But it was so real, his mind warred. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, sure that he could still taste her
A dream, he told himself. It was all a dream. There was no way that he’d ever touch Becky in that way, nor would she let him.
Not when she was promised to another man.
With a growl, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was going to get that black book of his and by God he was going to find himself a wife, if it was the last thing he ever did.
Though embarrassed to do so, Becky relayed the previous night’s happenings to Miss Manie when the woman appeared unannounced at the Rusty Corral shortly after Becky’s return from the coyote hunt. She was sure that Miss Manie would be shocked when she heard that Becky had come close to baring herself to Woody. Instead she hooted at the ceiling and clapped her hands with glee.
“Now you’ve got him going,” she chortled, her wattles quivering with her excitement. “Oh, what I would’ve given to see the look on that boy’s face.”
Even thinking about the look on Woody’s face made Becky’s face heat and her insides go all soft and warm.
Miss Manie just laughed at the sudden rise in color on Becky’s cheeks and leaned to give her knee a comforting pat. “You’re doing just fine. Better than fine, in fact.” She shifted to look around Becky, pulling her glasses down her nose as she peered at the kitchen door. “Are you expecting company?”
Becky twisted around just as a shiny black coupe pulled to a stop outside. She jumped to her feet. “Mrs. C,” she cried, charging for the door. She pushed through it, clearing the steps in one leap, and ran straight into Kathleen Cunningham’s waiting arms. She wrapped her arms tightly around the older woman’s neck and clung. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you,” she cried.
Laughing, Kathleen gave her a tight squeeze, then pushed her to arm’s length so that she could see her. “It’s good to see you, too. And I certainly like this welcome better than the one I received from Forrest.”
“You’ve seen him?” Becky asked, struggling to keep her smile in place.
“Yes, I certainly have. The old grump,” she complained, then laughed again. She looped an arm around Becky’s waist and walked with her back to the house. “When I left, he was sleeping. I certainly hope the nap improves his disposition.”
Suspecting that she might be at least partially responsible for Woody’s bad mood, Becky quickly changed the subject. “I didn’t know you were coming for a visit.”
“Sterling’s reception is tonight. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Becky opened the door for Mrs. C, then followed her through, nearly bumping into the woman when she stopped short.
“Manie Riley!” Kathleen cried. “What are you doing way out here in the country?”
Manie fussed with the hem of her dress, settling it over her knees. “I’m not so old that I can’t drive myself around, you know.”
“From what I hear,” Kathleen said, giving her a sly look, “you’re not too old to do a lot of things.”
Manie adjusted her glasses, all but preening. “I like to think I’ve got a few surprises up my sleeve, yet.”
Laughing, Kathleen gave her a quick hug. “More than a few, I’ll bet.” She glanced over at Becky who still hovered near the door. “And unless my sources are wrong, someone else is full of surprises, too.”
Dang you, Woody, Becky cursed silently. Why’d you have to go and tell your mother for? She shot a desperate look Miss Manie’s way, but the woman just looked right back, her expression blank, offering no help. “Well,” Becky began uneasily as she crossed to the table, “I can explain all that.”
“I should hope you can,” Kathleen replied with an offended sniff as she dropped down a chair. “After all, you’re like a daughter to me. I would’ve thought I’d have heard about your engagement from you, instead of having to hear it secondhand from Forrest.”
Becky sank onto the chair, wishing that she could sink all the way through the floor. Lying to Woody was one thing, but lying to his mother was a whole different matter. The fact was, she couldn’t. “I’m not engaged,” she mumbled miserably.
Kathleen’s eyes widened in surprise. “What! But Forrest said—”
“He thinks I am, but it’s all a big fat lie.”
“A lie?” Kathleen repeated. She glanced at Manie, then back to Becky. “But why?”
Unable to meet the woman’s gaze, Becky ran her thumbnail along a scar on the table’s surface. “It’s kind of a long story, but the short of it is, Woody asked me to marry him and I told him I couldn’t because I was already engaged.”
