Runaway Cowboy (4 page)

“I'm so sorry, Clay. I didn't mean to be so hostile.” She reached again for the potato salad. “You're right, I used to be friendlier. Let's start again. I'm Jen,” she said, thrusting her right hand out.

He eyed her suspiciously but took the bait, curling his fingers around her hand. “I'm Clay. Jen, do you realize you have the most amazing eyes?” He flirted with her.

“Thank you.” She gave him her most engaging smile and leaned toward him. “Tell me, Clay, who had the bet that I'd dump potato salad on your head?”

“What?”

He barely opened his mouth before she upended the plastic bowl over him. Bits of mayonnaise, carrots, and potatoes dripped down his face, and she couldn't stop herself from laughing out loud as she quickly moved from his reach. Clay swiped at the mess on his face, flinging it from his hands to the ground. She heard the laughter from her brothers behind her and looked over at them.

“Next time, don't make bets about me.” She shoved the bowl into Clay's chest. “And the three of you can clean up this mess. I'm leaving.”

Chapter Three

C
LAY WATCHED HER
walk away through the haze of mayo and potatoes, trying not to admire the sway of her hips and the way her jeans curved along her perfectly round bottom. Damn, but that woman was full of piss and vinegar. He should have known better than to fall for that sweet, honeyed tone. It lured him in every time, even when they were younger and she'd pulled a prank on him with her brothers' help. Every time Jen turned those dark eyes on him, it was like his brain took a semipermanent vacation. He plucked a piece of potato from behind his ear and flung it to the ground.

“That's a good look on you.” Scott laughed as he passed Clay a few bills.

Clay glared at him. “What's this?”

“The bet was that you could make her smile. You actually made her laugh, so I'd say you won, fair and square.”

Derek held out his money. “Although I don't think this was what you had planned, Mr. Charismatic.”

Clay snatched the money out of their hands and tucked the bills into his pocket. “You guys help me clean this up, and I'll buy you drinks tonight.” He saw Derek's eyes light up. “Not you, Ace. You may look like a man, but I'm not contributing to the delinquency of a minor. Besides, your sister would have my ass if she found out I gave you a beer.”

He looked over as he heard one of the trucks start up and saw Jen pull out of the parking area.

“Come on, Clay. She won't even be here,” Derek complained.

“Where does she think she's going?”

Scott shrugged. “Not sure, but she looked pissed. Maybe you should get cleaned up and go after her.”

“Are you nuts?” Clay glared at Scott. “I'm not going after that woman. She's insane.” He headed for Mike's trailer as Scott followed him.

“Well, someone's got to go. And who do you think made her this way, Clay? It certainly wasn't us.”

Clay reached for the hose on the outside of the trailer and twisted the knob, letting the icy water run over his head as it rinsed white globs of potato onto the dirt, splattering his boots. Scott was right. He was the one who turned Jen into this sarcastic shell of the sweet, trusting woman she'd been. She might be even sexier than she'd been before, but he'd destroyed her blind faith in others when he'd abandoned her. He had to make her understand why he'd done it, at least offer her his weak explanation, whether or not she forgave him. He owed her that much, even if it left him exposed.

“Fine, I'll go after her. Lend me a truck since my rig is still hooked up.”

Scott slapped a set of keys into his hand. “You better not leave my truck smelling like potato salad.”

T
HANK GOODNESS FOR
cell phones, Clay thought. Until Jen finally answered Derek's call, Clay had no idea where to even start looking for her. The last place he'd expected to find her was the local bar. He parked Scott's truck in the first empty spot he could find, three doors down from what looked like a very rowdy bar with a questionable crowd. He wasn't one to prejudge, but the motorcycles parked out front didn't bode well, particularly for someone wearing boots and a cowboy hat. Clay opened the front door and slipped into the dark entrance, letting his eyes adjust from the blazing sunset outside to the neon lit interior of the bar. He scanned the tables for Jen but didn't see her.

