The Cowboy Takes a Bride (30 page)

“I’m listening,” he prodded.

She shrugged. “I have trouble opening up.”

“Trust issues,” Joe said. “I suppose you can lay those at Dutch’s feet.”

“I can and I have, but you know what? I understand now that I can’t blame everything on Dutch. He did what he did. I am who I am. This is the way my life happened. I can’t change any of it. So I’ve decided I’m going to accept it and let it go and move forward.”

Joe leaned back, but kept his hand on hers. “You’ve made a lot of progress since you got to Jubilee.”

“I have?” she said, sounding both surprised and pleased. She drew her knees to her chest. She looked so vulnerable in those pink pajamas, her hair mussed, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

“So you shouldn’t have any problem telling me what happened. You’re safe here.”

Safe? What was he doing? What was he saying? Did he really want to offer her safety? Was he actually taking that step?

Hey, you just spilled your guts to her about Becca.

Yes, and he had no idea why he’d done so.

The movie. It was that sappy movie. Becca used to tease him for being sentimental. He’d been the romantic in the family. Not his wife.

Mariah wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself. In all honesty, they were finally getting to know each other, dig deeper beyond the surface attraction, and that set his heart thumping hard. Did he really want to take that step? He could turn the television back on, change the subject, make an excuse and go check on the horses.

“It was at the wedding of one of the wealthiest old money families in Chicago,” she said. “Everyone who’s anyone was there.”

“Oprah?”

Mariah nodded.

Joe whistled. “I’m impressed.”

“Lots of heavy hitters. Tension like you wouldn’t believe. My boss, who I’ve never seen frazzled, was high-wire tense. But for some weird reason I was totally calm. I’d spent my life preparing for an event like this. I wasn’t going to screw up.”

“I don’t like the way this is going.”

“I was in charge of the wedding reception. It was at the aquarium. Pretty venue, but a logistical nightmare of wedding reception planning,” she continued.

“Sounds nice.”

“It was. No money was spared. We’re talking a quarter of a million dollars here.”

Joe whistled.

“Pocket change to these people.”

“So what happened?” he repeated.

“Everything was going smoothly until Mayor Krimpholder cornered me behind a tank filled with clown fish. It’s weird the things you remember. He pushed his hand up the hem of my dress and cupped my ass, and all I could think about was the clown fish.”

“I wish I’d been there,” Joe said. “I’d have decked him.”

“I did deck him.” Mariah smiled sweetly.

Joe hooted.

“I think it was the first time in my life I ever acted on pure instinct. Usually, I evaluate everything I do, decide whether it’s the right move or not. But there I was staring at a clown fish, this fifty-something-year-old, married man’s hand on my butt cheek, and it just hit me what a cliché I would be if I allowed this to happen.”

Joe growled low in his throat, fisted his hands on his thighs.

“Here I’d been working eighty hours a week to put on this wedding. I put up with a load of crap from the client, but hey, that was okay. It’s my job to please. I take pride in the fact that whatever I do, I do it well. And then, here’s this man, who has a daughter close to my age, fumbling inside my panties, breathing garlic from the canapés on the back of my neck, and I just snapped.”

Joe laughed. “Okay, it’s not funny, but I am so in love with the image of you smacking this dude that I can’t help it.”

Love.

Had he actually said the word “love”? Joe swallowed, watched Mariah’s face. But she was accomplished at hiding her emotions. He saw nothing more than the flick of her eyelashes.

“I slapped him and told him to keep his hands to himself. You’d think people would be on my side. But no, that’s not how it went down. He put a hand to his cheek and hollered out that I’d assaulted him because he’d dared to complain about the quality of the service.”

“Asshole.”

“You can say that twice and not be wrong. My boss, who I thought would back me up, just threw me to the wolves. She fired me on the spot and then blackballed me in Chicago. I couldn’t get a job with any wedding planning firms in the area.”

“That is so wrong.”

“It happened. I took a job waiting tables at a four-star restaurant in downtown. Then one evening the wealthy old money clients whose daughter’s wedding reception I’d wrecked came into the restaurant for dinner. The next day, I lost that job too. After that, I couldn’t get a job scooping cat litter at a pet store.”

“Bullshit,” Joe exclaimed.

“Yes, but I was expected to be a good girl. Tolerate the groping. Smile and go about my business. My boss actually told me that was the reason why I was paid such a high salary. It was my job to please the clients and I should have just made a joke of the mayor fondling me. When she said that, I felt like a prostitute.”

He realized now why she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Not because she wasn’t ready to open up to him, but simply because she hadn’t wanted to relive the painful memory. He felt guilty for pushing her. “You’re out of there now. You’re here and you’ve started your own business, and by gum, if anyone tries to lay a hand on you, I’ll do to them what I did to Lee Turpin. You were with the wrong people, Mariah. You didn’t belong in Chicago.”

“I thought I did,” she whispered. “I needed to belong somewhere.”

“Inheriting Dutch’s cabin saved you.”

“It was the answer to my prayers,” she admitted. “Except it was nothing that I would ever have expected. And I’d much rather have Dutch alive. I wish I could turn back time, build a relationship with him.”

“We all have regrets,” he said. “I suppose all we can do is try to do better in the future.”

He could see the reflection of the flickering firelight in her eyes. Knew she suffered just as he suffered. It was a different kind of pain, but hurt was hurt and loss was loss. They could make each other feel better if they weren’t so damn scared of getting hurt again.

“C’mon,” he said, and tugged her into his arms.

