“Good luck, buddy,” muttered the other man as he went by. He looked kind of glum, like maybe he’d just been shut down.
Jameson slid onto the vacant stool, with the wall on one side and a curvy brunette on the other.
He signaled the nearest bartender and ordered, “Knob Creek, straight up.”
The brunette turned a pair of velvet brown eyes his way—and he almost felt sorry for that other guy. But then her wide, plump lips stretched in a devilish smile.
The rich, musical sound of her laughter had him forgetting all about that other guy. “Well, if it isn’t the one and only Jameson John.” She raised her glass as the bartender set his drink down. “Hot and handsome as ever, I see.”
Suddenly, his evening looked a whole lot more promising. Apparently, this gorgeous woman knew him. He studied her more closely.
She did look a little familiar. He raised his whiskey and tapped the glass to hers.
“Wait—don’t tell me,” he said. “I know that I know you...”
She laughed again, tossing her head, her thick, wavy hair tumbling down her back, gleaming like polished mahogany. He found himself staring at the smooth olive skin of her throat. “I’m Vanessa,” she said. “Vanessa Cruise.”
“Wow.” He never would have guessed. Tipping his hat to her, he said with frank admiration, “Evan Cruise’s little sister grew up.”
Vanessa had always been cute and smart, but somewhere along the line she’d turned into a beauty—the natural kind, in a silky white shirt and a pair of snug jeans that hugged every gorgeous, generous curve. She had that thick dark hair, those fine eyes to match and freckles, too. Everything about her appealed to him.
She shook a finger at him. “You are staring, Jameson John.”
“Sorry, can’t help it. I like your freckles.”
“Now, there’s an interesting compliment.”
“Freckles seem surprising, somehow, with your skin color.”
“It’s a fallacy that only redheads have them. You know that, right?”
He liked her voice—kind of low, husky. “Tell me more.”
She laughed. “It’s just a reaction to UV exposure. A result of the overproduction of melanin.”
“Well, I like them on you. If I remember correctly, everyone used to call you Van, right?”
“Van or Vanessa, either way.”
“Just checking. I really like Vanessa. It suits you better, somehow. Didn’t you move away?”
She gave a slow nod. “I live in Billings now.”
“A teacher, right?”
“You remembered.”
“English?”
“Science—chemistry and biology.”
“That’s right. Always a brainy one.”
“You’d better believe it.” Her thick, dark eyelashes swept down and up again.
“Home for the holidays, huh?”
She leaned closer. “It’s my last night in town. Tomorrow I head back to Billings.” Her shoulder brushed his arm, and his breath caught. She smelled sweet and fresh, like the roses his mother grew beside the steps of the main house out at the family ranch, the Double J.
“Vanessa.” He touched the brim of his hat, a salute meant to signal he held her in the highest regard. “You mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Go for it.”
“Got a guy in Billings—someone who can’t wait for you to come home?”
She sipped her drink. “Not now, I don’t.”
Something in her tone alerted him. “Did I just hit a nerve? I didn’t mean to—”
“Not your fault.” She waved his apology away with a shapely hand, the nails cut short, businesslike. No-nonsense. Her full, tempting breasts rose and fell as she sighed. “I confess. There was someone, yes. I was trying, you know?”
“I don’t quite follow. Trying to...?”
“What can I tell you? This someone I just mentioned wasn’t my type, but my type kept messing me over. I go for the players and that never goes well. Trevor—that’s his name—was no player. I met him at a science fair. He was so nice. Nerdy and shy, you know? I felt zero chemistry with him. But chemistry isn’t everything, am I right?”
He stifled a chuckle. “Vanessa, I’m not touching that with a ten-foot cattle prod.”
She let out another soft sigh. “I thought I could draw him out, get him to relax and have fun. I thought that he would be true to me and I would slowly come to care for him deeply, to be grateful for his steady ways.”
“I have to say it. Trevor sounds dead boring—and let me guess. You finally had to face the fact that Trevor wasn’t the guy for you?”
She seemed faintly amused. “Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Just before I came home for Christmas, Trevor dumped me.”
He couldn’t believe it. “No way.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Trevor is a damn fool.”
She leaned close again. The scent of roses beckoned him as she whispered, “He said he couldn’t be with me anymore because he didn’t find me sexually attractive.”
Jameson knew he must have heard wrong. “What man with a pulse wouldn’t be attracted to you?”
She grinned. “Yeah, well. You win some, you lose some, I guess.”
From over by the pool tables, some guy let out a whoop and someone else whistled. Applause followed. The band struck up another song, this one loud and fast.
When the noise died down a little, she asked, “You here with a date?”
“Nope. Just having a drink with a fascinating woman.”
She studied his face for a long count of five before declaring, “You’re playing me, aren’t you?”
He sat up a little straighter. “No, I am not. Trevor blew it, and I’m grateful to that clown. Because if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here next to me on New Year’s Eve.”
Slowly, she turned her glass on its Wild Willa’s coaster, the one that showed a sexy cowgirl in a short skirt riding a bucking bronc and waving her red hat above her head.
