How to Rope a Real Man

“I was wrong before,” he said between breaths.

“About what?” She’d already figured what he meant, but wanted to hear him say it.

“That you and I shouldn’t be together. That’s bullshit. I want you.” One of his hands left her waist to splay over her backside. “All of you.”

Time would tell if he truly wanted all of her—including her heart—but for tonight the confession was enough. She slipped a finger behind the knot of his tie and tugged. “I’m yours for the taking.”

His body tensed, radiating torrid, male need. He drew her lower lip into his mouth and ran his tongue across it. “Right now.”

The terse demand sent a shot of arousal through her. Right now sounded just exactly perfect.

She looked around the lobby. Mr. and Mrs. Parrish were watching them with wrinkled noses, judging. Others darted glances, smiling knowingly, and no doubt filing away the juicy news of Matt and Jenna’s heated embrace for later.

Matt seized hold of her chin and forced her attention back to him, his eyes relentless in their hunger. “Right now, Jenna.”

She licked over her lower lip, tracing the path his tongue had taken. Sweet sundae, she loved the way he tasted. “Guess we’d better find ourselves an empty room.”

Books by Melissa Cutler

The Trouble With Cowboys

Cowboy Justice

How to Rope a Real Man

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

M
ELISSA
C
UTLER

ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

To Rachael, Janet, Georgie, Tami,
Cori, Lisa, Marie, and Shoshana—
my honorary sisters

Jenna Sorentino was nothing if not self-sufficient. That trait had served her well for twenty-four years, but it was a bitch of a problem tonight. Because Matt Roenick—hard-bodied, bright-smiling Matt—was only interested in people he could save. Try as she might, she couldn’t figure out a palatable way to land herself in that position.

Seated two seats down from the head of the table at the rehearsal dinner for her older sister Amy’s wedding, she watched Matt cut up Tommy’s chicken strips like he was the daddy she wanted him to be, all the while trying to dream up a problem Matt could solve for her that wouldn’t make her feel helpless.

It wasn’t that Jenna didn’t have problems. Besides the problem of Matt never giving her more than the time of day in the eight months she’d known him, she had a category-five hurricane brewing with her two sisters. But there wasn’t another person on earth who could save her from that storm except herself, not even the noble and dashing Matt Roenick.

That particular problem would have to wait until after Amy’s wedding, though, because she hadn’t damn near killed herself to put on the best wedding in Catcher Creek history only to ruin it with the truth.

A loud, banjo-heavy song exploded from the speakers. Jenna sipped her diet cola and tried not to wince outwardly. “It’s too early for banjo,” she called to Matt over Tommy’s head.

He smiled, revealing the very same dimple that had made her go weak in the knees the first time she’d seen it so many months ago. “Is it ever the right time for banjo?”

She swirled the ice in her glass and gave him her most scholarly expression. “There’s a banjo window, but it’s very narrow. Only nine to eleven at night.”

His brows pushed together. “Not eight or seven, but nine?”

“Eight’s too early. You have to get nice and relaxed before banjo sounds good.”

He rewarded her joke with a laugh. “That makes perfect sense, even though I’d never heard the banjo rule before tonight.”

She shook her hair away from her cheek and smiled, trying to tell him without words how much she loved their easy camaraderie. “Yes, well, some things are so obvious, they don’t need to be said.”

His eyes glimmered, like he loved their conversations as much as she did. “I’ll bear that in mind if I ever get the chance to take you to a bluegrass concert.”

Her smile fell. To distract herself from the urge to point out that he had the chance any old time he wanted because Smithy’s Bar had a standing event with a bluegrass band every Saturday night and all he had to do was ask, she picked a couple pieces of sawdust out of Tommy’s hair that she’d apparently missed on his first brushing-off, then ruffled his dark blond locks.

Leave it to a five-year-old to get himself coated with sawdust in the scant amount of time since they’d entered the Sarsaparilla Saloon and been seated on the far side of the dance floor.

“Uh-oh, buddy,” Matt said, nudging Tommy with his elbow. “I hate to break it to you, but it looks like your head’s sprouting sawdust.”

Tommy giggled. “If our floor ever got this dirty, Mama would pitch a tent.”

Matt quirked an eyebrow at Jenna. “Translation?”

Love for her earnest little boy roused a smile from her lips once more. “I think you meant pitch a fit, and you’re exactly right. You know Mama loves clean floors, but this is a saloon, so it’s supposed to be messy. It’s part of the ambiance.”

“Am-bee-ance,” Tommy repeated, as though committing it to memory. Ever since it had dawned on him that he’d be starting kindergarten in the fall, he’d been obsessed with rattling off big words, so Jenna made sure their conversations were dense with them.