“Forrest asked you to marry him and you refused?” Kathleen sank back in her chair, pressing a hand over her heart. “I don’t believe this.”
“Believe it,” Becky muttered, “‘cause it’s the gospel truth. Only Woody didn’t really ask me out-and-out, he made it sound like he was doing me a favor by offering to marry me, as if I was a charity case or something. That’s why I made up the fiancé.”
Kathleen stared for a long moment. “When did all of this happen?”
“About a week ago.” Becky ducked her head in shame. “I thought if I made him jealous it might force his hand. You know, make him put up a fight for me.”
Miss Manie huffed a breath. “Now that’s a teewydie if I ever heard one.” She turned to Kathleen. “I’m the one who encouraged Rebecca to string the boy along, so if you’re gonna be mad at someone, make it me.”
“Mad?” Kathleen repeated. “I’m not mad. I’m furious!”
Becky braced her hands against the table and wearily pushed herself to her feet. “I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you, Mrs. C. I’ll call Woody right now and tell him the ruth.”
Kathleen caught Becky by the arm and jerked her back down in her chair. “No you won’t!”
Becky stared at her, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. ‘I won’t?“
“No, you most certainly will not!” Kathleen pressed her lips together and tapped her manicured nails against the top of the scarred table. “If I could get my hands on that son of mine right now,” she muttered, “I’d wring his neck.”
“Why?” Becky asked in surprise. “Woody didn’t do mything wrong. I’m the one who lied.”
“A small indiscretion when compared to his thought ess behavior.” Her frown deepened. “Treats his livestock with more care than he does a woman. Just like his faher.”
“What?” Becky asked, watching as Mrs. C rose to bace the small kitchen, her brow furrowed.
“Newt was the same way. Not that he didn’t love me. He just didn’t think to show it. But I certainly took care of that.” She stopped suddenly and turned to look at Becky. “You’re going to Sterling’s post-wedding recep ion, aren’t you?”
Becky shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“And why not?”
Becky snorted. “You know Sterling. He’s going all out. Black tie, the invitation said.” She gave the collar of her hirt a tug. “I don’t wear ties, black or any other color, or that matter.”
“Get your purse,” Kathleen ordered.
“What?”
“Get your purse. We’re going shopping.” She whipped around to Manie. “Are you coming with us?”
Sighing heavily, Manie pressed her knuckles against the table and pushed herself to her feet. “My bunions will never forgive me, but, yeah, I’m coming. It’ll probably take the both of us to get this girl into a dress.”
Forrest stood alone, sipping champagne from a crystal flute while watching couples glide by on the portable dance floor set up on the grounds of the Oasis, Sterling Churchill’s private estate. The music was slow and seductive.
Though he hated wearing a monkey suit and attending events that required one, he’d made the sacrifice for Sterling’s sake. Of course, the fact that he knew there would be a covey of available females on hand for him to check out as possible wife candidates might have tipper the scales a bit in favor of his attending.
He straightened as a blond danced by, held in the arm of one of Royal’s bankers. Who is she? he wondered. The smile she offered Forrest was full of promise, and the finger she lifted from the banker’s back, beckoning him to cut in on their dance, a bold move.
He forced a polite smile in return, but shook his head then tossed back the last of his champagne. Too tall, he told himself. And too friendly. A woman who flirted with one man while dancing with another couldn’t be trusted
“Sterling sure knows how to throw a party.”
Forrest turned to find Hank standing behind him watching the dancers, too, his arms folded across his chest.
“If you go for froufrou,” Forrest said, frowning. He lifted his nose and sniffed. “Smells like a damn funeral parlor. Where do you suppose he found so many fresh flowers this time of year?”
Hank chuckled. “Had ‘em flown in from Hawaii. Used my jet.”
“Why didn’t he use his own plane?”
Hank nodded toward a line of buffet tables, which offered everything from caviar to bite-size lobster quiche. “His was busy hauling those ice sculptures and seafood delicacies from New Orleans.” He chuckled. “He was about to have a coronary this morning, thinking they weren’t going to make it here on time.”
