Cowboys & Angels (10 page)

“That’s not the point.” He reached for her, but she leaped off the bed.

“I think it’s exactly the point. You’ve created some idealized image of the person who rescued you. She’s an effing
angel.
Her wing is now a permanent part of your body!”

“I did that before I knew you.” He left the bed, desperate for her to understand. “I wasn’t even sure you were real! For all I knew, you were some heavenly being who’d swooped down to make sure I didn’t die!”

“I am real, Trey.” She picked up her yoga pants. “And human and fallible. I make mistakes all the time. One of them might be getting involved with you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I said
might.
” She pulled on her pants. “The jury’s still out on the question. But my initial impression, when I heard you calling out for your girlfriend, Cassie, was that you were a romantic soul who needed to find an equally romantic soul.” She located her jacket on the floor.

He wanted to argue with her about being a romantic, but he thought she could be right. Who else but a romantic would have an angel wing tattooed on his arm? Who else would write a song about the angel who had saved him, and then actually perform it for other folks?

So, if they were ever going to have a future, which seemed less likely now than it had five minutes ago, she’d have to accept that about him. “Maybe I
am
a romantic guy,” he said. “If I have that tendency, I’ve tried to downplay it because I sensed that wouldn’t impress you.”

“You’ve got that right.” She zipped her jacket. “Sappy sentimentality doesn’t work for me.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry.” She scanned the floor looking for her shoes. “That was a little harsh.”

“It was a lot harsh. Is that how you see me? A sentimental sap?”

“No. At least not mostly.” She found the shoes. “We’ve had some good, honest sex that wasn’t sentimental at all. I’m on board with that. But when I discover that the angel’s wing on your arm represents me, I get worried. You’re expecting something from me that I’m not prepared to give.” She shoved her feet into the shoes.

“Yet.”

She whirled to face him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Don’t forget that I’ve made love to you, Elle. I’ve known you in a way that you may not even admit to yourself. There’s a depth of feeling you may not acknowledge, but I feel it. Damn it, I was there, holding you, and I felt it!”

She gazed at him. “You’re delusional.” Then she turned and walked out of his room, closing the door quietly behind her.

He wished she’d slammed it. That, at least, would have shown some fiery emotion. He knew she had it in her. He’d experienced it firsthand.

But she was willing to pretend that her ordered life had no room for that kind of passion. He scared her because he threatened to upset the careful image she’d created of how things should be.

He didn’t blame her for being confused. Although he had to read between the lines, he could guess that she’d been taught not to get attached to people or places. That might have been a by-product of being a kid with parents in the military, but he’d known others with that background and they weren’t so fiercely independent.

The clue might be her lack of interest in seeing her parents for Christmas. Hell, if he still had parents, he’d make damn sure he traveled to wherever they were. But she might have been taught through example to minimize the importance of family celebrations.

She’d told him that his emotional response to losing Cassie had kept her from maintaining contact. But although she tried to present herself as a person who didn’t need those messy emotions, her joyful response to having sex with him said otherwise. He suspected she was hungry for a deep personal connection.

Maybe she’d sensed that she was making one with him and had panicked. He could go after her, calm her down. Instead, he decided to sit tight and see if she could stay away. He was hoping that she couldn’t.

10

E
LLE
HAD
A
bad feeling she’d overreacted. But she needed time to think, and she couldn’t think very well when in the presence of Trey’s magnificently naked body, especially decorated with that exceedingly sentimental tattoo. Thankfully no one was in the halls as she hurried back to her room.

Once there, she went to switch on her bedside lamp and changed her mind. Instead, she turned on her Christmas tree lights. Then she flopped down on her bed and lay there surrounded by the soft, multicolored glow.

It reminded her of a Christmas many years ago, one she’d spent with her parents in Germany. She’d been in third grade, so she would have been eight. She’d begged for a tree that year, as she had every year.

