Montana Mavericks Weddings (13 page)

“I'm ten today,” Rory said importantly.

“Good for you,” the lone blond man in the group said. He was slender and handsome with brilliant blue eyes. “Ten's a great age. Did you get presents?”

Rory beamed at the question. “Bunches.” He quickly recounted the list, paying extra attention to Sierra's gift.

She shifted uneasily as their attention turned back to her. If only Dylan would drop his arm so she could make a graceful escape before she said or did something stupid. While she wasn't a complete social misfit, she knew she was definitely out of her element with these men.

Dylan introduced them. She tried to put names with faces. The two unfamiliar men were from Washington. She swallowed hard. So the rumors were true—Dylan was thinking of going into politics. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised, and yet she was. Maybe because she'd gotten used to thinking of him as just Dylan, but he was so much more than the young man she'd once been in love with.

“What do you do, little lady?” Ben asked as Dylan finally released her and went to get his guests some cake.

“I work on a ranch,” she said. “I'm, ah, just here helping with Rory's party. You know, like the hired help.” She hoped her smile looked more natural than it felt and that she wasn't going to cause trouble
for Dylan. These men wouldn't want to know that she'd once had a relationship with him. She might not know much about politics, but it wasn't hard to figure she wasn't exactly material for a candidate's significant other.

Ben raised his dark, bushy eyebrows. “That's real neighborly of you.”

She nodded, not sure what else to say.

Dylan returned and handed the men each a piece of cake. “Did Sierra tell you?” he asked. “We go way back.”

“No.” Ben raised his eyebrows. “Sounds interesting.”

Dylan gave her that grin of his, the one that made her want to believe everything he talked about was possible. “It's true,” he said. “We were high school sweethearts.” He reached out and, before she could pull back to prevent the action, he touched her cheek. “Sierra's the one who got away.”

Her heart sank. While she appreciated his willingness to admit to a previous relationship with her, there was no need to risk his future. Didn't he know what the men thought of her? She was completely wrong for what they had planned for him.

She took a deep breath for courage, then turned to look at Ben. With her spine stiff, she prepared herself to blandly accept the relief in his expression. Instead the wily older man's face was unreadable.

“You're going to have to be smarter than that if
you want to get ahead in politics,” he said at last and took a bite of cake.

Sierra stared at him without blinking. Had she heard right? Before she could ask, there was a knock at the door. The first of the boys' parents had arrived to take them home.

Fifteen minutes later, Sierra escaped to the kitchen where she began rinsing plates and loading the old dishwasher. Dylan came in and closed the door behind him.

“You all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “Fine. I thought I'd clean up before I headed out.”

He took the plate from her and set it back on the counter. “You don't have to do that. I asked you to help me with the party, but I didn't expect you to play at being a maid.”

His fingers were warm as he held her hand. Too warm. And his touch was slow and seductive, gentle strokes that ignited need deep in her belly. She wanted to pull back or at least think rationally, but she could only stand there absorbing the sensation of having him close and touching her.

His dark eyes glowed with twin flames. “I have a catering service coming in later,” he said. “They'll take care of everything.” His words were at odds with the desire on his face and she wasn't sure which to believe.

“Okay. I'll leave the dishes.”

“Do you have plans for tonight?”

She bit her lower lip. Was he asking her out? “No.”

“Would you please stay for dinner. It might be a little boring, but I would really like you to listen to what they have to say and then tell me your opinion when they've left.”

“But—” She glanced around the messy kitchen, then down at her clothes. Stains, a rip, ratty jeans. “Dylan, I'm not dressed for this.”

He dismissed her comment with a wave. “That doesn't matter. This means a lot to me and I'd really like you to be here.”

She could have refused him if he hadn't looked deep into her eyes. Even though it wasn't real and they were both just stuck in the past, and eventually one or both of them would wake up to that fact, she couldn't help responding to the heat there. Heat and some other lurking emotion that made her heart beat a little faster.

“I, um…” She found herself swaying toward him. “I guess I could go home and change.”

