Warrior Girl: A Cowboy Romance (Wild Men Texas Book 2)

by Melissa Belle

  If I tell Macey too soon, she’ll tell me she’ll handle it herself. If I manage to talk her out of that, she’ll still insist on getting involved. And if Macey gets in the middle, she would unwittingly put the whole deal in jeopardy.

  I can’t get her involved.

  I want her happy, and if her daddy’s in jail for life, she’ll either be stuck running a bar she doesn’t want to run, or she’ll be stuck trying to figure out how to bring in money for her mama. If her father goes to jail, Macey’s essentially in prison, too. And she deserves to be free. More than anyone I know, Macey Henwood deserves to be free.

  And I’ll do what I need to do to see the deal through—even if it means faking a marriage.

  I had to turn in those divorce papers and go ahead with the bargain I made with Mr. Phillips and his daughter. I had no choice.

  I just didn’t know it could hurt so much—especially with Macey.

  I chastise myself for lingering at the fishing hole. It’s time to dust off and put away the pain of becoming Macey’s ex-husband.

  I’m a cowboy.

  And the job’s not done yet.

  Chapter Twenty

  Macey

  I smile at my reflection in the bridal salon’s floor-length mirrors. The pale green spaghetti-strap dress I’m wearing is beautiful from all three angles. If I close my eyes and pretend my life were different, it would make a perfect wedding gown. I’m not a big fan of white gowns anyway. White means purity, it means virginal, and it just wouldn’t work for me.

  “This is definitely the right choice for my bridesmaid dress,” I say to Eloise.

  “You look beautiful, honey,” Ginny concurs from her window seat. “The full length really shows off your figure.”

  Eloise helps me take off the dress. I sigh as I step back into my shorts and t-shirt, and Darcy’s bridal shop returns to being just a store and no longer the gorgeous backdrop for a woman’s most important day. A woman who’s not named Macey Henwood. My one and only wedding has come and gone in the blink of a Las Vegas eye—where alcohol and lack of rational thought made for a very bad decision.

  “How are you?” Ginny asks me as we step out of the air-conditioned shop, and the bright sun temporarily blinds us. “You’ve been tense since…you know.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Yes, ever since I handed over the divorce papers to Logan a week and a half ago, I’ve been a tad on edge. I haven’t seen him because he and Gigi disappeared to New York the next day, and somehow I haven’t run into them since they returned.

  In his absence, I’ve overcompensated by getting very little sleep and by multi-tasking. On the plus side, I finished my red raindrop quilt and wrote five chapters in Ghost Love.

  On the less positive side, I allowed Jamie to give me back his commitment ring even though it’s far too tight and I’ve barely spent any time alone with him. I’ve managed to avoid kissing him by keeping our dates public and then claiming I’m too tired afterward to hang out.

  Despite Logan being engaged, ever since he and I slept together in Vegas—and of course married—the idea of being with another man sexually still makes me ill. But thinking of Logan with Gigi makes me excruciatingly lonely, and I can’t imagine having no one to date all summer.

  To fill my need for distraction, I’ve spent several hours a day locked in my office with Mrs. Rattles, doing wedding planning.

  I prayed for something to keep me busy, and Ginny’s mother came to the rescue. Claiming exhaustion, she washed her hands of all menial tasks related to her daughter’s wedding and handed them off, rather unceremoniously, to me.

  She sat by me and barked out orders while I called the catering company, the photographer, the florist, and the reverend, who begrudgingly agreed to let Ginny and Dave make up their missed marriage class. He made a rude remark about how Logan and Gigi don’t seem to need as much hand-holding as Ginny and Dave do.

  I don’t know why everybody’s comparing them. Of course Logan and Gigi have no problems—they don’t know each other well enough yet to see past the very outermost layer.

  Ginny cups her belly as we cross the street and head toward The Cowherd. “I’m starting to show more. I’m nearly four months along. Dave wants to find out the sex of the baby as soon as we can, but I don’t.”