They’d never had one, or even much in the way of decorations. Her mother had insisted that hauling ornaments around from place to place was ridiculous. Neither was she willing to buy new ones each time and discard them when they moved, because that would be wasteful.

When her mom hadn’t budged that year, either, Elle had used money she’d been saving for a bike and bought a tree, a stand and ornaments. It hadn’t been a very big tree, but she’d put it up in a fit of rebellion, determined that she’d enjoy the heck out of it.

That hadn’t been easy when her parents had both made her feel silly for doing such a thing. They’d acted as if the tree was a nuisance, and she’d been told to take it down the day after Christmas. Putting it up and taking it down by herself had been a lot of work, and when they’d moved, her parents hadn’t wanted to take the ornaments. In the end, she’d given them to a friend at school.

She’d always assumed her parents, especially her mother, were simply being practical. Now she wondered if that was the whole story. Neither of them made a big deal out of anything tradition-oriented, come to think of it. Not birthdays or anniversaries, either.

Elle had accepted their lack of interest in celebrating, along with the idea that wasting time and money on such things made no sense. They would laugh if they knew Pam Mulholland had rented out an entire ski resort for her wedding to Emmett Sterling. Elle saw something of her parents’ attitude in Emmett.

What a shame it would have been if he’d succeeded in ruining this for his fiancée. Elle had always identified with the Emmett Sterlings of the world, but tonight, to her surprise, she found herself siding with Pam. If a sixty-something woman wanted to use her money to celebrate marrying the man she loved, why not?

How all that tied in with Trey was unclear right now, but Elle would go to the wedding. She was very interested in seeing how Emmett adjusted to his bride’s need to mark the occasion with public joy and extravagance. And Elle would dance with Trey if he still wanted her to. With that thought, she left the Christmas lights on, which was completely impractical and wasteful, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
DAY
she estimated that she’d probably spent more time dressing for the wedding than the bride herself. Because she traveled between Jackson Hole and Argentina every year, she kept her wardrobe simple. Yet she wanted to look good. No, not just
good.
She wanted to look amazing.

That left her with one choice―a cobalt-blue, knee-length jersey dress that could be dressed up or down. Today’s event called for dressing it up, so she added a hammered silver necklace with large, irregularly shaped links, and earrings with the same type of asymmetrical loops. Her open-toed silver stilettos hardly ever came out of the closet, but now was the time.

She’d spent a good twenty minutes on her makeup, and she’d piled her hair on top of her head and secured it with several rhinestone hairpins. The glitter might be a bit much for an afternoon wedding, but she expected the reception to last into the night. She rummaged through her drawers and found the silver clutch she’d bought to match the stilettos.

Her small, utilitarian room didn’t have a full-length mirror, so she could only see herself from her hips up. That much looked okay, so she’d assume the rest passed muster, too. As she walked down the stairs and into the guest area of the resort, she realized the dress code for a ranch foreman’s wedding might be Western formal. Oh, well. She didn’t own anything that fit that description.

The mellow sound of guitar music beckoned her to the room where the wedding was being held. Her stomach churned at the thought of seeing Trey again. Their night together hadn’t ended well, mostly because of her.

He hadn’t tried to contact her since then, even though they had each other’s cell numbers. She’d reminded herself that he was no doubt busy with wedding activities, but that argument didn’t wash. He was the guitarist for the ceremony and the reception, not a member of the wedding party.

That meant he could have texted or called this morning. He hadn’t, but then she hadn’t contacted him, either. Frankly, she didn’t know what to say. She still worried that he’d created a fantasy that she could never live up to.

When she thought of him having his arm tattooed to commemorate her rescuing him, she shivered. Getting tattooed hurt, or so she’d been told. Maybe he’d done it after several shots of hard liquor, but still. He’d subjected himself to the process in her honor.

She didn’t know what to do with that information. Her parents, the people who’d given her life, hadn’t done much of anything for her major life events. Graduations were taken in stride, and when she’d won skiing competitions, they’d phoned to say it was nice. No flowers, no card.

