Shotgun Vows (8 page)

“Yeah. But this is a really big ranch. There are lots of places you could have gone to be out of the way. What are you doing right
here?
” she asked, pointing to a pile of hay and horse muck. “I might be tempted to think that you actually enjoy my company.”

“What in the world would make you think that?” he answered, a half smile pulling at his attractive mouth.

“It doesn't take a doctorate to figure out that like a bad penny, you keep turning up. I can hardly turn around without bumping into you. What's that all about, if you don't want to see me?”

“There could be a couple of reasons.”

“Such as?”

“I'm a masochist.”

“You don't strike me as the kind of man who has a taste for suffering.”

“And how
do
I strike you, exactly?”

She studied him and said seriously, “I can't shake the feeling that you've been hurt by someone.”

There was a hollow, self-conscious sound to his laugh. “You know, Mattie, that horse-listening stuff only works on the horses. It's wasted on me.”

“Okay.” She turned away from him and jammed her shovel into the muck on the floor of the stall.

His footsteps rustled the hay behind her. “What makes you think I've been hurt?”

She shrugged as she half turned to glance at him. “A look in your eyes. The way your whole body tenses when I bring up the subject. Body language speaks louder and more eloquently, and is more revealing sometimes, than words.”

“Is that so?” There was his annoying, amused look again.

How she wanted to wipe that expression off his face. She turned away. “Yes, it's so. Although,” she added, unable to resist tweaking him the way he did her, “it's interesting the way you tease me about my age, call me ‘kiddo,' and pretend that I'm not grown-up.”

“And your point would be?”

“You're afraid to see me as a woman.” She was shooting in the dark, trying to goad him.

He laughed. “Is that so? Who died and made you the resident shrink?”

“Suit yourself, Dawson. Hide from the truth. But sooner or later, you're going to have to face the fact that I am a woman. Hear me roar.”

“When hell freezes over.” His tone was angry. Before she could call him on it, he left her alone again.

 

Where was Mattie?

After dinner, Dawson had excused himself to Lily and Ryan and decided to take a look around the place. Her aunt and uncle hadn't seemed concerned about her absence. They said she frequently got caught up in work and came in late. That first night of checking up on her for Griff, they'd shared dinner because her work had kept her out.

But that was before she had blossomed into someone who looked like a supermodel-in-training, he reminded himself. Before every man on the place had noticed that she was a knockout and started beating a path to her door.

Now he had to step up his surveillance. The downside was that his excuses were getting thin. Starting with his house painting. Which had been completed a week ago. And ending with that very afternoon, when
he'd claimed wedding preparations had driven him out of the big house.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders against the chilly November evening. It was a beautiful night. Stars glittered in the sky like gold dust on black velvet. He hoped Mattie wasn't enjoying it with a would-be Casanova cowboy. The thought tied him up in knots.

Because of the promise he'd made to her brother. And for no other reason.

He continued the half-mile walk to the barn, alternately hoping that's where he would find her and wondering what he would say to explain his appearance if he did.

Off the top of his head, he could think of two reasons that Griff had better get back soon. One, Dawson knew there was work piling up at the office that he couldn't handle long distance. In fact, there was a mandatory meeting with Brody the following day, and he wasn't sure how he could be in two places at once. Because no way could he leave Mattie alone.

Two, he was running out of excuses for turning up everywhere. Mattie was getting suspicious. What had she called him? Ah, yes.
A bad penny.
Good analogy, he thought. At the very least, he was a bad-penny-in-training.

For the last two weeks he'd been fighting his attraction to her. Every time he saw her, it was more difficult to keep from taking her in his arms and kissing her senseless. It would have been easier if he'd never done it. Then he would just wonder. But he
knew
the soft sweetness of her. The touch, taste and texture of her lips. Her eager, intoxicating response.

And that torturous knowledge was the main reason
for his cold showers every night. Because he knew just one small room separated him from the woman he wanted to touch and taste again. The woman who had set him on fire once, and the one he wanted to go up in flames with.

