One Wild Cowboy (5 page)

He should have figured she would be a
Jerry Maguire
fan. Knowing this had to be said if they were going to be friends, he pointed out sagely, “If the man and the woman ‘complete' each other, then that would imply they can't live without the other person.”

“So?”

Lazily, Dylan tracked the way the breeze was ruffling her hair. He reached over to tuck an errant strand behind her ear, then let his hand drop. “What kind of life would that be?” he asked unhappily. “If everything hinged on a person who might or might not live up to your expectations?”

 

I
T WOULD NOT
be the kind of life Dylan apparently wanted, Emily thought.

She sighed, her emotions abruptly as turbulent as his.

“Anyway,” Dylan continued, dropping his hand back to his side. He studied her expression. “I'm guessing your parents don't know that Xavier hit on you.”

Thrilling from his brief, casual touch, Emily turned so her back was to the car. She lounged against the driver door, wishing Dylan wasn't such a hard man to get to know. But he was extremely independent—and as emotionally elusive as the wild mustangs he was going to tame….

So she needed to forget about making him her next “diamond in the rough.”

After all, there was no point in pretending he would be willing to transform himself into what she wanted—any more than she would be willing to convert into what he wanted.

“I've been trying to forget that incident with Xavier.” Emily forced herself to get their conversation back on track. “And for the record, Dylan,” she warned, locking gazes with him, “I would prefer my family never know about all that cougar silliness.”

Suddenly, the humor was back in the situation. “Why not?” he said as his lips formed a most devil-may-care smile.

Emily's exasperation returned anew. “Because Xavier's pass was ludicrous enough without adding another layer of ridiculousness to it by having my father call him to his study and sit him down for The Talk.”

Abruptly, Dylan went very still, a fact which only confirmed Emily's worst suspicions. Seeing her chance to do a little more sleuthing, she added cheekily, “You know, kind of like the one I suspect my father had with
you
today, about me?”

The kind that generally sent weaker men running for the hills…

Just like that, a wall went up. “It's not going to work, Emily.” Dylan was the picture of lazy male self-assurance.

She stared at him.

He stared right back. “I'm still not telling you what was said.”

Emily sighed—she could have predicted that. Pushing away from the car, she suddenly felt reinvigorated. “Then how about doing something to cheer me up instead?”

Dylan pushed away from her car, too. “And what would that be?” he inquired with mock seriousness.

“Allow me to come and visit the mustangs again,” Emily said, this time stepping forward to invade his space.

Dylan stayed where he was even as respect glimmered in his eyes. “Are you going to have time?”

Emily ignored the tingle of excitement that started within her whenever they were within kissing distance. “I will if we go tonight.”

For a minute, Emily thought Dylan was going to turn her down. “Isn't it a little past your bedtime?” he teased in a tone sexy enough to make her want to melt right then and there.

Stubbornly, Emily held her ground, knowing she wasn't ready for her time with Dylan to end. “It's only nine-thirty.”

He continued to look down at her, considering. “And you have to go to work at four tomorrow morning.”

“I can get by on very little sleep, when I want,” Emily murmured in her most cajoling voice. “Please, Dylan. I've been thinking about the mustangs all day. Wondering how they're adjusting. If you've given them names yet.”

Seeming to realize her interest and concern were genuine, his expression softened. “They're settling in. And no, I haven't given them names.”

“Maybe I could help with that.”

“Thirty minutes,” he warned. “Tops. Then you have to be on your way.”

“Great.” Emily felt a completely uncalled-for fluttering in her middle. “You won't regret it.”

 

T
HE TRUTH WAS
, Dylan already regretted it. Emily McCabe might be all wrong for him, but she was also the kind of woman he could fall hard for. And the last thing either of them needed was any more complications in their already overburdened lives.

So on the drive over, he figured out how to get what needed
to be done accomplished in the shortest time possible so he could send her on her way.

He led the way in his pickup truck. She followed in her car. The first problem appeared as soon as they had parked and she got out of her sporty little sedan. He looked at her shoes. No question, her sandals were not appropriate for the pen.

Emily caught his gaze and lifted a hand. “Not to worry, cowboy. I've got that covered.”

And to prove it, she sashayed back to the trunk and opened it up. Inside were enough clothes, shoes and purses to fill a closet. Deliberately, Emily fished out a pair of cowgirl boots.

