One Wild Cowboy and A Cowboy To Marry: One Wild Cowboy / A Cowboy to Marry

She rolled her eyes comically. “Obviously, I was exaggerating...about being your woman.”

The way Dylan was looking at her—as if he didn’t know whether to kiss her or chide her—forced Emily to remember exactly how good it had felt to be held in his embrace.

“I am aware of that,” he retorted.

“And for the record,” Emily continued stiffly, telling herself she and Dylan would not end up kissing again, no matter what, “I don’t need you to come to my rescue.”

The corners of Dylan’s lips twitched. “It would appear you did.”

Was it possible he had enjoyed defending her honor as much as she had? Emily pushed the bothersome thought away.

“No,” she corrected forcing herself to stay on track. She needed to keep her emotions under wraps. “I didn’t.”

“Uh-huh.” Dylan came closer, all sexy, determined male. “If you change your mind...”

Emily’s pulse jumped. “Why would I do that?”

“Because guys like that don’t like to be told no,” Dylan said in a low, cautioning tone.

Emily had been successfully fighting her own battles for as long as she could recall. “Well, in this case the kid is going to have to get used to it, because I am not interested in being his cougar.”

One corner of Dylan’s mouth curved upward at the notion. “He actually said that?”

So, she wasn’t the only one who found the teen’s proposal to her completely ludicrous!

“It was part of his come-on,” she explained. “I think in Xavier’s teenage fantasy I was just supposed to melt in his arms or something.”

Dylan grunted in response, his disapproval evident.

“Anyway,” Emily rushed on, anxious to put the embarrassing situation behind her, “I’m sure that after what just happened he’ll leave me alone now.”

Dylan’s expression was suddenly as inscrutable as his posture. Deliberately, he inclined his head. “If he doesn’t...you’re welcome to be ‘my woman’...anytime.”

Chapter Three

“Dylan Reeves really called you his woman?” Simone echoed in the café kitchen early the following day.

Doing her best to keep her focus on getting ready for the morning rush, Emily shrugged nonchalantly. “He was mocking me because of what I said to that boy in the heat of the moment.” The fact that Emily warmed from head to toe, every time she recalled it, was her own foolishness. “Obviously, Dylan didn’t mean it because it’s not true.” She brought an extra large pan of golden-brown cinnamon rolls from the oven, and slid in a pan of buttermilk biscuits.

Simone manned the sausage and bacon on the griddle. She winked. “He could be—if you wanted it. Seriously...he’s got the hots for you.”

Emily guffawed. “You only wish my life were that exciting. Dylan is the kind of guy who roots for the underdog in every situation and he thought I was disadvantaged in that moment.”

“Were you?”

Emily gave the hash-brown potatoes a stir. “I had just stomped on Xavier’s toes and planned to escort him to the door. But...Dylan beat me to it.”

“Wow...” Simone comically fanned her chest. “Two men fighting over you.”

Emily blushed despite herself. “I wouldn’t call Xavier a man,” she said.

“I know.” Sympathetic, Simone furrowed her brow. “What’s up with that? How old is he?”

“Nineteen.”

“That is way too young to be running a restaurant,” Simone said.

“No kidding. But I imagine he’s going to find that out the hard way.”

The bell on the service door sounded, as Billy Ray and Bobbie Sue Everett came in. The married couple waited tables at the café during the day and attended community-college classes at night. Normally very down-to-earth and unflappable, they were giddy with excitement. “You-all have got to see this. We’ve never seen anything like this!”

All four of them rushed to the front windows. Dawn was barely streaking across the sky, but there it was—on the opposite side of the Laramie town square—a big burnished-bronze trailer-style restaurant, with an old-style saloon front, sitting on top of an enormous tractor-trailer bed. Next to it was the enormous crane that would move the Cowtown Diner onto the lot where a gas station had once stood.

Emily’s heart sank. It really was happening.

“Can you believe it’s actually going to be open for business by the end of the week?” Billy Ray said.

Aware the customers would soon be lining up outside the door to be let in when the café opened at six o’clock, Emily went back to the kitchen and brought out the platters of homemade cinnamon rolls and sticky buns that would be on display.

