Rebel Cowboy

by Nicole Helm

  She wasn’t angry at him, and even with his blankness, she didn’t think he was angry at her. He was lost in his personal stuff, and she had plenty of her own personal stuff to be lost in, but quite honestly, she’d rather be lost in Dan.

  But how did she initiate that?

  Maybe stop being a wimp.

  She frowned. She wasn’t being a wimp. She was being cautious and sensible and—

  Wimp, wimp, wimp.

  “Um, hey, if you didn’t have anything planned, I could, um, do a cooking lesson for you tonight.” She cringed at how stupid she sounded, like a teenage girl desperate to spend a little time with him. I’ll do your homework for you.

  Which made her think of Tyler and how sweet he’d been and how she’d used that to get what she wanted and—

  “No need to rush home?”

  She looked over at him, standing next to that llama, both of them staring at her. Blankly. Giving nothing away. Ever since that weird moment at breakfast, where he’d been so…angry? Sad? Some mixture of the two. Because I’m building something.

  Yes, actually, she should go home and make sure Caleb wasn’t drinking himself to death, and Dad was okay, and check her email for responses from potential nurses, but she didn’t want to do any of those things.

  Didn’t want to remember or think. She wanted to go back to the other night when he’d made her forget. Over and over again.

  So, she did the unthinkable and lied. “No, I don’t need to rush home.” Caleb had gotten to do whatever he wanted to drown whatever problems he had for twenty-some years. It was long past her turn.

  “Let’s skip the cooking lesson, then, and do something else.”

  Oh, thank God, she wasn’t going to have to say it. His smile wasn’t even blank anymore—it was downright mischievous. One of those electric tingles of anticipation wiggled up her spine.

  “Let’s go ice skating.”

  “I’m sorry. What?” That wasn’t some weird hockey player code for sex, was it?

  “There’s an indoor rink in Bozeman, according to my Internet research. Let me take you ice skating.”

  “I…” He actually meant ice skating, and she had no idea what that meant. “I’m not much of a skater. I’m not sure I’ve ever—”

  “Never been ice skating?” He slapped a palm to the side of his head. “That needs to be remedied, ASAP. Come on. Let’s go. We can get some McDonald’s on the way.”

  “That’s some date.” Then she felt stupid, because that’s probably not what he meant.

  “Well, honey, if you play your cards right, you might just get lucky at the end of this date.”

  “Dan…” Only she didn’t know what to say, if she should agree or argue. She really…didn’t know, and since she was tired of having to know, she figured she might as well go along. And argue, because that was what she was good at. “I told you not to call me honey.”

  He wound his arm around her shoulders, walking her toward their vehicles. “But did you ever think to ask why I called you that?”

  “There’s a why?”

  “Of course, honey.” He fished his keys out of his pocket. “And for the record, we’re taking my bike.”

  “I can’t believe your wheels haven’t fallen off yet out here. The axel will probably crack right in half just trying to drive out to the main road.”

  “Ye of little faith in my manly machine.”

  “Is that a euphemism, or is this where you start talking in third person again?”

  “Come on, you know you want to ride it.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Both literally and euphemistically.”

  “It’s supposed to rain tonight. I’m not getting drenched on that thing for literal or euphemistic rides.”

  He frowned, but then shrugged. “Okay, we can take your truck, but I get to drive.”

  It was her turn to frown. “Why can’t I drive?”

  “Because this is a date, and when Dan Sharpe takes a lady on a date, he is firmly in the driver’s seat.”

  She wanted to find that irritating, ridiculous. It was her damn truck, but he opened the passenger-side door with a silly flourish, and she just…couldn’t resist him.

  “One of the most successful NHL hockey players of the past decade is going to show you how to skate, little lady. I hope you’re prepared.” He made a motion to tip the cap he did not wear, and she rolled her eyes, but he had the effect of making her smile against her will, at the stupidest, goofiest things.

  At his gesture, she slid into the seat. He leaned in until she felt the need to pull her head back, press her body to the seat so she wasn’t so…

  What? Wasn’t so what? She wanted to have sex with the guy; usually that involved getting close. But when he focused on her with something lurking in his eyes, she felt cornered, pressed down, a kind of fluttering hope without understanding what the hope was for.

  “I call you honey, Mel Shaw, because you are sweet and smooth when I kiss you, but the whole of you was made by a million hours of hard work and focus.”

  It took her a few minutes of staring at him to realize her mouth had dropped open, that she was just staring. So, she tried to talk, had to clear her throat. “That’s quite a line.”

  “I can’t make you believe me.” He said it so seriously, with almost a hint of sadness behind the words, that it made her want to believe him. Believe whatever he said about anything.

  But that would make her weak, believing, trusting, giving. Even wanting to believe him was borderline weak. It had to be.

  He tilted his mouth to hers, but still kept them a breath apart. “But I hope you will believe me at some point, honey.”

  The sharp inhale of breath she took had to have betrayed her weakness, but she couldn’t take it back. Or push him away, or not lean into him.