  “I wonder if the baby will be a closet rock star like its mama,” I tease her. “You always loved to play that pink guitar you had as a kid. Maybe Dave can give you one for a wedding present.”

  “Please. He’d pick up like some dumb pair of earrings I’ll never wear. He never did get my taste.”

  “He did always pull an F in the gift department.” I pause. “So why don’t you buy a guitar? Like a wedding present to yourself.”

  “I’m considering that actually. Dave would hate it, of course. And he’d hate me going out to play after work. He likes me home to cook him dinner.” Ginny sighs loudly. “Oh, whatever. Maybe you’re not supposed to be best friends with your husband. Dave and I are certainly not best…” She trails off suddenly and stares across the street intently.

  “What is it?”

  She smiles wider than I’ve seen her do in forever and waves her arm in the air. “It’s Nickel! He sees me. Oh gosh, he’s going to come over here. Oh God.”

  I stare at her flushed face and bright eyes. “Ginny, who are you—”

  Ginny starts explaining rapidly. “He’s about to cross the street. I met Nickel when Mama and I were tasting cakes. He was our server, and he’s a country singer, so I was going to ask his band to play at our wedding instead of those cousins of ours Mama insisted on hiring. I can’t wait to tell him about the guitars I’ve been looking at. He said his Martin is the best, and he even said if I buy one we could play together sometime.”

  “So wait, do you…”

  I don’t have time to finish my sentence because a curly-haired blond guy is now standing shyly in front of us. He’s scrawny and could use a shave, but he’s cute. Ginny cute. But not like Dave. More like his distant cousin. Distant in the way monkeys could be distantly related to ants.

  Ohh. Ginny’s abrupt good mood, her big smile, her unexpected wedding entertainer switch. This Nickel thing must be one of those situations she made me promise to stop her from—a hormonal-induced crush.

  As Ginny and Nickel gaze at each other longingly and I wonder how in the world I’m supposed to tear them apart, she introduces me to him, and he offers to accompany us to The Cowherd.

  The three of us walk in silence, for the next three blocks, until Ginny looks down at Jamie’s commitment ring on my finger.

  “Macey, are you gonna take Jamie as your date to our wedding?”

  I suppose Jamie would be willing, but considering I don’t know that I’d notice if he were run over by a car or not, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

  But Jamie’s new to Darcy, and I’m sure he’d appreciate meeting some more people in town.

  I shrug. “Not sure. I thought I had to bring a date because of the whole Logan situation, but now I’m thinking I may just go solo anyway.”

  “Speaking of Logan,” Ginny says as we reach The Cowherd and I unlock the door. “I never mentioned this before, but where in the world did he get the money for that rock?”

  “Savings?” I open the wooden door and usher Ginny and Nickel in ahead of me. “I don’t know.”

  Mr. Wild barely pays his sons minimum wage, but I guess Logan put most of it away.

  “I heard about the huge ring.” Nickel grins. “I’ve got three sisters. They’re all jealous.”

  I smile. “Tell them real life is never what it looks like on the outside. I’ve been married to Logan Wild, and it’s not all a fairy tale.”

  “Logan sure spent a lot of money on a piece of jewelry Gigi will probably replace in a year with an upgrade.” Ginny walks over to the bar and takes a seat on a stool. “That’s what the rich do, you know.”

  I step behind the counter. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely sure,”
she says, not sounding quite as sure as she did a second ago. “I read it somewhere—in a magazine, I think.”

  Nickel takes a seat next to Ginny and smiles at her like she’s the most interesting person in the universe.

  So cute.

  But wait. I’m supposed to be breaking them apart, not smiling at them like they’re adorable and sweet and thinking how great they’d look making music together.

  I pour three glasses of water then remember my manners and ask Nickel if he’d like something else.

  “Water’s great, thanks.”

  So many points for Nickel over Dave already, and I’ve only spent fifteen minutes with the guy.