He smiled slowly. “Only if you want to. What I care about is you being here.” He dropped a quick kiss on her mouth. “Hurry back because I'll miss you.”

Less than a minute later, Sierra found herself sliding behind the wheel of her truck, wondering what on earth she'd just agreed to. But her lips still tingled and there was a spark of expectation in her stomach.
Maybe Dylan was playing her for a fool. After all, she should know better than to trust him.

But she'd never been able to resist him. Looked as if after all this time, that fact hadn't changed, either.

D
ylan reached for the wine bottle and poured the dark red liquid into Ben's glass. The older man gave him a nod of thanks, but didn't take his attention from Sierra and her description of winning the national barrel racing championship several years before.

As he glanced around the table, Dylan noticed all three of the men were mesmerized by her story. He grinned. No, not the story. While it was funny and interesting, what had these men captured was the woman herself.

A nearly forgotten, warm feeling settled in his chest. Pride. Pride in how beautiful she looked in her soft pink cotton dress, with her hair loose around her shoulders. Pride in how she carried herself, how she met each man's gaze deliberately. Pride in how she
didn't hesitate to ask questions if there was something she didn't understand.

With Claire he'd had near physical perfection, superior style and taste, but no substance. Sierra was her own person. She might not always do the expected, but she would always do what was right. She was someone he could respect and admire. If only he could convince her they still belonged together.

Ben made a comment and Sierra laughed. As she turned her head toward the older man, the overhead light reflected on her shiny hair. He longed to reach forward and bury his fingers in the silky strands. She sat close enough for him to touch her, but he resisted the temptation. While he had the desire, he knew he also needed the right. And that had yet to be earned.

There was a time he could have laid claim to her and if he had his way, that time would come again.

Mike leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I didn't realize life out west could be so entertaining.” The Washington attorney looked at Dylan and raised his eyebrows. “Is this one of the reasons you've been resisting my offers? All this natural beauty?”

“Offers?” Sierra asked, glancing from one man to the other.

“I've been trying to tempt Dylan into my law firm,” Mike said. “So far he's resisted. I couldn't figure out why the promise of money and a partnership weren't working. Now I'm starting to understand.”

Sierra looked momentarily confused, then she caught the compliment and blushed. “I'm sure Dylan is very comfortable with his law practice here. You don't have to be in a big city to be successful.”

Ben shook his head. “Not if you measure success by money, right, Dylan?”

“Agreed, and don't try changing my mind on that one,” Dylan said easily, leaning back in his chair. He liked this. Interesting conversation and someone to share it with. Later, he would ask Sierra what she'd thought of the men she'd met and they could talk about the future. He'd always valued her opinion.

“I don't understand,” Sierra said, looking from Ben to him. “Everyone says you're doing very well.”

“I am.”

Ben snorted and took a drink of wine. “Did you bill even a hundred thousand dollars last year?”

Dylan shrugged. He hadn't. But it didn't matter.

“The last of the good guys,” Mike said. “That's our Dylan here.” Catching Sierra's frown of confusion, he continued. “Don't you know about his practice?”

“I thought I did.”

Ben set down his glass. “So you're keeping quiet about it,” he told Dylan. “Mighty interesting.”

Dylan smiled reassuringly at Sierra. “It's nothing. What they're hinting at is I don't have a lot of corporate clients to pay the bills.”

“He doesn't have anyone to pay the bills,” Ben
said, and sighed. “Thank God. Think of how that will play with the voters. All those years in law practice and after expenses he barely earns enough to be considered middle class.”

“Who are your clients?” Sierra asked.

The attention was making him faintly uncomfortable. “Some people in town and—”

Ben cut him off with a wave. “Dylan does mostly pro bono work. He deals with several women's shelters and a couple of organizations that aid the homeless. There's no press, no fanfare and no money. That's why my people are so interested in getting him on the ticket.”

Sierra turned her attention to him. Her hazel eyes widened. “Why didn't you tell me this?”