“Come prepared, do you?” Dylan quipped, wondering if there was a toothbrush and nightie in there somewhere, too.

Emily shot him an arch look over her shoulder. “I'm a Texan, after all,” she declared with a warm, winning smile.

She was so darn charming he couldn't help but smile back. “So naturally it follows…?”

She winked mischievously. “That I can't go anywhere without at least one pair of boots.”

Dylan stood by while she bent to slip off her sandals. She donned a pair of socks and her cowgirl boots, the hem of her dress riding up her thighs as she did so.

Dylan ignored the immediate response of his body and headed for the barn. There, he switched on both interior and exterior lights, the yellow glow a beacon of reassurance in the moonlit, starry Texas night.

He came back with two bunches of alfalfa leaves.

As always, Emily was raring to go. “You always feed them this late?”

“They require up to fifteen-pound rations of hay per horse per day. Because of their small stomachs, it's better to feed and let them forage all day.”

“Makes sense.” Emily fell into step beside Dylan.

“And it's a way to rapidly increase their trust of me and now you.”

The three horses were in a high wood-rail-sided paddock, linked by a fenced aisleway to the two round training pens—one with a roof, one without—on either end. From where the horses stood, they could see everything that was going on. Another schooling plus. By the time it got to be their turn, the mustangs knew what to expect. Which again, made it easier for all of them.

With the ease of someone who had grown up around horses, and loved them dearly, Emily followed Dylan into the paddock. “How invested are you in actually doing the naming?” she asked curiously.

“Not at all.” Focused on the feeding, Dylan tore off leaves of alfalfa and put them just ahead of the trio of horses. Emily followed suit.

And so they went—dropping, moving on, dropping another two leaves, moving on—until finally the horses were following them.

Emily kept her voice low and calm. “Does that mean you'll let me do it?”

Dylan shrugged and replied before he could think, “If it makes you happy.”

Emily chuckled in delight. “Oh…so you want me happy now….”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “Don't let it go to your head.” Clearing his throat, he nodded toward their equine companions. “So back to the stars of the show….”

Emily regarded them carefully. “The three-year-old should be Ginger. The yearlings, Salt and Pepper.”

Made sense. Dylan nodded. “I'll let the interested parties know.” Finished, they stepped out of the paddock. As they strode toward the barn, Emily asked, “Do you have a horse of your own?”

Dylan slanted her a glance. “What do you think?”

“Can I meet him, too?”

Women didn't usually ask him that. But then, Dylan thought, the women he saw usually weren't interested in horses. “Sure,” he said.

 

E
MILY EXPECTED
a stallion, from a thoroughbred bloodline. Instead, she found a brown-and-white quarter horse–thoroughbred mix that would likely have ended up who-knows-where had someone not stepped in and seen the potential. The gelding came closer to Emily. He stuck his head over the stall door, lowered his head and sniffed her hair, and then her face. Emily reached up to stroke his face as his warm breath ghosted over her. His eyes were alert but gentle, and she found his presence calming and reassuring. Emily took the apple Dylan handed her and presented it to his horse. “What's his name?”

“Hercules.”

Able to feel the strength emanating from the horse's sleekly muscled build, Emily smiled. “It suits him.” And the horse, who was anything but blue-blooded, suited Dylan.

Dylan offered Hercules a carrot. Hercules took it and luxuriated in a nose rub from Dylan, too.

Emily's heart warmed at the overwhelming affection between man and horse. She turned to Dylan. “How long have you been riding?”

“Since I was fifteen.”

Unable to resist, she prodded a little more. “Did you grow up on a ranch?”

Once again, she thought, in the silence that followed her question, it was like trying to get information out of a spy sworn to secrecy. Finally, Dylan said, “No. I spent time on one later, and that's when I learned to ride.”

“And realized your calling was horses.”

“More or less.” He looked at his watch.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Emily grumbled good-naturedly. “Time's up. But not before I say goodbye to everyone.” She headed for the paddock situated between the round pens and stood looking at the three mustangs. They were gathered together on the opposite side of the corral, ears moving, nostrils flexing, clearly relaxed.

Scattered among other paddocks and turnout sheds in the distance were other horses Dylan was working with. They all looked pleasantly settled and enjoying the warm spring night, too. Thinking how much she loved the peace and the tranquility of this ranch, Emily turned back to Dylan and let her enthusiasm be her guide. “When are you going to start training the mustangs?”

