by Kate Kisset
Catching sight of Boone in her peripheral vision, Becca tried not to be obvious, making an ever so slight turn to the left to get a better look. He caught her.
Boone waved a few fingers, and her heart jumped when he decided to make his way over. They hadn’t talked much since the day she introduced him to Harrison.
Boone’s dark, thick hair shone in the sunlight streaming down through the tree canopy. In jeans and a white T-shirt that showed off his olive complexion and hugged his rippling biceps, he took long strides in his sexy boots over the emerald grass.
She sighed, steeling herself, doing her best to ignore the nervous energy sparking every nerve ending.
“Help yourself,” Linda gestured to the mouthwatering spread. Payton, The Owl’s prized chef, known for the best barbeque in the state, had gone all out with platters of ribs, chicken, corn on the cob, salads, potatoes, beans, rice, and just about every kind of fixin’ you could imagine.
“This is amazing. Linda. Thank you.” Becca slid her purse off her shoulder and rested it on a nearby bench, getting another glimpse of Boone in the process.
“Budget isn’t an issue these days,” Linda broke into a wide smile.
Becca grabbed a paper plate, selected a few ribs, and made her way around the table.
“You better take one of these brownies before they’re gone.” Her heart stopped and then raced at the sound of Boone's deep voice. She hated she still had a primal reaction to him—the way her body betrayed her by breaking out in a flush at the most inopportune moments. Like now.
“Does this mean you’re not still mad at me for taking a job at The Owl?” She smiled, holding out her plate while he gingerly laid a brownie on the corner.
“Consider it a peace offering.”
“Thank you.”
“I was surprised to see you, that’s all.” Boone’s devilish smile bore down on her before he shifted his attention to her legs, not even trying to hide the fact he was checking them out. Or maybe he didn’t realize what he was doing.
Becca’s heart didn’t slam in her chest, but it skipped and hummed, doing all the things a heart belonging to someone else shouldn’t do.
“Linda couldn't have picked a better day.” She tipped her head, sneaking another peek, while Boone edged beside her.
“Looks like your broken leg healed just fine.” He sent her a mischievous grin before reaching for a wedge of watermelon, brushing his arm against her bare skin and setting off a chain reaction of crackling hot desire she thought was long dead. Making one thing clear. Her body was still crazy about him, even if her brain wasn’t.
Was it wrong to be waging this battle with her emotions? She hadn’t broken up with anyone of any significance before. Boone was her first boyfriend. She’d only kissed one other boy before him, and Tommy Smith barely counted because he didn’t know what he was doing.
Was she crossing the break-up-but-be-friends boundary?
“So how's Georgia? Any news?” She caught his eye and then looked down at her spareribs. What a stupid question. She ran into Georgia at Belle’s yesterday, and while they caught up Georgia told her she still had plenty of time before her due date.
“I haven't seen Harlan this excited about anything. It's a happy time.” Boone paused, and Becca could swear he wanted to add something, but apparently changed his mind. “Want to sit?”
“Sure.” With her plate full, Becca waited while Boone helped himself to another piece of corn and they joined a picnic table mostly occupied by his band.
“Is your mom going to come visit when the baby arrives? She’s still in Florida, right?”
“Yes,” Boone answered, straightening his plate. He grabbed a few paper napkins from a pile and handed her one. “Mom took up golf, which is kind of a surprise. She comes to Lonesome every few months, though, and she’s doing great. What about yours? I’ll bet she's happy to have you home.”
“She is. I think she wants me to live there permanently.”
Boone nodded, and passed his drummer, J.B., the ketchup. And every time Boone shifted, his leg rubbed against her thigh, or his hip bumped hers, and the tiny hairs on Becca’s arm stood on end.
“How are the job prospects coming?”
“Good,” she said, watching the crowd swarm the dance floor, “I just got an offer, but the problem is it’s in London.”
“Quite the commute.”
“I know. There’s a bazillionaire soccer player over there looking to hire his own physical therapist full time. One of my teachers recommended me. It’s a good job, great money. I just don’t want to move there.”