“What?” he asked low. “Say it.”
“You are bad,” she observed. “So. Very. Bad—and I like that about you far too much.”
“Being bad is good, then?” he asked hopefully.
“Oh yes, it is. In the context of this moment, of you and me side by side on New Year’s Eve at the Get-Lucky Bar, being bad is very, very good.”
As the band struck up another fast one, they gazed at each other, eye to eye. Time passed, but neither of them looked away. He saw no reason to speak. He could just sit here beside her, staring into those sultry eyes of hers until next year came around.
Except he really did like the sound of her voice, especially when she kept those eyes on him and spoke to him alone.
He asked about her family.
And she brought him up to speed on the Cruises. Her brother, Evan, owner and operator of Bronco Ghost Tours, had just gotten engaged earlier that night to Daphne Taylor, estranged daughter of the richest rancher in the county. Vanessa’s mother had a boyfriend now, and Vanessa’s grandmother Dorothea, whom the Cruise family called Grandma Daisy, had recently found out that her mother was not her birth mother.
“That is some big news,” he observed.
“And there’s more.”
He couldn’t wait another second to touch her. Prepared to apologize profusely if she slapped his hand away, he guided a thick curl of hair behind the perfect shell of her ear. She didn’t object. Instead, a tiny smile pulled at one corner of that mouth he hoped he might get to kiss when midnight rolled around.
“Tell me everything,” he commanded.
“Well, I’ll tell you this. Grandma Daisy’s birth mother—my great-grandmother—is the Winona Cobbs.”
“Wait. You mean Winona Cobbs who wrote
the famous ‘Wisdom by Winona’ syndicated column?” He used to read that column every week. Winona Cobbs gave good advice.
“The one and only.”
“Lots going on with you Cruises.” Things never got that exciting on the Double J.
Lowering her voice and leaning closer to him once more, Vanessa confessed, “I feel a little bit guilty. I ran out on tonight’s family New Year’s Eve party at Daphne’s Happy Hearts Animal Sanctuary.” Daphne Taylor was somewhat famous locally—not only for being the only daughter of cattle baron Cornelius Taylor, but also for not eating meat in the middle of cow country and for her rescue farm, where she took in every broke-down horse and runaway goat that wandered by.
“Please don’t get me wrong,” said Vanessa. “I’m glad Daphne and Evan found each other. And my mother, who’s in love with her boss, is happier than she’s ever been before.”
“But?”
“It’s just that seeing the people I love all cozily coupled up only makes me more depressed about my own romantic future—plus, well, the family doesn’t exactly know that it all blew up with Trevor.”
He pretended to look stern. “Holding out on the family. That’s just not right.”
“Maybe not.” She drew her shoulders back. “But I don’t feel up to dealing with their loving concern at the moment, if you know what I mean.” She looked sad.
And he felt bad for teasing her. “I was just yanking your chain. Honestly, I hear you. Sometimes the people you love are the last ones you want in your business.”
She braced her elbow on the bar and propped her pretty chin on the heel of her hand. “Thank you.” She seemed to mean it.
He nodded in acknowledgment. “And I want you to know that your secret is safe with me.”
“Good.” Her expression changed, and he had no idea what she might be thinking as she warned, “And you’d better watch out.”
“Why is that?”
A slow grin curved that mouth, which was so damn inviting it probably ought to come with a warning. “I’m in a mood to forget all my troubles, and I have a weakness for players like you.”
Wait, he thought. Players?
He was no player—yeah, okay, maybe he’d come here tonight in hopes of meeting someone like her. And maybe, back in the day, he’d dated a lot of different women.
But since then, he’d grown up. He’d been married and divorced. He was older and wiser now, a man who’d learned enough about what mattered in life to want more from a woman than a one-night stand.
However...
Apparently, Vanessa Cruise liked players. He didn’t want to mess with the program if she might be considering making his night.
“Vanessa, Vanessa,” he chanted under his breath.
“Hmm?”
“You’re so direct.”
She frowned. “Is it too much?”
“I like it.”
Her frown smoothed out. She signaled the bartender.
How many had she had? It mattered. No self-respecting man took advantage of a woman under the influence.
The bartender stepped close. Vanessa said, “Another club soda with lemon.” Jameson felt relief—and Vanessa must have seen something in his face. “What?”
“You’re not drinking.”
She gave him a half shrug. “I’m my own designated driver—and if I do get lucky here at the Get-Lucky Bar, I don’t want my senses dulled by alcohol. I want to be wide-awake and fully functional when things get thrilling, you hear what I’m saying?”
Did he ever.
She nodded her thanks at the bartender as he set her club soda in front of her. After that, she stared down into the drink for a second too long.
“Hey,” he said gently, and brushed a hand down her arm. “Where’d you go?”
Her soft shoulders slumped as she blew out a breath. “Just tell me the truth. Am I ridiculous?”
“Hell, no.” He said it with feeling. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
She looked at him sideways, kind of pooching out her lower lip, looking a little bit pouty and so damn cute. “It’s hard on the ego, being dumped for a complete lack of sex appeal.”
