by Donna Alward
“Oh, that’s not what I meant. You’d never have to pay for it.” Her eyes widened, her common sense slapping her upside the head as he laughed. “And now I owe you a beer as well as dinner. I’m going to go put in your order before I put my foot in it again and wind up having to sign over my first born.”
Jules clutched the menu to her chest as she sped to the bar. She keyed in his order, grateful the bartender wasn’t busy and could deliver the draft. Thank goodness, she only had a few more weeks in this town before she finally got to head back to New York. No telling what she might say next week when Slade Weston brought in yet another first date. She sure as hell wouldn’t be giving away his table again, even if he bailed before the entree.
…
Slade Weston studied the sepia-toned photo of a barn hanging on the exposed brick wall, the wood-beamed ceiling, and the wagon wheel chandeliers in the dining room. Anything to keep his gaze off the toned ass of the hostess. He always made a special effort to try not to notice she wore a different dress each time he saw her, or that her eyes were the same bottomless blue of Crater Lake. It didn’t do to notice another woman while you were on a date.
Not that he was anymore. He’d done the despicable, and faked an emergency to get out of this one. She’d seemed nice enough on the phone, but they hadn’t even ordered and she’d regaled him with the history of Weston Ridge and their rise from family ranch to successful cattlemen. And he knew what it meant when he’d been the keyword in a Google search. Was it really too much to ask to want a woman to see him and not dollar signs?
This close to the kitchen of Cattlemen’s he could hear the sizzling steaks popping over the croon of Sinatra on the sound system. The unbuttoned steakhouse was perfect for a date night. Everyone in the place was coupled up, only he’d spent the better part of the year looking for his plus one with no luck. And he was done. With summer coming, work on the ranch would be ramping up, and he’d be too busy to be bothered with looking for the next Mrs. Weston.
He took a long draw of the hoppy brew the bartender had delivered. Every date was another step away from what he needed, and he’d made no progress all damn year. The only thing that kept him trying was how much he hated going home alone. Friday nights were the worst. The kids were at his in-laws, which made his place hauntingly quiet. After growing up as one of five kids on a bustling cattle ranch, silence was one of the few things that unnerved him. That, and the meddling matchmakers around town.
A friend had told him about the Not My 1st Rodeo dating site, a service that specialized in matching people within the western lifestyle for the divorced or widowed. Like him. He took another drink. He missed Amanda every day, but Friday nights were the hardest. Friday nights, holidays, and each time he had to take April to the doctor. Two-year-olds were supposed to talk.
He leaned his head back against the booth and wished he could get drunk. But he’d spent the first few months after Amanda died in a stupor, and his behavior caused more problems than it solved. He had to cowboy up, keep trying to find a wife, whether he liked it or not. Because his kids deserved a mother.
The scent of hot steak and grilled onions brought him back to reality, and a burning punch of attraction hit him in the gut. She delivered his plate, her black lace dress reminding him of lingerie as she leaned down, gifting him with an ample view of her cleavage.
“One Weston, rare.” She slid into the booth opposite him, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. She’d brought a glass of wine so pale it could be water. “Am I forgiven?”
“For what?” He cleared his throat, trying to focus on her heart-shaped face. A woman like her could catch the eye of a hurricane.
“Giving away your table, calling your date a hooker. The usual.” She rested her slim fingers on the white tablecloth. She had a sparkly ring on each hand, but not on that finger.
“The table was my fault. But no harm, no foul.”
“Good, because now that I have you alone, I’ve been dying to ask you something.”
He licked his lips, wary of whatever it could be.
“You’re here every week, but never with the same girl. Tell me, are you burying them in your backyard? Aren’t you running out of room?”
A bark of laughter escaped him as she grinned. “I’m a serial dater, not a serial killer.”
“Pity, I was thinking I had the scoop. Why is it you’re the king of first dates?”