He got hard just thinking about her. Even the chill Texas night wasn't enough to cool him off.

As he got closer to the barn, he noticed the door was open and there was light coming from inside. When he went inside, the odors of hay, horses and leather assailed him. Then he heard a voice, a man's voice, followed by a female response. Definitely Mattie.

At least they're talking,
he thought. But that didn't really make him feel better. A knot of anger squeezed his chest.
That means he's not kissing her.
And for good measure he called out, “Hello.”

“Dawson? Is that you?” Mattie called back.

“Yeah.”

He followed the voice to the far end of the building closest to the corral. Mattie stood outside Buttercup's stall. One of her legs was bent at the knee as she hooked the heel of her boot in the wooden slat of the gate. It was a blatantly feminine pose that highlighted her slender sexy thigh, and that would have made any man sit up and take notice.

Ethan was no exception. Dawson knew that as surely as he knew one plus one was two. The cowboy stood beside her, his elbow resting on the gate, his fingers a quarter of an inch from her hair, no doubt itching to touch the silky strands. The thumb of his other hand was hooked in his belt, and his fingers angled downward. All his attention was focused on the woman beside him.

If he hadn't kissed her already, Dawson thought, he was fixing to. The idea sent white-hot anger through him.

“What are you doing here so late?” he asked her.

“Ethan stopped by to help me feed the stock. We just got to talking, and time slipped away.”

“I see. Hi, Ethan. How's it going?” Dawson asked, he hoped pleasantly.

“Dawson,” the other man said, touching the brim of his brown felt hat. “Nice evenin', ain't it?”

“Yeah.” It was a lousy evening. He could think of a hundred things he would rather be doing.

“What are you doing here?” Mattie asked him.

He was fresh out of excuses. “Looking for you.”

“Really?” She sounded pleased.

He met Ethan's hostile gaze. Dawson knew the younger man was annoyed at the interruption. He looked like a stallion who was staking his claim to a mare and ready to bare his teeth and charge the competition for possession of her. Dawson recognized the expression because it matched his own feelings.

“Would you mind if I talked to Mattie alone?” he asked.

Ethan looked like he minded a lot, but said to Mattie, “That okay with you?”

She nodded. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Count on it. 'Night,” he said to her. “Dawson.” His voice couldn't have been colder had it been the iceberg that took out the Titanic.

When they were alone, Mattie turned sideways and rested her elbow on the gate. “So what did you want to see me for?”

“I wondered if you'd like to go into San Antonio with me tomorrow.”

“What for?”

“I have a mandatory meeting in the afternoon with your brother to go over the details of the merger between your family's business and your Uncle Ryan's. But afterward, I could take you to the Riverwalk. You haven't been there yet, have you?”

“No.”

“I know a great restaurant. The food is good. So is the atmosphere. What do you say?”

“Did you just ask me for a date?” she asked, her eyes teasing, a small smile pulling at the corners of her full mouth.

“I wouldn't call it a date.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Then the answer is no.”

“Excuse me?”

She frowned. “When you have your head examined, you might want to have your hearing checked at the same time.”

“I heard you just fine,” he said.

“So what part of ‘no' didn't you understand?”

“The part where you'll go if we call it a date.”

“I guess it sounds silly, but since I've been to Texas, I haven't been out on a real, honest-to-goodness date.”

And even if she accompanied him tomorrow, she wouldn't be on an honest date. Because he was the slime of the earth, and he was deceiving her. But what choice did he have? He had to be at that meeting. If he left her on the ranch, there was no doubt in his mind that Ethan would move in like a buzzard on a carcass. Dawson was between a rock and a hard place. He just hoped he didn't live to regret this.

He nodded. “Okay, we can call it a date.”

She grinned. “Okay, then I'll go.”

“D
awson Prescott, you're the world's biggest blockhead.” Jillian glared at him.

“I wasn't thinking,” he sheepishly admitted.