“It’s only possible,” Emily said, “because the building is delivered ready to go and everything they serve in the restaurant is prepackaged and pre-made.”

“It’s still amazing,” Bobbie Sue murmured, while quickly helping her husband set up the tables.

Emily had a sinking feeling her customers were going to think so, too.

* * *

THE LUNCH CROWDS WERE finally thinning when Dylan walked into the café at one-thirty, so he was able to get a table right away. To his surprise, Emily came out of the kitchen personally to bring him a menu. After the events of the previous day, he had suspected she might try to avoid him. He couldn’t blame her; he had done as much this very morning, choosing to eat breakfast on the ranch instead of coming to the café, as usual.

But then he’d thought about it and decided that was pure foolishness. He was blowing this all out of proportion and really wanted to get back on solid ground with her.

“I don’t need to see that,” Dylan said, determined to keep the exchange as casual as possible. “I memorized the offerings on your menu the first week you opened.”

And like most ranchers in the area, he had been eating her “cowboy cuisine” frequently ever since.

“You sure? I’ve put a few new things on the menu, just today.”

He was sure. But since it seemed to mean so much to her, he opened the laminated menu anyway. A hand-lettered inset offered two new sandwiches and a fried jalapeño-cheese popper appetizer that was a customer favorite at the Cowtown Diner chain. “Competing already?” he drawled.

He’d figured the sight of the rival establishment would have upped Emily’s competitive spirit.

Curious to know just how far she would go, he leaned back in the red vinyl booth and prodded, “Or just stealing another restaurant’s signature dish?”

She ran her hand lightly over the red-and-white-checked oilcloth. “Ha-ha.”

“You’re better than that. Your food is better than that.”

Her feisty gaze met his once again. “Says the man with the bottomless pit for a stomach.”

Well, at least she still had her temper. Enjoying the exchange more than he had a right to, he angled a thumb at his chest. “Hey—you make a lot of money off me.”

Emily folded her arms in front of her. “Not today, since I assume you are here to collect on my promise of free food for however long you want it.”

Was it possible that the feisty, inimitable Emily McCabe was actually depressed? Dylan didn’t want to think so, but there was something different about her eyes.

“I’ll have the chicken-fried steak meal with all the vegetables you got, biscuits, a strong pot of coffee and two glasses of water, to start. We’ll see about dessert later.”

Their fingers brushed briefly as Emily took the menu and insert back. Dylan wondered if she’d thought about their kisses as much as he had last night and today. Not that it mattered, he told himself, since it wasn’t going to happen again.

“And be sure you bill me for every last morsel,” he added sternly.

Emily arched a delicate eyebrow.

He looked her square in the eye. “No lady pays my way.”

Emily laughed out loud, ready to challenge him on that and a few other things. “So now you’re calling me a lady?” Her bow-shaped lips curling in an appreciative smirk, she pocketed the order pad in her apron.

That was a lot less dangerous than calling her “his woman.” Dylan figured they both had to know that.

He worked to get their conversation back on its usual smart-aleck track. “And a hothead. Not to mention a damn fine cook.”

Abruptly, moisture gleamed in Emily’s eyes.

Before he could question her about it, she ducked her head and turned to leave. “Coming right up,” she said hoarsely over her shoulder.

Five minutes later, Bobby Sue was there with his dinner. It was as hot and fresh and delicious as always.

Dylan downed it all with relish.

He was considering whether or not he had time to order dessert before the café closed at two, when Emily’s father walked in.

Dessert was going to have to wait, because he had business to conduct.

Dylan stood to greet the elder McCabe, as previously arranged. “Everything going okay so far?” he asked.

Shane nodded. “The horse trailers are due to arrive any minute.”

Emily walked out of the kitchen. Obviously surprised to see Dylan standing there with her dad, she looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?”

Shane greeted his daughter with a hug.

“The mustangs are coming in. We decided to meet up here because I thought you might like to take a peek at them before they’re taken to Dylan’s ranch.”

That swiftly, the light was back in Emily’s eyes. She smiled, her love of horses as apparent as ever. “I would. Thanks, Dad.” She hugged her father, then turned to Dylan awkwardly. She started forward, as if to hug him, too, then reconsidered and made do with a shy nod. “Dylan. This was nice of you.”