They sat there for the longest time, snuggled up on the couch together, listening to the rain drum and the wood in the fireplace snap and crack.

“I wear a mask,” she said after a long while.

That puzzled him. “What?”

“I put on whatever face I think people want to see. It’s how I’ve managed to survive in the world.”

“We all do that from time to time. Fake it till you make it.”

“But with me, it’s more than that. I want to try to explain it to you so you can understand why I treated Dutch the way I did when I was fourteen and he came to my high school to see me.”

Joe understood that it wasn’t him she needed to convince. He let her talk, reaching out to gently stroke the silky strands of her hair. He liked that she was confiding in him. Trusting him. It was a big step for them both.

“Because my mom and I lived in other people’s houses, we never had a home of our own. I learned how to adapt to meet other people’s expectations. Whenever I’d enter a new situation, I’d immediately start figuring out how to blend in. Just as I did when I got to Jubilee and bought—well, you bought me—cowboy clothes. I have a sixth sense about what a group will accept and I start behaving that way. So when I was in high school at Hyde Park, I was one of those rich kids. I wasn’t a displaced cowgirl as Dutch saw me. And I was so afraid that if people knew he was my father that I’d be ostracized from the group. In high school, fitting in is so important.”

“It’s okay,” Joe said.

“It’s not. Because in trying to fit in with everyone, I ended up fitting in with no one. I didn’t know my real place.”

“And now?”

She smiled. “This cowboy wedding planning business, it’s becoming real. I’m beginning to think this is where I belong. Then again, maybe I’m just deceiving myself again. I mean, why risk rejection when acceptance can be bought by simply wearing a mask?”

“Do you feel like you’re wearing a mask now? Do you feel that way with me?” he dared to ask.

“No,” she said. “And that’s what scares me about you.”

He brushed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why should being your true self scare you?”

“Because,” Mariah whispered, “I don’t know who that woman is.”

“You might not know,” he said, “but I do. She’s self-confident and efficient, energetic and practical. She’s smart and adaptable. And do you want to know what I like best about her?”

“What?”

“I like how she bounces back so quickly. How balanced she is. How she can take life on the chin and keep going full steam ahead.”

“I just try to stay busy to keep from thinking too much,” she confessed.

He trailed his fingertips over her forearm—gently, lightly, just to let her know how much he appreciated her. “You know what else I like about you?”

“No.”

“The way your lips taste.” He leaned over, looked into her eyes. He was treading on treacherous ground. One wrong move and he’d lose his footing. If he were smart, he’d get up, run away.

But at that moment, fleeing was the last thing on his mind.

J
oe’s distracting thumb kept moving over her skin, kneading, massaging. He didn’t say anything; his quietness, the security of him wormed into her heart. His patience surprised her. He was a powerful man, a man accustomed to being in charge and getting his way and taming wild bulls and cutting horses.

In her experience, powerful men weren’t quiet and patient. But there was a deeper side to Joe. Had it emerged after his wife’s death? Had his loss taught him quietness and patience? Whatever the cause, his silence had the effect that words or actions never could have. It made Mariah want to share everything with him.

Then he leaned over and kissed her—softly, sweetly, gently.

Mariah did not pull away.

“How does that feel?” he asked.

“Nice. Very nice.”

“Just nice?”

“You’re holding back.”

“I am. You sure you want more?”

She stared into his eyes, got lost in the abyss of those dark pupils. “I’ve wanted more from the moment I first laid eyes on you in that horse trough.”

“Naked cowboys are your thing, huh?” He chuckled.

“Apparently.”

“Come closer, woman,” he said, and pulled her into his lap.

She fit neatly against him, as if she’d been made for sitting in his lap.

Joe turned her around so they were facing each other. He ran his hand up the nape of her neck, splayed his fingers through her hair, and tugged her head down to meet his lips.

She kissed him right back with all the passion that had been building inside her for the past several weeks. Kissed and kissed and kissed.

Joe was the one to take it past the kissing, as she knew he would be; her alpha cowboy, strong and in control, but never inconsiderate, never out solely for his own pleasure. His palm slid up underneath her shirt, skimming hotly over her bare belly to her breasts, and her world cracked open.

She clung to him. Outside, the rain beat on the tile roof. Inside, they were snug in the cozy womb of his living room, the firelight throwing long shadows over them. His bold tongue teased her teeth apart and she loosened her jaw to let him all the way in.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

But for the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single reason why not.

Then he found a sweet spot between her ear and her chin. An erogenous zone that turned her to putty. She moaned softly, curled into him. She was straddling his lap, her hands wrapped around his neck, her raised knees pressed into the back of the couch. Beneath her bottom, she could feel his erection growing increasingly stiffer.

Strong, confident, decisive, he boldly conquered her mouth again, kissing her hard and long as his hand brushed lightly over first one nipple and then the other, taking control as only an alpha man could.

An ancient, burgeoning need melded her to him, stoking her hunger, cementing their connection.

“You can say stop at any time,” he said. “I just want you to know that.”

“You have the same right, but I don’t want to stop.”

“Me either, I just want you to know that this is the first time since . . .”

Becca died.

The words hung unspoken in the air between them.

He shifted, sliding her off his lap, then moved down to the rug on the floor in front of the fire, taking her with him. Then when he reached to untie the string at the waistband of her pajamas, her heart started pounding an unruly rhythm.

“Wh—”

He closed off her words with another kiss, then pulled back and whispered, “Trust me.”

He blazed a trail like his pioneer ancestors, kissing a heated path from her mouth to that sweet spot under her chin to the hollow of her throat to . . .
oh my!