He lifted one large hand in an indolent manner. “I'm going to work with Salt and Pepper tomorrow morning.”

As he spoke, Salt and Pepper approached them, one coming up on either side of them. First, they nosed the wooden rails and then eventually came over to Emily to investigate her. After several long moments, they put their heads on Emily's shoulders for a nuzzle.

These young ones weren't going to be that difficult to train, Emily thought, as she rubbed their faces and touched their manes. Already, they seemed used to people.

The three-year-old mare, on the other hand, was going to require more intensive schooling. Emily wanted to see how it was done. She turned to Dylan, watching as the two yearlings went over to greet him, too. “When will you work with Ginger?”

Dylan accepted their nuzzling with a grin. “Late afternoon, tomorrow.”

Emily eyed the beautiful mare, who had moved closer but not close enough to touch. “Mind if I come and observe and maybe help a little?”

Dylan lifted a brow. “Sure you got time for that?”

It wasn't an invitation exactly, but it wasn't an edict to stay away, either. Emily smiled. “There's always time for something you want to do.” And she really, really wanted to do this.

“Looking at the Cowtown Diner is not going to make it disappear.”

Guiltily, Emily moved away from the front window. Five more minutes, and the Daybreak Café would officially be closed. But with the exception of the tall, handsome cowboy standing next to her, it had been a ghost town for the past hour.

“There hasn't been a lull in the activity over there all day.” Utility trucks had come and gone for gas, electricity, water and sewer. Safety inspections had been done, a neon light on the front of the diner turned on and tested.

Emily wanted to protest the burnished bronze exterior of the diner didn't fit in with the historic buildings on their side of the green, any more than proprietor Xavier Shillingsworth fit in Laramie. But the truth was the snazzy exterior and old-style-saloon design of the building added the kind of pizzazz that would have passing tourists stopping in droves.

Emily scowled. “There's a lot to do if they're going to open in two days.”

Dylan laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. He leaned down to murmur in her ear, “You keep saying
if
.”

Emily blew out a gusty breath. “Wishful thinking, I guess.”

Dylan said matter-of-factly, “People are going to go there, to try it out and see what they think.”

Their glances meshed. “You think I don't know that?” She turned away from the window and headed back to the booth Dylan had just vacated. She picked up his empty coffee cup and dessert plate and carried both to the kitchen.

Dylan ambled after her. “Once the newness wears off, they'll be back.”

The point was, Emily didn't want to lose any customers in the first place. And really, how selfish was that?

Dylan was about to say something else, when the front door opened and slammed shut. Andrew walked in, book bag slung over his shoulder. “Mom!” he yelled.

Simone came out of the back.

Andrew thrust a paper at her. “I just got a job at the Cowtown Diner!”

Emily blinked in surprise.

“You already have a part-time job here,” Simone reminded him.

Andrew shot her a look. “No offense, Miss Emily, but the diner is a much more awesome place to work. All my friends at school are getting jobs there. Everyone who works there has to be either in high school or college.”

Or roughly Xavier's age, Emily thought, not sure whether that was a good or bad idea.

“So…can I?” Andrew asked his mom.

Emily looked at Simone. She did not want to put her friend on the spot. “Look, it's okay…”

“No,” Simone said firmly, “it's not. Andrew, you have a part-time job here and you are going to honor that commitment.”

A mother-son stare-down commenced.

Simone won.

“Fine!” Andrew slammed out the back.

An awkward silence followed.

“Sorry,” Simone finally said, clearly upset.

“If you need to go ahead and leave for the day,” Emily murmured sympathetically.

“Thanks…I think I will,” Simone sighed, rushing out the back door.

Then things went from bad to worse.

The front door opened and Xavier Shillingsworth sauntered in.

 

H
OW MUCH MORE
was Emily supposed to have to take? Dylan wondered.

“Hi, Emily. Dylan—” Xavier paused dramatically. Furrowing his brow, he asked snidely, “—don't you ever work?”

Dylan refused to pick up the gauntlet. “You're not worth the effort, kid.”

Disappointed, but no less smug, Xavier turned back to Emily. “Andrew's under sixteen so he's going to need a work permit. His mother will have to fill the papers out and get them approved by the Texas Workforce Commission, before he can start.”