“Would it have made a difference?”

She thought for a moment, then nodded. “I think it might.”

He couldn't dismiss the bolt of pleasure that shot through him. “I'm glad.”

It was as if the rest of the room disappeared. He found himself being pulled into Sierra's gaze, as if her eyes were the perfect place to get lost and never be found again. There was a buzzing in his ears, but he heard her clearly when she spoke.

“I'm glad, too,” she said softly.

 

The night sky was an umbrella of stars as Dylan walked her to her truck. Sierra found herself slowing
her pace. Foolishly she didn't want the evening to end. She glanced back at the old three-story house and the lights glowing their welcome from behind curtained windows. It was barely nine, but Dylan and his guests had serious business to discuss, business that as a mere friend, she wasn't privy to.

They came to a stop next to her truck. Dylan took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. “Thanks for joining us for dinner,” he said. “I really enjoyed your company.”

She smiled, despite the fact that her lips trembled slightly. “I had fun, too.” She ducked her head. “I didn't think I would fit in with your guests, but it wasn't so bad.”

“You were perfect.”

Was it her imagination, or did he step closer? The night air was cool and still. Even though Dylan was expected back inside, she found herself wishing he would take the time to kiss her. She needed to feel his body next to hers, his mouth caressing her, his arms holding her tight. Too much had happened too fast. A couple of weeks ago, she'd convinced herself she barely remembered the man. Now he'd returned and she couldn't think about anything else.

She needed his body to remind her that they belonged together, because her mind still wasn't convinced. It wasn't all about him breaking her heart again. The dinner had been fun, but it had also reminded her of the difference in their positions.

“Tell me about your law practice,” she said.

He shrugged. “There's not much to say. I take a lot of cases for battered women and homeless people. It doesn't pay much, but I have money from my family and the work is very satisfying.”

She stared at his face. “I figured you'd outgrow your desire to save the world.”

“I don't think I'm saving the world.” He laced his fingers with hers. “I've affected a couple of lives, but I don't kid myself about my importance…or lack thereof.”

“But you turned down a partnership at a prestigious Washington, D.C., law firm. That's pretty impressive.”

He smiled. “Good. I want to impress you.”

“Why?”

The smile faded and his expression turned serious. “Don't you know by now, Sierra? Don't you know why I'm here and what I want?”

A faint ripple swept through her body. She had to consciously tighten her body to keep from swaying. “I'm not sure. You seem very similar, yet you can't be the same Dylan I remember.”

“I am the same,” he told her. “Not all good, but not all bad, either. I made mistakes in the past and I'm going to make mistakes in the future. It's a part of being human. But there's one mistake I don't want to make again, and that's losing you. You still mean the world to me.”

She tightly closed her eyes, wanting to believe him more than she wanted to draw in her next breath. “I wish—” She paused, not sure what she wished.

“That we could change the past?” he asked softly.

She opened her eyes and stared at his face. At the handsome, familiar planes, at his mouth, at the firm line of his jaw.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I want to change the past. I want you to have never left me. I want you to have never broken my heart.”

Dylan blew out a long breath, then bent down until his forehead pressed against hers. “I want that, too. If only you knew how much.”

“But you can't change the past.” It wasn't a question.

“No. I can explain it, but I can't erase it.” He released her hand and cupped her face. Long fingers stroked her cheeks. “I still love you, Sierra.”

They were so close that his features blurred. Without wanting to, she found herself pressing her palms against his chest. Love. The most perfect and most hurtful word. “Why should I believe you?” she asked. “You told me that before, then you betrayed me and left. How do I know this time is different?”

He touched his lips to hers. The heat ignited instant fire. Flames shot through her chest, then moved quickly to the feminine place at the apex of her thighs. Nipples tightened, breasts swelled and that most special part of her dampened in readiness
for their lovemaking. It was as if that one, sweet kiss had joined them again. Inevitably. Irrevocably.

And on the heels of passion came fear. The darker side of love swept through her, battling to put out the fire, seeking a way to keep her doubting. He'd let her down before. He'd left her. How could she trust him again?

