The Cowboy Takes a Bride (15 page)

Joe busied himself with staring at the TV but he couldn’t help watching Mariah from his peripheral vision. She
was
a curiosity. And she smelled really good too.

“I’d like a Riesling, please,” she said.

“Sorry,” Clover said. “It’s Chardonnay or Merlot.”

“Seriously?”

“Not many wine drinkers come to the Silver Horseshoe.”

“Chardonnay then.”

Clover poured up the Chardonnay, set it on a napkin, and passed it across the bar.

Mariah stood there holding her wineglass by the stem, looking a little lost.

“Have a seat,” Clover invited, canting her head at the bar stool beside Joe.

Mariah cast him a glance. He felt it rather than saw it because he was pretending to concentrate on the Mavericks forward who’d just made a shot from midcourt.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“Free country.” He waved, wondering why he was feeling so tense, and finally made himself look at her.

She put her glass back up on the bar, tucked a strand of hair behind one delicate ear, and scaled the bar stool. She was so petite that her feet didn’t even reach the top rung.

A primal protectiveness that he didn’t want to feel toward her stole over him.

“You gettin’ settled in at Dutch’s cabin?” Clover asked, wiping the bar with a towel.

“Yes.” Mariah smiled faintly.

“Smoked ’im,” Ila crowed, striding up to the bar as Cordy wandered off to the jukebox where Neil Young was singing “Are There Any More Real Cowboys?” “A celebratory beer, please, Clover.”

Ila stood beside Joe, twisting her long, dark hair up on her head, and fanned her neck with her other hand. “Whew. I’m steamin’ hot. Who knew victory could make you sweat?”

“Cordy let you win,” Joe observed.

“What?” Ila looked startled. “No, he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did.”

Flabbergasted, she sank her hands on her hips. “Why would he do that?”

“He’s got a crush on you.”

Ila wrinkled her nose. “No way. We’re just friends.”

“You tell Cordy that?”

“He’s Jack and I’m the beanstalk.”

“And he wants to climb you,” Joe teased.

“Shut up!”

“I’m serious.”

“Like your judgment counts for anything.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked.

“Oh hey,” Ila said to Mariah. Apparently she didn’t want to talk about Cordy’s crush anymore. “I didn’t see you there.”

“And I didn’t recognize you out of uniform,” Mariah said. “You look very pretty in a dress.”

Ila struggled not to look flattered. “You like my dress, Joe?”

“Pretty,” he said. Why was Ila wearing a dress? She never wore a dress.

“The tournament’s starting. Who all’s up for a game of pool?” Cordy asked, rubbing his palms as he came over to stand between Ila and Joe. He had to reach up in order to lay a hand on Ila’s shoulders.

Ila shrugged off Cordy’s hand, downed half the beer Clover set in front of her in one long chug. “Me and Joe against you and Mariah.”

“Who?” Cordy asked, his gaze fixed on Ila.

“Dutch’s daughter.” Ila waved in Mariah’s direction.

“You’re Dutch’s daughter?” Cordy stopped drooling over Ila long enough to pump Mariah’s hand like a water tap. “Welcome to Jubilee.”

“Thank you.” Mariah smiled at him.

Joe felt a draft of jealousy pass through him. Nah, it wasn’t jealousy. He had nothing to feel jealous about. He had no relationship with her. More importantly, he didn’t want one. He knew what was bothering him. Not jealousy for sure, just that one minute Cordy was drooling over Ila and the next he was spreading his grin over Mariah. He was trying to hog all the pretty women.

“Can you shoot pool?” Cordy asked Mariah.

“I’ve played a time or two.”

“Don’t worry,” Cordy said. “I’m ace enough for the both of us.”

“No way,” Joe said, not knowing why he was letting himself get sucked into this. “Ila and I are beating the pants off you.”

“Ha!” Cordy said, leading the way to the back room.

