Montana Mavericks Weddings (12 page)

“I don't, either. I want to go forward. But you won't let me do that because of the past. Don't turn your back on this. Please. Once we were wonderful together. We can be again. Do you want to spend the rest of your life wondering what it would have been like if only you weren't too stubborn to give me a second chance?”

He made it sound so easy. As if all she had to do was say yes. In truth, she wondered about the letters. Dylan sounded so confident about their existence. Had he really sent them and had her brother kept them from her? At the time, she'd been in so much pain. He might have thought it was an act of kindness. It would be easy enough to ask. But if the letters existed, she wasn't sure she was strong enough to read them.

“Dylan, I—”

He held up his hand to stop her. “Don't say anything yet. Rory's tenth birthday is next week. We'd both like you to come.”

She blinked at the change in topic. “Um, I don't think that's a good idea.”

“He really likes you and it would mean a lot to him.” Dylan smiled bitterly. “To be honest, I want you to be there so he has something to distract him.”

“From what?”

“From the fact that Claire isn't going to bother
to attend. She's in Paris with her new husband. I've been trying to get a message to her so she'll remember to at least call him, but I'm not sure it's going to happen.”

She sucked in a breath. No matter what else had occurred, at least she and Kirk had had loving parents to support them. “Is this his first birthday since you two split up?”

“Yeah. He seems okay most of the time, but I know he's hurting. I want the day to be special for him.”

Sierra saw Rory wave at her. She waved back. The world could be a cruel place. It was tough enough to handle as a grown-up. What chance did a child have?

“I'll be there.”

“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “There's something else.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“I've, ah, planned a party so he could invite a few boys his own age. Sort of give him a chance to get to know the other kids.”

“I see. How many boys?”

“Ten.”

“Eleven ten-year-olds. You're going to have your hands full.”

He shrugged. “I can handle it. But I thought maybe you could come a little early and help me set up.”

Sierra figured she should have been annoyed but
all she could do was smile. “You're hustling me, McLaine. You just want help with this party.”

“I'm willing to admit that.”

He reached out and touched her hand. She felt the heat of his fingers and her body instantly sparked to life.

“I'd be really grateful,” he told her. “I'll even let you have a corner piece of birthday cake, so you can have extra icing.”

She'd always had a weakness for icing. And for this man. She was setting herself up for heartbreak. She knew it. Yet as long as he touched her, she could deny him nothing.

“I'll be there,” she said.

T
hey were a little louder than she'd expected, but other than that, eleven ten-year-old boys weren't any more trouble than a corral filled with eleven calves. Sierra watched as the commando game progressed. The boys had divided into two teams and were busy hunting each other through the large three-story house. Two boys raced down the stairs and skittered to a stop in the foyer.

“Did you see two enemies heading this way?” a blond kid asked seriously. “We heard 'em from upstairs.”

Sierra raised her hands in the air. “In this matter, I'm as neutral as Switzerland.”

The boys looked momentarily confused, then shrugged and raced off toward the dining room.

“Don't even think about going in there,” she called
in a firm voice. “It's set up for cake and ice cream. If you bump the table I'm going to have to make sure you never reach your eleventh birthday.”

They slid to a halt and looked back at her. She gave them her best “freeze in your tracks, sucker” look and pointed toward the living room. “Hunt in there.”

Without saying a word, they did as she told them.

“Not bad,” Dylan said, coming out of the kitchen and nodding approvingly. “Simple, direct and effective. You're a natural.”

His compliment made her worry about blushing, which, recently, she seemed to be doing a lot. “They're not so bad once you get used to them. I'm trying to think of them as two-legged cattle and act accordingly.”

“It's working.”

He gave her one of his best smiles. She hated when he did that. Bad enough he looked gorgeous in jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt rolled up to the elbows. Dark hair tumbled across his forehead. He was a cliché—tall, dark and dangerous. The long talk she'd had with her body, not to mention her hormones, hadn't helped. One smile and her knees shook like a straw house in a stiff breeze.

More boys clattered down the stairs. Without saying anything, Sierra pointed to the living room. There were loud shrieks as the newcomers rounded
the threshold. Something heavy crashed into a wall. Dylan didn't even flinch.

“I took out everything breakable this morning,” he said. “I'm going to tear off the wallpaper anyway, so a few dents don't matter.”

She remembered the perfectly decorated house he'd grown up in. All the heavy fabrics and expensive antiques had made her nervous. She'd always worried about accidentally breaking something. “Your mother would not approve.”

“Tell me about it. Fortunately my mother couldn't make it today.”

Rory led the last band of hunters or soldiers or whatever they were down the stairs. They didn't need directions; the noise from the living room led them toward the battle in progress.