He cleared his throat. “No problem.”

Emily turned back to her dad. “Tell me about the horses,” she said eagerly.

“Two of them are less than twelve months old. They’re traveling two to a trailer, as per bureau of land management rules. The three-year-old mare is in a stock trailer by herself. She’s not yet fence-or halter-broken and may be a problem when it comes to unloading her.”

Dylan figured that was an understatement. “Any of them got names?” he asked Shane.

The older gentleman shook his head. “Just registration numbers. So feel free to name them whatever you see fit while you’re training them.”

Simone’s son, Andrew, walked in on the tail end of the conversation. A backpack slung over his shoulder, he appeared ready to assume his duties as part-time dishwasher and kitchen help. He looked at his mom, who’d come out of the restaurant kitchen. “Can I go see the horses? Maybe help the guys unload them?”

Simone shook her head. “It’s too dangerous, honey.”

Andrew’s expression fell. “But...”

“And you have homework to do, don’t you?” Simone insisted.

“Well, yeah,” the fifteen-year-old admitted with a reluctant shrug, “but...”

“You’ll have a chance to see the mustangs later,” Simone promised. “When they’re tamed.”

Andrew sulked. “That’ll be forever.”

“Knowing Dylan and the magic he works, probably not as long as you think.” Simone put her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Right now you and I need to help Bobbie Sue and Billy Ray get the kitchen closed for the day. See you later, everyone.” The two of them went back into the café kitchen.

Emily glanced out the window at the commotion outside. “Looks like they’re here,” she said, and smiled.

Shane turned back to Emily. “Do you have plans for this evening? Because if you don’t, your mother and I would like you to come over to the dance hall and have dinner with us. Maybe do a little brainstorming about how you’re going to weather this new competition?”

Emily bucked at the fatherly interference, even as she started for the door. “Thanks, Dad,” she said over one slender shoulder, “but I’ve got it covered.”

Shane persisted. “Just dinner, then?”

Emily pressed her lips together firmly. “I can’t.” Her glance shifted to Dylan’s face. She gave him the look that beseeched him to play along with her. “I’m going out to Dylan’s ranch, to help him get the mustangs settled.”

Dylan felt for Emily. It couldn’t be fun to be on the end of such constant meddling. But that didn’t mean he wanted to sacrifice his own professional standing with her father—one of the most respected horse-ranchers in the state—just so she did not have to do her parents’ bidding.

He tamped down his own irritation. “That’s okay, Emily,” Dylan said just as firmly, holding her glance deliberately. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Oh, I know you could do it without me.” Emily slipped out onto the street and strode toward the horse trailers, as excited and energetic as the animals whinnying in the confines. “But I really don’t want to miss this!”

* * *

“AT WHAT POINT are you going to stop using me to dodge your familial difficulties?” Dylan asked Emily, after the papers transferring financial responsibility to Shane and care of the mustangs to Dylan were signed and they were headed out to their vehicles.

“Never?” Emily paused at the door of her car.

Dylan peered down at her. “Think again.”

She hit the unlock button on the automatic keypad. “Look, I owe you for last night, and thus far you’ve refused to let me pay you back with free food, so I’m left to come up with another way to pay off my debt. This is it.”

Dylan curved a hand over the top of her open door as she climbed in behind the wheel. He leaned down so they were face to face. “I repeat. You do not have to do this.”

“Sure I do. For the very same reason you don’t ever let a lady pay your way.”

He should have known she would use his words against him.

She smiled, unperturbed. “So I’ll help you with the mustangs.”

Damn, if she wasn’t used to getting her own way, even if it meant upsetting the hard-earned tranquility of his life.

“Just understand,” Dylan said, “when you’re out there, playtime is over. I’m putting you to work.”

Turning the key in the ignition, she shot him a sassy look. “Bring it on!”

* * *

EMILY COULDN’T WAIT to get a good look at the horses. She bounded out of her car the moment she arrived at Dylan’s ranch. She set her hat on her head and strode toward him. “What do you want me to do?”

Dylan turned, all business and all cowboy. “Honestly? Stay out of the way,” he said, grimacing.