Mariah got off the bar stool to follow Cordy, and as she passed by Joe, he could have sworn he heard her murmur, “What the heck is it with you and the lack of pants?”

That made him grin.

On the jukebox, John Denver was singing “Rocky Mountain High,” and Joe was trying hard not to stare at Mariah’s cute little butt. But she was bent over the pool table. What was he supposed to stare at? There it was, looking all perfect and nicely rounded cupped in the sling of her blue jeans.

It didn’t look like Becca’s butt. Becca’s butt had been sort of flat. But not in a bad way. He’d loved Becca’s butt. It’s just that Mariah’s butt . . . well, there was nothing flat about it.

He hitched in a lungful of air and tried to force himself to glance away. But nothing doing, her butt was a magnet and his eyes were steel. She sank her shot, straightened, and grinned at the room, her blond hair floating around her face.

Little Bit of dynamite
, he thought.
Comes in small packages. Simple but deadly.

“Uh-oh, someone’s been sandbagging,” Ila said.

“I think we’ve been scammed,” Joe agreed.

“Who me?” Mariah said innocently, and lined up to take her shot. She sank two balls on that one.

“Will you look at that?” Cordy beamed.

Joe looked. Mariah’s butt was over the pool table again as she reached for a difficult shot. His libido cleaved a cleft of longing straight through the middle of him. No one had turned him on like this since Becca. His sex drive had come roaring back to life, and in a major way.

While he was happy to be feeling something below the belt again, he was very disturbed to discover Mariah was the one doing the arousing. Why couldn’t it have been Julianne Fletcher? Hell, why couldn’t it have been just about anyone else? He did not want this.

“Your turn.” Cordy nudged Joe with his elbow.

“Huh? What? Oh yeah.” He hadn’t realized Mariah had missed her shot. He took his time chalking his cue.

When he looked up and found her smiling at him, a wild sensation beat through his chest. He was a grizzly bear staggering from a dark cave after a long hibernation—fuzzy-headed, a little confused, and a lot ravenous.

No. Just no. This was not a good thing.

Joe moved down the table, looking for the best shot, and ended up near where Mariah stood with her back against the paneled wall, pool cue gripped in her hand. A narrow wooden pole the only thing between them besides air.

“Let’s take this up a notch,” Ila said. “Joe, show Ms. Callahan how it’s done.”

“My pleasure.” Joe sank three balls and then scratched.

Cordy took his turn. Then Ila was up. For the most part, they were all evenly matched.

Or so it appeared.

Joe was enjoying himself. He’d played pool since grade school. Mostly with Ila on the billiards table in her family’s rec room. He’d won more tournaments than he lost. As a teen, he’d been good enough at the game to hustle horse money from other cowboys. He had a mathematical mind. Angles and pattern of trajectory easily popped into his head. He could see the shots sinking before he ever put hand to cue. He was patient. He was controlled. He was good at taking advantage of other people’s weaknesses. The same qualities he brought to cutting horses, he brought to pool. It made him difficult to beat.

Mariah was even harder to best.

When he finally figured out that she was better at the game than he, Joe ached ruefully . . . shamefacedly. It was like finding out she was a better cutter. Indignation welled up in him, painful as a stubbed toe, and he struggled to tamp it down. He’d underestimated her, and she used it to trounce his pride.

Cordy stood to one side grinning his fool head off, while Mariah sank another shot and then another and another with cool, deliberate movements. Each time a ball went in, Ila snorted, until soon she sounded like a pawing bull rushing a matador.

Mariah was controlling them all.

You better watch this one, Daniels, or you’re going to lose everything to her.

The other tables in the back room filled up as other tournament players drifted it. The games weren’t anything official. Just cutters who wandered into the bar after a hard day’s work for camaraderie, a meal, a game, and a beer or two. Although the grand prize was two hundred dollars. Definitely worth playing for.

Clover came over. “You all want a pitcher?”