  But Ginny told you to stop her from moments like this. Ginny made you swear you’d see her wedding to Dave through.

  Shit.

  “Y’all, guess what else? Gigi’s only nineteen years old!” Ginny says in an excited whisper.

  “Nineteen?” I throw my elbows on the counter and lean closer. “Are you serious?”

  “Dave just found out. Can you believe it?”

  “That’s barely past eighteen!” I say, stating the obvious. “That’s still a teenager—a teenager!”

  Nickel laughs. “But she is legal. Seventeen in Texas.”

  “True.” I tell myself to breathe. “Logan can marry a”—I shudder as I force the word out—“teenager—if he wants to.”

  I glance out the front window. A huge head of blond hair is with George on the porch. Gigi. The nineteen-year-old heroine of Darcy.

  “Gigi’s here,” I say.

  Nickel and Ginny spin around on their stools. “That’s her,” Ginny says to Nickel. “The future Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “If you say she’s gorgeous, I’m taking your beverage away,” I warn him. “Just kidding. I won’t take your water.”

  He turns his stool halfway back and grins over at Ginny. “She’s not my type, to be honest.”

  Oh, I love him. All thoughts of getting Ginny away from him go out the window and land at Gigi’s feet. Any man in Darcy who doesn’t get swept off his ass by the sight of Gigi Phillips is someone worth getting to know.

  “Ginny, you should definitely ask Nickel about that thing you wanted to ask him about.” I give her a look. “You two could go talk it over on your way to the Music Store.”

  “Oh, do you want to go?” Ginny bounces off her stool and gestures Nickel to follow her. “I was going to try out a couple of guitars before buying one.”

  I walk them to the door, but as I turn to go back inside, Logan steps onto the porch.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  We make eye contact for an inappropriate length of time considering his fiancée is standing right next to him. I don’t break the gaze, but neither does he. His lips part, and his whiskey eyes burn as he eventually shifts his stare to my mouth.

  I hold my breath.

  Gigi notices. Her sunglasses hide her eyes, but her body language says everything.

  She moves closer to Logan, slips her arm around his waist, and presses her body against his hip. Then, she whispers something in his ear, most likely a sweet nothing or other.

  And I don’t care. In this moment, I don’t care. The sexual chemistry that’s always been between Logan and me simmers as hot as the ninety-five degree heat we’re all standing in, and I don’t try to cool it down. Because this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on him since I gave him the divorce papers. And seeing him as my ex-husband for the first time is—

  Painful.

  Shit. That word just keeps slipping out of my heart and surprising me. Painful is not what divorcing a man you marry on a wasted night in Las Vegas should feel like.

  I’m just upset because I never wanted to be divorced like Mama. Cowgirl up and stop acting like a jilted girlfriend.

  I throw my shoulders back and lift my chin. “Hey, Logan.” I give him an impersonal nod. “How are you?”

  He nods back. “I’m good. You?”

  “Great. Target practice is going super well.”

  Logan clears his throat. “Maybe Gigi can watch you shoot for a while so I can um…run an errand?”

  I furrow my brow. “An errand? Why can’t Gigi go with you?”

  And why are we talking about her like she’s six and needs a babysitter?

  Logan steps away from Gigi and thrusts his hands into his pockets. She stumbles backward and scowls.

  “Because I—um…have something to do at the ranch.”

  Logan’s eyes drop to his boots, and I consider letting him hang, but I don’t.

  “Sure.” I gesture to Gigi. “Come on inside out of this heat.”

  Gigi follows me inside after hugging Logan good-bye.

  She pulls her shades off and slips them into the breast pocket of her stylish shirt, and then she takes a seat on a stool and fans her face. “Hot out there, isn’t it? I don’t know how you stand it.”

  “I don’t know how you’re going to like living here then,” I say to her. “Texas is hot.”

  She tells me, with a loud laugh, that she’s not going to have to like it. She and Logan will live in New York City once they marry.

