One Wild Cowboy (14 page)

Another fix-up engineered by Emily's brothers? Dylan knew there were supposed to have been three. Only two had happened thus far. Still, he would have expected Emily to refuse the opportunity, now that he and she were so involved.

“Thanks for your concern,” Dylan told Shillingsworth drily, calmly escorting him all the way to his Corvette. “But Emily and I have an understanding.”

The restaurateur's snide expression remained unaltered. “That covers her cheating on you?”

Dylan opened the door with his free hand and shoved the spoiled teen behind the wheel.

It wasn't cheating… It probably wasn't anything. There was no reason for him to feel this jealous and threatened. “Goodbye, Xavier.”

He sneered. “I'm still going to get even with you, you know.”

Dylan knew the kid would
try
. In reality, there was very
little he could do. He leaned over and offered parting advice with as much kindness as he could muster. “One day soon you're going to figure out this is not the way to win friends and influence people in Laramie, Texas.”

“And one of these days, you're going to have to leave this all behind and go back where you came from, too!” Shillingsworth scoffed.

He started the engine and spun the car around. Deliberately driving over the lawn around the ranch house, he roared off in a plume of dust.

Telling himself he had nothing to worry about, Dylan went back to work. He expected Emily to show up the same time Andrew did, around three-thirty. Instead, Simone dropped her son off.

As had been the case all this week, Andrew showed up dressed in rugged Western clothing, ready to work. “What do you want me to do first, boss?” He squared his hat on his head. Anticipating the usual answer, he looked around for the wheelbarrow and shovel.

Dylan lifted a staying hand. “I've already mucked out the stalls.”

Andrew raised his brow in surprise. And for good reason, Dylan noted, since that was usually his first job of the day. “It's time you learned how to lead and saddle a horse,” he explained.

Excitement shone in Andrew's eyes. “Ginger?”

Not quite.
“You can learn on my horse, Hercules. For now, Emily is the only one besides me who can help with Ginger.”

Andrew grinned and followed Dylan into the stable with all the excited swagger of a kid heading to his first rodeo. “Miss Emily is really good with the mustangs, isn't she?”

Dylan nodded. Funny, how much he enjoyed working with this kid. He had never figured he would be a mentor. But
there was no doubt about it—he was making strides with the once-recalcitrant kid. “You're right about that.” He smiled. “Emily's got the McCabe gift with horses.”

“Speaking of Miss Emily… She tried to get you on the phone but you didn't answer, so she asked me to tell you she would be pretty late getting here today. She's talking with this friend of her brother's.”

So what Shillingsworth had said was true. Dylan handed Andrew the bridle and bit, and asked casually, “At the café?”

“They started there,” Andrew confirmed, “but then went up to her apartment 'cause they needed privacy. Anyway, she'll be here later. When she's done with whatever she and the other guy are doing.”

“Thanks for the info.” Dylan picked up the blanket and saddle. He continued down to Hercules's berth, sure the meeting was innocent enough. It was the fact it was happening at all that bothered him. Had Shillingsworth been right? Did he have cause to worry?

Emily walked into the stable and stopped in her tracks. Dylan was standing next to the mustang, a dandy brush in hand. “You're grooming Ginger?” This was a first as far as she knew.

“About to.” Dylan flashed her a look that was all business. “Want to help?”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug, checking her need to greet Dylan with a long, heartstopping kiss. His body language and curt tone made it painfully clear that he was not in the mood for romance.

Her glance averted, Emily entered the stall and rubbed the mustang's face and neck. “Hello, pretty girl,” she murmured softly. “Did you miss me? I missed you today.”

Dylan took the left side of the horse. “I think this is happiest I've seen Ginger look all day.”

Blissfully aware how content she felt whenever they were together, too, Emily plucked a rubber currycomb from the bucket of tools. “Surely you exaggerate,” she said dryly. “I know Ginger adores you.”

“And how do you figure that?” Dylan lifted his brow.

“Because you're good in the saddle, too.” Abruptly aware of the double entendre, Emily blushed. “Er, corral. Okay…” She kept on combing and gave him a humorous glance that begged for mercy. “I'm going to stop now.”

Because none of this is coming out right. And because, although I can't quite say why, I have the feeling something is a little off between us, unlike the last time we were together.

Adding to her worry, Dylan looked disconcerted, too.

Like he wasn't sure what to make of the shifts in their relationship, either. First they were strangers, then adversaries who'd joined forces to ward off her matchmaking parents—and an unwelcome suitor—and now finally temporary lovers who'd agreed they weren't destined to be anything serious.

“I get what you mean,” he resumed his usual easy-going manner. “And you're correct. Horses respond to trainers who are in control of their emotions.”

And Dylan was that, all right, Emily thought ruefully to herself. The only time he let go of his emotional armor at all was when they were in bed.

Once they were out of each other's arms, it was business as usual. A friendship based on a shared love of horses and ranch life and good, Texas-style food.

