A Real Cowboy Knows How to Kiss (4 page)

Chase gestured again. "Come on. She's in a hurry."

"No."

Chase tipped back his hat. "No? Really?" It wasn't a question. It was a challenge, the kind that Steen never used to back down from.

This time, however, he didn't respond to the bait. "No," he repeated, even more firmly.

His brother's eyes narrowed. "I don't care if you've been in prison for four years. The only thing that separates us from our father is the fact that, despite everything, we value human beings. If you sit in there and refuse to help, then you're no better than he ever was."

Anger ripped through Steen. "I'm not him."

"You've got his genes. We all do. It's up to you to fight them. The first time he went to prison, it turned his soul black for good. You want to be him? You want to go there?"

Steen scowled at his brother. "You're a bastard."

"So are you." Chase stepped back, looking down the road. "Erin," he yelled out. "My brother's coming to help you. He's just got to get his pants on first."

He heard Erin yell something back, and Steen glared at his brother, who was now grinning broadly. "You're an ass."

Chase tipped his head. "Why, thank you. I appreciate the compliment."

Steen knew he had no choice now. He'd been busted. He gave Knight a final pat, then ducked out the door and stepped into the sunlight. Squinting against the brightness, he took a deep breath, and then turned toward the front of the truck, steeling himself for the sight of a skinny, intellectual rich kid who had moved far beyond his station in life.

What he saw was a woman in hiking boots and muddy jeans, with a thick ponytail cascading down her back as she leaned over the engine of a beat-up Chevy. The setting sun was igniting auburn streaks in her hair, making it look like fire was sizzling through the strands. Her hair was mesmerizing, the most insanely beautiful thing he could remember noticing in his life. The skinniness was long gone, replaced with the kind of womanly curves that he could spend hours memorizing. Her light blue tee shirt was muddy and torn at the hem, and she was muttering under her breath, talking to herself about something.

He grinned, remembering all those times he'd seen her talking to herself as she'd wandered through the school. Erin Chambers indeed.

At that moment, she looked up at him. The moment her brown eyes fastened on him, he felt like his entire world had gone still. She wasn't the skinny geek he remembered. She was a woman who literally took his breath away.

It was Steen Stockton.

Erin couldn't believe the man standing before her. After all her years of fantasizing about him, wondering what had happened to him, searching the web for information about his football career after he'd blown out his knee in college, he was standing right in front of her.

An old, faded cowboy hat was pulled low over his forehead, almost shielding his dark eyes from her view. His face was clean-shaven, his jaw angular and defined. He was wearing a black tee shirt, black jeans, and boots that would fit more with a motorcycle helmet than a cowboy hat. His shoulders were still wide and his body angled down to a V toward his narrow hips, but he was lean, too lean, and his cheeks were sunken, as if he'd been in a bad place for a long time. He was all male, well over six feet tall, and his muscles were hard and cut beneath his shirt, despite his leanness.

He was no longer a boy, but the man she'd envisioned. He was raw heat, with a languid grace that she knew hid his lightning quick reflexes and innate physical grace. For the first time in years, she felt a pulse of physical attraction. Involuntarily, her gaze flicked to his mouth. His lips were pressed together, as if he were trying to contain the words that wanted to escape. Sexy and silent, just as he'd always been, only now, he was so much more.

In the face of the sheer strength of his presence, she suddenly felt like the ugly, geeky fourteen-year-old again, hopelessly outclassed by the only person she'd ever known who lived life on his terms and didn't care one bit what anyone else thought of him.

He frowned. "You okay?"

Erin suddenly realized she'd been gaping at him. Horrified, she snapped her mouth shut, trying to regain some semblance of self-respect. "Yes, fine. Thanks. It's so incredible to see—"

"You need some help with your engine?" he interrupted, cutting off her sentence before she could finish commenting on how good it was to see him.