Forrest shook his head. “He’d have been better off throwing a steer over an open fire and tapping a keg.”
Hank laughed and moved to clap a hand over his friend’s shoulder. “That’s what I like most about you, Forrest. You’re a paradox. Beer taste and a champagne pocketbook.”
“Just don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Forrest grumbled. “He got married at the courthouse, without telling a soul. Why the hell does he want to throw a reception now?”
Hank dropped his hand from Forrest’s shoulder with a weighty sigh. “If you have to ask, then you’re in worse shape than I first thought.”
Forrest’s scowl deepened. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
Hank folded his arms across his chest and turned his gaze back to the dance floor. “Women need certain things. Romance. Maybe even a little validation.”
Forrest snorted. “A ring through a man’s nose ought to be validation enough.”
Hank shot him a look, then turned his gaze back to the dance floor. “You haven’t found yourself a wife, yet, have you?”
“Not exactly.”
“And how do you ‘not exactly’ find a wife?”
Forrest plucked a fresh glass of champagne from the tray of a white-coated waiter passing by, and replaced it with his empty one. He tossed back half the glass’s contents before muttering, “Should’ve never mentioned to you and Sterling that I was looking for one.”
His gaze set on the far side of the dance floor, a slow smile spread across Hank’s face. “Well, would you look at that.”
“What?” Forrest asked, then followed the line of Hank’s gaze to where a woman stood, her back to them, talking to Sterling. Her dress was the color of midnight, so dark a blue it was almost black, but when she moved, metallic threads woven discreetly through the fabric caught the light and glittered like fool’s gold. Though the dress was plain compared to most of the ladies’ beads and spangles, Forrest quickly decided that, if it came to a vote, the simpler dress would win hands down.
“Who is she?” he asked, craning his neck for a better look.
At that moment, Sterling caught the woman’s hand and tugged her out onto the dance floor. As they passed under one of the torches positioned strategically around its edge, the woman turned to laugh at something Sterling said and Forrest got a look at her face.
His fingers tightened on the stem of crystal. “Becky?” he choked out.
“In the flesh,” Hank confirmed, his smile broadening.
As they both watched, Sterling twirled Becky in a fast, dizzying circle. The hem of her calf-length dress billowed out, exposing an expanse of bare leg, before he pulled her, laughing, into his arms. Forrest’s stomach knotted as he watched her melt against Sterling’s chest. He strained to keep the two in sight as they quickly blended in with the other dancers.
“Becky always could outdance any woman in Royal,” Hank offered conversationally. “She’s so light on her feet, she can make even an old gimp-legged pilot like me look like Fred Astaire.”
“Dream on,” Forrest muttered, his mood turning cantankerous as he watched the two deftly navigate the floor. “Nobody’s that good.”
“Becky is,” Hank said with conviction. “Why, I remember dancing with her at a barbecue on the Golden Steer not long after I returned home from the service.” He chuckled, rubbing at the leg that still gave him fits on occasion. “I could barely walk, much less cut a rug on the dance floor. I was feeling more than a little sorry for myself and hell-bent on drinking myself into a blind stupor when the band leader announced a lady’s choice. Out of all the men there, Becky chose me.” He shook his head in wonder as he remembered the night. “Holding a pretty little thing like her, feeling all those feminine curves and knowing full well that she could have chosen any one of the young bucks there as her partner...well, it gave me a new lease on life, that’s what it did.”
Forrest watched Becky pop a kiss on Sterling’s cheek, and felt his blood begin to boil. “Shameless,” he said in disgust, letting his gaze drop to the swell of breasts that the dress’s heart-shaped neckline revealed. “And her an engaged woman.”