“Because of Harrison?”
“Cut! Cut!” Linda made a chopping sign with her hands from the dance floor, signaling the bartender-volunteer DJ, and the song abruptly stopped. “Boone, Becca!” Linda shouted. “Come on, you guys were the hotshots. Show us that line dance you used to do all the time.”
“I don’t remember,” Becca yelled back.
“Neither do I,” echoed Boone.
“Sure you do.” Linda propped her hands on her hips. “It goes like this.” She did a little shuffle, tamped the ball of her foot on the dance floor and jumped. “Something like that.”
Boone nudged Becca, who forced herself to keep a straight face. “Are we going to leave her there, hanging out to dry in front of her employees?”
Becca shook her head, setting her rib back on the plate and wiping her hands. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“No, it would be downright cruel to leave her out there.” They both laughed as they slid off the bench and joined the gang on the dance floor.
“You almost had it, Linda.” Becca laughed, brimming with excitement, feeling like her old self with Boone next to her.
Why hadn’t she danced until now? Her leg was healed enough for her to kick up her heels on the dance floor months ago. When she was confined to the wheelchair, she’d promised herself she’d go dancing the second she was well enough.
But somehow, in the midst of Harrison’s job hunt and finishing her degree, the thought of going out dancing became trivial. Harrison didn’t enjoy dancing, and she didn’t want to push him, so she’d given up on the idea.
The group lined up behind them.
“Are you ready?” Boone asked, sending her a smile.
She nodded, grinning back so hard her cheeks hurt. “Ready.”
“Okay, hit it,” Boone instructed the DJ.
The DJ listened through his headphones, pressed a button, and Toby Keith’s “A Little Less Talk and a lot More Action,” cranked through the speakers.
Boone waited a few beats.
Becca readied herself to sync with him.
“And five, six, seven, eight,” Boone instructed, slowly doing a grapevine move to the left and then back. “You were thinking of the Electric Slide, Linda,” he called over his shoulder.
“That’s the one,” Linda giggled, watching Boone’s boots, and taking a step back.
They danced through the song and the next and the one after, until the DJ changed the tempo to something slower. Becca immediately recognized the voice, but not the song.
“Good one,” Boone called out to the DJ, and then whispered, “I haven’t released this one yet. Someone in the band must’ve slipped it to him.”
“It’s pretty.” Becca listened to the melody, waiting for Boone’s voice and the lyrics to start.
“It’s called ‘Right Here,’” he said, coming around from her side and positioning himself in front of her. “Do you want to dance?”
“Uhhhhh,” with her heart still pumping from the last song, and no sign of it slowing down with Boone standing so close, she stalled. It was one thing to do a line dance with a group, and another to touch him. Would one touch lead to another? She gulped.
Boone tilted his head and bent down, so she couldn’t dodge the question any longer. “Do you need to call surfer boy and ask for his permission to dance with me?”
“No.” Becca balked, coming out of her Boo
ne fantasy world, and scolding herself for going there in the first place. “He knows we’re just friends. Harrison won’t mind. It’s just a dance. And by the way, what do you have against surfing?”
“I have nothing against surfing unless someone’s trying to do it with you.”
Was he being serious? She studied his face, waiting for a sign he was teasing or feeling possessive. He met her eyes with a knowing look that told her to relax, then slipped his arm around to her shoulder blade.
Becca followed the line of his arm, placing her left arm over his, and resting her hand on his shoulder. How many hundreds of times had they danced this way together?
Boone clasped her free hand and before she had a chance to give the dance another second’s thought, he effortlessly led her into a two-step. They glided in sync, covering one end of the dance floor to the other, as if no time had come between them. “Right Here,” began to fade, and another song rolled over it, taking them down to a much slower pace.
Boone’s hand dropped from her shoulder blade and tightened around her waist. Becca held her breath, willing herself to calm down.
