Wrangling The Rich Rancher

Way to change the subject, he thought, enticed by how sparkly she was. “Okay, so you got the last word. Will you leave me alone now?”

“Nope.” She spun around in a pretty little pirouette, making her fringe fly. “I think you should dance with me.”

He blinked at her. “You want me to two-step with you? Here? Now?”

“No. Tomorrow night.” She glanced down at her feet. Her silver glitter boots were as flashy as her earrings. “At the hoedown.”

Right. The weekly barn dance at the ranch. “I don’t always go to those.” Sometimes he preferred to stay home, letting his guests kick up their heels without him. “And dancing with you sounds like a dolt of a thing to do.”

“Come on. Take a chance.”

He wasn’t making any promises, especially to her. “I might show up, and I might not. But just so you know, the house band isn’t allowed to play Kirby’s music. Or Tommy’s, either. So don’t get smart and make any requests.”

“I won’t. But doesn’t the band wonder why the Talbots are off-limits? Or why they have to turn down requests for their songs?”

“My ranch. My rules. And there are plenty of other artists they cover. Traditional, bluegrass, honky-tonk, alternative, outlaw. They play it all.” Except for the badass Talbots. Their brand of outlaw twisted Matt’s gut.

She bounced in her boots. “Dancing with you is going to be fun. Think how easily we’re going to become friends.” She teased him, “Or frenemies, if you prefer.”

“I just told you that I might not be there.”

“Personally, I don’t think you’re going to be able to resist. I’m the most persuasive cowgirl you’re ever going to meet.”

“You’re not a cowgirl. You’re a chick from Hermosa Beach who wears fancy Western clothes and dotes on my ass-hat of a father.”

She laughed, obviously amused by his assessment of her. He knew where she was from because when he’d checked her into the ranch, he’d seen her driver’s license, with her name, her address, her birth date. He already knew she was twenty-nine, even before she told him how old she was.

“You have a wicked sense of humor, Matt.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

“That’s just my point.”

He squared his shoulders. “I’m going riding now, and you’re not coming with me. So whatever you do, don’t follow me into the hills.”

Her dimples twitched. “We’ll save that for another time. Only I won’t be following you. You’re going to like me enough that you’ll be inviting me to join you.”

“Gee, humble much?” This wannabe cowgirl was hell on wheels. And the crazy part was, he already liked her, even if he didn’t want to.

She laughed again. “See, there you go. Funny, but not trying to be. Enjoy your ride, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

One last smile, and she exited the barn, taking her last words with her. And damn if he wasn’t tempted to teach her a lesson. And leave her dancing all by her beautiful self.

Two

Libby stood in front of the mirror, putting the final touches on her outfit. Soon she would be leaving for the dance. She planned to walk to the barn where the soiree was being held. From her cabin, the path was well lit and paved with stones. She could have called ahead and gotten a ride from a lodge attendant. The ranch offered a shuttle service, taking guests to and from activities. But she intended to bask in the night air, enjoying the sights and scents along the way.

She returned her gaze to the mirror. She was wearing a short, sassy skirt and the same boots and earrings Matt had already seen before.

What he’d said about her was true. She wasn’t a cowgirl, at least not in the literal sense of the word. She didn’t herd cattle or compete in rodeos. But she loved all things country, especially the music.

She didn’t mind being a chick from Hermosa Beach who wore fancy Western clothes. She was proud to own that identity. But had she gone too far, baiting Matt to dance with her? At the time it had seemed like a good way to create a friendly rapport between them. Only now, as the opportunity drew near, she was nervous about seeing him.

Nervous about how he made her feel.

Granted, Libby kept telling herself that she wasn’t ready for a lover, but the thought of being with him kept crossing her mind, making her warm all over.

She’d never slept with anyone except Becker, so the idea of seducing Matt seemed almost laughable. But it seemed hot and wild and exciting, too. Too wild? Too exciting? Even if she had the guts to do it, being with Matt would complicate an already complicated situation, jumbling her plans to interview him. Then why did she keep thinking about him in sexual ways? Why did sleeping with him keep invading her thoughts?

