by Crane, Megan
That hurt her more to say than it could possibly have hurt him, despite the way he flinched, like she’d hit him. Chelsea turned around and started for the door, determined to get away from him. It was done, and that was what mattered. The pain was something she’d just have to figure out how to survive—
But his hands were on her, suddenly, turning her back around to face him, and then his mouth slammed over hers.
That damned fire.
That wild, impossible need.
It roared through her, scalding her. Making her shiver and burn. Making her melt into him the way she always did, meeting each hard kiss, each claiming stroke of his tongue. She couldn’t resist him. She didn’t want to resist him—
But that was all the more reason she had to leave him.
It actually caused her physical pain to wrench herself away from him.
“This is bullshit.”
His voice was harsh. Succinct. And Chelsea couldn’t seem to do anything but stare at him.
He was still holding her shoulders in his hands, and he was so close to her, that beautiful face of his so close and those bright hazel eyes of his searching every part of her, tearing her asunder, shining a light where there had never been anything but shadow.
“You don’t have to hide anymore,” he told her, his voice low and determined. “You don’t—”
“Jasper.” Even his name hurt. Misery almost knocked her from her feet to her knees, but she stepped back, away from him, and somehow she didn’t fall. “This is temporary. This has never been anything but temporary, and I have to go. You have to let me.”
“I don’t want to.” Fierce and sure, and was that pain in his gaze? Thick and sharp at once? She didn’t understand that. She couldn’t let herself look any closer. “I don’t understand this.”
“You will,” she said, not letting herself waver. Not letting herself reach out to him the way she wanted to do, so much that her fingers ached with need of him. “Sooner than you think, I’d imagine.”
And then, finally, she turned and ran.
Jasper stood in the howling emptiness she left behind her for a long time, thinking about the word temporary.
He’d made it the cornerstone of his life. Growing up, he and his brother had vowed they’d get the hell away from their father at the first available opportunity, so they’d never let themselves get too attached to any of the places or people they encountered while under his mean, violent thumb. When they’d built the business, they’d been solely focused on money. Becoming solvent. Then becoming rich. Then making sure they’d be very, very wealthy for the rest of their lives no matter what they did.
But each step in that process, Jasper had known it was temporary. He’d known that damned house in Dallas wasn’t permanent. He’d always envisioned himself somewhere else, which was why he hadn’t much cared what Marlene and her decorator did with the place. He hadn’t really thought about it in those terms, but he supposed that he’d always thought Marlene was temporary too. God knew, when he’d announced he was selling the company and leaving the oil business entirely, he hadn’t expected her to come along with him on whatever his next adventure was.
What exactly are you planning to do with your retirement? she’d asked, not pausing in the series of crunches she was performing in their home gym. He’d always admired Marlene’s commitment to what, he supposed in retrospect, was her business: that flawless body of hers. She’d sounded mildly curious, at best, and not in the least bit winded.
Jasper had shrugged. I don’t know. Sell everything. Wander.
Marlene had paused then, meeting his gaze from across the room, hers very cool. Very direct.
Do you expect me to accompany you on this journey into the life of a vagabond?
And he’d laughed. He’d never imagined that, he was certain she’d never imagined it, and he hadn’t been particularly surprised when he’d found her in bed with her personal trainer shortly thereafter. Not pleased, certainly, but not surprised.
Temporary.
He didn’t know how long he stood there in the very beginnings of what would be his microbrewery, but the shadows were long when he finally shook himself out of his daze. He found himself outside, walking down Main Street as the sun dropped toward the far hills and the colder air swept in.
Marietta sparkled in the last of the day’s golden light. Banners welcoming the rodeo this coming weekend hung in all the shop windows, and there were lights strung up from lamppost to lamppost, creating a canopy of twinkling lights down the length of Main Street. He’d lived in this place all of a week and a half, and yet at least three people said hello to him as he passed. A very friendly shopkeeper. The rancher he’d met at the coffee shop one morning, who’d engaged him in a lively discussion about construction while they waited in line to get breakfast. The older woman who worked in his realtor’s office, who’d brought him a welcome basket his first night in town.
He paused for a moment on the corner and let it settle in on him, the fact that he lived here now. That he really lived here. That unlike in Dallas, where he’d lived behind electronic gates and didn’t know the names of his own staff, people expected to know him here. They greeted him, even when he had the kind of look on his face that could only be described as forbidding. This little jewel of a village he’d glimpsed from far off, that had looked exactly like the fantasy of home he’d carried around in his head all these years without knowing it, was home.
He was home, at last.
And nothing about what he felt about this place—much less about Chelsea—was temporary.
He found himself in the saloon, pulling up to a seat at the bar, not surprised to feel Jason Grey’s brooding gaze on him, as unfriendly as ever. But it was the other, younger man Chelsea had called Reese who slid him a shot of whiskey, and smiled slightly when Jasper looked at him.
“Look like you need it,” was all he said.
“I believe I do,” Jasper agreed, and knocked it back.