“She ain’t married, yet,” Hank reminded him drolly. “Until all the ‘I do’s’ have been said and the names entered legally on a marriage license, I figure a woman is still fair game.” He turned and clapped a hand on Forrest’s shoulder again. “You know, this music is giving me an itch. Think I’ll find that wife of mine, and give her a turn on the dance floor.” He gave Forrest’s shoulder a squeeze, then walked off, whistling under his breath.
His gaze still riveted on the couple, Forrest sucked in a raw breath as he watched Sterling’s hand slide down low on Becky’s waist. Holding one hand high above her head, Sterling gave her a small push and spun her beneath their uplifted arms, then gathered her close again and waltzed away.
“Show off,” Forrest muttered darkly. Friend or not, at the moment, he’d like nothing better than to put a fist through Sterling’s face.
Then, he remembered Hank’s comment. Fair game, he’d said. Forrest tossed the champagne glass aside, gave his slacks a determined hitch at the waist, and headed for the dance floor.
As far as he was concerned, hunting season had just opened.
Six
Forrest stalked across the dance floor, roughly shouldering his way past the dancing couples who blocked his way without a care for the surprised and angry looks he drew. When he caught up with Sterling and Becky, he gave Sterling’s back a sharp jab that brought the man up short.
“What the—”
But before Sterling could finish the expletive, Forrest was unwinding Becky’s arm from around his neck and planting it firmly on his own shoulder.
“Hey!” Sterling cried as Forrest forced himself between the two. “That’s my dance partner.”
“Was,” Forrest tossed over his shoulder. “I’m cuttin‘ in.” He turned to look down at Becky, his dark scowl daring her to disagree. “Unless you have a problem with that?”
She slipped her hand around his neck and grinned up at him. “Nope. In fact, I was hoping I’d have an opportunity to talk to you tonight.”
“Well, I’m needing to talk to you, too.” He danced her away from her former partner. “About this fiance of yours,” he began.
She tossed back her head and laughed. “Isn’t that funny? That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“It is?” he asked in surprise, though he was sure that what she wanted to discuss would be poles apart from what he had to say.
“Yeah. I’ve got a few more questions I’d like to ask.”
He bit back a groan, remembering the questions she’d posed the night before. “No way.”
&nb
sp; She angled her head in warning. “You lost the bet, remember?”
As if he needed the reminder, he thought glumly. “What kind of questions?” he asked, his voice heavy with dread.
“Dancing for starters.” She glanced around to see if any one was listening to their conversation, then eased closer, lifting her face to press her mouth near his ear. “I’ve heard that dancing is a whole lot like making love,” she whispered. “Is it true?”
He jerked his head from hers as if she’d scalded him, then quickly steered her around a slower moving couple before he plowed a path right up the unsuspecting couple’s backs. “Where do you get these damn fool ideas?” he growled. “Dancing’s, dancing. Period.”
She looked up at him, her green eyes wide with innocence. “Oh, but I can see how the two would be similar,” she insisted. “Just think about it, Woody. The rhythm, the intimacy, the moves.”
Even as she made the comparison, her breasts brushed seductively against his chest. He stumbled a step at the contact, but quickly recovered. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
She smiled guilelessly up at him. “That’s okay. Anyway,” she said and, to his regret, returned to the subject with the instincts of a homing pigeon, “I remember reading once that, in more primitive societies, dancing is a part of the mating ritual, so there might be some truth in the claim.”
He snorted and shifted his hand on her back...but tensed when his hand met bare skin. He stole a glance over her shoulder and saw that her dress had a diamondshaped cutout across the middle of her spine, one he knew would reveal a bra—if she was wearing one. Rearing his head back, he frowned down at her. “What the hell kind of dress is this, anyway?”
She lifted a shoulder and smiled shyly. “A new one. Like it?”
He scowled and cupped the back of her neck, forcing her head beneath his chin so that she couldn’t see the lie in his eyes when he told it. “It’s okay, I guess, though they were awful stingy with the fabric.”
She squirmed, trying to break free. “Woody,” she cried, her voice muffled by the front of his shirt, “you’re smothering me.”
Billionaire Bridegroom Page 9
