Big Sky Romance Collection

by Denise Hunter

  “Thanks, but I don’t think so. Have fun, though.” She turned toward the house.

  “I won’t give up, you know,” he called, teasing.

  “I’m getting that impression.”

  She heard his chuckle before she took the steps and escaped into the house. She went to the kitchen and gulped down three Tylenol. It was quiet inside. Wade wasn’t around, and she found Maddy passed out on top of her new quilt. Her overnight bag sat inside the door, spilled onto her new rug. She looked sweet, her dark lashes fanning the tops of her cheeks, her hair splayed across the pillow. Abigail smiled as she pulled the door closed quietly.

  She needed to get back to her article. She had all afternoon and could probably get a large portion of the first draft done. After settling on the bed with her laptop, she checked her e-mail. Her mom had written. The layout team was excited about designing the cover for Wade’s story, and Mom would send the cover proof as soon as she had it.

  Abigail went online and looked for a tidbit about Wade’s past for her article. Along the way she got sidetracked by other articles, stuck looking at the plethora of rodeo photos. Mercy, he was gorgeous.

  He’d smiled more in those days, or so it seemed. Life must’ve sucked the joy from him. She understood it, wished she could relieve him of the load he carried. He seemed so carefree in the pictures.

  A warning box appeared on her screen. She was almost out of battery power. She looked on her nightstand, but her cord wasn’t there. What had she done with it? It had been in the case she’d taken to the computer store the night before. She checked the case and found it empty. It must’ve fallen out in Wade’s truck.

  Rats. She needed the cord if she wanted to write. But she didn’t want to face Dylan again, not to mention Wade.

  She closed her laptop and peeked out the window, realizing the headache had finally faded. Dylan was rooting through a toolbox in his truck. Wade was nowhere to be seen. Maybe if she hurried . . .

  She slipped on her sandals and trotted down the stairs. If she could just get into the passenger side, grab the cord, and return to the house before Dylan spotted her. She hustled down the porch steps and across the grass. All this to avoid Moose Creek’s own Don Juan.

  Dylan’s back still to her, she slipped around the fender, between the truck and barn, and pulled open the door. Spotting the black cord coiled on the floor, she reached for it just as she heard the toolbox lid slam closed.

  Abigail peeked out the back window, saw him coming. Then she realized the barn door was at her back. She could slip through and enter the house through the kitchen door. She made the decision in a split second.

  Abigail pushed the truck door closed quietly and turned toward the barn door with the cord in hand. A few steps and she’d be in the barn, free and clear.

  She checked behind to see Dylan rounding the back corner of Wade’s truck just as she entered the shelter of the barn. She turned the corner. Almost there, almost there . . .

  Thud. Her body smacked into something hard and unmoving. The cord fell from her hand. It hit the dirt with a dull thunk as she looked up into the surprised eyes of her favorite cowboy.

  25

  Abigail meant to pull away. Had every intention of pulling away once she gained her balance. Then she felt the warmth of Wade’s hands on her arms, the warmth of his hard stomach against her. She inhaled the musky scent of him.

  And those eyes. Shadowed under the brim of his hat, they were the color of new denim. They caught her and held her in a grip as firm as that of his hands on her arms. His initial surprise had given way to something else. Something that held her rooted to the ground. Something that made her ache for more.

  Then his fingers were loosening, and she wanted to cry out her disappointment. His words echoed in her mind. “I don’t touch.”

  But instead of drawing away, he slowly lifted his hand to her face. His calloused fingertip trailed down her cheek in a touch she felt clear down to her toes. It was tentative, a measure of her response.

  He was touching her. A simple touch, and yet she realized it was more than that to him. So much more.

  She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Wanted to get lost in those eyes. She wondered if he felt her reaction, then realized she didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything, so long as he touched her again.

  His eyes locked on hers, conveyed what he wanted, asked permission.

  The answer was yes. Unequivocally, undeniably yes.