He shifted against the leather of the seat. “That’s not a crown I want to wear. I liked being married. I want a wife, and more kids. I’ve been using this dating website, but the matches haven’t clicked.”
“Then try a new one.”
If only it were that easy. He sliced into his steak and tried to explain. “This one worked for my sister. Though she did have to drive three hours south.”
“Road trip!”
He shook his head. “No, she wound up moving, and I’m rooted to the ranch. Honestly, I’m exhausted by the whole process. And summer’s coming, so the ranch is busy. I’ll pick it up again in the fall.”
“Screw the website. I’ll be your wingman.”
Oh hell no. He did not need a personal dating assistant. Especially one with such a lush pink mouth that had him thinking about kisses. Which he hadn’t enjoyed for far too long. “It’s not getting dates that’s my problem, it’s finding a woman worthy of my kids. Besides, I don’t know you. How old are you anyway?”
“Old enough to know better than to answer that question. Don’t worry, my ID is legit.” She leaned back in the booth, giving him a view of her tight little body wrapped up in black lace. “I’m not trying to wreck your Friday, I’ve just been watching you come in here for almost a year now. What you’re doing isn’t working.”
“Thanks, lady who gave away my table.” He shoved a bite of steak into his mouth, not even tasting it as he chewed.
“Jules O’Connor. I thought everybody in here knew my name.”
“It’s not like you wear a nametag. Or the same dress twice.”
Was that a blush? “I sell them.”
“Nametags?”
“The dresses. Finding clothes out here is a lesson in futility, so I design what I like and women who come in ask where I got it, and voila, sale. I even have my own rack at Macie’s.”
“The department store?”
“The boutique on Main and First. Though maybe someday. That’s why I’m going to design school in New York.”
He drowned his shock with the rest of his beer. “You’re eighteen?”
“Twenty-three. My sister is graduating high school, and we’re heading back to New York together. Eight years in this town is enough.” Her big blue eyes widened and she rubbed her forehead. “Except you rule the town so now I’ve insulted you. Again. What is wrong with me tonight?”
“I don’t rule the town.”
“The Westons own practically everything. Kind of like medieval feudal lords. Everyone in Opal Creek works for you in some capacity.”
He shook his head. “Ace likes the world to think he owns it, but my brother is only legendary on his own land. It’s quite the spread, but we worked hard to get it. The town is separate. And we all work for a living. Despite what you and my date may have heard, the only thing we’re rolling in is cow shit.”
“Oh, is that why you got rid of her? Good call.”
“Thanks?” She watched while he ate, but didn’t leave. “Don’t you have people to seat?”
“They roll up the sidewalks in this town at ten. I sat my last tables while Uncle Ben made your dinner.” She took a sip of her wine, then leaned across the table. “I do think I could help you.”
“I’m not looking for help right now.” He pushed his empty plate to the side and caught her gaze. The way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth grabbed his libido as surely as if she’d grabbed his cock.
“You said you were done with your dating site for a while. Why not let me try?”
“Try what?” He’d said far too much alr
eady, much more than he’d intended. He knew better than to be swayed a pretty face and a rocking little body. Yet, he was desperate for the dating game to be over. He drained the last of his beer.
“Finding your next wife. You must be over thinking it. You have a good job, you want kids, and you’re the hottest Weston brother.”
He choked on his beer. Her honesty was refreshing, yet with as much dating as he’d packed into the last year, he didn’t know if she were coming on to him or not.
“I can’t be the first woman to tell you that. It’s the shoulders, I think. Or maybe the hair.”
“Careful, I married the last woman who told me that.”
Jules shuddered and scrunched up her button nose. “Forget I said it then.”
“Maybe we should forget this whole evening.” Because from her reaction, she hadn’t been flirting. And he had no intention of his dating life being this chick’s pet project.
“No,” she reached out and rested her slim fingers on the back of his hand. Her touch set off a spiral of longing that went deeper with every second she touched him. “I just need to think before I speak. Most of the women in this town want what you have on offer. The house and the kids and the cowboy to come home to. I just can’t relate to that.”