Maybe it would be better if he ditched her tonight, if he didn’t show up. Or maybe she should bail out.

Oh, right. Like that wouldn’t make her look like an idiot, after the overly confident way she’d presented herself. No. Libby was going to see this through. She was going to march into that place with a big, bright smile on her face.

She ventured onto her porch and glanced over at Matt’s cabin. She assumed he wasn’t home because his truck wasn’t parked in the gravel driveway. Was he at the hoedown already? Or had he gone somewhere else instead?

She took a second glance at his cabin. It appeared to be the same two-bedroom model as hers. Was that where he’d always lived, even during his short-lived marriage? Or had he been planning to build a bigger place on his property? It struck her odd that he chose to live in a modest cabin when he could have a mansion if he wanted one. There was no way to know why he did what he did, except to ask him. Kirby certainly wasn’t privy to that information. What he knew about his son could fill a thimble.

Libby locked her cabin and left for the dance. By the time she arrived, the big wooden building was filled with people—adults and children—eating and drinking and being merry.

The decor was charmingly Western, with twinkling lights streaming from the rafters, red-and-white tablecloths and folding chairs upholstered in cowhide.

The band hadn’t taken the stage yet, but they would probably appear soon enough.

She looked around for Matt. He was nowhere to be seen. Keeping herself busy, she wandered over to the buffet and filled her plate. She took a seat at one of the tables, chatted with other guests and dived into her meal.

The fried chicken was to die for and the mashed potatoes were even better. She didn’t go back for dessert. She was already getting full.

An hour passed. By then the band was playing, and people were line dancing, laughing, clapping and missing steps. Of course some of them were right on the money. Libby was a good dancer, too. But at this point she was standing in a corner like a wallflower, watching the festivities.

Okay, so maybe Matt wasn’t coming. Maybe he didn’t find her, or her spunky personality, as irresistible as she assumed he would.

Served her right, she supposed. But suddenly something inside her felt far too alone, far too widowed. She didn’t like being here without a partner.

She toyed with her empty ring finger. She’d removed her wedding band about a year after Becker passed, but now she wished she’d kept it on.

Still, she knew better than to wallow in sadness. She’d worked hard to overcome her grief.

Should she get out there and dance? Should she join the party on her own? Or should she give Matt a little more time, in case he decided to materialize?

“Have you been waiting for me?” a raspy voice whispered in her ear from behind her.

Matt. It was him. Talk about materializing, and at the perfect moment, too. But she was reluctant to turn around, afraid that he would disappear as mysteriously as he’d arrived.

“I knew you’d come,” she said, lying through her teeth.

“Oh, yeah?” Still standing behind her, he gripped her waist. “Then let’s dance.” As quick as could be, he spun her around to face him.

Making her heart spin, too.

* * *

Matt and Libby danced for hours. They did fancy two-steps and three-steps. They country waltzed, line danced and did the push, the Cotton Eye Joe and the schottische.

The fast dances were easy for Matt. The slow ones, not so much. He had to hold Libby closer for those.

Like now. The band was doing a cover of Lady Antebellum’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” with lyrics about a woman’s devotion to her partner.

“I love this song,” Libby said, sounding a little dreamy.

Matt didn’t comment on the music. He was doing his damnedest not to press his body even closer to hers. This wasn’t a sexy setting, and he couldn’t misbehave, not here, not like this. Not at all, he warned himself.

Her hair, he noticed, smelled like lemons, and her cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow. Did she surf and swim and do all those California-girl-type things? Did she go to beach parties with her friends or walk barefoot through the sand at night? He was as curious about her as she was about him.

But he wasn’t writing a book that would damage her. He wasn’t doing anything except getting distracted by her nearness, lowering his guard with a woman who wanted to invade his privacy.

She looked up at him. “Things are starting to wind down.”

He slid his hand a bit lower on her back. “The parents usually take their little ones back to their cabins or rooms by now. But not everyone has kids. Some of the couples who come to the ranch are honeymooners. Some are long-married seniors, too.” He stopped and adjusted his hand, returning it to a more proper position. But it didn’t help. He was still struggling with her proximity. “We don’t get many single folks.”

