Wild Girl: A Cowboy Romance Trilogy (Wild Men Texas Book 3)

by Melissa Belle

  I don’t expect the tears to start falling from my eyes like waterfalls.

  “Happy tears,” I say quickly when my father’s face contorts. “I swear, happy tears. And yes, I’m sure this is what I want.”

  He takes the thick paper contract in his hands and tears it in two then two again. “We’ll go to the lawyer next week and make sure he voids it in my will.” He turns to Ben. “We’ll get a new contract made up for you, son, stating that you are to succeed me as the rightful owner of The Cowherd Whiskey Saloon & Chapel. I won’t be able to run this bar any time soon, but Macey will be here to guide you until you graduate from college. She’s the best mentor you could ever ask for.”

  “Daddy…” I choke up and can’t continue.

  He nods at me. “You kept this place on two feet every time I was on my back, darlin’. And this old bar thanks you for it. I know that ghost does, too.”

  I hug him, and then we pull Ben in and put our arms around him, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Logan

  I’m inside the lobby of the five-star Florida hotel Gigi’s father set us all up at, and I’m so freaking miserable I can barely stand to be around myself.

  When my father asks to talk to me, I try to push him off. But he’s insistent and leads me outside for a stroll around the massive hotel grounds.

  We wander underneath so many palm trees I forget I’m not used to seeing them. After our third circumference around the same plush green lawn, my dad breaks the silence.

  “You’ve been testy.”

  I know it can’t be good if my dad’s noticed my mood.

  “I’m just nervous,” I lie. “You know, about the big day.”

  “Son.” Daddy stops in the middle of the path and blocks me from continuing. “You may be able to lie to Gigi and her entire crew of relatives. But you can’t lie to me. Your mother’s noticed, too. Now stop shutting down and tell me what in the hell is going on with you.”

  What’s going on with me is that Macey’s face has been in my head ever since I walked away from her at Brick’s. I’ve barely slept, and when I have, I’ve dreamed about her. The reality of being married to a woman who isn’t her—even if it’s not real—is shattering me.

  I look at my father’s gruff but familiar face, and I finally crack.

  When I’m done telling him the truth, Dad takes a long breath.

  “This is some heavy burden you’ve been carrying around,” he says.

  I shrug. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted to help Macey. That’s all.”

  “That’s noble,” he says. “And it’s courageous. Ingenious. Very cowboy. But also like a cowboy, it’s stupid.”

  I jerk my head up and glare at him. “I can’t believe I told you, of all people, the truth. You’ve always been such an ass to me.”

  “About that,” Daddy says.

  We end up talking about stuff I never thought he’d bring up. The drinking, the hitting, the way he criticized me for painting—attacked me really—all of it.

  We walk in circles around the hotel and the Florida palm trees as he tries to explain he only wanted the ranch for me because the family business is all he has to give to his kids. I tell him that he can’t shove it down my throat like that because then it’s not a gift; it’s a prison sentence. He nods like he gets it.

  “If I can’t give you the ranch,” he says, “let me help you with this pickle you’re in. Your heart’s so invested that you can’t think straight. However, I think between the two of us cowboys, we can come up with a darned good solution.”

  Another hour later, we have a plan. Breathing freely for the first time in weeks, I tell him I’ll run it by Gigi after she returns from her hen party, and then I return to my room.

  While I wait, I check my email.

  What’s sitting in my inbox nearly sends me on a flight back to Darcy right then.

  Macey Henwood’s first novel.

  Fully finished.

  And what’s inside it tells me more than I was expecting.

  It’s not just a straight or even a flush.

  It’s the full fucking house.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Macey

  My phone rings at four-thirty a.m.

  “Hey.” I feel more than hear Logan’s slow drawl come through the receiver.

  “What’s wrong?” I say automatically.

  “Nothin’,” he says. “I just wanted to talk is all.”

  I struggle to wake up and clear my head.

  “I’m in the lobby of the nicest freaking hotel any of us have ever laid eyes on,” he says to me.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “My dad’s shitting himself,” he says.

  I smile. “Better than the ranch life?”

  “Just…different. He needed a change of pace after thirty years and no vacation.”

  “How’s your mom liking it?”

  “She went on the upside-down coaster three times,” he says. “We dragged her on the first time, and she swore she’d get us back once we got home. All’s you could hear the whole ride was her screaming her head off.”

  I laugh.

  “As soon’s the ride ended,” he continues. “She got right back in line to do it again.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No,” he says. “And then a third time. She took my dad with her every time. He went to bed right after.”

  “Nauseous?”

  “And a headache. But she’s convinced him to do a flume ride tomorrow. They’re getting their money’s worth off of that day pass the hotel concierge talked them into.”

  “I’m glad your dad was able to go,” I say. “I ran into Reid.”

  “He said,” Logan says, and I can tell he’s about to say something.

  “Don’t say anything. You don’t owe me any explanation.” I laugh. “I went to the airport, though, to try to catch you.”

  “You did?”

  Does he sound happy? Or just polite?