“I just can't believe you didn't tell Mattie that Chez Vous is the fanciest restaurant in town and that she would need to wear a dress.” Jillian huffed and rolled her eyes in disgust. She gently tapped his temple. “The wheel is spinning but the hamster is out to lunch.”

Standing in Brody's lavish outer office at Fortune TX, Ltd., Mattie watched this exchange. Jillian was her brother's assistant as well as his fiancée, and she had decided to work until the day before her wedding, now just four days away.

Watching Jillian needle Dawson, Mattie felt both amusement and despair. She was the “she” they were discussing who didn't have a dress to wear to the fanciest restaurant in town. Dawson had driven them from the ranch in his classy BMW, and they had arrived at the office just minutes before Dawson's mandatory meeting. Jillian had demanded to see the sensational dress Mattie was going to change into for dinner at Chez Vous. Since she had made the reservation at Dawson's request, Jillian knew their destination. But Mattie hadn't brought a dress. She didn't have a dress—shabby
or
sensational.

And Jillian's tirade had begun. Mattie couldn't help feeling a little sorry for Dawson. She did think Jillian was being awfully hard on him.

“I probably should have asked him if I needed to bring anything special with me,” Mattie said in his defense.

Jillian shook her head. “No way is he getting off the hook for this, Mattie. Don't you dare be nice to him or feel sorry for him. Brody will be back for the meeting, after he picks up his wedding tux. And you better watch out, Dawson. Why, he'll—”

“What?” Dawson asked, the smile on his face clear evidence that Jillian's outburst didn't bother him a bit. “Challenge me to a duel? Calculators at fifty paces?”

Jillian's glare wasn't nearly as effective when her mouth twitched, indicating she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “This is nothing to joke about, Dawson.”

“I know. And you're right about one thing. I am a blockhead.” He met Mattie's gaze. “I'm really sorry. I've had a lot on my mind lately and I just wasn't thinking. It never occurred to me to mention that this place has a pretty fancy dress code.”

He really did look like he felt bad for not telling her. Not that it would have mattered, Mattie thought ruefully. Her dress code was jeans. She had nothing fancy.

“No worries,” she said shrugging. “We can go somewhere else.” Although she couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. The idea of going to a hoity-toity restaurant with a fancy fella like Dawson just once in her life really appealed to her.

“No way are you letting Dawson off the hook,” Jillian said emphatically. “The food is fabulous and
it's the most expensive place in town. Besides, now Dawson owes you. He needs to pay, big time,” she finished, shooting Dawson another phony glare.

“But how can I go?” Mattie asked as she surveyed her best jeans and white cotton shirt. “I don't have anything to wear.”

Dawson grinned. “You're probably the only woman I know who can make that statement and be telling the truth.”

“Good one, slick. Dig yourself in deeper.” Jillian shook her head. “If you ever see a corporate seminar in flattery, I suggest you be first in line to sign up.”

He merely grinned back at her. “I'm going to chalk this behavior up to a combination of pregnancy hormones run amok coupled with pre-wedding jitters. Because this is not the politically correct way to treat your boss.”

Jillian sniffed. “Technically you're not my boss. Brody is. Although not much longer,” she said, leaning back in her chair as she ruefully rubbed her rounded abdomen. “After we're married, I'm joining the ranks of the unemployed until entering the ranks of motherhood. In fact, I'm only still here to keep my sanity before the wedding.”

“Yes, and you're doing a fine job of it,” Dawson teased.

“I'm sorry to be so hard on you,” she apologized. “I forgot that men don't realize how important just the right outfit can be to a woman.”

“Yeah,” Mattie said. “The right pair of jeans can make the difference between success and failure in training an impressionable young horse.”

They all laughed, but inside Mattie was shaking like a bowl of semi-solidified jelly. She had no real clue
about dressing properly. Overalls bad, dress good. That was about the extent of her knowledge in this situation. Her mother had tried to get her into more feminine attire. She'd threatened and bribed to no avail. Then she had settled the mother's curse on Mattie:
Put on a dress or you'll never get a husband,
her mother had said.

