The Cowboy Upstairs

by Tanya Michaels

  But she wasn’t one to shrink from confrontation. “I’m sorry you lost some money in Colin’s last property investment deal,” she told Sands, her voice so quiet Sawyer could barely make out the words. “But Marc and I lost more than anyone. Our family—my marriage—fell apart.”

  Sands lowered his gaze, shamefaced, barely mumbling a goodbye before hustling toward the front door. It banged shut behind him. Once they heard his car start, it was as if everyone else exhaled in relief.

  Manny squeezed her shoulder, and Sawyer was surprised by the irrational flash of jealousy that went through him. “This has been fun,” the physical therapist said. “It’d be more fun if we don’t invite Sands next time.”

  Everyone trickled out with polite farewells, thanking Becca for her hospitality. None of them knew it had been involuntary. Then the house was quiet, with Marc already in bed and Molly still at work.

  Becca sighed. “We’ve never really talked about my ex.”

  “Do you want to?” Sawyer could be a good listener, if that was what she needed, but she didn’t owe him any explanations about her past.

  “No. Maybe.” She reached for the now-empty bowl of queso on the table and carried it to the sink. “Colin was always ambitious—it was one of the reasons I was attracted to him. But I think that ambition got corrupted somewhere along the line. He convinced people in our community to invest in a resort on the coast, and the whole deal fell apart. When he left, I thought he was embarrassed, that he’d been duped. Took me a while to realize it had been a scam and that he was probably fleeing criminal charges. No one ever found enough evidence to convict him, but thank God I kept my own financial accounts, separate from him and his company. Even now, when I think about it, I feel so stu—”

  “Hey.” Sawyer pulled her into a hug. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Except fall in love with a fraud.”

  If Sawyer had felt a prick of jealousy over Manny’s casual contact, it was nothing compared to the wave that swamped him hearing her say she loved another man. Of course she loved him—he was her damn husband. Maybe what bothered him wasn’t the statement of the obvious so much as the realization that he would never hear her say she loved him.

  His stomach clenched, knotted in a riot of conflicting emotions. He’d barely even considered the prospect of a steady girlfriend before; he had little experience with commitment. He couldn’t really want a single mom—and prospective mayor—to fall in love with him. That was commitment squared.

  Becca pulled away, her voice soft. “Do you think I’m running for mayor because deep down I want to prove I still have the town’s respect? I tell myself I have noble goals, but what if this is just a way to distance myself from what Colin did?”

  “You love Cupid’s Bow. No one who’s talked to you for more than five minutes could ever doubt that. And, okay, maybe you also have some personal motivation, but so what? As long as you do the best job you can for the community, does it really matter what prompted you to run?” Her ex had ruined enough for her and Marc without also making her second-guess her campaign. Bastard. “Too bad you don’t know where he is—I’d be willing to rearrange his face.”

  Becca gave him a sunny smile. “You’d have to get in line behind me.”

  * * *

  “LITTLE KNOWN FACT—concerts are actually supposed to be fun.”

  The rollicking chorus of Kylie Jo’s latest hit made it practically impossible to hear conversation. But Sawyer had murmured his teasing reprimand right at Becca’s ear, close enough for his breath to feather over her skin, and she shivered at the sensation. It was so tempting to lean back and let her body melt into his.

  Instead, she stood straight, hoping their nearness only made them look like two people crowded together in front of the stage, not like two people who’d seen each other naked.

  “I am having fun,” she said. More or less. The songs were upbeat and she did her best to clap along with everyone else, while also mentally reviewing for tomorrow night’s debate, keeping an eye on Marc, who was a few yards away with Kenny Whittmeyer, and trying to find Molly in the surrounding crowd. She’d said she was going to get a soda; Becca wanted to make damn sure her sister didn’t get distracted by a beer vendor or a Breelan.

  Sawyer placed his hand on the nape of her neck, pressing with his thumb and rotating it in a slow circle that made her moan.