  But he didn’t kiss her. He pulled back and buckled her seat belt across her chest. “Buckle up, Cowgirl—you’re in for a bumpy ride.”

  * * *

  Dan had not sunk his teeth into a Big Mac in a good ten years. Possibly longer. He wasn’t sure if it was that good, or he was just that hungry.

  It didn’t really matter, because tonight he was going to skate. With Mel, which somehow made the prospect even more exciting, if that was possible.

  As stupid as eating McDonald’s sitting in the back of Mel’s truck was, he kind of enjoyed it. Mel seemed relaxed, easy, like she was at Georgia’s. Like she hadn’t been at the steak place in Bozeman.

  And now they were going to skate. Maybe everyone thought he couldn’t hack it with the ranch stuff. Maybe they were all quietly—or not always so quietly in Mel’s case, waiting for him to fail. It didn’t matter. He was good at something. There was something he didn’t bail on, or hide from, or was just plain bad at. It wasn’t just escape; it was everything.

  She would have to see that, and maybe she’d get it.

  If she doesn’t?

  He shook off that question by drowning it in the grease and fat of his last few french fries. “Ready?”

  She nodded, rubbing her hands together, likely trying to get some of the salt off them. “Maybe I can just watch you skate.”

  “Scared?” he teased. He grabbed the skates he’d put in the backseat of the truck before they’d left.

  When they met at the front of the truck, Mel was staring at his skates. “No, I just…”

  “You’re just scared.” He took her hand, and she resisted for a second, but only a second. He grinned.

  She narrowed her eyes, mouth pressing into a scowl. Christ, she was sexy, and she didn’t have a clue. He didn’t have a clue, because the heavy work pants and shapeless work shirt did nothing for her, and the braid even less.

  But the way she leveled him with one look and carried herself like she could and would fight anything in her path…he could not get over the desire to just worshi
p at the altar of that.

  “You’re going to be way better at this than me,” she grumbled.

  “Well, I’m a professional for starters, and it’s not like you aren’t better than me at everything else.”

  Her hand twitched in his, a hesitation before she squeezed. “In just about the strangest way, you are too hard on yourself,” she grumbled, the words just barely intelligible.

  “And in the strangest, grumbly way, you are something of a boost to my ego. Who would have thought?”

  She made a grunting sound, but the grip on his hand didn’t loosen, even as they walked into the big shack of a building.

  The kid behind the counter immediately got to his feet, and there was a crash from behind him, somewhere Dan couldn’t see. He turned bright red, scurrying out in front.

  “Hi, Mr. Sharpe. I mean, hello. W-welcome to Elkmont Ice Rink. We’re really excited about having you skate here.” The kid was practically shaking, and it reminded him of the way people used to come up to his dad, in absolute awe.

  People had come up to him that way too. Not so much in the past year, but they had. Still, the way people had done it to his dad when he was a kid stuck with him more.

  “Hey, Kevin, right?”

  The kid nodded like a bobblehead doll, so Dan tried to be as smiley and friendly as possible. “Thanks for setting this up for me, man.” He extended a hand, and the teen shook it with openmouthed awe.

  Dan didn’t even bother to look at Mel. He could tell by the way she let his hand go and took a few steps away from him she wasn’t comfortable with this.

  Well, too bad.

  “So, here’s the agreed-upon amount.” Dan handed over the cash for renting the ice for an hour. The kid stared at it dumbfounded.

  “And, hey, if you give me and my friend an hour alone on the ice, I can stick around for a bit after and sign anything you or any buddies want.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sure. No problem. You guys skate, right?”

  Again with the bobblehead nodding.

  “Mel, what size do you wear?”

  “S-size?” She sounded about as out of sorts as the kid.

  “Shoe size. For the skates. Can you get her some skates, Kevin?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure Mr. Sharpe. Thanks so much. My dad and I…we’re like, so excited. We’ve never had anyone famous here before.” The kid all but vibrated before turning to Mel. “Um, just follow me, ma’am.”

  Mel gave him a strange look, but then she followed the kid to the counter and got herself a pair of skates before they were led to the benches outside the ice.

  “Give us till eight, then bring out whoever. Sound good, Kevin?”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s awesome, sir.” The kid slowly backed away from them, clutching his phone to his chest.

  Dan slid onto a bench and began untying his shoes. When he looked up, Mel was smiling at him. Innocently, which meant the smile was not innocent in the least.

  “He called you sir.”

  Dan grunted. “So? He called you ma’am.”

  “That’s the polite country thing to do. Sir means you’re old. Do you need your glasses to skate?”

  “Mel, honey, bite me.” He shot her a grin as he shucked his shoes and laced up. “And I mean that in a couple different ways.”

  Her cheeks went pink and she looked down at her feet, carefully pulling off her boots. He tied off his skates and pushed himself into a standing position. Damn, that felt good. Been way too long. Way, way too long.

  Mel was pushing her feet gingerly into the figure skates Kevin had given her, so Dan knelt at her feet and began to help her lace up.

  “I could probably do this myself,” she said. He imagined she was trying to grumble, but her voice came out kind of whispery, and she was looking at him with wide eyes.