“Why don't you make sure no one kills anyone while I see to the cake,” Dylan said.

Sierra raised her eyebrows. “Aren't you domestic?”

“I'm showing you my feminine side. Isn't that what men are supposed to do these days?”

His voice was teasing, but something serious lurked in his eyes. Something that made her want to think about his request for a second chance. Could there be one for them? Could she take that kind of risk? What if he walked out on her again? This time she didn't think she would be able to survive.

But the thought tempted her. As she moved toward
the living room, she wondered what it would be like to be a part of something, instead of just another hired hand. To have roots instead of the ability to pack up and be on the road in less than an hour.

The battle had ended by the time she arrived. The boys had flopped down over the worn hunter-green sofas, the gold recliner and on the floor. She and Dylan had decorated the room with balloons bouncing off the ceiling and streamers twisting along the walls. A table in the corner held a pile of presents. Sierra's was tucked under the table. A worn leather saddle that should fit Rory better than the one he was currently using. It wasn't new. The leather was scarred and shaped by many years of riding, but it was reliable. Sierra and her brother had both learned to ride in that saddle and she thought Rory might appreciate that fact more than something impersonal from a store.

“Who won?” she asked as she entered the room.

Rory looked up and grinned. “It was a tie. Do we eat cake soon?”

“In a couple of minutes.”

One of the boys, one with bright red hair, eyed her. “Are you Rory's mom?”

“No, I'm a friend of his.”

“Sierra works on a ranch,” Rory said proudly.

A couple of the boys rolled their eyes. “So what?” one of them asked. “My big brother works on a ranch and my uncle owns one.”

Rory's face fell slightly. He glanced at Sierra as if asking for her help. Several unfamiliar emotions filled her chest. The boy was proud of her and trying to show off. Unfortunately in this part of Montana, people working on ranches, even women working on ranches, wasn't that unusual. Although the women still had to prove themselves.

If it hadn't been his birthday, she probably wouldn't have shared the information. After all, it had been a long time and she was rusty. Besides, it was kind of embarrassing. But this was Rory's day and she wanted to make it special for him.

“I, ah, can do a couple of rope tricks,” she said before she could stop herself.

Eleven pairs of eyes focused on her.

“Really?” Rory breathed.

Too late for second thoughts, she told herself. “Uh-huh.”

“Can we see some?”

It was her own fault for volunteering the information, she reminded herself.

“Sure. I should have a rope in my truck. Be right back.”

She returned to the living room. Within a couple of minutes, she had the stiff cord spinning neatly. She stepped in and out of the turning coil, then raised and lowered it over Rory. The other boys lined up to have her do the same with them.

She found herself laughing with them as she tried
to show them how to manipulate the rope. “It's a smaller movement than that,” she said, when one of the boys sent the rope dancing across the floor.

“Aren't you full of surprises?”

Sierra turned toward the voice and saw Dylan standing in the doorway, grinning at her.

“What other secret talents do you possess?” he asked. Before she could answer, he motioned to the corner. “I think we're ready for the presents.”

“All right!” Eleven boys cheered.

Sierra collected her rope. As she walked past him, he reached out and touched her arm. “I'm serious,” he told her. “I am impressed with your roping skill. Now I'm curious about other secrets that might be even more intriguing.”

She bit her lip, not sure how to take his teasing. And he was teasing, she told herself. Despite the fire lurking in his eyes. Oh, but she wanted to believe it was more.

 

“I love it,” Rory said, fingering the supple leather of the saddle, then racing over and throwing his arms around Sierra.

She hugged him back. “I hope so. Kirk and I learned to ride on that saddle. I wasn't sure if you would like it or if I should pick up something from the toy store.”

“No. This is the best.”

He didn't let her go for several seconds. His body
was small and warm. Sturdy on the outside, but she knew his heart was tender. She felt an odd hollowness inside as she realized how much of her adult life she'd spent alone. The fact that it had been by choice didn't help. All her love had had nowhere to go…no one to care about. In that moment, she ached to love a child. One of her own—or even this child.

It's not possible, she told herself firmly as Rory stepped back. Whatever was happening between Dylan and herself wasn't real. It wasn't about anything except wayward hormones and a few good memories from the past. Second chances and falling in love again were foolish dreams. She knew better.

Make that her head knew better, but her heart wasn't sure it wanted to listen to reason.

“Dad, did you see this?” Rory asked, his voice excited. He stroked the leather saddle again. “Isn't it cool?”

Dylan turned his smoldering gaze on her. “Very cool. And very thoughtful. Thanks, Sierra. I know Rory is really going to enjoy your gift.”

She felt as if there was more than one meaning in his words. Or was that wishful thinking?