He had no intention of letting her go. But he understood the value of a strategic retreat. He hadn’t been a major player in a cutthroat business by accident.
“That look on your face says woman trouble,” the bartender said, polishing a glass and setting it down. “But I know that’s impossible.”
Jasper only eyed him for a moment. Waiting.
“Everyone around here likes Chelsea.” Reese nodded toward the other end of the bar, where Jason Grey stood, glowering. “Especially Jason, and he doesn’t like anybody.”
“Luckily,” Jasper drawled, nodding when Reese moved to refill his glass, “I do, too.”
The other man jerked his chin as if they’d solved a major problem, and then moved off down the bar toward a group of newcomers. It occurred to Jasper, belatedly, that he’d just been quizzed on his intentions. And he thought he understood, in a way he hadn’t before, what it meant to have the kind of roots Chelsea did. To be seen and supported by all of these people, because they’d known her all her life. Because they were all a part of that life. It was all part and parcel of something bigger.
And that was why, the following morning, he drove up the mountain to Black Bart Road once he was sure school was in session, then took that winding drive up toward the house. He hadn’t seen it in daylight before, and it was even prettier than it looked in the dark. It was a Victorian masterpiece, all gables and bay windows, rambling all over the hilltop it commanded in rich, dark colors, a piece of fairytale whimsy surrounded by rugged Montana splendor on all sides.
History wasn’t just her job, he understood now, standing before this house Chelsea’s ancestors had made with their hands. It made her who she was. It was who she was.
So he walked up to the door and knocked, because he had plans for that history. And her future, too.
9.
“Can I have your attention, please?”
Chelsea froze at the sound of that voice—that deep drawl, entirely too delicious even broadcast over the speakers that projected
him all the way down Main Street. She fought the urge to turn and stare at the makeshift stage where, until a second ago, the rowdy local band had been playing.
Of course, that only meant that she saw the way every single person in her line of sight turned to look at her. Most of them with giant grins on their faces.
She had no idea what Jasper was doing. She hadn’t seen him since that unpleasant final scene in the depot, and she certainly was not replaying that last kiss over and over and over in her head. Just as she absolutely hadn’t deliberately come to the street dance on Main Street—one of the kick off events of the rodeo, and also one of the events she’d helped put on—late enough to blend into the crowd.
Chelsea had no idea how Jasper felt about dances, but she’d told herself that on the off chance he didn’t avoid this one altogether, she’d do better to be as inconspicuous as possible.
“I’m Jasper Flint,” he was saying in that way of his, that snuck inside of her and turned everything bright and smooth. “As many of you know, I’m planning to turn the old railway depot into a microbrewery. We’re planning to open in the spring, should I survive my first Montana winter.”
Everyone laughed, of course, because there were a lot of enthusiastic folks around in the fall who left, thin-lipped and beaten down, come the far-off spring. Montana wasn’t for everyone. Chelsea might have laughed herself, if it hadn’t been so extraordinarily painful to hear his voice. She shifted slightly so she could see him, and that was worse. Much worse.
He was even more beautiful than usual tonight, dressed like a cowboy, in a hat and boots that felt like a little bit of sunshine on her country girl soul. This far away, she couldn’t see the gleam in his eyes, but she recognized that smile of his, crooked and perfect.
It had been two days without him and it felt like years.
She had, she thought then, perhaps overestimated her ability to handle seeing him, even in public.
“But I don’t want my arrival in Marietta, which I plan to make my home for a long time to come, to be marked by what I know some might see as a disrespect for its long history.”
There was all that warmth in his voice. That hint of laughter, and Chelsea was so busy concentrating on how much she didn’t want to react to him that it took her long moments to make sense of the figure who appeared up there next to him on stage. Because it didn’t make any sense.
“It’s my great pleasure to announce that in addition to renovating the railway depot, I’ll be turning the historic Crawford House into a partial museum, which will help bring the story of this town and its people to a broader audience. I look forward to the challenge of living up to this town’s history.”
Mama was right there next to him while Jasper said this, smiling broadly as she applauded, and Chelsea still couldn’t quite make sense of it. Of any of it. The people around her congratulated her, and more of the town seemed pleased by this announcement than Tod’s comments on the First Families might have led her to believe, but even so, she couldn’t seem to find her footing.
“So without further ado, I’ll let y’all get back to this fine dance and this rodeo weekend,” he said, and nodded at the band, who launched into a new song. “I look forward to many more, right here in Marietta.”
Chelsea took that as her cue to bolt, and turned away, heading for her car. For escape. For space and clarity, to think through what had just happened, what Jasper and her mother must have planned, together, behind her back—
“Chelsea Crawford Collier.” Still on all those speakers. Loud and impossible to ignore, her name like a shout straight down the center of town. “Are you going to dance with me or not?”
She would have chosen not.
But all her friends and neighbors were laughing and clapping as if this was a happy scene out of some movie, and then they all stepped aside, opening up an aisle that led directly to her. And Jasper jumped down from the stage and prowled his way down it, that light in his eyes that made her pulse thump hard and then go wild.