It was her turn to frown now. Did he not recognize her? After all these years of fantasizing about him whenever she'd needed to escape from the reality of her life and marriage, he didn't even
remember
her?

Desolation flooded her, the kind of utter loss that happens only when a dream is shattered, a dream that had all its power because it was pure fantasy, and therefore could never be destroyed. And yet, in one instant, he'd shattered it, because
he
was reality now, standing in front of her. Steen had been the only one who'd ever looked
at
her, instead of
through
her, but it apparently hadn't meant anything to him, at least not enough for him to remember her.

She lifted her chin resolutely. It didn't matter. She knew her imagination had elevated him into the perfect man. Even though the real life man didn't even
remember
her, it didn't change the fact that he'd been her salvation and her escape throughout the years. She knew he was a good guy, and it wasn't his fault that she'd been such an insignificant blip in his life that he didn't remember her.

He tipped his cowboy hat back, giving her a clear view of his eyes for the first time. They were haunted. Deeply haunted. She was shocked by the change in them from the jaunty, arrogant boy she'd known in high school. There was no humor in his gaze. No life, even. Just emptiness. Her heart tightened, and instinctively, she reached out, touching his arm. "What happened to you, Steen?"

She'd never have believed anything could take him down, but something had, something that had broken the spirit of the man she'd believed in for so long, the one who had lived in her heart for over a decade.

Steen froze, and his muscles went rigid under her touch, making her realize that she'd overstepped her boundaries in a major way. She quickly jerked her hand back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"You recognize me?" he asked.

She blinked. "What? Of course I do. How could I not?" Did that mean he recognized her? She wanted to ask, but she didn't dare. His gaze was too intense, and his silence was too unyielding.

After a few moments, she began to shift uncomfortably. She cleared her throat, and tried to change the subject to one that wasn't quite so incredibly awkward. "So, um, you know engines? Is that right?"

"Yeah." He still didn't take his gaze off her face, which she found both completely intimidating and wildly intoxicating. She used to catch him watching her when they were in school, but his face had always been inscrutable and distant. Now, however, there was so much intensity burning in his eyes that her heart started to race. No longer were his eyes empty and apathetic. They were simmering with heat, and all of it was directed at her.

So much for the fantasies not living up to reality. Even in her dreams, he'd never made her feel the way he was making her feel in this moment, like she was the only thing in his world that had ever mattered. Flustered, she pulled her gaze off him. "Well, um, here." She grabbed Josie's notebook from the engine. "I have this diagram of what I'm supposed to do if Faith dies, but I can't figure it out."

"Faith?" He still didn't take his eyes off her, not even to look at the notebook that she was waving at him.

"My car. Josie's car. Do you remember Josie? She was my only friend...I mean, she was my best friend in high school. Anyway, she's a vet out here, but she had to go to Chicago to help her mom through surgery, so I'm out here for a few weeks taking over her clinic while she's gone. So it's her car, and I don't know how to use it and—" She stopped when the corner of his mouth tipped up in a slight smile. "Sorry. I'm babbling."

"You used to be so quiet," he said. "I think you spoke more words just now than you uttered during your entire high school career."

"I used to be so quiet?" She stared at him as the meaning of his words sunk in. He remembered her from high school? The liar!
He remembered her!
Elation flooded her, and she couldn't stop the silly grin. "I'm still quiet," she said. "That was just a momentary babble because I'm nervous. So, don't get used to it. I'm not suddenly going to become a talker."

His right eyebrow quirked. "You're nervous? Why?" As he spoke, he plucked the forgotten notebook out of her hand and walked around her toward the engine.

"Because you make me nervous."

He glanced over at her as he leaned over the engine. "Me? Why?" There was an edge to his voice that was like steel.

"You always have." She leaned against the side of the truck and folded her arms over her chest, watching him as he looked back and forth between the notebook and the engine.

He tossed the notebook over his shoulder and braced his hands on the truck, his gaze methodically scanning every inch of the engine. "Why?" He repeated the question, not even bothering with polite preamble. He wasn't even looking at her, but she felt his intense awareness of her.

