Beauty and the Cowboy (3 page)

Advice? That sounded dangerous. He already regretted bringing up the engagement, or the non-engagement, in the first place. Should’ve kept the conversation on business. But she was a friend, and he’d thought wedding talk would be a good conversation.

His mistake.

Charlie Morgan hadn’t been like any other girl he’d ever known. He’d never been as comfortable around a woman as he was with her. Then again, she hadn’t been a woman back when they used to hang out. She’d been a girl and he’d been a boy.

And then life had gotten in the way. What a shame it had had to happen like that. But here she was asking for his advice.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he found himself saying before he could think better of it. “I’ll trade you advice for advice.”

Her eyebrow shot up. “You want my advice about something?”

He nodded.

“Okay,” she said. “You go first.”

They’d reached the fairgrounds’ stage area. There were some folding chairs leaning against the stage wall. He set up two and dusted one off with his handkerchief.

“I didn’t know men still carried handkerchiefs.”

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “You never know when they might come in handy. Here. Have a seat.”

She complied. “This sounds serious. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” This was ridiculous, actually.

He was just about ready to say, Never mind. Instead, he heard himself saying, “It’s Matt. She’s suddenly gone all girly on me. I don’t know what to do with her.”

A hiccup of laughter escaped Charlotte. Her hand flew to her mouth. She cleared her throat and was suddenly serious.

“Before you came into the office, she and I were talking, and I noticed how she’s grown up. It’s natural, Jesse. But I can see how it’s hard for you. It has to be hard for her, too, growing up without a feminine influence. She’s a good kid. I’m sure she’ll be just fine. If she needs some girl time, send her to me. We can go shopping or paint our nails. It would be fun.”

He must’ve not looked convinced, because she said, “Was there something specific? Or is it just her girliness in general that’s bothering you?”

He wasn’t bothered by her girliness.

He started to protest, but then realized he was. Sort of. It was just that she was his kid sister.

“It just seems like I can’t do anything right.” He ran his hand over his face as if he could scrub away the awkwardness of what he was about to say next. It didn’t help. So he just spit it out. “She’s been making noises about being in this pageant you’re running, and I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Charlie laughed again. “Why would it not be a good idea? It’s a very conservative pageant. No swimsuit competition, if that’s what you’re worried about. The girls compete in interview, an outfit of their choice that shows their style and personality and formal wear. It would be good for her.”

He found himself squinting at her, unsure where to even start with all the reasons that it could turn out to be a cluster of disasters.

“I’m…I…I’ve already told her she can’t. I just don’t want her to embarrass herself. She’d be judged against these other girls who have mothers and sisters to help them. She doesn’t even own anything that could pass for formal wear, and I don’t know the first thing about helping her get it.”

Charlie reached out and touched his hand. Her hand was soft and warm on his bare skin. He had a strange desire to turn over his hand and see how her hand would feel in his.

But he didn’t.

“Jesse, it’s not that hard. Even if she didn’t win—and I’m not counting her out—she would learn so much. This pageant is not meant to embarrass or exploit the girls, it’s meant to help them gain poise and self-confidence. Let her do it. I think she’ll resent you if you don’t.”

“She already resents me. That’s nothing new.”

A knowing look flickered through Charlie’s eyes. “I think I know one thing that might help. She’s wanting people to call her Mattalyn and not Matt. I know it’s a hard habit to break, but honoring her request would go a long way in bringing the two of you closer. Believe me, I know. You’re talking to a girl who was called Charlie her whole life. So, I understand. She’s at that age where she just wants to be thought of as a girl and not a tomboy.”

He’d always been aware that Charlie—er, Charlotte—was a girl. Hell, now she was all woman, and everything male in him appreciated that.

“I still call you Charlie. Sorry. I didn’t realize it bothered you.”

“It doesn’t anymore. Besides, you’re grandfathered in. I probably wouldn’t think you were talking to me if you called me Charlotte.”

She laughed, and he realized her hand was still on his.

There was a moment where neither of them spoke, and he didn’t know what to say.

She had always been beautiful. Even back in the days when she entered all those beauty pageants. He never understood why she didn’t win some big state or national title, because as far as he was concerned there was nobody in all of Marietta—or even Bozeman—as beautiful as Charlie Morgan. With her long silky dark hair and those brown eyes that could bring a man to his knees, she’d always had a power over him. Sitting here with her like this, he realized that hadn’t changed.

He pulled his arm away and leaned back in his chair, locking his hands behind his head, a safe distance from her touch. “I’ll keep that in mind. What did you want to talk to me about?”

Charlie gave him the lowdown on her ring-shopping trip with Tom Tucker. He’d be home in a few weeks, but she was thinking about calling him tonight to talk about her fears.

He had to weigh his words to keep from pointing out that the guy was a jackass. Tom didn’t deserve Charlie. This engagement-ring debacle was case in point.

“You want my honest opinion?”

She nodded. Those brown eyes were huge and tinged with a sadness that shouldn’t be there.

“It may not be what you want to hear.”

Great, now she looked like she was about to cry. This was one of those times where he needed to just listen and nod and tell her that he didn’t have a crystal ball. Her guess was as good as his, etc., etc.

He got to his feet. “Just call the guy up. Tell him what you told me. Ask him where he stands. Do you love him?”