  His arm moved around her, then he lowered his head, tipped her chin. His lips moved across hers as softly as butterfly wings, tasting, testing. She trembled in response. She hadn’t known he was capable of such gentleness. It only endeared him to her more.

  She wanted to stay in his arms all day. Maybe forever. He fit against her like he was made for her, like he was her cowboy and hers alone. She remembered his words about women from the night before. Was he willing to take the chance?

  Was she? Abigail shushed the thought—didn’t want to think about any of it.

  His hat nudged her forehead, tipping back as he deepened the kiss and drew her closer. His jaw was rough against her palm, and she savored the feel of it before slipping her fingers through the soft waves at his nape and straight up through the back of his hair. His hat hit the ground.

  “Abby . . .” he whispered. It was a plea, and she gladly answered it with her mouth.

  She loved the raspy drawl of her shortened name on his lips. Her hands moved down to the breadth of his shoulders, feeling the hardness of his muscles under his cotton—

  “What’s taking so—” Dylan’s voice.

  Wade jerked back. The cool barn air took his place, and Abigail nearly whimpered.

  Dylan shuffled to a halt. “Whoops. Sorry for the, uh, interruption.” Dylan sounded amused. “Guess I know what’s taking you so long now, buddy.”

  Heat crept into Abigail’s cheeks. She put her fingers to her swollen lips.

  “Be out in a minute,” Wade said.

  “Take your time.” Dylan winked at Abigail. “Guess Saturday night’s out for sure, huh?” he said as he left the barn, ruining any chance she and Wade might pick up where they left off.

  She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, unsure.

  “You have a date?” Wade asked.

  Abigail darted a look at him. His hair was disheveled, poking out at the sides, sticking up on top. She could still feel the silky weight of his hair between her fingers.

  “It’s nothing. He asked me out.”

  Wade picked up his hat, taking his time. He dusted it on his thigh, then eyed her, his jaw set. She knew that look.

  “Well.” He set the hat on his head. “Have fun.” He turned to follow Dylan.

  “Wade . . .”

  He didn’t stop.

  “I’m not going,” she called after him.

  “Don’t back out on my account.” And like that he was out the barn door.

  Abigail barely suppressed the growl that worked into her throat. How could he think she’d go out with Dylan after his kiss? After his touch? Did he think she kissed any ol’ guy? It had been months, okay, years, since she’d let a kiss go that far. Since a man’s touch alone had stirred her to want so much. Even now the memory of it warmed her cheeks, made her legs go weak. How could he kiss her socks off, then swagger away like that, like it meant nothing to him?

  She sent a glare toward Wade’s retreating back, then scooped up her cord.

  Wade leaned over the truck’s engine and inspected the flywheel teeth. He could hear Abigail’s footsteps marching right past the truck, across the lawn, and up the porch steps. The front door slammed and he cringed.

  What was she so sore about anyway? He was the one who was honkin’ mad. Mad that he let temptation steal his good sense, mad that she stirred things he hadn’t felt in too long, made him want things he couldn’t have. His anger had nothing to do with Dylan. Nothing to do with the fact that his best friend was going out with the woman he’d just kissed.
r />   Dylan whistled. “That was some kiss.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Thought you said there was nothing between—”

  “I said shut up.” Wade knew the shuddering from Dylan was suppressed laughter, and there wasn’t a blame thing he could do about it.

  26

  Marla from Pappy’s Market talked Abigail into it, then when Shay invited her, it sealed the deal. Wade had Maddy and Olivia for the night, and Shay was in need of a night out. Abigail felt obliged to give her one. Besides, she needed to get away from the house in the worst way. Wade had been unbearably testy all week.

  On Saturdays the Chuckwagon served food and rolled out the dance floor. Kids were welcome, though the crowd was largely adult tonight, Abigail noted as she and Shay walked across the peanut-strewn floor.

  From a large table at the edge of the empty dance floor, Marla waved them over. They headed her direction, squeezing past tables and chairs. The air was thick with the smell of grilled steak and onions, and the din of chatter made it hard to converse.