She wanted to run. But she couldn’t, not with everyone watching, because she didn’t know if she’d run away from him—or straight to him.
And he knew it. She could see it in his swagger.
“What if I don’t want to dance with you?” she asked when he was near.
“You do.”
He grinned at her, a crook of those perfect lips, and then he swept her into his arms without waiting for her to respond, and suddenly there was nothing but fire.
All of that glorious fire.
It arced from his hand to hers. It was there between them when he pulled her closer to his chest, pulling her hard against him, making her wonder what her subconscious had been up to when she’d dressed tonight, in a dress she never wore that showed more of her curves than usual and the bright red cowboy boots she only pulled out for the rodeo.
Had she dressed for him, all the while telling herself she wasn’t doing anything of the kind?
She felt his hand smooth down her back, heard his small, fervent sigh in her ear, and she knew she had.
Of course she had.
“Did you get all that?” He sounded amused, the way he almost always did, his mouth at her ear. “That’s two long term projects, one of which involves close contact with your mother. I’m sending you a message. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Jasper—”
He stopped moving then, and angled away from her, forcing her to tilt her head back to look up at him. His face had gone very serious, and it made her breath catch and her heart hurt.
“Of course it’s scary,” he said. “Do you think I’m not scared, too? But that’s the point. That’s what this is all about.”
She didn’t pretend she didn’t understand him.
“I just think it will hurt less now,” she said, with more determination than conviction.
“How’s that working out?” he retorted, and there was something in his gaze then, kind and demanding at once, that made everything inside of her twist. Hard.
Because the truth was, it wasn’t working out at all.
“What if you change your mind?” she asked, her voice so much stronger than she felt. “What if tomorrow you wake up and decide you have to visit Mozambique, immediately? What will you do then?”
His mouth crooked. “Ask you if you have a passport. Get you one if you don’t.”
And Chelsea couldn’t help herself. She smiled.
He moved closer, sliding his hands around her to rest on her waist, pulling her in closer than was strictly appropriate in the middle of all these people, but Chelsea couldn’t bring herself to care.
“It’s crazy,” he said, “but this felt like forever the moment I met you.”
Chelsea tipped her head back, dizzy from the lights strung above him and the wild, sweet light in his beautiful eyes. From the stars above and from him, and she stopped fighting. It was time to live. Like he said, that was the whole point, no matter what happened.
“That sounds a little bit like I love you,” she pointed out.
His eyes gleamed brighter, and she understood, at last, that it was possible to spin around in all the stars in the dark sky without ever losing touch with the earth beneath her feet.
“It really does,” Jasper agreed. “But I think that kind of thing needs time. To grow. To be sure. Months and months of time, Triple C. Maybe even years.”
She looped her arms around his neck, loving that look on his face, loving him. Loving whatever came next, as long as it came with him.
“Let’s find out,” she said.
But first, they danced.
Around and around on Marietta’s pretty Main Street, surrounded by all of those smiling friends and neighbors who cared how it ended, with the fall night like a blessing dressed up in giddy music, and the promise of forever in both of their smiles.
The End
Continue reading for excerpts from the other novels in the Copper Mountain Rodeo Series!
Excerpt: Marry Me, Cowboy
(Copper Mountain Rodeo #2)
Lilian Darcy
Excerpt © 2013
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
One
Jamie MacCreadie didn’t know how to talk to women.
He was twenty-six years old. He had a mother, three sisters and an aunt he was close to, as well as a father and a brother, but apparently he still didn’t have a clue. When he was riding the adrenalin rush of a rodeo win, he thought he managed it pretty well. Or when he’d had a drink or two. Rest of the time, no, and to be honest it wasn’t a fault, as far as he was concerned. He just didn’t see the point of a whole lot of talking.
Fortunately, a lot of women seemed not to mind. They carried the dialogue forward on their own, and accepted a lazy smile or a sideways glance as his part of the conversational bargain.
Not Tegan Ash, though. She left him in no doubt about his shortcomings in this area. In fact, she was the one who’d first pointed it out, several months ago, in her cute, blunt Australian accent. “You know what your problem is, Jamie?”
“Well... Do I have one?” He’d stayed calm and mild, knowing it would annoy her. He liked getting a rise out of her, truth to tell. She was the same age he was, and they were like grade school kids with each other, sometimes. Immature in a way he didn’t think he was with other people. It was only her.
“You don’t know how to talk to women.”
She couldn’t stand him, and she was marrying his best friend.
They were both watching Chet right now, Tegan’s long, lean, barrel-racer body as lazy as Jamie’s, leaning on the rodeo arena rail. Somehow she still managed to smell like a shower stall, even though she’d been around horses all day. There was a sweet, nutty scent in the air, sourced in her thick tumble of blond hair. It disturbed his peace of mind in a way he didn’t like to think about, and he shifted six inches along the rail so he wouldn’t be close enough to notice it any more.