  “Yeah,” I say. “The desk attendant quickly steered me away from any hope of getting on that plane even to say goodbye. He must have known what he was doing.”

  Logan breathes in, and my breath catches in my throat at the same time.

  “It rained red today here, Lo,” I say.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Red rains. First time in three years.” My tears are coming hard, but I charge ahead and try my best to run over them. “I got wet.”

  “That sounds…” he starts to say.

  “That sounds…” I prompt him after a moment. “It sounds what?”

  Silence.

  “Are you there?”

  No answer.

  “Logan?” I say almost desperately. “Are you still there?”

  When there’s still no answer, I look down at my phone and see the connection’s ended.

  I know it was probably his cell phone cutting out, but he doesn’t try me again, and I can’t call him back.

  He’s gone, and the next time I talk to him, everything will have changed.

  I lie back down, but when tears continue to hit my pillow, I get up for good and reach for the phone.

  Logan

  Blake’s rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when he meets me at the hotel bar at dawn.

  “What the hell is so important you had to wake me up? I was enjoying being away from ranch hours for a change.”

  “I’m sure you were. And I’m sorry to interrupt your time off.” I hold up my phone showing my new airline ticket. “I wanted to let you know I’m flying home.”

  He’s awake now. His blue eyes widen as he grips my shoulder. “I need more than that, Wild.”

  “Let’s just say I had a problem. And I’ve figured a way out of said problem.” Not a soul is around at this hour, but I lower my voice anyway. “I love Macey. I always did, but I thought I had to do this.”

  He scratches his chin. “I don’t fucking get it.”

  “I know. And I can’t explain more right
now because I have to talk to Macey first.”

  “Okay.” He holds up his index finger. “So the wedding’s off?”

  “Yes.”

  He holds up a second finger. “And you’re going home? To your girl?”

  “Yes.”

  Third finger. “You’re going to fix everything that you fucked up this summer?”

  I roll my eyes. “Blake. Quit while you’re ahead.”

  He pulls me into a hug. “I’m happy for you, brother.”

  I slap his back. “Thanks. I’ll leave it up to you and my parents to fill in the guests.”

  “Not a problem,” he says as he steps back and signals to the bartender. “But before you go to the airport? You and I are having a shot of whiskey to celebrate.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Macey

  “So he loves you. And you sent him your book. And when he called, was Gigi with him?” Ginny asks when I wake her up at five-thirty.

  “I’m sorry I called you so early,” I say again. “You need your rest right now. The second trimester is so important for rest and…”

  “Shhh!” she says. “Do you know how mad I would have been with you if you hadn’t told me what’s going on? I’m actually a bit angry you didn’t tell me what happened at Brick’s right away. Logan said he loves you? I mean, are you kidding me?!”

  “I know, and I’m just freaking out.”

  “Okay. Tell me exactly what he said and how he said it. Or better yet, I’ll jump in the car and head over to your place.”

  While I wait for Ginny to arrive, I try to calm myself with a cup of hot cocoa and a buttermilk biscuit from the batch I’d made this week, but comfort food isn’t enough to settle my nerves.

  And something’s bugging me. What Skip said about Gigi’s mother—

  Why does everyone keep bringing up Mrs. Phillips?

  I gasp.

  Daddy and Mrs. Phillips—he asked me about her twice. And then, they were chatting at the party…

  They couldn’t have—

  No.

  They wouldn’t have.

  But…

  I know my father when he drinks. He would, and he has. With a multitude of women.

  But what the fuck would that have to do with Logan and Gigi? Just a random coincidence?

  I’m not sure I believe in random.

  But I’m also completely stumped.

  I need a distraction desperately, so I decide to work on my query letter. I’ll probably need to revise this one anyway after the rejections start coming in, but I need to do something right this second. I finish a decent draft and email it off to a few literary agents I find online.

  Sunrise is still a little ways off as Ginny and I sit at my kitchen table, the plate of buttermilk biscuits between us.

  “I seriously think I gained a few pounds just waiting for you to get here,” I say as I finish my third biscuit.

  “I gained three pounds this week,” she offers.

  “You’re eating for two. You should be gaining weight.”

  She grabs a biscuit and chews. Then, she says, “Their private Florida wedding is scheduled for five o’clock tomorrow evening. Typical Logan to call and not say one word about that part of his trip.”

  True.

  I make a face. “The fact that I’m going to be here while reporters are stationed in front of The Cowherd jail cell to check whether or not Logan and Gigi are the soul mates…”

  Ginny grimaces. “It sounds torturous, honestly.”

  I sigh. “I know. Subject change—is anything new with you?”

  Ginny smiles. “Nickel wants to date me.”

  I hug her. “I would say I’m surprised, but you so clearly had him wrapped around your finger from the get-go.”

  “And Mama’s just started to speak to me again in a normal voice,” she says. “I guess a week’s not bad considering how much pain she says I put her through.”

  “Yeah, for your mother, a week’s pretty impressive.”

  “Do you think maybe we’re afraid to be different than our mamas?” Ginny says.

