwined. “Maybe we should pretend to be dating each other a little longer,” Emily murmured.

Dylan guessed where this was going. “Give him time to find someone his own age?”

Emily relaxed in relief. “Right.”

The matter settled, Dylan teased, “So back to our bet.”

Emily heaved a sigh. “I guess I owe you a homecooked meal now, don't I?”

A comfortable silence filled the air as they walked across the park in the center of the green, past the covered picnic area, the community grills and the flower beds.

Furrowing his brow, Dylan finally said, “The only question is…where are you going to whip up that meal? My ranch or that apartment of yours with its nonexistent kitchen?”

Good question. Since both places had lots of privacy and close proximity to a bed.

Oblivious to the licentious direction of her thoughts, Dylan paused. “What exactly can you cook there?”

“Very little. And only in emergencies,” Emily admitted candidly. “Say if I'm sick and I want to heat up a can of soup. Otherwise, I go down to the café and rustle up whatever I want there.”

Dylan slowed his pace as they reached her building. Emily did, too. She was enjoying the stroll so much she did not want it to end.

“What do your dates think of that?” he asked curiously.

Emily made a face. “I don't cook for my dates.”

Dylan lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “Then why did you offer to cook for me?”

Because that's what women do for the men they are interested in…. But not about to tell him how intrigued she was by him, Emily wrinkled her nose and pretended a detachment she couldn't begin to really feel. “Because it was a gamble, pure and simple,” she explained, deadpan.

Dylan took her in his arms, bent her backward from the waist. “Like this?”

Emily knew he was daring her to protest. Aware anyone could see them standing on the street in front of her building, she grasped his shoulders for balance, and murmured, “Just like this.”

Dylan lowered his head as if to deliver another slow, sultry kiss.

Emily's heart pounded—the suspense was killing her.

Rather than touch his lips to hers, Dylan looked deep into her eyes and murmured tenderly, “I thought we weren't going to do this.”

Emily released a pent-up sigh. “We shouldn't…” she said wistfully. She turned her head ever so slightly in the direction from which they'd come. “Particularly with Xavier looking on.”

Dylan blinked. “You're kidding me.”

“Nope. He's standing outside the diner, staring in our direction, as we speak.”

“Then just to make sure he gets the message, we'd better put on a real show.”

Dylan half expected Emily to protest, given how she had only recently put on the brakes. Instead, she clutched him fiercely, gave her whole body over to the sexy embrace and kissed him with the vigor she had displayed from the very first.

And even though Dylan had sworn to stay emotionally detached, it suddenly dawned on him that she made him
want
to be involved. Not just physically and peripherally—as was his habit—but totally, with mind, body and soul. And no one knew better than him what a colossal mistake that would be, given their very different backgrounds.

Emily knew, from the moment Dylan set her back upright, that their tumultuous, just-for-show kiss was about to end. The only problem was, she didn't want it to end. Didn't want to stop feeling the coaxing sureness of his lips or the warmth of his body against hers. Didn't want to stop feeling that they really might have something special here, given half a chance. And she would have kept kissing him had the sheriff's car not pulled up right beside them and Deputy Rio Vasquez gotten out.