  I burst out laughing. “Logan in New York City? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Gigi laughs harder. “I’m a sophomore at Columbia. I can’t quit on school, can I?”

  My stomach drops to the floor.

  “New York?” I swallow. “Y’all are really moving to New York?”

  “After our wedding,” she confirms. “So I only have to deal with this blistering sun for a little longer.”

  Any sympathy I had for Logan and his secret “errand” goes out the window, and I want to get rid of Gigi right now. But I don’t see how. However, my urge to shoot something right this moment is overwhelming.

  “Hey, Gigi. You want to learn to use a shotgun?”

  Logan

  “Hey!” Blake catches up to me as I’m halfway to my cottage. “You’re entering the bronc riding competition at the Hunt County Fair this year, right?”

  “Yep.” Practicing for the rodeo has been a welcome distraction from the shitshow that my life has become.

  “Cool.” He takes off his cowboy hat and wipes the sweat off his brow. “If you want, I can be your spotter at the competition.”

  “Sure.” I glance over at him. “Why do you want to be a part of it? You hate town events.”

  “True. But I promised Freedom I’d go on the roller coaster with her.” He chuckles. “She’s never been on one and she wants to do it once before going off to college.”

  I chuckle too. “Henwoods have a tendency to puke on those rides.”

  Blake makes a face. “Seriously?”

  “No. I’m just fucking with you.”

  He shakes his head. “Good to know. So.” He grins. “You’ve put off our tubing plans.”

  “I haven’t put them off.” Not exactly. “I was in New York and…”

  “You’ve been busy,” he fills in for me. “But after your engagement party, we’re all going to the river. No excuses.”

  “Fine.” I turn off at my cottage. “See you later.”

  I go inside and walk over to my covered easel. I set up the dropcloth and prepare the paints.

  And then, I lift the cover off the easel.

  My painting for Macey is nearly done. It will definitely be ready for her birthday, but I’m going to have to give it to her before then. Because on her birthday, I’ll be—

  Getting married.

  I never wanted to get married. But I can’t forget how I felt when I woke up in Vegas with a ring on my finger and Macey next to me in bed. I felt…happy. And I haven’t been able to shake that feeling.

  I don’t know what I’d be doing about that feeling if I wasn’t going full steam ahead with a fake marriage. I don’t have enough bandwidth to figure that out.

  As I start painting, my mind wanders to the day I left Darcy to track down the man intent on ruining the Henwoods.

  When I reached West Texas, I ch
ecked into the same hotel as the one I’d heard him mention.

  I was there for three nights, almost crazy with doubt before I spotted him for the first time. I’d been camped outside with my easel for hours each day, hoping to run into him. The way I finally did—well, that was a surprise all in itself.

  I was painting the burnt sunset behind the mountains when someone tapped my shoulder. I looked back at a curvy blonde who couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.

  “You’re a painter?”

  I nodded.

  “What are you going for with this one? Besides a sunset?”

  Her eyes were gauging my response. Something told me my answer meant everything.

  “Life,” I said honestly. “The ebb and flow, the rush and the shitstorm, the highs and the lows. You ever had a situation you couldn’t figure a way out of?”

  Instead of answering me, she pointed a few feet away from us where a man—the very man I’d driven out here to see—was on his phone.

  “That situation for me would be my father.”

  “That man is your father?”

  She nodded. “You know him?”

  “Not exactly.”

  I introduced myself, and told her my family’s ranch neighbored Benjamin Henwood’s bar.

  “Did your dad ever mention that name to you?”

  “Of course. He’s the man my dad wants to ruin,” she said softly.

  “That’s right. The thing is, Mr. Henwood is a good man,” I said. “Yes, he’s had some problems with alcohol, but he never would have flirted with a woman if he knew she was taken.”

  “That’s not what my dad said. But he tends to exaggerate. And I always thought my mom might have omitted some details. Important details from what happened.”