“Like me?”

“You’re not a regular guest.”

She followed his lead, moving in sync with him. “No, but I’m still a real person.”

Too real, he thought, too warm and pliable in his arms. Now all he wanted was for the song to end. Finally, it did, leaving him with a knot in his chest. The last time he’d danced this close to a woman was with Sandy, when he’d still believed he could make his marriage work.

He hastily asked, “Do you want to go outside and catch a breath of air?”

“Why? Do you think it’s getting warm in here?”

“Warm enough.” He needed to stop holding Libby, to stop swaying to romantic songs. But more ballads were on the way. He knew the band’s set.

He escorted her onto the patio, where hay bales draped in blue gingham served as seats. They sat next to each other in a secluded spot. He glanced up at the starry sky, then shifted his gaze back to her. She was as bright as the night, with her silver boots and shimmery earrings.

As she settled onto the hay bale she adjusted the hem of her skirt, keeping it from riding farther up her thighs. It made Matt wonder what she had going on under that flouncy garment. Cute little bikini panties? A seductive thong? Whatever her undies were, they were none of his business.

None whatsoever.

“I almost stood you up,” he said. “I went to the local watering hole before I came here, and that’s where I was going to stay. But I changed my mind.” He hadn’t even finished his beer. He’d just tipped the gnarly old bartender and left. “I guess I wanted to see if you’d be waiting for me.”

“Truthfully?” She tugged at her hem again. “I started to worry that you might leave me hanging.”

“So you’re not as self-assured as you claim to be?” To him, she still seemed like a force to be reckoned with.

“Mostly I am. Only with you, I wasn’t sure what to expect. But it worked out nicely, I think.”

“What did? Us dancing together?”

“Yep.” She smiled, disarming him with her dimples.

He turned away, staring into the distance, the darkness. Sandy’s smile wasn’t as girlish as Libby’s. She didn’t have blue eyes, either. Hers were a brownish hazel. Aside from being blondes, they didn’t look that much alike. But they had other things in common, like the way they made him feel. That, and the fact that they were both widows.

He returned his gaze to hers. “You should have never come to my ranch, sneaking in, pretending to be a guest.”

“How else was I supposed to get to know you? If I would have called ahead and told you who I was and what my agenda was, you wouldn’t have agreed to see me.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have.” He paused, then asked, “Have you been to Kirby’s place? Or Kirbyville, as everyone calls it.”

“Yes. It’s a spectacular compound. That’s where I’ll be going when I leave here. He wants you to visit him there, too.”

“So he keeps saying.” Matt couldn’t stand the thought of her going back to his dad. “Now that you’re here, I’m not going to send you away. I considered it, but it didn’t seem right, somehow.”

“Thank you. You’re a fascinating man. You intrigued me from the start.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if I wasn’t Kirby’s bastard.”

She frowned. “Why do you keep calling yourself that?”

“Because that’s what I am. And it’s how Kirby always made me feel, sweeping me under the carpet when I was a kid. He never even—” Matt hesitated, stopping himself from opening up more than he already had. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this, giving you material for your book.”

“I can’t just take our conversations and use them, not without getting a signed release from you. The publisher is being very strict about that. I need to interview you properly, to record you and quote you accurately.”

She expected to record him? Fat chance of that. “So anything we say without the release is off the record?”

“Yes. But if you don’t let me interview you, everything in the book that pertains to you will come from Kirby or your brothers or whoever else mentions you. That’s all I’ll be able to write about you.”

“I don’t want you writing about me at all.” How many times did he have to tell her that? “I just want to be left alone.”

She replied in a gentle tone, “This book is an amazing opportunity for me, and I’m going to write it, no matter what. But my heart is in the right place. I’m not trying to hurt or sensationalize you.”

“It sure seems that way to me. The sensationalize part, anyway.” He didn’t think that she’d set out to hurt him, even if her actions would be doing just that. “Do you know the mess Kirby’s biography is going to make of my life? I won’t have any privacy after my paternity is revealed.”