Laughter at the bar immediately caught his attention. He'd know that laugh anywhere. It haunted every dream he'd ever had about her. He clenched his jaw when he realized he hadn't seen Jen at first because she was surrounded by no less than five bikers, all vying for her attention. Clay's gut twisted. He was suddenly certain there was a high probability he was going to get into a fight tonight, and it was unlikely he'd come out on the winning side. He had to be smart about this if he wanted to get out with his face intact.

“Hey hon,” he called, making his way between the men before they realized what was happening. “You already ordered for us? The rest of the boys are parking the trucks. Come dance with me,” Clay spit the words out quickly, leaving no room to argue or protest.

He slipped his hand around Jen's, pulling her from the bar stool and onto her feet. He dragged her toward the jukebox in the corner and dropped several coins in, punching random buttons.

Jen's mouth dropped open in surprise, but for the first time, she looked at a loss for words. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close as a slow Two-Step filled the speakers. Clay inhaled the scent of her as he leaned down to whisper into her ear, hating the way his body instantly responded to her curves pressed against him.

“Don't argue, don't fight, and go along with anything I say,” he said in a low growl, irritated that he even had to come up with this ruse to try to get them both out without any trouble.

She glared at him. “How did you even know I was here?”

“Derek.”

“Traitor,” she muttered. “Well, as you can see, I'm fine, and I don't need your assistance.”

“Who's driving you back, Miss Independent? I'm sure you aren't in any condition to drive.” Clay tried to ignore how good she felt in his arms, how right, how much he wanted to kiss her smart mouth until she stopped arguing with him.

She glanced back at the bar where several of the bikers were still paying too much attention to them and gave a little wave. “I'm sure any one of those guys would take me home.”

“I'm sure you're right,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I don't think your home is where they'd take you.” He eased her toward the front door, sliding his hand into his pocket and curling his fingers around Scott's keys. “We're leaving. Go right to Scott's truck and start it up. Now.” He pressed the keys into her hand. “If you want us both out of here in one piece, go now!” His voice became insistent when she didn't move toward the door.

“Hey!”

He heard the biker yell before he saw him headed their way. The bartender turned away, ignoring the fight they all knew was coming. It didn't take long for several others to follow the first biker over. Clay shoved Jen out the front door and turned, determined to distract them and give her a few minutes head start.

Holding his hands in the air, he tried to look as apologetic as possible. “Sorry, man, but my wife sometimes gets a little out of hand. We haven't been married long, and you know how some women just don't realize they need to stay home.”

The group stopped short, eyeing Clay suspiciously. “She's your old lady?” the first biker asked.

“Yeah.” Clay said with a sigh as he tried to edge closer to the door and his escape.

“You need to keep that one on a leash, cowboy.” The bikers laughed but were looking confused, and Clay took advantage of the moment.

“Don't I know it!” He slid his hand into his pocket and drew out the bills from Scott and Derek. “Why don't you guys have a few drinks on me, to make up for any inconvenience she might have caused?”

The biker closest to Clay, one of the largest in the bunch, eyed several of the others before plucking the money from Clay's fingers. “You'd better get your old lady home, man, before that pretty little thing gets you in any more trouble.”

Clay wasn't about to test his good luck. He nodded at the biker before pushing open the door. He walked out just in time to see Jen drop Scott's truck into gear and start to pull out of the parking spot. Was she planning on leaving him here to deal with those guys? He ran in front of the truck and slammed his hand onto the hood, startling her while she looked over her shoulder to back out.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?”

“Anywhere you aren't!” she yelled back.

“Get in the passenger seat, Jen. You are
not
driving this truck drunk.” He was trying his best to keep his voice calm and reasonable when every fiber of his being wanted to throttle her.

“I'm not drunk, you idiot. If you hadn't played the macho hero, I'd be driving my own truck back.”

Clay reached his hand through the rolled down driver's side window and pushed the button to unlock the door. He yanked it open as several bikers came outside to witness the commotion and his humiliation. A few started snickering, laughing about how he couldn't control his woman. And then the catcalls came.

“Looks like the little firecracker's got his number!”