Trey had allowed someone to stick needles under his skin and permanently alter his appearance because he believed she deserved to be honored. Not
her,
exactly, but the idea of her, the angelic vision he carried of that rescue. The guy was adorable, and wow, could he do the horizontal mambo, but the tattoo thing was intense.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Even so, she yearned to see him, to be with him, to hold him close. He was Trey, the sexy guy who’d given her orgasms she wasn’t likely to forget anytime soon. He was also fun, and caring and honest.... He could have lied to her about the tattoo. She gave him props for not doing that.

A sweet-looking redhead who couldn’t be more than eighteen sat at a table just inside the door with a guest book in front of her. She looked up when Elle approached. “What a gorgeous dress!”

“Thank you. I’m Elle Masterson. I’m a ski instructor here. I don’t know if Emmett had time to mention that he invited me, but I—”

“I know
exactly
who you are, Ms. Masterson.” Her blue eyes shone with excitement. “You’re the lady who rescued Trey Wheeler.” The girl held out her hand. “I’m Cassidy O’Connelli. My sister Morgan is married to Gabe Chance, and my sister Tyler is married to Alex Keller. You gave Alex and Gabe ski lessons yesterday. Everyone had a blast!”

“Good! I didn’t see you out there yesterday. Don’t you like to ski?”

“I’ve never tried it, but I might tomorrow. Pam needed me to help her with a few things, and that was fine with me. I love weddings. I’m apprenticing to be the new housekeeper at the Last Chance. You should come and visit.”

“Thanks.” The blizzard of information from Cassidy combined with soft guitar music left Elle feeling distracted. She did her best to focus on Cassidy when all she really wanted to do was check out Trey’s guitar performance. “I appreciate the invitation, and I’ll try to make it out there.”

“I hope you do. Here comes Jeb. He’ll escort you to your seat.”

Elle smiled at the freckle-faced cowboy who’d been one of her students the day before. He wore a smart-looking Western coat, a white shirt and a bolo tie. “Hi, Jeb. You’re looking good.”

Jeb offered his arm. “Pam wanted all of us to be stylin’, so she helped pick out our clothes. I get to keep the jacket.”

“Bonus.”

“I
know.
I’ve never owned a jacket this nice. You’re sitting on the groom’s side, right?”

“I guess so. Emmett’s the one who invited me.”

“Then I’m putting you on the groom’s side. Isn’t this the fanciest wedding you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s pretty fancy.” To please Jeb, she glanced around at the greenery, wine-colored ribbons and white roses. Tiny white lights twinkled everywhere. Wine-colored poinsettias were clustered on tiered stands around the perimeter of the room.

“It’s like a fairyland,” Jeb said. “Well, here you go. This is your seat.” He indicated a spot on the aisle in the fourth row. “You’re gonna love this wedding. It’ll be awesome. And cute. Little Archie, Jack’s son, and Sara Bianca, Gabe’s daughter, will be in it. And by the way, you look beautiful.”

“What a nice thing to say. Thank you, Jeb.”

“It’s the truth. Oh, here’s your program.” He handed her an elegantly printed booklet. “If you’ll excuse me, I have more people to escort.”

“You go right ahead. I’ll be fine.” She would be more than fine in this spot. At last she had what she wanted―an excellent view of Trey. He and Watkins sat to the left of a greenery-covered arch that would serve as the focal point for the ceremony. Trey was not wearing his hat.

Watkins wasn’t wearing one, either, so Pam might have made a no-hats decision. In any case, Elle loved being able to see Trey’s expression as he played a gentle love ballad.

Although neither man was singing, Elle had no trouble filling in the lyrics. She knew the song well. She’d bet Trey did, too, and was repeating them in his head as he played. Watkins might be a better guitarist, especially because he’d had more years of practice, but in Elle’s completely biased opinion, Trey put more emotion into the notes.