It’d been her idea to hold the rehearsal dinner here. Kellan, her soon-to-be brother-in-law, had requested someplace casual, with dancing and beer. As small a town as Catcher Creek was, nothing in its blink-and-you’ll-miss-it downtown district fit the bill. Good thing Jenna was intimately familiar with just about every bar with a dance floor in New Mexico between Albuquerque and the Texas state line.

A glance at Amy made her stomach drop. Amy’s eye twitched and she was using the steak knife that’d come with her top sirloin to dice the side of steamed vegetables into tiny cubes—a sure sign her wedding nerves were getting intense.

Kellan was the only person in the world who could talk Amy off the ledge when anxiety got the best of her, but he was deep in conversation about steer prices with Vaughn, Jenna’s other soon-to-be brother-in-law. As much as Jenna wasn’t going to let her own problems get in the way of Amy’s perfect wedding, she wasn’t about to stand by while Amy ruined it either.

“How’s your meal, Ames?”

“Fine.” Her voice was strained, and she’d answered without meeting Jenna’s eyes, focusing instead on slicing a baby carrot.

Oh, crap.

Jenna pushed up from the table, smoothing the skirt of her swishy cotton dress as she stood. She met Matt’s startled look. “Will you keep an eye on Tommy for a bit?”

“Of course.”

“Amy, I need to talk to you outside. Could you spare a minute?”

Amy’s knife and fork froze. She blinked at her plate for a couple beats before standing. “Okay, yes. Outside would be good.”

Their movement must’ve caught Rachel’s eye because she broke from her conversation with Kellan and Vaughn and stood. “Where’re you going?”

As the oldest sister, Rachel had always been the mother figure and rock of the family that Jenna had needed growing up, supporting her through the toughest of times. As close as two sisters could be, they had an understanding of each other that ran deep and didn’t need words. However, from Jenna’s first recollection of her sisters, Amy and Rachel had gotten on like two tomcats locked in a barn. There wasn’t a situation the good Lord could throw at one that the other couldn’t make worse without even trying.

With Amy looking like she was going to blow a gasket at any moment, the last thing she needed was Rachel getting involved before Jenna had a chance to run damage control.

Without relinquishing her hold on Amy’s shoulders, she pressed close to Rachel. In as low a tone as she could muster, she hissed, “Bring us three shots of tequila, STAT.”

“What? You don’t drink.”

But Jenna was already hustling Amy from the table. She drilled Rachel with a
Don’t mess with me
glare behind Amy’s back. “Tequila. Now!”

The fenced-in patio out back of the saloon was bathed in a soft yellow glow from the strings of twinkle lights crisscrossing the tin roof. As they stepped out, a weathered, older man was snuffing a cigarette in an ashtray. He tipped the brim of his hat to them, then made his way inside. The door bounced a few times before sealing shut, dulling the music to a muffled rhythm of vibrations.

Jenna spun Amy to face her. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

Amy wrapped her arms around her middle. “Nothing. What makes you think something’s wrong?”

Jenna pinched the bridge of her nose and silently recited the alphabet backward, a mom trick she’d learned to maintain patience when under duress. And it worked near about all the time. Well, sort of. If she didn’t count the fact she’d never once made it past N.

“Spill it, Amy.”

Amy’s tongue poked against the inside of her cheek, and Jenna could tell she was fighting hard to keep her composure. “Jake texted Kellan on our way here.
Work emergency
. That’s it. Two words. And Kellan can’t get him on the phone.”

From everything Amy had told her, Kellan had made his only brother, Jake, his best man as an olive-branch gesture, trying to mend their decades-old rift. And it seemed to have had the desired effect, if they all ignored that Jake hadn’t attended Kellan’s bachelor party or shown up for the rehearsal that afternoon. She’d figured intimate gatherings like this made him uncomfortable given the fragility of his and Kellan’s reconciliation, but it’d never occurred to her he might blow off the actual wedding.

“Jake’s a cop, and not a rural cop like we’re used to dealing with. LAPD is a different beast,” Jenna said. “I bet work emergencies are par for the course. There’s nothing he can do about that. Besides, he still has time. The wedding’s not until three.”

“That’s what Kellan said, but I looked up flights from L.A. to Albuquerque on my cell and the next one’s not until tomorrow at nine thirty, L.A. time. It’s a two-hour flight, then a three-hour drive here, if everything goes perfectly. And that’s not counting time spent in the airport or at a car rental place. With the time difference, it’s impossible. But Kellan’s acting like nothing’s wrong. He still believes Jake’ll make it work. I don’t know what to do.”

It wasn’t like they could delay the ceremony, because every detail of the wedding and reception, from the caterer and DJ to the photographer, was hinging on a three o’clock start time, including the minister, who had a second wedding to perform later that evening. Still, a little fake optimism never hurt anything. “I bet everything will work out and he’ll make it on time.”
If he hooks up with Superman or bribes his way onto a private jet.