Mattie glanced at Dawson, so handsome in his three-piece, pin-striped navy-blue suit. Not her first or even second choice for a husband. Although he was good-looking enough to tempt a card-carrying spinster. But she and Dawson were too different. He worked in an office; she was happiest outdoors. His work clothes consisted of suits and ties. Give her a comfortable pair of jeans and scuffed, broken-in boots any day, she thought.

But right now she wasn't worried about the rest of her life. Just a simple dinner.

Mattie rested her hip on the corner of the maple reception desk where Jillian sat. Dawson stood beside her. “I agree with you that he owes me big time. And the restaurant sounds wonderful,” she said. “But I still have a problem.” They both looked at her. “Where am I going to get a dress on such short notice?”

“I'd offer you something from my closet,” Jill said, “but I don't think we're the same size.” She shot Dawson a look as she rested her hands on her rounded abdomen. “And no cracks from you about getting my clothes from Omar the tent maker.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he said angelically.

“Mattie is at least two inches taller than I am. So even my pre-pregnancy clothes wouldn't work.” Jill thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers and grinned. “I know just the place. It's right around the
corner. And you have to go there anyway for the last fitting on your bridesmaid's dress.”

“The bridal boutique?” Mattie said doubtfully.

The jelly that was her insides started a major bobbling. How would she know what to pick? This was Dawson Prescott—the man she was trying to convince that she was a grown-up. The embarrassment would be too awful if she chose the wrong thing. “The bridal boutique?” Mattie said again, her level of doubt just increased tenfold. “It's just dinner, not the rest of my life.”

“They have lots of after-five dresses. It will be perfect,” Jill promised. She looked at Dawson. “And I'm sure my acting boss wouldn't mind a bit if I leave a couple of hours early and help you pick something out. Right, boss?” She raised one eyebrow suggestively.

“My mama didn't raise a fool,” he said. “Anything to keep the pregnant hired help happy.” He met Mattie's gaze. Pulling out his wallet he said, “Take my credit card. It will make me feel better.”

“No worries,” she said, taking it. When Jillian disappeared down the hall and into one of the offices, Mattie looked at Dawson. “It really is all right if you want to cancel.”

He shook his head. “This is a date. Remember?”

She certainly did. Sleep had been hard to come by the night before because she'd been so excited. She'd felt like a kid on the night before Christmas. But who knew it would be so complicated?

“We can go somewhere else,” she said. “What about the club we all went to that night? The Watering Hole? What I'm wearing would be fine for that.”

His eyes darkened as if he were remembering something unpleasant, then he shook his head emphatically.
“No way. I promised you fancy-schmancy, and that's what you're going to get.” He raised one eyebrow, and she knew he was going to zing her. “You're not afraid of buying a dress, are you, Mattie? I promise it won't hurt a bit.”

“Is that personal experience talking? Because you've worn so many?” she shot back.

Before he could retort, Jillian returned with her purse slung over her shoulder. “Dawson, you know where Brody's apartment is?” she asked.

He thought for a moment and nodded. “It's the Remington Heights building. On 3rd Avenue.”

“That's the place,” Jillian said. “I'm fixing dinner for him tonight. When Mattie and I are finished shopping, I'll take her with me so she can get ready. You can pick her up at seven-thirty. Sharp,” she said.

He saluted. “Okay, Ma.”

Mattie dutifully followed her friend to the elevator. “See you later,” she called over her shoulder. She couldn't shake the feeling of being a lamb going to slaughter.

 

“Shut my mouth and slap me silly.” Dawson stared at Mattie. “Who are you and what have you done with that sassy Australian cowgirl?”

He'd thought a haircut and lipstick were trouble. Nothing had prepared him for the one-two punch of the dress she had picked up that afternoon.

“Is it all right?” Standing in Brody's luxurious living room, she nervously glanced down, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle on the black lace covering her thigh.