Jameson felt nothing but outrage on her behalf. “Don’t talk like that. Your ex was the one with the problem.”
“As in, it’s not me, it’s him?”
He stuck to his guns. “That’s right. You’re way too much woman for Trevor.”
She sipped her drink. “Just hypothetically...”
“Hypothetically, what?”
“Well, say we went home together...”
“I’m liking the sound of this.”
She bit the corner of her ripe lower lip before asking sheepishly, “Would you tell me if I was bad in bed?”
Where the hell did that Trevor guy get off, making her doubt her desirability? Mr. Nice Guy was nothing but a jerk. “It’s not an issue. You aren’t bad in bed.”
“Jameson. Get real. You have no way of knowing that.”
They were leaning into each other again, close enough that his sleeve touched hers. It was a simple matter to lean in the necessary fraction closer.
Their lips met.
Her mouth was even softer than it looked, and the scent of her was driving him a little bit crazy. He kissed her slowly, his body heating with sexual need, though he exercised care not to take it too deep. “That proves it,” he whispered, his lips still brushing hers. “You are amazing in bed.”
Her slow-blooming smile foreshadowed really good things. “Tell me you live alone.”
“I’ll go you one better. I’ll show you.” He signaled the bartender for the check.
* * *
Van’s butterflies had butterflies as Jameson settled the bill, helped her into her fleece-lined coat and led her outside, where a light snow was falling.
Wrapping a strong arm across her shoulders, he pulled her in close to him. “Ride with me.”
No way. Tonight would be her first—and most likely only—one-night stand. She intended to do it right. And that meant sober, with her own vehicle to get her there and, when the night was over, back to her brother’s house, where she was staying alone while Evan stayed at Daphne’s.
“I’ve got snow tires on my SUV,” she said. “I’ll follow you.”
Jameson didn’t argue. He walked her to her Subaru, opened her door for her and closed it with care. She watched as he jogged through the thin layer of snow to a black quad cab. Starting her engine, she waited for him to take the lead.
He led her out of the parking lot and down Center Street to the intersection with the state highway, where dirty snow had piled up on the shoulder, but the road itself was clear. The snow came down sparsely, not really sticking.
After maybe ten miles, he took a side road. A few minutes later, they turned onto a wide, well-tended gravel driveway and passed under a rough-hewn sign for the John family ranch, the Double J. In the distance, she could make out the shadows of barns and outbuildings and a big log house. Jameson led her past the turnoff to that house.
The long driveway curved up the gentle slope of a hill and then down to another house, one not quite as large as the log home they’d passed earlier. Of gorgeous, weathered wood and stone, the house had lots of windows and a more modern style than the usual sprawling log homes that most of the wealthy local ranchers favored.
Two of the four garage doors rumbled up and Jameson drove in the first stall, jumping out and signaling her to take the next stall over.
She rolled down her window. “I’ll just park out here.” When it came time to leave, she wanted a clean getaway, one that did not include asking him to please shut the garage door behind her.
He went in through the garage, and she parked in the driveway, meeting him at the front door.
Inside, he took her coat and hung it in the entry closet.
“Drink?” he asked, leading her down a wide hallway with a skylight overhead. The hallway opened onto a sprawling, gorgeous combination kitchen and great room. The kitchen end had a stone floor, counters of black granite and warm wood, the appliances the kind any top chef might envy. A wall of windows looked out on the dark, shadowed peaks of the mountains in the distance.
“Nothing for me, thanks,” she said, setting her leather shoulder bag on one of the stools at the granite island.
He pulled her over to the rough-hewn trestle table and moved in close. Really, he was such a gorgeous man. She’d always admired his thick, dark gold hair and celestial blue eyes. He smelled so good, like saddle soap and clean leather—a healthy male in his prime, the kind that lured a woman to mate.
And that reminded her. “I’m on the pill,” she announced, “and really hoping that you have condoms.”
Had that come out sounding painfully abrupt? Maybe. But it had to be said. A woman needed to take responsibility for her safety and reproductive health. No surprise pregnancies—and no STDs, either.
“Yes, I do.” He took her hand. His was warm and thrillingly rough from ranch work. Her heart skipped a beat with anticipation. “This way,” he said in a low rumble.
He led her out of the kitchen area to the open great room, which had a high, peaked ceiling and more gorgeous skylights. Large, comfortable-looking sofas and chairs formed two conversation groups on either side of the plain, modern fireplace.
Across from the fireplace, a staircase with metal railings led down to other rooms below.
“This way.” He led her along the short hallway next to the staircase, where a door opened on the master suite, with its own large bathroom and private deck. The room had a peaked ceiling, too. It was all warm, rough-textured woods, the linens in soothing, soft grays.
She hesitated at the door. He stopped and turned to her.
Before he could wrap her in those big arms, she stepped back. “I have something I need to say.”
He lifted a hand and touched the side of her face. The simple caress thrilled her, sent a tingle rushing through her just from that small, brushing contact. “Tell me, then.”
A Brambleberry Summer Page 19