Wide-eyed, Amy shook her hands, palms out, fingers stretched. “Don’t patronize me. I’m freaking out here!” The shrillness of her voice made Jenna’s teeth ache.

She grabbed hold of Amy’s shoulders and rubbed, praying that Rachel materialized with their shots in the next thirty seconds.

“Even if Jake doesn’t make it, everything will be fine. Vaughn is Kellan’s best friend. He’ll stand in as best man at the wedding and he’s really good in front of crowds so he’ll be able to pull off a last-minute toast at the reception, no sweat. I’ll make sure he has a speech planned, okay? I’m not going to let anything spoil your special day, so calm down.”

The doors burst open. “Don’t tell her to calm down. She hates it.” It was Rachel, balancing three shots in her hands. “Here, take a glass before I drop one.”

Jenna passed a shot to Amy, then took one for herself.

Amy frowned down at hers. “What are we doing with this stuff?”

Jenna clinked the lips of their glasses together. “What do you think? Shooting it.”

“I get really silly when I drink, Jen. You know that,” Amy said.

“That’s what I’m counting on.” And if one shot didn’t turn her from stressed to silly, Jenna wasn’t above buying round after round until Amy’s buzz set in.

Rachel nudged Jenna. “How long’s it been since you had a drink?”

“Well, Tommy’s five, so . . . six years. Wow. But I need it tonight. We all do.”

“Isn’t this what AA calls enabling?” Rachel asked. “Am I causing you to fall off a wagon or something?”

“I’m not an alcoholic and you know it. It’s just that I lost my appetite for the stuff when I got pregnant.”

Rachel sniffed her shot, then screwed up her face. “This tequila is making me lose my appetite. Why can’t we shoot whiskey instead?”

“Because whiskey’s not ladylike. Now hush up. You’re not weaseling out of this shot by whining. Do it for Amy.”

“You don’t have to do it, Rachel,” Amy said.

Jenna pinned Rachel with her best scolding expression. “Don’t listen to her. She’s the bride; she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. As the wedding planner, my word trumps all.”

Amy shook her head. “I don’t think that’s—”

“Fine. For Amy.” Rachel raised her glass in a toast, then tossed the tequila back.

Jenna and Amy followed suit. The liquor flooded Jenna’s throat with the warmth of an old friend—or maybe her worst enemy.

The taste and burn reminded her of high school, which was pretty pathetic, but there it was. It sent her right back to long nights of partying in the vacant desert with Carson Parrish and all the other misfits she’d wasted her teenage years with. She might’ve been angrier at the memories or at herself except that she was damn proud of how she’d turned her life around.

Back in the day, her tolerance had been such that it had taken her at least three shots to work up a buzz. Tonight, the drink settled in her muscles and brain almost instantly.

Amy shuddered and handed her empty glass to Jenna.

“All right, why did we do that?” Rachel said, stacking her glass on Amy’s.

Jenna draped a fortifying arm across Amy’s shoulders. “We’re not sure Kellan’s brother is going to make it to the wedding.”

Rachel didn’t flinch. “That’s because he’s an asshole.”

“Rachel, he’s family now!” Amy scolded.

Jenna rolled her eyes.
Here they go . . .

“Yeah, I get that,” Rachel pressed, “but there’s no rule that says family members can’t be assholes. In fact, I’d wager there’s no more focused collections of assholes in the world than people have in their own families.”

Amy made a sound like a snort that got Jenna’s attention fast. The second she looked her way, Amy burst out in giggles.

God bless tequila.

A squeak warned of the patio door opening again. Kellan stepped out, ducking under a strand of low-hanging twinkle lights. Amy smushed her lips together and tried to stop laughing.

“Okay, womenfolk, what’s this powwow all about?”

Jenna rattled the stack of empty glasses. “We were getting some fresh air and enjoying a splash of New Mexico’s finest tequila.”

“Not really,” Rachel said. “I only sprang for the cheap stuff.”

Jenna patted her arm. “That was called sarcasm, sweetie.”

Kellan’s eyes twinkled as he gave Amy a once-over. “Are you getting my bride drunk on our wedding eve?”

Amy snorted through her nose, clearly fighting another bout of giggles. Kellan’s smile broadened, and he pulled Amy from Jenna’s arms into his own.

This was a good man Amy was marrying. The kind of man who took care of things and people. Like Rachel’s fiancé, Vaughn, did. That her sisters had found such fine matches eased some of Jenna’s guilt about her plan to leave town.

Amy threaded her arms around Kellan’s ribs. “Just a little bit drunk.”

“Good. That makes it easier for me to take advantage of you.”

“I’m always easy for you to take advantage of like that.”

“True enough.”

Rachel groaned and started for the door. “I don’t care that you’re getting hitched tomorrow. I’m not going to stand around listening to you two talk dirty to each other. I’m going back in.”