One of the boys called Rory's name and the moment was broken. The child turned away. Sierra stared after him wondering about possibilities. She'd always thought she didn't have what it took to be a good mother, but maybe she was wrong. Claire hadn't even bothered to call to wish her son a happy
birthday. With the time difference between Montana and Europe, it was unlikely she was going to get to it at all today. Sierra figured she might not be the most maternal woman on the planet, but she would be able to do a whole lot better job than Claire. At least she knew how to love and give of herself.

“You guys ready for some cake?” Dylan asked.

There was a chorus of “Yes!”

He motioned for Sierra to lead the way into the dining room. She did, then made sure everyone was seated. Dylan brought in the huge store-bought cake. Ten fat candles sat in the center, flanked by small plastic plants meant to represent the jungle with miniature action figures acting out a fight sequence from a popular afternoon television cartoon.

“Dad, it's great,” Rory breathed. “Is it chocolate?”

“Of course. And there's chocolate chip ice cream, too.”

The boy glowed. Sierra smiled at him, then caught Dylan's glance as he held out a book of matches. “Why don't you do the honors?”

She nodded instead of speaking, telling herself that the lump in her throat was about too much talking with the boys and not some wayward emotion. Still, her hands shook as she carefully lit the candles and she didn't object when she stepped back and Dylan took her hand.

“Make a wish,” he told his son.

“Blow 'em out, hard!” one of the boys said.

Rory grinned. He thought for a second, then nodded, closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. He got them in one quick exhale.

Even though it wasn't her birthday, Sierra made a wish of her own. That this afternoon, this magic space of a few hours, could be real. At least for now.

“You want to cut cake, or man the ice-cream scoop?” Dylan asked.

Sierra glanced down at her sleeveless blouse. There were a couple of grass stains from a brief wrestling match earlier in the afternoon, and a smudge from brushing up against her truck door. Dylan's polo shirt and jeans looked as clean as when he'd first put them on that morning.

“I'll take the ice cream,” she said. “I don't care if I get dirty.”

“Okay.” He dropped a light kiss on her cheek. “I promised you a corner piece…one with plenty of icing.”

She felt herself nod, but it was beyond her power to actually speak. The kiss was a lot less arousing than the one they'd shared in the pasture and yet it touched her all the way down to her feet. She felt her toes curling inside her worn cowboy boots. How did he do that to her?

Rather than spend a lot of time worrying about the answer, she walked into the kitchen and grabbed the carton of ice cream from the freezer. In a couple of minutes, she was elbow deep in chocolate chip ice
cream and dipping the last scoop onto a plate. In the distance, the doorbell rang.

“I'll get that,” Dylan said, setting a bowl next to her. In it was a small piece of cake with icing on two sides. Some jungle green lumps of the gooey confection had been dropped into the bowl.

She smiled. “I think you gave me more than enough.”

“Just trying to make you happy, darling,” he said and headed for the door.

She stared after him, stunned, amazed and barely able to breathe. What was he doing to her? Why was she letting him try?

Figure it out later, she told herself and reached inside the carton to pull out some ice cream. As she did, she heard voices from the hall.

“You should have told us it was your son's birthday,” a strange man said. “We could have rescheduled. Mike is going to be here all week.”

“The timing is fine,” Dylan answered. “Rory is spending the night with a couple of his friends. If you don't mind meeting the kids, we can get started in about an hour. There's plenty of birthday cake.”

“I wouldn't say no to that,” another man said.

Sierra dropped the ice-cream scoop into the carton and glanced around frantically. She didn't know who the men were, but she sure didn't want to meet them. She had stains on her shirt and jeans, sticky ice cream on her hands, and several crumbs
on her face from taking a bite of cake. But there was only one way out of the dining room and she could already hear the men approaching down the hall.

She grabbed a napkin and rubbed her face, then tried to clean up her hands. Maybe Dylan wouldn't bother introducing her. Even as the comforting thought formed, she dismissed it. Of course he was going to introduce her—she just had that kind of luck.

As she tossed the napkin in the trash can beside the table and forced her stiff lips into a false smile, Dylan led three men into the room. They were tall, well dressed and obviously successful. She recognized the fifty-something man in a cowboy hat. He was Ben Radisson, a local power broker in the political scene. The other two were strangers. The cut of their tailored suits and their confident air warned her they were just as important and potentially intimidating as Ben Radisson.

Dylan made a beeline for her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Gentlemen, this is Sierra Conroy. We're old friends from high school.”

She resisted the urge to run for cover. At least Dylan hadn't implied a romantic relationship.

“Hello,” she said.

“And this is my son, Rory.”

At the sound of his name, the boy looked up, then sprang from his seat and hurried to his father's side. Dylan ruffled his hair.