Emily continued wiping down tables. “They've already left for the day.”

Shillingsworth followed her, further invading her space. “Maybe you could give the papers to them for me, then?”

Whatever pity he'd felt for the kid the previous evening vanished. Dylan stepped forward. “You know Andrew was working here?”

Shillingsworth lifted an autocratic brow. “Yes. He told me that.”

Dylan studied him. “And you've got no compunction about trying to hire him away from Emily?”

“It's business. I'll hire anyone I want who wants a job. Even, say—” Xavier gestured lazily “—Emily…”

Oh,
Dylan thought.
Them's fightin' words.

Emily, on the other hand, stepped forward, fire in her gaze. “Well, kind as that is of you, Xavier,” she drawled, “I really can't see that happening. Because I actually like to
cook
the food—from scratch—not just take off the plastic wrap and heat it in the microwave.”

Dylan threw back his head and laughed. Having had more than enough, he slapped Xavier on the shoulder and steered him in the direction of the exit. He seemed to be doing that a lot. “Looks like you're outmatched and outclassed, kid. So you best be on your way.”

Xavier stepped sideways instead. “First of all, you'd be surprised how good our stuff is.” He squared off, indignant. “And second, Emily has not asked me to leave. So…”

Emily set her chin. “I'm asking you to leave.”

Xavier looked at Emily, ready to continue to push the issue. Emily remained unmoved and Dylan lifted a warning brow.

The restaurateur suddenly changed his mind and headed slowly for the exit. “My offer of a date is good anytime, Emily. 'Cause I still want a cougar for my trophy case.” The kid turned around and winked. “If you know what I mean.”

Emily's glance narrowed. “Goodbye, Xavier.”

Reluctantly, he sauntered out, slamming the door after him.

Emily turned to Dylan. Instead of complimenting him on the great restraint he had shown, in not booting the kid out by the seat of the pants practically the second the interloper walked in, Emily glared at him. “You do not have to run interference between the two of us. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

Dylan was willing to be amenable, but only to a point. “Suppose I want to defend you. Me being your pretend boyfriend and all. What then?”

He had no idea what Emily was going to say. He didn't
want to know, either. All he wanted, at that moment, was to stake his claim in a way neither of them would ever forget.

He wound an arm around her waist and used the leverage to pull her intimately against him. He heard her soft gasp of surprise—and delight—as he threaded his hand through her hair and tilted her face up to his.

The first contact was soft and tender. Their lips fused together. And yet there was no surrender.

It didn't matter.

Dylan had met with resistance before.

He knew gentleness and patience worked wonders.

As did a full-on kiss filled with passion and need.

He utilized both, grazing the shell of her ear, touching his mouth to her throat, the underside of her chin, her cheek, the tip of her nose, before moving once again to her lips.

And this time, when he fit his lips to hers in a soft, sure kiss, she was ready for him. Drawing him closer, she tangled her tongue with his….

The lines were blurring, Emily thought, as Dylan flattened a hand down her spine, pressing her body into his. Confusing her as to what was real and what wasn't…what was possible and what was not…

It didn't matter how hot and hard he was…or that she was the reason for it. It didn't matter that his embrace was magic, or that this fleeting embrace had her experiencing more pleasure than she ever had in her life.

What mattered was that they weren't in love.

Couldn't be.

Wouldn't be.

So even if it felt like something more, Emily told herself it wasn't.

Shaken, she broke off the kiss and pushed away. “This can't continue,” she managed, drawing a jerky breath.

Not without some sort of promise that their relationship would one day be as real and true as the physical passion they felt.

Sadly, no matter how much he lusted after her, she couldn't see Dylan agreeing to that.

 

“I
WASN'T SURE
you'd show up,” Dylan remarked when Emily got out of the car several hours later.

She had known he had figured no affair meant no working together, but she hadn't bothered to correct his misimpression at the time. “Then you must know even less about me than you think,” Emily replied.

Dylan laughed and favored her with his sexy, oh-so-male presence and what-I'd-really-like-to-do-to-you golden-brown eyes.

She drew a conciliatory breath. “When I want to do something, I do it.”

Dylan prodded devilishly. “And right now…?”

Emily settled her hat on her head. “I want to see you start Ginger's training.”

Seeming pleased at that, Dylan dipped his head in a gallant bow and showed her the way. “Then let's get to it.”