Crap. He hadn’t meant to ask that last part.

She studied a spot on the ground for a long time. “I think so. I don’t know. I think maybe the two of us are just getting scared since this is getting so real.”

It was totally irrational, but a stinging current swam through his veins.

“Well, yeah, and when two people talk about spending the rest of their lives together, it should be real. A relationship isn’t always easy or comfortable. It’s messy and crazy, but that’s where the passion is.”

She was looking at him like he’d jumped bass-ackward onto the back of a bull. But he was on a roll.

“You asked for my opinion, here it is: I don’t understand why he would even take you ring shopping. When you get to the point where you’re talking about getting married, the man should know the woman so well he should be able to pick out the perfect ring for her. He should surprise her and get down on one knee and propose the old-fashioned way.”

“Yeah? That’s a nice fairy tale, but that’s not how Tom operates. He wanted my input on the ring.”

“No, he didn’t. He ignored you when you showed him the one you wanted.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“It’s not on your finger, is it?” Jesse folded up his chair. “Just call him and ask him what’s up. We should probably finish this walkthrough so we can get back to work.”

When he looked up, Charlie was swiping tears from her eyes. Now he felt like the jackass for making her cry.

“Hey, sorry.” Jesse made a conscious effort to soften his tone. “Don’t cry. I’m just saying Tom had better watch out. If he doesn’t put a ring on your finger, someone’s going to steal you away. Like my grandpa always said, ‘Until there’s a ring on her finger, she’s fair game.’”

Charlotte scoffed.

The two stood in silence for a moment.

“What I’m saying is if I loved a woman I wouldn’t wait—not even a few weeks. And most important, when I propose, she’s going to know she’s been proposed to.”

*

When Charlotte got
home, she’d taken Jesse’s advice and called Tom. The only problem was Tom hadn’t picked up. The next thing she knew, she was waking up the next morning with her cell phone on her pillow.

She’d fallen asleep, and Tom hadn’t called her back.

She tried not to be uneasy about it. She didn’t want to be one of those clingy types who got upset whenever her boyfriend was out of arm’s length.

He’d told her it was going to be a tough week for him and there wouldn’t be many opportunities to talk. He was in Las Vegas working on some promo for the PBR tour. Sometimes the strategy meetings went late and started early.

Now, she sat at her desk trying not to give any more heat to the irritation that had been simmering beneath the surface all day. Come on, it was past 5 p.m., nearly twenty-four hours since she’d called, and nothing. No response. Surely he’d taken a lunch break.

She’d gone through the cycle over and over: Should she be worried? No. Okay. She didn’t want to be mad at him. But, damn it, couldn’t he make an effort? Couldn’t he at least text her a quick ‘Thinking about you’?

As if on cue, her phone sounded the special text chime she’d designated for Tom. Her heart leapt and then thudded a quick staccato. Finally.

Tom: We need to talk. Important.

Charlotte: You okay?

Tom: Yes. Need to talk. You alone?

Charlotte: Yes. Call me.

Jane had left the office around four for a meeting, and their administrative assistant, Sophie, had clocked out at five on the dot. Charlotte hadn’t been in any hurry to go home. She’d figured it was better to stay at work and tie up some loose ends rather than watching the clock at home waiting for Tom to call her back.

Tom: Will call in five minutes.

She reread their conversation, fixating on We need to talk.

That never boded well.

Something was up. She could feel it in her bones. During the five very slow minutes she waited for him to call, the clock on her phone seemed to count backward. As she waited, a multitude of scenarios flashed through her head. Everything from him suffering a career-ending injury to him wanting her to forget about the formalities of engagement rings and fly out to Vegas to elope.

She didn’t know which scared her worse.

Of course she didn’t want him to be hurt, but Vegas? No. She didn’t want that, either.

The words Jesse had said yesterday about how his woman would know that she’d been proposed to wove through her head, followed by a sudden moment of clarity.

That’s how a relationship should be. Maybe it was her defenses kicking into place, preparing her for whatever it was that Tom was about to spring on her, but she suddenly hated how their relationship had always been on his terms. She’d let it be that way because it had always been so easy and comfortable just to hide behind this long-distance relationship with the hometown hero.

She didn’t want to do it anymore.

Jesse was right. A relationship shouldn’t always be easy and comfortable. Where was the surprise and the romance? Where was the passion? Where had her voice been all these years?

Suddenly, the only thing she wanted more than romance and passion was for Tom to listen to her. To really listen. For once in the life of their relationship.

Her phone rang. Tom’s picture appeared on the display screen. Her heart lodged in her throat.

Like a sixth sense, she knew that something was going to change—for better or worse.

*

By the time
she got off the phone, everything had changed.

Tom was married.

Married.

The bastard had taken her ring shopping and then had married someone else six days later.

Charlotte wasn’t sure how long she sat there in the office after they hung up. She stared at the black display screen on her phone, willing it to all be a nightmare, willing herself to wake up so she could call Tom and they’d laugh about the bad dream and he would comfort her by assuring her that he’d already gotten her ring—the emerald cut that she really wanted—and while he hated to spoil the surprise, he’d be there tomorrow and get down on one knee and propose in a way that left no doubt that she’d been proposed to and that he loved her.