"Because you're you."

"That's not an answer." He bent over and fiddled with something in the shadowy recesses of the engine.

Her heart began to pound as silence built between them. She knew he was waiting for her answer, and a part of her wanted to give him the absolute truth. She'd never see him again after she left in three weeks, right? After so many years of suppressing every emotion and trying to be the woman who everyone in her life wanted her to be, now was her chance to speak up, to admit who she was, to let it all out. To take a chance. That's why she'd come out to Wyoming, right? Because she'd been dying inside, and she'd been desperate to find some kind of kick in the pants that would get her heart beating once again.

He twisted something and moved a wire, still waiting for her answer.

After a moment, he looked up. "She's all set," he said, his voice rumbling through her. His gaze was boring into her. "You're good to go." He waited a heartbeat, and she knew this was her last chance. In a split second, he was going to lower the hood, and she was going to drive away.

She swallowed and lifted her chin. "You made me nervous in high school because I had a huge crush on you," she said, speaking a little more quickly than she intended. When his eyebrows shot upward in surprise, she hurried onward, not wanting to hear him disdain her confession. "You always looked at me like you saw I was there. No one else did that. I mean, I was the new kid, only there for high school while my dad was starting up a new surgical unit at the hospital. I couldn't believe the captain of the football, basketball, and baseball teams noticed
me
. For a fourteen-year-old girl to be noticed by someone like you…well, it's huge. I always thought that you'd figure out I wasn't worth acknowledging, that someday you'd stop
seeing
me, that I was going to do something that would get me kicked off your radar." She couldn't read his expression at all, but he was watching her intently. "So, yeah, that's why."

He stood up, slammed the hood shut, and then leaned on it, still watching her. "And now? Why do I make you nervous
now
?" Again, that edge to his voice that made her want to both step away and also to reach out to him and take away whatever had caused it.

She swallowed and shrugged. "It's still the same."

Her words hung out there between them, silence mounting.

"You're not fourteen," he finally said. "It's not the same. It's completely different now." His gaze swept over her breasts in a swift, almost unconscious move that made her heart start to race. He'd noticed she was a woman. Dear heaven,
he'd noticed she was a woman.
When she was in high school, even though he'd noticed her, there'd never been anything romantic or sexual in the way he'd looked at her. But now? That last look from him had been searing hot.

"No," she agreed slowly, trying to keep her voice even. "I'm not fourteen. That's different, and that's why I'm nervous." When she was thirteen and he'd been a junior, he'd been untouchable, a crush that was safe because their worlds kept them too separated. When she'd been fourteen and he'd been a senior, they'd both been in high school, but the gap between them had been still be insurmountable. But now? The three years between their ages made no difference, and they both knew it. Not that she was going to say it. She'd said as much as she was brave enough to say. She was so far from bold, so not the kind of person who claimed what she wanted. She was actually really impressed she'd said that much.

Steen levered himself off the truck and walked around the grill, coming to a stop inches from her. She stiffened, trapped between the truck and his body. His gaze roamed her face, never, to her dismay, dipping below her chin, before it settled on her eyes again. "I'm not the kind of guy any girl…or woman…should have a crush on. I'm not one of the good ones."

Outrage rushed through her. In high school, he never would have said anything like that. He'd thought he owned the world back then. "What happened to you, Steen?" Again, she reached out instinctively.

When her hand landed on his upper arm, he didn't tense, and he didn't pull away.

He went still, but this time, she was pretty sure he leaned into her touch ever so slightly, as if his soul wanted it but his mind refused to accept it.

Time seemed to stand utterly still, and then he carefully lifted her hand off his arm. Her heart started to pound as he cradled her hand in both of his, his touch warm and soft, despite the strength of his hands.

"You always looked at me like I was a prince," he said, his voice rough. "And you're looking at me that same way right now."