She released him, tightening her hand into a fist before she gripped the stem of her wineglass. He pressed down on the white tablecloth to keep from reaching for more.
“When you know what you want, you can develop a plan to get there. I want to design clothes, so I’m going to design school. You want a wife, so we find you one. But first I need more information.” She twisted in the booth and looked back at the dining room.
“Purely on a physical level, what’s your type? See that woman in purple? What about her? Those boobs are real. Are you a boob man?”
He gave his best blank stare. He’d put all of this onto the dating site. He preferred brunettes, on the tall side. He didn’t give a fuck about clothes or makeup. He wanted a partner, not a princess.
“Okay, so you’re not into boobs. Oh, what about Amy McKenzie? Her ass is on point. She teaches some kind of dance aerobic thing at the gym.”
“I had no idea women objectified other women.” If he were to say the same thing, he’d be slapped.
“Don’t get judgey. Women dress for other women, not for men. I doubt you notice the difference between a shift dress and an a-line.” She swirled her wine in her glass before taking a drink.
“What?”
“Exactly my point. So tell me, what’s your type?”
He shook his head. He was not doing this. “I’m taking a break. I’m tired of chasing after a relationship. I should just let it happen. It’s been almost of year of trying to connect with women I never have anything in common with.”
“Some guys would think a new woman every week is ideal.” She tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, her diamond drop earrings sparkling in the light.
He shrugged. “Maybe in my rodeo days, but even then…not so much.”
“Variety is the spice of life.” Her blue eyes shone with mischief.
He coughed and leaned in close so he could whisper. “I’m not sleeping with them. It’s a first date.”
She pushed her wineglass aside and lowered her voice as well. “So you haven’t had sex since you started Project Replacement Wife?”
He straightened. “I’m not replacing my wife. It’s not like my coffee pot stopped working and I’m shopping for a new one.”
“How long has it been?” She leaned closer, and the scent of roses and early summer blocked out everything else.
“Not quite two years.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Everyone had drilled into him that you did not talk about your wife on a date. And so he never talked about her at all. But this wasn’t a date. Even though he was more attracted to Jules than he’d been to all of the other women he’d had dinner with here, put together.
“You haven’t had any action since she died?”
He pushed back from the table, away from the pity in her gaze. “This conversation has gone off the rails.”
“Like, at all?”
He shook his head. He wasn’t a saint. “I had a rough time the year she died. Wound up pretty disgusted with myself. Sleeping around is different after you have kids.”
“Wow. You’re like the bizarro cowboy.” She reached for him again, her fingers resting on his forearm. The thin cotton of his shirt did nothing to block the heat of her touch. “That’s a compliment.”
“Good, because I couldn’t tell.” He met her gaze and despite himself, felt his cheeks lifting in a grin that matched hers. When he started dating again, he’d have to find a new restaurant. Even after she left for school, this would be Jules’s place in his mind.
“If you were a woman, I’d tell you to date yourself. Take the pressure off and just do what you want to do.”
“But I’m a guy, so…”
“Believe me, I know. But what you’re doing isn’t working. Instead of trying to see thirty years with someone, just think thirty days. Give yourself permission to have something that works for now, not forever.”
“That’s not really an option for me. Like you said, in this town people have an expectation of what I should do. If I tried to date anyone, their friends and family would have us married in their heads before the second date.”
“You need someone who doesn’t want to get tangled in the strings, or tie you in them. It shouldn’t be that hard.” She took the last sip of her wine and looked at him. “We could have fun.”
“I’m having more fun here than on a year of dates put together.”
She tilted her head to the side, her sleek blonde hair brushing her shoulder. “Hmm, maybe you aren’t ready for what I had in mind.”
“More wine?” He lifted her empty glass. He wanted to keep her talking, find out where her mind was going.
“Yes. My apartment’s upstairs.”