“Hey, cowboy, maybe you should stick to horses and leave the lady for a real man.”

He climbed inside the truck, forcing her to unbuckle her seat belt and slide over, before slamming the door behind him.

“Don't shove me!”

Turning to face her, he inhaled deeply, trying to control the rage pulsing through his veins. Her eyes were wide, as wild as he was sure his were at that moment, her lips parted, and he realized that a few years ago, they would have settled this argument without clothing. It would have been a passionate, fiery explosion of need and want and desire. And love.

The thought doused his anger like a bucket of cold water.

At one time, Jen had given him everything, willingly. She'd offered him every ounce of her mind, body, and soul, keeping nothing back for herself. And he'd thrown it away like an old blanket. For a man who'd spent his youth wanting someone to love him for who he was, to accept him and never turn their back on him, he'd sure crapped on the one person who'd done just that. Clay gripped the steering wheel, twisting his hands against the leather cover before dropping his forehead against his knuckles. The anger was long gone, leaving sorrow and regret in its wake. He punched the button to roll up the window, unable to look at her.

“I'm sorry, Jen. God, you have no idea how sorry I am.”

He felt, rather than saw, her edge farther toward the passenger door, farther from him, from what they'd once had. “I don't care if you're sorry.”

Her voice was cold, emotionless, and he sought her eyes to see if she was lying. She stared out the passenger window, refusing to look at him, but he thought he saw her swipe at her cheek. Was she crying? Jen never cried, and he couldn't imagine she'd have any tears for him after what he'd done. He wanted to ask for her forgiveness, to know if her tears were for what they'd lost or because it had ever been. Instead he retreated, too afraid to hear the truth. He might not blame her for hating him, but he didn't want to hear her say it.

J
ENNIFER STARED OUT
the window, refusing to look at the obnoxious man beside her. How dare he come and escort her from the bar like she was an irresponsible kid. He wasn't her boss and he wasn't her father. He certainly wasn't her husband, and he had no right to tell people he was. She wiped her cheek, praying he didn't see the angry tears.

She hadn't cried over him in years, even if he had crossed her mind every single day since he left. She tried to convince herself that the only reason she'd thought about him over the past few years was to remind herself what a fool she'd been to buy into his country boy charm and lies. He was a cowboy all right, and he'd saddled up and moved on without her, no matter what promise he'd made. Scott and Derek trusted him; Mike adored him. She wasn't going to let him make a fool of them either, even if it meant making sure she protected her family from his desertion this time around. They might not see it, but she wasn't blind.

As they pulled through the gates of the rodeo grounds, Clay parked the truck just off of the driveway. “We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” She wouldn't look at him, even as her heart begged her to turn his way, to lose herself in those green eyes.

“Jen, please. Don't make this any more difficult than it already is.”

His voice was gentle, coaxing, holding a pleading note she'd only heard from him once before, in a solitary moment of vulnerability just before he proposed. She tried to remind herself he'd lied then and would lie now, too, but her heart wouldn't listen. She hated the desire she felt to comfort him. She turned her head toward him slightly, giving him only a view of her profile.

“I hurt you. I get it. I really do. I don't blame you for feeling the way you do but—”

He paused, running his hand through his hair. She hadn't seen it this long before, nearly hanging into his eyes. Her fingers itched to brush the locks back from his forehead.

“I don't even know what else to say. I can't make this better.” Clay shook his head in defeat.

“It will never be the same, Clay. I'm not the same. I don't want to be.” She couldn't look directly at him, didn't want to acknowledge the very real hurt that flickered over his face at her declaration. She turned back toward the window.

“Can you at least give me a chance to explain?”

“What's to explain, Clay? You asked me to marry you, we celebrated with my entire family, and then you ran out a few hours later. I'd say it was all pretty self-explanatory.” She didn't want to talk about any of this with him. He hadn't bothered to call her in five years, hadn't felt the need to offer any excuses before—why did he suddenly want to explain everything? She grabbed her purse and flung open the door, heading toward the trailers in the back, her boots kicking up dust.