It’s only a dance. The touch of his fingers seared through the lightweight fabric of her sundress, sending heat up her torso to her neck. Boone pulled her close to his strong, powerful chest. His fresh-laundry-sunshine-and-oranges scent and body heat wove a spell around her.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she allowed herself to relax against Boone’s body—just for a moment. And as she settled her cheek against his warm cotton shirt, Becca fought the overwhelming urge to cling to him. Maybe, if she tipped her head up, she could nestle against his neck too, where she could smell his skin and maybe kiss—
“No. Better not,” Becca warned, gently pulling away.
“Yeah,” Boone whispered, letting go of her waist. “We probably shouldn't.”
They left the dance floor, venturing onto the cool grass, making their way back to the picnic table.
“Boone!” A woman’s voice called from behind them. “Wait up!”
Becca pivoted to find two gorgeous brunettes approaching, one of them holding a plate of cookies. “Grammy heard about the party and made an extra batch for you this morning.”
“Perfect,” Boone said, accepting the plate from the taller of the two, the one with legs that reached the clouds. He turned to Becca as an afterthought. “Have you met Nicole and Christy? They’re here visiting their grandparents for the summer.”
“Not yet. Miller, right?” Becca asked, ignoring the ache knocking on her heart. She had no right to be jealous. “I know your grandma’s cookies, though.” She sent a pleasant smile, trying not to drool while eyeing the plate. Mr. and Mrs. Miller owned The Old Brick Hotel, the most highly rated accommodations in town, and Mrs. Miller’s macadamia-chocolate chip-shortbread cookies were legendary.
“I’m Nicole.” The tall stunner flashed a sparkling smile at Boone and then at her.
“Christy,” Nicole’s gorgeous sister, chimed in. “Go ahead, help yourself.”
Becca wilted a little when she spied Boone’s goo-goo eyes go into full-hypnotized-by-their-beauty mode. It was obvious from the women’s vibes that there was something going on between her and Boone.
“You know, I’ll catch you guys later.” Becca waited for a response, but they didn’t turn even a fraction of an inch toward her. Feeling like a third wheel, she backed away from Boone and Nicole’s lusty stares.
“You don’t have to leave,” Boone said in a monotone, slowly snapping out of his trance.
“No, I’m going to check in with Linda and see if she needs any help.” Becca considered him for moment and then turned to the women. “Do you mind if I steal him away for just a sec?”
“No,” they answered in unison. “Go ahead.”
“Everything okay?” Boone cocked his head, frowning.
Becca nodded, stepping a few feet away from the group, and he followed.
“What is it?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder, checking on the women.
Becca studied his perfectly straight nose and chiseled jaw. The man was flawless. “You know, even though it feels weird to see you with someone else, I have no right to feel that way. I only want you to be happy.”
He seemed perplexed. “Of course, that’s what I want for you too.” He scratched his neck. “If Harrison is who—”
“I want you to have everything you’ve ever wanted.” Her mouth started to tremble as memories and regrets rolled by. There was anger, too, running through her bloodstream like an icy winter runoff, because it hadn’t worked out between them. “I want you to have the perfect life and be happy,” she said, and meant it.
“Well, I’m not happy yet, Becca.” He leveled a pointed stare. “But I will be.”
Chapter Six
THE FOURSOME OF BOONE, Colt, Nicole and Christy had been going out on a regular basis for the past two weeks. The hostess sat the group in a corner booth at Billick’s new dining sensation, Palate. After checking out the shimmery silver waves adorning its dark grey walls, purple velvet chairs, and massive floral arrangements, Boone didn’t see the point. He’d be the first to admit he enjoyed the finer things in life, but no matter what the décor, they were still in Billick, a million miles away from Hollywood. They could’ve done without the red carpet.
Boone’s Rueben sandwich was good, but not better than the one at Pearl’s.
He studied Nicole’s smile as she told them about the crazy customers she had to deal with that morning. Boone nodded politely, waiting for the zing or signal that she could be something more than just a friend. But so far he wasn't feeling it.
Nicole was intelligent, with pretty, sparkling dark eyes, a clear complexion and long, shiny hair. Her body was, hands down, incredible, especially in the low-cut sundress.