  The Silver Spurs were setting up onstage, and Abigail was glad Marla had saved them seats because the place was packed.

  “Hey, everyone,” Shay yelled, taking a seat next to Marla.

  Abigail took a seat on her other side and saw Dylan across from Marla. “Hey,” she called.

  “I can’t believe my luck.” Dylan’s eyes swung across the three of them. “I have the prettiest view in all Montana.”

  Marla rolled her eyes. “You are so full of it.”

  But Abigail could tell she enjoyed the compliment. Marla and Shay did look nice tonight. Shay had taken a little time for makeup, and her hair, normally pulled back in a functional ponytail, now flowed over her shoulders like a glistening waterfall. Abigail had drawn the line at mascara and lip gloss, but she had to admit her hair had cooperated.

  Dylan received an onion blossom from the server and set it in the middle of the table. “Help yourselves,” he said to the others. He looked at Abigail. “Where’s Wade?”

  She arched a brow. “How should I know?”

  His lips twitched.

  Abigail felt Shay’s questioning eyes and was relieved when Marla introduced her to the others at the table. Abigail waved and smiled. It was too loud for a long-distance conversation.

  A microphone squealed, and the manager announced the Silver Spurs. After roaring applause, the lead singer began a foot-stomping tune.

  “That’s Marla’s brother,” Shay fairly shouted into Abigail’s ear.

  The singer smiled in Shay’s direction and winked.

  “I think he likes you,” Abigail said.

  Shay gave a wry smile. “One musician was enough to last me a lifetime.”

  “Your ex?”

  “He left me and Olivia high and dry.”

  Abigail cringed. “Sorry.”

  When the server appeared, Abigail ordered fries and a soda. She remembered Aunt Lucy saying something about Shay never getting over her first love, not even after she’d married. She wondered what had become of him.

  The first song ended, and Dylan asked Marla to dance. Soon other couples crowded the floor, none of them better than that pair. Despite his bulk, Dylan could bust a move, and Marla had no trouble keeping up. They were fun to watch, made Abigail want to get up and dance a jig herself, though she’d never danced to country and western music.

  Three songs later, someone cut in on Dylan, and he returned to the table and took the seat across from Abigail.

  A spry, elderly man Abigail didn’t recognize asked Shay to dance. She slid gracefully from her chair and joined him on the floor. Despite his age, he had nimble feet.

  “Who’s that?”

  Dylan leaned in. “Pappy Barnes.”

  “From Pappy’s Market.”

  He nodded, then gestured toward the band. “What do you think?”

  Abigail nodded. “They’re good.”

  “Good enough to sway you over to country?” His eyes twinkled.

  “Maybe for one night.” The band struck up another tune, and Marla’s brother sang into the mic with his raspy voice.

  “Dance?”

  She’d been eager for the chance, but she didn’t want to lead Dylan on. It was only a dance though. “I’m not very good,” she warned.

  “I’m up for the challenge if you are.”

  She shouldn’t pass up the opportunity. It would give her a chance to question him about Wade. “Well, I was starting to feel like a wallflower.”

  He stood, chuckling. “Perish the thought!”

  She accompanied him to the dance floor where he took her into his arms, maintaining good space. He guided her fluidly, and after a few minutes, Abigail relaxed and enjoyed the rhythm of the music.

  “You lied,” he said. “You’re a good dancer.”

  “You make it easy.”

  He spun her around the floor until she was dizzy, her white skirt floating around her legs. They talked as they danced. Dylan was like an older brother, she thought, quick-witted and fun to spar with.

  When the moment seemed right, Abigail changed the subject. “Does Wade ever come?”

  Dylan shrugged. “Sure, when I can drag him out.”

  “Why’s he reluctant? This place is pretty fun, plus he could bring Maddy along.”

  Dylan spun her around, then picked up where they left off. “He went through a lot when his wife died.”

  “He told me. It must’ve been terrible.”

  Dylan seemed to take measure, like he was unsure Wade had really confided in her. “It was.”

  “What was Lizzie like?”