The horses Dylan was working with were housed in a maze of corrals and pastures, all feeding into a central alley. Salt and Pepper were in an adjacent paddock, grazing sedately. Ginger was by herself in another.

Dylan lifted the latch. Ginger took the opening he gave her and bolted down the aisleway. She took the first available exit and landed in a high-walled round pen. Dylan stepped in after her, closing the gate. Emily climbed onto the riser, above the pen, to watch.

“Easy, girl,” Dylan said, as the beautiful mustang pranced back and forth, eyeing Dylan nervously all the while. He unfurled a long cloth line and gently threw it in the mare's
direction. Ginger pranced away from it. Dylan pursued, calmly extending the line, forcing Ginger to go away from him again and again.

First in clockwise motion.

Then counterclockwise.

Across the center of the round pen.

Around the sides.

Again and again, they went.

“How long are you going to do this?” Emily asked.

Dylan cast her a look over his shoulder. He raised his hand—Ginger went faster. He dropped his hand to the side, she slowed. “Average time is about six minutes.”

And then what? Emily wondered.

Six minutes later, she found out.

Dylan stopped throwing out the cloth line and simply stood quietly in the center of the pen. Slowly, he turned, so his shoulder was toward the mustang. Head bowed, he waited.

Ginger stood, trembling with nervousness.

Emily wondered what was up now.

Still, Dylan stood, his body quiet, posture relaxed, head down.

Ginger edged closer. Closer still, until her elegant thousand-pound body was right beside him.

Ever so slowly, Dylan turned toward her. Keeping his head down, his gaze on the ground, he murmured, “That's it, sweetheart. See? I'm not going to hurt you. I'm your friend.”

With exquisite gentleness, he rubbed Ginger's face, then moved around to stroke the sides of her neck, her back, the vulnerable skin of her stomach, and back around to her hips and flanks. Emily watched, mesmerized, as the once-wild horse leaned into his touch, completely accepting, trusting absolutely.

“That was amazing,” Emily said an hour later, when Dylan led the mustang back to the paddock where Salt and Pepper
were pastured. So this was what horse whisperers did. “Do you use the same method every time?”

Dylan nodded, matter-of-fact in his expertise. “The horse has to go away from me before he or she can come back to me.”

“So you drove her away repeatedly,” Emily marveled. “And yet you knew she would come back to you in the end.”

Dylan inclined his head. “It's basic horse—or herd—psychology.”

To want what you can't have? To go where you're not supposed to be?
“Or psychology in general.” Emily paused. Suddenly suspicious as her next thought hit, she narrowed her eyes at Dylan. “So I have to ask—is that what you've been doing to me?”

 

D
YLAN STARED
at Emily, hoping the conversation wasn't headed where it appeared to be. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

Emily gave Dylan a deliberately provoking look and smiled with all the steely resolve of a Texas belle, born and bred. “You pique my interest,” she observed sweetly. Then she looked at him in a way that made him want to haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless.
Which maybe, given the heat between them, was not such a bad idea….

Emily stepped closer yet and continued with a cantankerous toss of her head. “You only let me—or any other woman for that matter—come so close.”

That was true of other women, he thought. Not Emily.

Her soft lips pursed in dismay. “Then you drive her away, again and again.”

Once more, she seemed to be watching and weighing everything he said and did.

“Waiting patiently,” Emily continued. “
Knowing
that she'll
come back and join up with you in the end, just the way Ginger did.”

If Dylan didn't know better, he would think it was Emily's heart that was hurting, instead of her pride. When the truth was, this was about something much more fundamental. He folded his arms and leaned against the fence. “You're making it too complicated,” he said mildly.

She brushed past him, a censuring light in her eyes, a downward slant to her lips. “I don't think so.”

He caught her by the arm and swung them both around so fast she stumbled into his chest. His own body humming with the crazy feeling of need running riot inside him, he steadied her, then planted his hands on either side of her and leaned over her, so she was pinned between his body and the smooth rails of the wooden fence.

He let his eyes slide over the inviting curves of her breasts, flat abdomen and sexy, jean-clad legs, before returning to her tousled hair, soft lips and wide blue eyes. “There's nothing complicated about me wanting you, or what I need,” he told her frankly, not afraid to be bold if boldness was what was called for.

She released a breath. “Which is what exactly?”