  So he finished lacing her up, never looking away from her gaze. “Could you?” He tightened the laces, clipped them into the stays, and then tied them off. “Stand up, Ms. ‘I Can Tie My Skates.’”

  She looked anything but certain as she slowly lurched to her feet, and then she wobbled, grabbing on to his arm. “I don’t like this.”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of fun to see. Something you can’t handle.”

  “I can handle it just fine.”

  “Then let go of my arm.”

  She straightened her shoulders, steadying herself, and let go of his arm, chin in the air. Until he gestured to the door to the ice and said, “After you.”

  Then she wrinkled her nose and looked at her feet, but this woman was not ever going to let him think he’d won or had the upper hand, even when he did.

  She wobbled and oh so carefully edged her way all the way to the door to the ice, clutching on to it like a life preserver.

  “It’d be easier if you let me help.”

  Something changed in her posture. He wasn’t sure if it was a slump or a straighten or what. It just all kind of changed, and he wondered what was going on in that head of hers. Some fear of anyone offering help?

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.” She’d find a way to be all right. There was a little pain right at the center of his chest, and he wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know why.

  She hobbled all the way to the opening to the ice, and then looked uncertainly back at him. “You go first.”

  He inhaled, the cold air in his nose, the smell of ice, wet and crisp. Everything he loved in one smell. Everything he loved in the give of the ice under his blade, the way it cut through. He took a few strides, slowly gaining speed as he rounded the curve of the rink.

  Everything inside him lightened, floated away. All his problems, all his worries, everything. That whisper he always felt, always remembered. Dad putting him on the ice after Mom had handed him off, needing a “break.”

  Your troubles don’t matter here.

  And they hadn’t, for nearly thirty years. On the ice, his troubles melted. He gave himself a second in the straightaway to close his eyes, breathe deep, and when he opened them…

  Mel was standing there in the opening, holding on to the plexiglass, watching with those wide, serious eyes. He didn’t feel like serious, not in his peace. So he came to a sharp stop in front of her, spraying her with ice.

  She scowled. “Not cool. I thought you were going to run into me!”

  “Not going to run into you.” Instead, he grabbed her by the waist and plopped her onto the ice. She bobbled and held on to him for dear life.

  Which was possibly a little bit of what he was going for.

  “I can’t…”

  “Did Mel Shaw, the famous hard-ass rancher, just say she can’t?”

  “Don’t third person me, Sharpe.”

  “Don’t Sharpe me, Shaw.” He took her by the hands, possibly getting a little entertainment out of the grave concern on her face. Once an asshole, always an asshole. He placed them on his hips. “Hold on,” he instructed, turning around so he could pull her. “Just keep your feet under you and stay balanced. And whatever you do, don’t lean too far forward on the blade.”

  “Why not?”

  He started to skate slowly, pulling her behind him. “Toe pick.”

  She snorted. “Oh my God, you even did it in her voice. Why do you know lines from The Cutting Edge? Were you a teenage girl in the nineties?”

  “No, I was a hockey player in the nineties, thank you very much.”

  “Did you secretly want to be a figure skater?”

  “I’m going to let you go to fall flat on your ass, or that pretty face of yours.”

  Her hands gripped his hips tighter. “I’m not going to fall.” But she said it through gritted teeth, all determination, no bravado.

  “Hold on now, I’m going to turn around.”

  “But—” />
  He didn’t let her argue, just turned around carefully so she always had a hand on him for balance, and he could see and critique her form. He skated backwards, giving her a few pointers until she was able to take some slow but steady strides of her own.

  She was so focused, brows drawn together. Slow as hell as he all but skated laps around her, but it was amazing. Fun. Peaceful.

  “How do I stop?” she asked as he was about to pass her again. He swiveled so he was skating parallel to her, but backwards.

  “Show-off,” she muttered. “How do I stop though?”

  She’d built herself up to a steady pace, but every time she didn’t stride, she started to wobble.

  “You just stop.”

  “That is not an instruction!”

  He chuckled and then positioned himself in front of her and stopped, planting himself in her way so she ended up running into him. But he was braced for it, and wrapped his arms around her, bringing them both to a stop.

  She looked up at him, something unrecognizable glinting in her eyes. Something like…mischief or fun. Something he wondered how often she’d had. Something that, Christ, it filled him with awe and wonder and just enough damn satisfaction that he wanted to be done skating. Take her home right now.

  Home? Really?

  “Can you make me go backwards?” she asked, interrupting the weird trajectory of his thoughts.

  She was trying so hard not to smile, and it was another moment. He was starting to collect them. Pretty soon they’d be so common they’d turn into breathing. Then what would happen come August?

  But he started skating, still holding her close, arms wrapped around her, making her go backwards.

  “It makes you happy,” she said softly, searching his face for something.

  Since he didn’t want her to find it, he didn’t turn them when he reached the curve—he just skated her right into the boards and covered her mouth with his.

  Chapter 16

  Mel watched Dan skate around with three teenagers and two of their fathers. The five had shuffled in all but shaking with excitement and nerves. She’d never seen people react to a person that way.