He broke out in a sweat and swallowed hard.

“You'll do,” he said simply, wondering if she noticed his hoarse voice.

Dawson made a circular motion with his finger, indicating she should turn. Although he had a feeling it was tantamount to shooting himself in the foot, he wanted to see her from every angle. He couldn't take his eyes off her. She'd bought a black lace sheath that hugged every one of her delicious curves, starting with just the hint of her breasts visible above the rounded neckline. The proverbial Little Black Dress.

Little
was the operative word, he thought, as his gaze lowered. There wasn't enough material in the dress to cover her legs. Just past her thighs, the hem came to an abrupt halt. Not that he was complaining. But he'd thought they were a lethal weapon even encased in denim. Kissed by smoky black nylons, her gams could end the cold war. And in three-inch spike heels, they looked longer, sexier, and more shapely than even his vivid imagination could have produced.

As his gaze swept back up the fascinating length of her, he saw where some of the rest of the dress material was. Around her long, beautiful neck, she wore a choker of matching black lace. And the thought hit him: he wanted to kiss her again—starting with her full lips, lingering a while on that elegant neck, then all the way down to—

“Dawson?” Mattie cleared her throat.

“Hmm?” He shook his head to clear it of the seductive image. Had she been talking to him? “Did you say something?”

“I said I never heard that expression before. ‘Shut my mouth and slap me silly.' Does it mean I look all right?” she asked. “Or will they throw me out of Chez Vous on my behind?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered.

“They'll throw me out?” She looked stricken.

He blinked. “No. I mean yes.” He let out a long breath. “You look perfect. No one will throw you out of anywhere.”

Although he was beginning to wish someone would throw
him
out, preferably on his head to knock some sense into him. If he could rewind the series of events that had put him here, he would have slapped himself sooner and plastered duct tape over his mouth before promising to take her somewhere that required a killer dress. A place that specialized in Texas barbecue would have been just the ticket. Where the hell was his brain? Why had it been so important to take her somewhere for which she needed to dress up like this?

But he knew the answer. He'd figured he needed something spectacular to entice her off the ranch and away from Ethan. Rumor was, she wanted a cowboy. It was Dawson's job to keep her from getting one—at least for a few more days. Therefore, he needed to lure her to his turf. The city.

But the joke was on him. Now he had to spend the evening with her looking like—oh, boy. It suddenly struck him that she'd nailed him when she'd said he was trying to keep her a kid. Somehow he'd known that if he ever acknowledged she was a full-grown woman, he would be in a lot of trouble.

Well, here he was and there she was. No way could he deny that she was all grown-up. A woman. So beautiful he ached with the need to kiss her again, feel the silk of her hair, touch all the soft curves that she'd dressed in black lace for the evening. And no way could he back out of this date. Yup, he was in a lot of trouble. Maybe he could call up reinforcements.

“Where are Brody and Jillian?” he asked. “Maybe they'd like to join us.”

“They've already eaten. And she told him she was craving pistachio-nut ice cream, so he took her for some. Besides, they said something about wanting to spend some quiet time alone together because when the wedding festivities start, they won't be able to catch their breath for a while. He said to just lock the door behind us.”

No help there,
he thought. Taking a deep breath, he decided, damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead. The sooner the better, so he could get this over with. And to some place public enough to take the edge off the temptation she presented.

He held out his arm. “Your chariot awaits, your ladyship.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” she said, laughing.

The sound went straight through him, leaving a trail of fire in its path. And him in a state of readiness—and need.

 

Mattie heard the
crunch
of gravel beneath the tires of Dawson's BMW as he guided the luxury car to a stop near the big house on the Double Crown Ranch. He turned off the ignition. The clock on the dash said midnight, the witching hour. And a full moon bathed everything in a silver glow.

Taking a deep breath, he said, “What's the name of that perfume you're wearing? At the restaurant and all the way home I've been trying to think what it's called.”