She’d been an idiot to ever think he could carry on an affair without becoming involved. He was an artist. Artists had to give rein to their emotions, whereas she was a ski instructor, an analytical teacher. She’d been raised by parents who believed in logic and efficiency. She believed in those things, too. Didn’t she?

If so, she wasn’t doing a very good job of being logical and efficient regarding Trey. Her breath caught as she watched him strum his guitar. Less than twelve hours ago, those strong fingers had been touching her, loving her, making her moan. She squirmed in her seat. She wanted him to make love to her again.

But was that fair to Trey? She’d been right all along. He needed someone as romantic as he was, someone who would send him sentimental love notes and appreciate his flair for the dramatic. Speaking of that, how would he explain his tattoo to a future lover?

Although it was unworthy of her, she liked the idea that he’d have to. Perhaps he shouldn’t have honored her with that angel’s wing, but he couldn’t do much about it now. Like it or not, he was stuck with this memory of her. That shouldn’t make her smile. But it did.

The room gradually filled with happy people. Elle could feel the good cheer in the air, hear it in the muted laughter, see it in the glowing expressions and wide smiles. This was why Pam had insisted on a public celebration. It was a gift to all those who knew her and Emmett, all those who wanted to share in their joy.

But Elle couldn’t help wondering how Emmett was holding up. About that time, he entered from a side door, accompanied by Jack, Gabe and Nick. Those brothers made an impressive trio, but Emmett was the guy Elle focused on.

She need not have worried about him. He looked magnificent. Tall and silver-haired, he carried himself with pride and assurance, as if he’d decided that this was, in fact, the most glorious day of his life so far, and he planned to enjoy it to the fullest.

Elle wasn’t sure what she’d expected—maybe a hesitant man who had to be bolstered by the three younger cowboys at his side. Instead, he took the leadership role, and they served as his trusty companions.

Elle knew all would be well. Emmett had risen to the occasion and would make his bride proud. She barely knew Emmett and didn’t know Pam at all, but her understanding of Emmett’s dilemma had given her a stake in the proceedings. Happy anticipation made her glance in Trey’s direction.

As if they’d choreographed it, he was looking back. He and Watkins had finished the last of the preceremony numbers, and Trey sat with his guitar in his lap and his gaze trained on her. He wasn’t smiling. Her heart stuttered. Did he think their interlude was over?

She wouldn’t blame him if he thought that. All things considered, he’d probably be better off without her. Selfish person that she was, she didn’t want to let him go. Not yet. But perhaps he’d decided she wasn’t worth the trouble.

Watkins leaned over and murmured something to Trey. With one last glance at Elle, he settled his guitar more firmly against his thighs. Together, he and Watkins began to play the “Wedding March.”

The guests rose and turned toward the back of the room. So did Elle, which meant she couldn’t see Trey anymore. But she was here for a wedding, and Pam deserved to be honored after all she’d gone through to plan this event.

Elle didn’t know what to expect. It was doubtful that Pam’s father was alive and could walk her down the aisle, and the three Chance brothers were all at the altar with Emmett.

First a little flower girl appeared. Her red hair indicated she was Morgan and Gabe Chance’s daughter, Sarah Bianca. Basket of rose petals in hand, she surveyed the admiring crowd like the princess she undoubtedly thought she was in her frothy emerald dress and crown of rosebuds.

And no wonder. She was adorable, and every camera was pointed in her direction. Behind her, though, some fuss was going on.

Standing on tiptoe, Elle could see Josie Chance, elegant in a long blue dress, urging a small blond boy down the aisle behind Sarah Bianca. Elle pegged this tyke as Josie and Jack’s son, Archie, the designated ring bearer. He was tricked out in a Western vest, coat, pants and tiny boots, but he seemed totally uninterested in his assignment.

With a martyred sigh, Sarah Bianca turned around and grabbed his hand. Then she proceeded to tow him down the aisle while he kept stopping to gaze in wonder at his surroundings. She wouldn’t allow it. Her jaw was set and her attention was fixed on the goal.