“It’ll cause some attention at first, but Kirby said he’ll hire a PR team to help you manage it. He doesn’t expect you to weather it by yourself.”

“Gee, how gracious of him.”

“I understand that you’re angry about the way he treated you. But your paternity shouldn’t have been kept a secret to begin with. If Kirby had acknowledged you from the beginning, you would already be known as his son.”

“That’s a moot point all these years later. If he wanted to be my father, he should have manned up back then.” Matt didn’t have any patience for his dad’s newfound interest in him. His old man should have forewarned him about the book, too, instead of sending a pretty little writer to do it.

She went silent, letting him brood. A moment later, she said, “I was thinking of taking a shuttle into town tomorrow, then renting a car while I’m there. Unless you’d be willing to drive me. You could be my guide.”

“Sorry, but I’m going to pass.” He didn’t want to show her around his hometown. He figured that she just wanted to go there to try to learn more about where he’d grown up. “But I’d be glad to escort you back to your cabin now.”

“The dance isn’t even over yet.”

“It’s getting close. This is the last song.” He could hear the music drifting outside. “They always end with a Texas waltz.”

“It sure is pretty.”

As pretty as it got, he supposed. Just like her. “So, do you want me to give you a ride back to your cabin?”

She tucked a strand of her lemony hair behind her ear. “Sure, I’ll go with you.” She lifted her feet off the ground, tipping her toes to the sky. “It’ll make me feel like a rodeo queen, riding beside the handsomest cowboy in the land.”

“You wish.” He stood and extended a hand. “And calling me handsome isn’t going to boost your cause.”

She accepted his hand and let him help her up. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah.” Nothing was going to take the sting out of her writing Kirby’s biography. Except maybe sweeping her into a mindless kiss that would make him forget his worries. Or reaching his hand under her skirt. Or hauling her off, like a caveman, to his bed. But he wasn’t going to do any of those things.

No matter how good they would make him feel.

* * *

When Matt pulled into his driveway and parked, Libby was still thinking about the book and how she was going to get him to agree to be part of it. But as they turned toward each other, a strange sensation came over her—almost as if they were on a date and she was going home with him for the very first time.

He frowned, and she suspected the same awkward notion had come over him. The porch light from his cabin created a misty glow, intensifying the ambience.

Neither of them spoke. Not a word. Until he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you to your door.”

“That isn’t necessary.” She’d walked to the dance by herself. So why would she need an escort now? “My cabin is just right over there.”

“Yes, but sometimes the coyotes come down from the hills at this hour. We’ve got lots of them around here.”

“But they wouldn’t approach me, would they?” She couldn’t imagine it.

“They might.” He spoke in a serious tone. “I’ve heard they’re partial to blondes in short skirts and fancy boots.”

She broke into a smile, grateful for his offbeat sense of humor. She knew now that he was kidding. “I can fend them off. I’m tougher than I look.”

“That’s good.” He chuckled. “Because you look like a sugar cookie dipped in silver sprinkles.”

She feigned offense. “You don’t like sugar cookies? What kind of crazy person are you?”

“I never said I didn’t like them.” His humor faded. “I can eat dozens of them.” His amber eyes turned hungry. “I could even devour one whole.”

Libby fidgeted in her seat. If she were smart, she would make an off-the-cuff remark. She would crack a joke. But she didn’t do anything except sit there like the cookie in question.

She finally drummed up the courage to say, “You’re making me nervous, Matt.” She didn’t usually admit defeat, but her defensive mechanism was on the blink, screws and bolts coming loose.

He stared at her mouth. A second later, he lifted his gaze back to her face, snaring her in his trap.

“I’ve been thinking about kissing you,” he said. “I’m not going to do it, but I keep thinking about it.”

“You probably shouldn’t be telling me this.” Just as she shouldn’t be imagining how his kiss would feel—hot and wild, with his hands tangled in her hair, his tongue slipping past her lips.

“I even wondered about what kind of panties you have on.”

Embarrassed by his admission, by the shameful thrill it gave her, she pressed her knees together. “I’m not going to tell you.”

“I’m not asking you to. But I’m not taking it back, either. I admitted how I feel, and it’s over and done with now.”