But the passion could not be denied. Even though he didn't deepen the kiss—instead merely brushing his mouth against hers—she found herself dismissing the questions and not caring about the past. In the face of being with Dylan again, how could the fear matter?

She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed. He stepped back. His breathing was labored, his gaze bright with desire. “You still don't trust me,” he said.

She shook her head. “The wanting is easy,” she told him. “It's the rest of it that gets in the way.”

“I understand.” He glanced at the house, then up at the sky. After a minute he nodded, as if coming to some private conclusion. “You need to know the truth,” he said. “I don't know if it's going to help, or make everything worse.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What really happened ten years ago. I wrote it all down.”

“You mean you kept a journal?”

“No. I sent you several letters. Remember? In
them I explained about Claire and Rory, and about why I had to marry her.”

A cold fist squeezed her heart. She folded her arms over her chest in a protective gesture. “I don't want to talk about that or read about it.”

“Don't you see?” he asked. “We have to talk about it. Until you understand, you won't ever be able to trust me.”

“There's nothing to understand.”

“That's where you're wrong.” He reached out and caught a strand of her hair. “Silk,” he murmured, wrapping it around his index finger. “I knew it would be.” He released the curl.

“Trust me just a little,” he said. “I know I'm asking a lot, but if you ever believed we deserved another chance, if there's even a tiny part of you that can even consider the possibility that the magic still exists between us, then go see your brother. Stop being so afraid of the truth.” He held up a hand, silencing her before she could speak. “Please. We can talk after that.”

He kissed her cheek. “I meant what I said. I still love you. You're the reason I came back.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the house. She watched him go, still standing in the darkness long after he'd disappeared inside. Did he know what he was asking? What if there really were letters? What if he could explain the past? How was she sup
posed to fight against that? How was she supposed to survive loving—and losing—him again?

 

Sierra stared at her brother's front door. There were still lights on inside, so she was sure he was up, but she hesitated before knocking. She hated to interrupt. She knew he treasured his evenings with Felicity and the baby. The three of them were so happy together. Besides what was she supposed to say to Kirk? Tell me about the past because Dylan says you're keeping secrets?

The whole situation was insane. She was a fool to even consider believing the man. Yet instead of turning back toward her room in the bunkhouse, she raised her hand and knocked on the door.

The sharp sound was loud in the stillness of the evening. Before she could make an escape, Kirk stuck his head out. “Sierra? What's going on? Are you okay?”

Her throat closed unexpectedly and she could only nod. “Fine,” she managed to say. “Do you have a minute?”

His eyes darkened with concern. “Sure. You want to come in?”

“No. Let's talk out here. It won't take long.”

“Give me a second.” He slipped back inside. She heard murmured conversation, then he walked out and stood next to her at the porch railing. “What's going on?”

Having his full attention didn't make it easier to figure out what to ask. She bit her lower lip, then sucked in a breath. “I was talking to Dylan a little bit ago.”

“Damn it, Sierra, when are you going to learn your lesson? That guy's nothing but bad news for you. Or have you forgotten what he did to you?”

“I know.” She leaned against the railing and stared out into the night. “I haven't forgotten. He hurt me more than I've ever been hurt in my life. But—”

Kirk cut her off. “But nothing. The man's slime. You're better off without him.”

“Am I? Sometimes it's hard being alone. You should remember what that's like.”

Kirk placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I know. But he's not the only guy around. If you would give a few of the others a chance, you could have someone in your life.”

“Maybe.” The problem was she didn't want “someone,” she wanted Dylan. Despite everything, that hadn't changed.

“There's no maybe about it. You're a beautiful woman. You have a lot to offer. Let him go. You gotta trust me on this. He's bad news.”

“And if I can't?” she asked, not daring to look at him. “I've never loved anyone else, Kirk. I don't think I know how. He said…” She drew in a breath and turned to face her brother. “He said I should talk
to you about the past. That you know something. Do you?”