  Dylan opened his mouth, then closed it. He spun her slowly, then pulled her toward him. “You should ask Wade.”

  Abigail admired Dylan’s loyalty even while she fought disappointment. “Not asking him anything right now. He’s been so grouchy this week.”

  “You don’t say.”

  She looked at him, waiting. There was more to that comment, but he wasn’t talking.

  The song flowed into another, and they naturally changed their pace. When Marla’s partner left the floor, Abigail offered to step out, but Marla fanned her flushed face and shook her head.

  “Did Marla come with you?” Abigail asked.

  He grinned. “Don’t tell her I asked you first.”

  “Must be hard juggling so many women.”

  “You’re each so special, I just can’t get enough of you.”

  “Oh brother.” Abigail rolled her eyes. Shay and Pappy floated by to her left.

  Dylan spun her in a circle, and the room whirled. Her gaze floated past their table, then stopped and fixed on the seat across from Marla.

  Wade was there—and he was staring right at her.

  He looked away, back toward Marla, who was talking.

  Abigail focused on the wall behind Dylan. Great time for him to appear.

  Dylan spun her in another circle, and her feet got bungled up.

  “My fault,” he said smoothly.

  Abigail glanced toward the table. Maddy and Olivia were there, too, sipping what looked like Shirley Temples. They must’ve talked Wade into coming, because he sure didn’t look happy to be here.

  She hated to imagine what Wade must be thinking—but then, he’d thought it anyway, hadn’t he? Assumed she was keeping a date with Dylan after that kiss—a date she’d never agreed to in the first place. She was growing tired of his testiness. He’d been insufferable all week, ignoring her until he had to speak, and snapping at her even then. How could one little kiss cause such a change?

  “What’s wrong?” Dylan followed her eyes. “Ahhh . . .”

  “Ahhh . . . what?” Now who was testy?

  He cleared his throat. “Soorreey. What’s with the two of you?”

  Abigail clenched her teeth. It wasn’t her; it was Wade.

  “Look,” Dylan said. “I know it’s none of my business, but he’s been through a lot and—shoot.” He spun her the other direction, led h
er toward the back of the stage. “If looks could kill.”

  She darted a look toward the table. “He doesn’t own me.” He didn’t even claim her, not even as a friend, by her last count.

  One of the women from their table nudged Wade with her shoulder, laughing. Marla leaned across the table so far, she was in danger of plunging into his lap.

  Abigail looked away. “Besides, looks like he has plenty of company.” She dreaded returning to the table. The night had gotten complicated fast, and just when she’d been having fun.

  The song morphed into another, and Dylan pulled away.

  “Don’t.” Her heart quickened at the thought of returning to the table. “I don’t want to go back.”

  He sighed hard, then took her in his arms again. “Can’t stay out here all night, you know.”

  Maybe she could call it an early night. She spotted Shay, who’d found another partner. She was smiling, and the man dancing with her couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.

  So much for an early night.

  Dylan twirled her around. The space between them had widened since Wade’s arrival. Then she spotted Wade dancing with Maddy in the opposite corner of the dance floor.

  “Look,” Dylan said. “No offense, but when this song’s over . . .” He raised his shoulders.

  “Fair enough.” Wade wasn’t at the table now anyway. Her fries were probably cold and soggy by now, but at least she could keep Olivia company.

  The song began to wind down, and Dylan led them in a series of turns toward the other corner. She tensed. “What are you doing?”

  They were side by side with Wade and Maddy as the band hit the last note and struck up a slow tune.

  “Cut in?” Dylan asked Wade.

  Abigail shot Dylan a glare that went unnoticed.

  “Sure, Uncle Dylan!” Maddy sailed into his arms, leaving Abigail and Wade alone in the corner.

  “I was just—”

  “Dance?”

  Even though they spoke simultaneously, she heard reluctance in his request. The fact that he didn’t want her in his arms made her want to be there even more.

  She raised a brow. “Sure.”

  Wade’s jaw twitched. He took her into his arms, holding her stiffly. An average-sized barn could fit between them.