It wasn’t over for her. She wanted to know more about him, so much more. “Have you been playing around since your divorce?” she asked, curious about his habits, his primal needs. “Do you go to the bar to meet women?”

He scowled at her. “You have no right to ask me that.”

“After the things you said to me, I think I’m entitled to a little payback.” She was still pinning her knees together, still feeling the discomfort of being the cookie he wanted to devour.

He cursed quietly.

She went flippant. “Is that a yes or a no? I couldn’t quite tell.”

He almost laughed. But he almost snarled, too. The sound that erupted from him was as unhinged as their attraction.

“If I’d been getting laid,” he said, “would I be acting like a rutting bull around you?”

“I don’t know,” she challenged him, determined to get a straight answer. “Would you?”

He shook his head. “You’re something else, Libby.”

She was just trying to make being the object of his desire more bearable, even if meant getting him to admit that he’d been alone since his divorce. “Maybe I better go home now.”

“Back to California?”

Big, handsome jerk. “Back to my cabin.”

“Damn. I should have known you wouldn’t cut bait and run.”

“You don’t have to walk me to my door.” Now that she knew there weren’t any coyotes out to get her. “You don’t have to play the gentleman.”

“I wasn’t playing at anything. But it’s probably better if I keep my distance. I’d just want to kiss you, and that’ll only make things worse.”

She wasn’t sure if they could get any worse. He was already making her far too weak. If he kissed her at her door, she would probably melt at his feet.

He said, “You should go home for real.”

She refused to concede, to get any weaker than she already was. “Sorry, cowboy, but you’re stuck with me.”

He leaned back against the seat, as if he were weary. Or lonely. Or something along those lines.

He sat forward again. “Maybe I will take you into town tomorrow.”

Her pulse bumped a beat. “Really?”

“Sure. Why not? There’s a bakery where we can get some cookies.”

She laughed even if she shouldn’t have. “You’ve got a hankering, do you?”

“Hell, yes. Don’t you?”

More than he could possibly know. “Will you show me the house where you grew up?” It was at the top of her list of places to see. She had the address, but she hadn’t run a map on it yet.

“I suppose I could take you. It’s better than you poking around out there alone.”

She eagerly asked, “Is this the start of us being friends?”

“I think it’s more like the other thing you said we could become.”

“Frenemies?”

“That’s it. I’ll pick you up tomorrow around two. I have some work to do on the ranch before then. But for now, we both need to get some sleep.”

Yes, they did, she thought, each of them in his or her own bed. “I’ll see you.” Libby bid him a hasty goodbye, opened the passenger’s-side door and darted off, clinging to the shadows, trying to be less visible. She sensed that he was watching every move she made.

Was he still thinking sexy thoughts? Did he wish that he’d kissed her? That he’d pulled her body close to his? That he’d put his mouth all over hers?

She ascended her porch steps without glancing back. Self-conscious, she fumbled putting the key in the lock. She went inside, and as soon as she closed the door, she crept over to the living room window and peered through the blinds.

Matt remained in his truck, a lone figure behind the wheel.

She kept spying on him, holding her breath, anxious to see him walk to his door. He finally got out of the vehicle, taking long determined strides. She watched, absorbed by his rugged movements, breathless for every dizzying moment until he entered his cabin and turned on his lights.

Leaving her alone in the dark.

* * *

The next afternoon, Libby waited on her porch for Matt. She’d dressed down a bit, wearing a plaid shirt, blue jeans and a pair of traditional brown boots. Of course, her belt buckle was shiny and so was her jewelry. She never left the house without a touch of glamour.

She removed her phone from her purse and checked the time. Matt wasn’t late, but he was cutting it close. And now, in the light of day, with nothing between them except last night’s convoluted hunger, she was concerned that he might cancel their outing.

She frowned at her phone. They hadn’t even exchanged numbers. She couldn’t text him to see if he was on his way.

He hadn’t told her what type of work he had to do on the ranch today, and when she’d awakened this morning his truck was already gone. She hadn’t seen him at the lodge during breakfast or lunch, either.