Emily blew out a disappointed breath. Before she could figure out how to persuade him otherwise, he took a step closer and growled, “I mean it, Emily. I don’t want you getting trampled.”

Emily followed him over to a big round corral with high metal-bar sides. “I’ve been around horses all my life.”

Dylan opened the gate wide and motioned for the truck carrying the two yearlings. He directed the driver to back slowly toward the opening. “These mustangs are completely different from the domesticated cutting horses your father breeds and trains. These horses are wild, down to the core.”

Hand to her shoulder, Dylan guided her to the outside of the pen, then walked back around to the rear of the enclosed vehicle.

Emily’s heartbeat picked up as he opened the trailer and let the first horse out.

It was a filly, about six months old, with a speckled white coat and an ivory mane, her beauty marred only by the identifying freeze marks on her neck. She whinnied as she came barreling out of confinement and raced to the other end of the pen. Emily could see she was frightened—she was standing with her tail puckered tight against her hindquarters and the back of her legs.

Dylan stood quietly, as did Emily, as the filly trembled and kept her head up.

Dylan let the second horse out—a jet-black gelding about a year old. His head was up, too—his tail wringing in anger. Obviously, he had not appreciated the long ride. Or maybe the procedure that had put the freeze marks on his neck, Emily thought. He galloped across the pen, his ebony mane flying, and took a protective position next to the smaller white filly.

They were already forming a herd, Emily thought.

Moving purposefully and calmly, Dylan stepped out and shut the gate. The first truck drove off.

The next trailer backed toward the pen.

When it was in position, Dylan opened the gate and released the third horse.

Emily caught her breath as the mare kicked and bucked her way out of the trailer. The color of ginger, she had darker-colored legs, a dark ginger mane and a striking white blaze down her forehead. Her tail was stiff and pointed up as she kicked and reared her way across the pen. Once near the other horses, she raised up on her hind legs again, her ears pinned back, whinnying furiously at the humans she blamed for her captivity.

Turning her rear to the other two horses, she backed up and pawed the ground.

Dylan smiled.

So did Emily.

“No doubt who is in charge of the herd,” she said, nodding at the ginger mare.

The question was, who was going to be in charge of her and Dylan—if she spent any time alone with him? She’d only been around him a short while and she was already thinking about how thrilling it would be to kiss him again.

“So what next?” Willfully, Emily turned her attention back to the mustangs.

“I let them settle in for a few days to recover from the trip, get used to their surroundings and begin to trust this is a place they are going to like.”

Made sense. “When it’s time, I’d like to help you with their training,” Emily offered.

Dylan glanced at her skeptically. For reasons she did not understand, his doubt hurt. “Don’t think I can do it?”

Dylan shook his head and sauntered toward the barn. “Let’s just say I don’t think your family would approve.”

Emily followed. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

For some reason, Emily thought, that struck a chord—one he didn’t like.

He let his glance trail over her, lazily inspecting every curve, before returning to her face. “You have a major challenge facing your business.” He picked up a bale of hay and carried it back over to the corral. “Why don’t you concentrate on that?”

Emily watched him cut the twine, holding it together. She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. “I can do both.”

“Really?” Methodically, Dylan broke up the square of crisp sweet hay. He tossed it over the fence. “Then you must be a superwoman.”

Emily watched the mustangs. The herd was still on the other side of the pen but contemplating every move Dylan made. “I am an excellent horsewoman.”

Dylan threw out the last of the feed and exhaled in frustration. He slowly straightened and poked up the brim of his hat. “Why don’t you do us both a favor, Emily, and stick to cooking?”

Emily didn’t know whether to slug him or kiss him. Truth was, she wanted to do both. “Why won’t you let me help?”

Her pique increased his own irritation. “Because you don’t work for me.” He walked over to turn on the spigot and fill the trough with water. “I don’t have enough liability insurance. I don’t have time to train them and you, too. Pick a reason.”

The mustangs made their way stealthily toward the feed. “Can I at least come by and watch from time to time?”

He rubbed the underside of his jaw, testing the stubble of afternoon beard. Their glances met and held. “If I say no, will you stay away?”