But even that was not guaranteed to last, she knew.

Dylan had been clear on that. And she had concurred.

Deep down, she wished she had never made the pact with Dylan to keep things casual. But she was leery of changing anything and have the lonesome cowboy end up feeling trapped.

So she would do as promised and make it easy on him when the time came… She just hoped that wasn't for a good long while. Years, even…

Using short, straight strokes, they brushed the mud from Ginger's coat. Dylan seemed as lost in thought as she.

“You're awfully quiet,” Emily said eventually, wishing he would confide in her more. Instead, she felt like there was still so much she did not know. Might never know if it were left up to him.

Dylan rubbed a damp sponge over Ginger's face. “It's been a long day.”

Emily stood on the other side of the horse and finished working the knots out of Ginger's mane. She moved so she could see Dylan's face. His expression was as maddeningly reserved as ever. Finally, she guessed, “Are you ticked off at me for not making the training session this afternoon?”

“No.” Dylan used a massage pad over the mare's sleek neck muscles. “I understand you had other stuff to do.”

Emily worked on the knots in the tail. “I did.” She fell silent once again, thinking.

“Now who's exceptionally quiet?” Dylan teased. He gathered up the tools, gave Ginger a final pat and stepped out.

Realizing they had probably done enough for the first session, Emily praised Ginger softly and stepped out of the stall, too. She joined Dylan in the cement-floored aisle and fell into step beside him. “Sorry. I was thinking about my meeting with Randall Schwartz, the guy who sells prepared foods to restaurants. He's a friend of Jeb's.”

Dylan led the way into the tack room. He deposited the tools on a shelf bearing Ginger's name. In a corner, there was a sink. “I thought you weren't interested in that.” He gestured for her to go first.

Emily pumped soap onto her hands. “I wasn't… I'm not.” The aroma of juniper and mint filled the air. She lathered, rinsed and shook off the excess moisture.

Dylan stepped in for his turn. His shoulder nudged hers slightly in the process. He turned, his face close to hers. “But?”

Emily couldn't help but note how strong and large his hands were. She swallowed, pushing away the memory of his gentle, capable touch. “I'm beginning to think I may have to consider cutting a few corners.”

They walked out of the stable.

Realizing she needed a sounding board, and she wanted it to be Dylan, Emily continued matter-of-factly, “My business is in trouble.”

Dylan escorted her across the yard. “Because of the competition?”

Emily nodded and sat down on one of the rough-hewn chairs on his porch. “I went over my books this afternoon, after closing. Because of everything that has happened the last few weeks…” she sighed, recalling, “First—no customers. Add to that, the financial loss I took on all those specials I offered to draw patrons back in.”

Misery engulfed her as she shook her head. “This month is so far in the red that it's wiped out my entire profit for the year to date.” She swallowed, loath to admit, “I'm going to have to dip into my personal savings to make payroll and pay the suppliers next week.”

To Emily's relief, Dylan did not judge her fiscal recklessness. “Which is where Randall Schwartz comes in.”

She nodded. “Randall showed me how I could cut costs if I used wholesale pre-made biscuits, muffins and desserts instead of making them up fresh every day. He has a full line of precooked meats, veggies and casseroles, too.”

“But…?”

“We're back to my original problem. I don't want to sacrifice quality. At all. Ever. ‘Going microwave' guarantees the demise of any restaurant. Proof of that is in any of the many once-popular chains that went bellyup, or are still around but are definitely third or fourth tier now.”

Dylan lounged against the porch railing, listening, his hands braced on either side of him.

In the background was a spectacular April sunset, the blue sky framed by a horizon streaked with shades of pink, red and gold. “Well, then, you don't want to do that,” he said, understandingly.

“I absolutely do not want to do that.” Emily vaulted to her feet again, too restless to stay in one place for long. She paced back and forth, the sound of her boot heels echoing on the wood-plank surface. Whirling around, she threw up her arms in frustration. “The whole point of coming to the café is to get hot, home-cooked food when you're too tired or busy to prepare it yourself.”

Dylan settled more patiently on his perch and sent her an admiring glance. “That concept has worked well for you so far.”

Emily trod closer. “The tough thing is, I'm going to have to keep offering some sort of daily special if I want to keep the customers coming in the door.”

Dylan's eyes narrowed. “You've spoiled them?” he guessed.

Emily rubbed the tense muscles at the base of her neck. “You know how it is. Everybody loves a bargain….”

Dylan motioned for her to turn around and he took up the kneading for her.

She closed her eyes and let herself relax into his soothing touch. Eyes still closed luxuriantly, she let out a long breath. “And I get that it will bring people in the door.” She pressed her lips together in stubborn determination. “Which is something I need to keep doing, whether the Cowtown Diner survives the recent downturn in their business or not.”

Needing to look into Dylan's eyes again, Emily swung around. She placed her hands flat on his chest before pulling away once again. “The question is, how do I afford to do it?” she mused.