They ordered a pitcher of beer and kept playing. Cordy and Mariah won the first game.

“Rematch?” Ila asked eagerly.

“Yes,” Joe said.

“How about you?” Ila nodded at Mariah.

Mariah glanced at her watch, “Actually there was something I wanted to talk to Clover about.”

“She’s here until closing time,” Ila said. “It’s not even late yet.”

Mariah shrugged. “Okay, but just one more round.”

“I say we switch partners,” Cordy said, eyeing Ila like she was a big slab of filet mignon.

“Okay,” Ila said. “Guys against girls. We’ll stomp you.”

“I was thinking more like you and me take Joe and Mariah.” Cordy looked hopeful.

“They’ll stomp us!” Ila exclaimed.

Mariah reached for her wineglass resting on the small table next to the pool table, unwittingly exposing her cleavage.

Joe wasn’t paying much attention to Cordy and Ila. His gaze was fixed on Mariah’s chest.

She set her glass down, turned back, and caught him staring. Frowning, she straightened, pulled her shoulders back.

He grinned. It felt good, having his sexual desire back.
Not that good, considering who’s causing it.
“Mariah and me against you and Cordy,” he said to Ila. “Or I’m out.”

“Fine,” Ila said, but she sounded testy. “Have it your way.”

Ila broke, smacking the balls hard and sending them scattering. They played for a while. Then Ila said, “So Mariah, how long you planning on staying in Jubilee?”

“Until Christmas, after Joe wins the futurity and can afford to buy Dutch’s place from me.”

“Good thing,” Ila said. “I don’t see you as a cutter.”

“You don’t think I can be a cutter?” Mariah sounded annoyed.

“Hell no. It’s either in your blood or it’s not.”

“I’ve got Dutch’s blood running through my veins.”

“Wouldn’t know it by looking at you.” Ila leveled her an unfriendly stare.

Mariah’s chin hardened. “I just might fool you.”

“Being a good cutter takes patience,” Ila said.

“I’m patient,” Cordy said.

“You have to know when to make a move and when to hold back.” Ila smacked the ball so hard it bounced off the table, but Cordy caught it in his palm. Ila looked over at Joe.

“I know how to do that.” Cordy sidled close to her.

“We know, Cordy,” Ila said. “You’re a born cutter. It’s Mariah that’s in question.”

“Why does everyone in your universe have to be a cutter?”

“Have you ever been on the back of a cutting horse?” Ila asked.

“Not that I know of, but seeing how Dutch was my father, I’m sure he put me on the back of one at some point in my childhood.”

“But you don’t remember it?”

“No.”

“Then you haven’t been on the back of a cutting horse. Not when it counts.”

“So it’s that memorable?”

Ila leaned in close, lowered her voice, slid Joe a look. “Like the best sex you’ve ever had.”

“That’s a big promise.” Mariah wasn’t letting Ila intimidate her even though she was almost a foot taller. That impressed Joe. Ila intimidated ninety percent of the people who met her.

“You try it, you’ll find out why everyone around here is hung up on cutting horses.”

“Now you’ve got me wanting to give it a shot.”

Ila leveled a glance at Joe. “Why don’t you put her on Miracle?”

“She doesn’t even know how to ride, Ila.”

“I know how to ride,” Mariah disputed.

Joe studied her. “Do a lot of riding in Chicago, did you?”

“Just because I haven’t ridden in a long time doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”

“Sounds like a dare to me,” Ila said. “Let’s put her on a cutting horse.”

“What do we do with her if the bug bites?” Joe asked.

“Then she’ll be like the rest of us. Out of balance, out of whack, out of our heads over cutting horses.”

“You make it sound so righteously unpleasant,” Mariah commented.

“Isn’t that the way of things that are beautifully difficult?” Ila asked.

“You want to ride Miracle?” Joe set down his pool cue and assessed Mariah.

“I’d give it a try.”

“Miracle’s not just any horse.”