He should’ve been attracted to her. She was certainly gorgeous enough. And yet...and yet he felt nothing.
“They were wearing chaps.” Nicole, searched her salad, rifling through the lettuce with her fork. “I mean, full chaps and spurs, the whole family.” She stabbed a chunk of chicken.
“I saw them.” Her sister laughed. “The little boy, the girl, the mom and dad, were all wearing identical shirts and cowboy hats.”
Colt caught Boone’s eye, and Boone wondered if his brother knew he had been forcing himself to go on these dates. With Becca now living in Lonesome, Boone wasn’t about to become a Mr. Pathetic Sad Sack, pining for a lost love. Even though his mother called him the romantic of the family, Boone wasn't a romantic fool, and would not allow himself to become one.
Nicole giggled. “I had a hard time keeping a straight face when I checked them in. They kept talking about how they wanted to blend in like locals. I didn't have the heart to tell them they were going to be marked as tourists the second they stepped out of the hotel. I tried, hinted that maybe they should change into something more comfortable because it was so hot outside, but they weren’t about to give up those heavy denim jeans and chaps.”
Christy chimed in, shifting to Boone. “Grampa said the mom and dad were in town to see you play tomorrow night and needed a babysitter. Word’s getting out, Boone. Our hotel is at full capacity.”
“I’ll bet your grandparents are happy about that.” Boone polished off the rest of his French fries.
“A little more iced tea?” The server asked, interrupting. Nicole and Christy nodded, quieting while the server filled their glasses.
“Our hotel is booked through next week. Even the Johnsons’ place is full. I think Lonesome needs another hotel if you’re going to play here on a regular basis, Boone.” Nicole stabbed another forkful of salad.
“It's not too late, Colt.” Boone eyed his brother. “Maybe you should give up the whole luxury ranch idea and build a hotel. There’s still an open lot next to the park. It’s a good location.”
Colt shrugged, moving his plate aside. “No, it's a little too late for that, brother. Construction’s moving along for Dream Maker, but who s
ays I can’t open a hotel downtown next?”
About to take the last bite of his Reuben, Boone’s eyes drifted to the commotion at the hostess stand near the entrance and almost choked when he spotted Becca and Harrison. Becca was only five foot two, but her presence filled the room, taking his breath away while she was at it.
They followed the hostess, who unfortunately turned at their aisle, and seated the couple at the table next to theirs. Boone glanced over at Colt, now seriously regretting that he let his brother drag him there. They should’ve stayed in Lonesome.
“Hey, Boone.” Before taking a seat, Harrison leaned over the table and shook his hand. “Excited about tonight’s show? I hear it sold out.”
“Yeah, it’s going to be great. How are you doing, Harrison?” Boone stole a look at Becca, who waved with an unreadable expression. The sight of her white skirt against her smooth, tanned skin made him lose track of whatever the hell else was happening.
Harrison yammered on about something. “Hey, good luck tonight, break a bone or whatever.”
“It’s break a leg, silly.”
Boone glanced up from Becca’s silky thighs in time to see her nudge Harrison with her elbow.
“Thanks,” Boone said. “It should be fun.” He shot another look at Becca, who gave him tentative wave before taking a seat.
Boone watched the hostess pass them the menus. Why couldn’t she have seated them farther away—like Hawaii?
Nicole looked up from her cell phone and pointed at the screen. “Hey, there’s a new organic ice cream shop within walking distance. Want to check it out after lunch?”
“Yeah, sure.” Boone shifted, so his back faced Becca and Harrison, but it didn’t help. He could still hear every word. Becca ordered a salad with dressing on the side, salmon, and veggies. And Harrison insisted on ordering a bottle of champagne.
Colt nudged him, silently offering his support for Boone keeping his shit together. You could cut the tension in the air with a hack saw.
“I didn’t get tickets to tonight’s show. Colt said we didn’t need to.” Christy licked her lips, eying his brother, seeming very in to Colt. “He promised you’d already saved some for us.”