  I look over at her. “You think?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, they’re from a completely different generation, and they had totally different childhoods, yet…” she pauses. “And yet they both always say how much we’re like them. I don’t think I would’ve married Dave if I’d known how wrong they were.”

  And maybe I wouldn’t have fought so hard to never let a man in.

  “I spent this whole summer poring over my old diary entries, trying to make peace with my childhood,” I murmur.

  “And what’d you find?” she asks me.

  “I’m just realizing what I found. Nearly every entry had Logan all over it. My first kiss, my first everything.”

  “It’s so romantic,” Ginny squeals. “Like a real love story written in your own hand!”

  I swallow hard. “I read it from front to back, and all of it was there. And I couldn’t see it until he was already gone.”

  After Ginny leaves, I paint my toenails, wash and dry my hair, and spend nearly forty-five minutes painstakingly separating and then pulling my entire head of unruly waves into a French braid. I admire my work in the bathroom mirror and then order in a double cheeseburger, onion rings, and a vanilla milkshake for lunch. After I eat, I half-heartedly pack, knowing that after tomorrow, I won’t have the heart to do much else besides try to get my ass to the airport on time.

  I wish I could skip Logan’s wedding. God, I wish I could skip it. But I feel like that would be too mean. I call Ben and ask him to cover for me at The Cowherd tonight. When he asks why, I tell him I’m not feeling well.

  I have a momentary happy distraction when, after four form rejections come in from agents, a fifth one emails and asks for the full manuscript. I’m so excited I send it off to her naively and then realize this probably won’t lead to anything momentous. But it’s a start.

  Finally, around seven p.m., with the rain pouring down outside, I lie down on my couch and fall into a fitful sleep.

  My cell phone is ringing. Over and over. I lift my head off the pillow and drag myself off the couch to go answer it. But I can’t find it anywhere. Every time it rings, I go in the direction I think I’m hearing it from, and it’s not there.

  After forever, it stops, and I give up and head for my couch again.

  I’m walking past the front door when my doorbell rings.

  Sure it must be Ginny, I reach for the handle without looking out. “Did you forget something earlier?”

  Logan’s standing on my steps.

  I take a step backward and widen my eyes.

  Logan Wild is standing on my steps.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Logan’s truck is in the driveway.

  He’s standing in front of me with his dark brown hair and his whiskey eyes with those long lashes. He’s dressed in his blue t-shirt and worn jeans and cowboy boots. He’s getting wet from the rain pouring down, and I can’t stop staring at him long enough to invite him inside.

  Because he’s supposed to be in Florida.

  I take him in slowly.

  Dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days, his pale face a stark contrast to his day-old sexy stubble, but his cheeks wear a familiar flush. That flush he has when he’s happy about something. And the sparks in his eyes are frenzied as he takes me in hungrily like he hasn’t really seen me in months.

  I look at him, then back to his truck, then back to him.

  “What—” I start to say. “Why—are you here?”

  “To find you,” he says simply.

  I stare up at him as my lips part.

  His gaze is unrelenting on my face, and then it drifts to my green and white checked cowgirl button-down shirt, my denim cut-off shorts, and my bare feet with freshly painted pink toenails. He drags his gaze back up to mine and tugs at my braid. “I like your hair that way.”

  He grabs my hand and gently pulls me outside onto my top step. Th
e rain comes down onto our heads as he brings me so close to him I can hear his racing heart and smell the familiar scent of moss mixed with cowboy.

  When he cups my face in both hands and puts his mouth on mine, I melt into him, desperately kissing him back. His tongue tastes like whiskey, and it asks me to let him in. I do without hesitation as I press my body even closer against his. He feels warm and solid, and I lean against his solid chest and wrap my arms around his waist.

  His lips go to my neck, and I roll my head back as he sucks and licks his way down to my collarbone. The raindrops fall on my face as I let out a moan.

  Logan removes his lips from my neck and chastely kisses my head. “Let’s go to the lake. The rain will stop soon.”

  The path is so muddy from all the rain that we can hardly get the truck through the West Street parking lot to the private part beyond. But Logan is determined, and after ten minutes of stopping and starting, we make it to our favorite part, the part where no one hardly ever goes and certainly not on a night this wet. And like a second miracle tonight, as soon as we park, the rains stop.

  “I picked up dry firewood and marshmallows.” Logan lays out a thick picnic blanket, the kind that’s waterproof on the bottom. “You hungry?”

  “Always.”

  I help him start the fire, and we sit around it in silence. It casts a bright enough light that I can see Logan clearly next to me. I try to stay calm, but my foot is tap dancing on the nearby log. My insides are clenched with anxiety.

  But I learned a long time ago that pushing Logan just makes him shut down more. So I accept the marshmallow on a stick that he offers me and eat it in two quick bites. I toss the empty stick on the ground and stare into the flames of the fire, wondering if I could get some sort of a medal in patience. Logan finishes his third marshmallow, and his empty stick lands next to mine on the ground. That’s when he decides he’s ready to talk.