Chapter Two
Slade knocked on the weathered red door and then pulled his fist back. What the hell was he doing? Never in his life had he started the night with one woman and ended it with another. Hell, he couldn’t recall a single sober one-night-stand. And the two beers with dinner hadn’t been enough for him to catch a buzz. He ought to take those same stairs he’d just climbed back to the street, to his truck, and home.
Jules opened the door, her deep blue gaze as wide as her smile and charged with desire. “I thought you’d got a better offer,” she teased, ushering him inside.
Her apartment was all high ceilings and wood floors, with windows on one side looking out onto Main Street below. A large bed sat in one corner, the rest of the place devoted to racks of clothes and fabrics, tables and sewing machines.
“Pay no attention to the sweat shop I live in. I’m trying to get ahead on orders before we move.” She pulled open the mini-fridge of the wet-bar that must serve as her kitchen. “Beer, wine, or whiskey?”
“Beer is fine.” She handed him a bottle before uncorking her wine with a pop and pouring herself a healthy glass. Brightly colored fabrics were piled high in a stack on the closest table. “I’ve never seen you in neon.”
She gave a quick laugh. “I love hot pink, but I have to keep it to gray or black at the restaurant. Uncle Ben’s orders. Someday I’ll design dresses all day, but for now dress-up aprons pay the bills.”
“Dress-up aprons?”
She nodded and crossed the room to open a large box. She set her wine on a table before digging inside and then turning to show him a small blue and brown apron. “Can you guess?”
He stalled, and then it came to him. “Cinderella?”
She nodded. “Before the fairy godmother.” She selected a pale blue version. “And this is after. They’re my best sellers, though every time a new princess movie comes out I get a boost.”
He shook his head, inadequacy hitting him anew. He’d never thought to get April dress-up anything. And he probably should. “Do you have really
small ones?”
“Is it going to put you in dad mode if I say yes?” She walked back to her boxes and pulled out a tiny one with a cow print skirt and fringe.
“It doesn’t go away.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to tamp it down.
Jules folded the apron, then picked up her wine and came back to where he stood. She held out her hand. “Keys?”
He dug them out of his pocket, feeling his brow furrow. She set the apron on the counter and placed his keys on top.
“You’re a good man, Slade Weston.” She looked at him over her glass as she took a slow sip. “But we can’t do this if you’re going to do something stupid like fall in love with me.”
“I could say the same to you.” He took a long pull from his beer, a lighter brew than the one he’d enjoyed downstairs. Chick beer. Which meant she didn’t do this often enough to keep her fridge stocked. With as easily as she’d suggested this, he’d wondered about that.
“Oh, not a problem. You’re everything I don’t want.”
“Um, okay?” He couldn’t help the grin.
“I mean, physically you’re delicious. But two kids and a cattle ranch?” She placed a hand on her waist and cocked her hip out. “Do I look like that kind of girl?”
He shook his head. Not in a million years. Her strappy heels alone tossed her out of the running. And then there was her slight frame, the sexy dress, flashy jewelry, makeup, and not a hair out of place. Not to mention the eight-year age difference. She wouldn’t fit into any of the boxes he’d checked on Not My 1st Rodeo.
And yet, here he stood, his body tight with desire and smoldering with heat. She was stunning, determined, and heading out of town in a matter of weeks. He needed someone modest, practical, and within reach. Two people couldn’t be more different. She was an adventure straight off the pages of a fashion magazine, and he was rooted to the land, a fifth generation cattle rancher. He’d never leave, and she’d never stay.
There could never be more than this between them. He knew it, in his heart as well as his head. A physical affair wasn’t what he needed, what he’d devoted himself to finding for the last year. But oh, how he wanted her. She stepped closer, her sweet rose scent wrapping around him. The world shifted when she was this close, and he reasoned being with her was like a vacation. A few weeks of fun that would recharge him to get on with the rest of his life. Because he already knew, one night with Jules wouldn’t be enough.