The subtle lift of an eyebrow. “No answers?”

Emily grimaced in frustration. “Not a one. Not tonight anyway!” Restless again, she began to pace.

After a moment, Dylan left his perch and sauntered slowly toward her. He looked as if he wanted to distract her with a kiss. “I'm sure you will work it out,” he soothed.

Emily's heart began to race. “I'm sure I will, too, in time.”

Not sure she could do this tonight, have a no-strings-romp in Dylan's bed without falling head over heels in love with him—and wanting a lot more than a temporary fling out of the bargain—Emily forced herself to ease away.

Ignoring the flash of disappointment on his face, Emily kept the focus on her business difficulties. “Certainly there a lot of people chomping at the bit to help me.”

“Like your parents.”

“And my brothers, and their friends.” She hesitated. “Remember Aaron Markham, the accountant slash tax lawyer I met a couple weeks ago?”

Dylan nodded, his eyes guarded.

“Well, he's called several times, wanting to meet with me again. He's sure he can help. Even Fred Collier, the food writer has called me back, wanting to know if ‘anything has changed' that would give him reason to come back to the café again, anytime soon….”

Dylan's glance narrowed. “Sounds like he wants a date.”

Was Dylan jealous at the thought of her spending time with another guy—someone who had the seal of approval from her brothers and was in the market for marriage? Or was Dylan just as perceptive as ever?

Emily shrugged, her uncertainty increasing. “Maybe. I didn't really get that vibe from Fred the day we met, but sometimes, after the fact, you begin to think…hey, maybe I should have gone after that or pursued someone a little more aggressively.”

Or eschewed immediate pleasure and held out for more than just a temporary fling…

But she hadn't.

And Emily couldn't really say she regretted having made
love with Dylan, even if she was not going to get a forever commitment out of him…

Because to have not ever felt what she'd felt in his arms would have been a lot sadder than having to one day say goodbye.

Or that was what she kept telling herself.

She snapped out of her reverie when she realized Dylan was giving her a really odd look.

As if he had figured out at least part of what she was thinking. The part of her that wanted to throw a lasso around him and put a wedding band on his finger.

Emily struggled to contain the self-conscious warmth moving into her face. She really had to get a grip. “You know what I mean.”

Dylan nodded. Determination tightened every strong, tall part of him, and he inched closer. “I know you're a fine looking woman,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Emily caught her breath as the softness of her body slammed into the hardness of his. She splayed her hands across his chest, felt the beat of his heart. “And you're a fine looking man. But it takes more than looks to make a match, Dylan.”

“I agree.” His low voice rumbled in her ear. “It takes this.” He bent his head to hers. The kiss was electric and all-enveloping. Her body responded like tinder to a flame, and she kissed him with growing passion. Knowing she was caught up in something too powerful to fight, shivers of unbearable sensation swept through her.

“And this,” Emily told him. She pressed into him, her breasts lodged against the solid warmth of his chest, her tummy cradling the hardness of his sex. She kissed him back, again and again, melting against him in complete surrender.
Ready to take the pleasure where and when she could, she let her own desires…for marriage, for family…go.

Maybe they didn't want the same things out of life, Emily reasoned. Maybe they never would. But they still had the here and now. And heaven knew, a love affair this passionate was not likely to occur again. Not in her lifetime.

Dylan threaded his hands through her hair. “I want to go upstairs and make love to you all night long,” he whispered. Tilting her face up to his, he captured her lips in one long, sweet and tender kiss.

It was the kind of kiss that made her feel loved. That made her feel wanted. That made her feel she was already his, and vice versa.

A thrill soared through Emily.

His hands shifted down her spine, fitting her against him. His lips found the soft, sensitive spot behind her ear. He drew back to look into her eyes. “Tell me you want the same thing.”

Another shiver went through her.

Emily laced both hands around his powerful shoulders. She steadied herself even as her lips, still damp from his kisses, curved upward. “That sounds like a proposition I can handle.”

“It's more than a proposition.” Dylan bent, laced an arm behind her knees and swung her up into his arms. Holding her tightly to his chest, he carried her inside. His eyes danced with an affectionate light. “It's a promise of all the wonderful things to come.”

They made it as far as the stairs before he had to stop and kiss her again. One thing led to another, and by the time they'd finished dallying, they'd both lost their boots. And jeans. Their shirts came off midway up the stairs, and their socks were strewn in the hall.

By the time they reached his bed, they were laughing, and
ready for more. “I knew I'd get these off eventually,” he teased, relieving her of her bra and panties.

“I'm not the only one who is going to be naked.” Emily divested Dylan of his boxer briefs.

Erotic moments passed as they each looked their fill.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

And aroused, she thought as she regarded him in the shadowy light of dusk. “You're pretty incredible, too,” Emily said, taut and aching to be touched.

“So where do you want to start?” Dylan asked, trailing a hand down her hip. He kissed her shoulder, moved to her collarbone, then the tip of her breast.