Emily offered a careless shrug. “Maybe.” The silence between them drew out, prompting her to eventually admit, with a reluctantly candid sigh, “Maybe not.”

His expression hardened. “That’s what I thought.”

She didn’t know why she wanted his respect so badly in this regard, she just knew that she did, and she wished he would give her a chance to earn it. “Dylan—”

He turned off the spigot with a harsh twist.

His eyes narrowed as he regarded her intently. “Do us both a favor, Emily. Go back to your family. Work out whatever needs to be worked out.” He lifted a gloved hand before she could interrupt. “And leave me—and these horses—out of it.”

* * *

LATE THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Dylan answered another summons from Shane McCabe. He met with Emily’s father in the study of the Circle M Ranch house, where they discussed the condition of the mustangs and Dylan’s plan for training them.

It was a cordial, productive meeting and, despite himself, Dylan found himself warming to the elder rancher.

Usually, he did not care for men of such power and wealth, although he never minded doing business with them. Money was money, and they easily paid the fees Dylan commanded.

At the conclusion of their discussion, Shane handed Dylan a check, as previously agreed upon. “This should cover your time and the expenses of caring for the mustangs for the first month. If you need anything else, be sure and let me know.”

“Thank you.”

Before Dylan could get up, Shane said, “If you’ve got a moment, I’d like to speak with you about the Libertyville Boys Ranch. The director—Mike Harrigan—is a friend of mine. He mentioned your devotion to the facility.”

This was headed toward territory Dylan had no wish to discuss. He lifted a hand to cut off the discussion. “It’s no big deal.”

Shane leaned forward earnestly. “On the contrary, it’s a very big deal, Dylan. The boys ranch turns a lot of young lives around. I want to do more than just provide a few horses. So here’s what I was thinking...” Shane elaborated for the next few minutes. Finally, he finished, “And given your expertise in this area, I’d really like your help in making that dream a reality.”

The offer was unexpected. And amazing. Not to mention out of the question. “Thank you, sir. I’ll do what I can to contribute to your efforts.”

“But?” Shane sensed a catch.

“I don’t think I am the right man for the setup you have in mind. I’ll continue training the mustangs and then hand them over to the Libertyville Boys Ranch as promised. But that’s really all I can guarantee, in terms of helping you out.”

Shane had the same look on his face that Emily had on hers whenever Dylan told her no. The one that said a McCabe wasn’t giving up on what they wanted, no matter what obstacles lay in front of them.

Finally, Shane rocked back in his chair.

Dylan expected Emily’s father to say something like the offer was always going to be open. Instead, he steepled his hands in front of him and inquired, “So what’s going on with you and my daughter?”

Dylan swore silently to himself. For the life of him he did not know how to answer that. There was desire, certainly. And he really liked her cooking. But beyond that...

His concern for his only daughter apparent, Shane continued, “I’ve never seen her run after anyone the way she’s been chasing you.” He paused. “Usually, it’s the other way around. Guys are beating down her door.”

Dylan had been around long enough to know that to be true. Not that Emily had been inclined, in the past year or so anyway, to let anyone make much of a move on her. As far as he knew, she hadn’t even had a date—not counting the pretend one with him.

“So...” Shane stood and looked at Dylan, man-to-man. “If I may...a word of advice?”

Dylan took the cue and got to his feet, too. He honored the elder horseman with a look of respect.

“If you don’t think you will ever be serious about Emily...then do whatever you have to do...” Shane said, firmly, “but don’t let my daughter catch you.”

* * *

DYLAN WALKED OUT the front door of the Circle M Ranch house, still contemplating the counsel from Shane McCabe.

As much as he hated having others meddle in his business, Emily’s father was right.

Emily might think she was a free spirit, but she was also vulnerable and traditional to the core.

A wild affair would never make her happy. Nor would deceiving her loved ones.

Not in the long term.

And for some reason he couldn’t figure, Dylan wanted to see the pretty brunette happy.

Which made what came next all the more unpalatable.

Striding toward Dylan, his arms full of Cowtown Diner goodies, was Xavier Shillingsworth. The teen flashed a pretentious smile his way. “Going the wrong way there, aren’t you, fella?”