  “That feels incredible,” she said, her body sagging against his despite her resolve.

  “You’re tense. What are you doing later tonight?” he whispered, his voice coaxing. “I could give you an excellent full body massage. You need to relax.”

  Reluctantly, she took a step away from him. “What I need is to work on my to-do list. Tomorrow is—”

  “Delegate,” he suggested. “Make sure you leave a little time for you. By which I mean us.”

  Her breath caught. It was such a seductive idea—that she and Sawyer were a united “them.” But there were only a few days until the trail ride, where they would be surrounded by others. Becca would never risk sneaking into his tent, and after the trail ride, he was leaving. I can count on one hand the number of nights we have left together. The realization ached in her chest.

  She swallowed hard, changing the subject. “Do you see Molly anywhere?”

  His sigh sounded exasperated.

  “What?” Craning her head, she turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” A moment later, he gave her a halfhearted smile. “But it’s a slap to the ego that I’m trying to put the moves on you and you’re more interested in what your sister is doing. She’s eighteen. She can find her own way to the concession stand and back.”

  “You think I’m overprotective.”

  “I... It’s really none of my business.” He glanced toward the stage, where the band was finishing up the song Kylie Jo had won the TV competition with. “And this probably isn’t the place to discuss it, anyway.”

  Though Becca nodded, she continued to think about what he’d said. Yes, technically Molly was an adult. But hadn’t he seen how much trouble she’d gotten herself into less than a week ago? Becca had cause to worry.

  “Hey, Mrs. Johnston!”

  As the opening guitar notes of a ballad played, she glanced down to find Kenny and Marc. “Hey, guys—having a good time?”

  Her son nodded. “But we’re hungry. Can I have a waffle cone?”

  “Is Mrs. W. going to stand in line with you? I don’t want you wandering in this crowd without an adult.”

  “Coop said he’d take us,” Kenny chimed in.

  “Then I guess—”

  “Mama!” Marc tugged on the lace-edged sleeve of her peasant blouse. “This song is so slow even you could dance to it.”

  Ouch. If Sawyer wanted to experience a real slap to the ego, he should try parenting. Kids were hell on the old self-esteem.

  Marc had redirected his focus to the cowboy. “Do you like dancing, Mr. Sawyer?”

  He smiled. “I guess there’s only one way to find out. Becca?”

  “Oh, but I don’t...” She couldn’t bring herself to say no—not when she so badly wanted to be in his arms. So she gave her son a ten-dollar bill for ice cream and, as the boys scampered away, laced her fingers with Sawyer’s.

  He pulled her close, and need sizzled through her. Aside from a few stolen kisses at the house, he hadn’t really touched her in days. She missed him. How much worse was it going to be after he was gone? They swayed to the music. She should be enjoying herself, loving the way his body brushed hers, but she couldn’t relax into the moment. Her mind was racing.

  “I know the city is paying you to help with the trail ride,” she said, “and that you win money from the rodeos, but have you ever thought about...something else?” Would he be bored, planting roots in a small town li
ke this one?

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know.” She thought about how moved she’d been reading one of his articles. “Maybe writing a book someday?”

  He laughed. “There are days when I curse my way through trying to finish a two-page piece. Not sure a whole manuscript would be for me. That’s a hell of a commitment.”

  Right. “Stupid idea,” she muttered. “Forget I said anything.”

  He tipped her chin up with his finger, studying her face. “What’s troubling you, sweetheart?”

  Lots of things. But at least she knew how to fix one of them. “Sexual frustration.” She went up on her toes so that she could whisper in his ear, “I will definitely be coming upstairs to visit you tonight.”

  His grip on her tightened, making her smile despite her brief moment of melancholy. “Hot damn. How soon can we get out of here?”

  * * *

  BECCA COULDN’T REMEMBER ever sleeping through her alarm before, but that’s exactly what she did on Monday morning. After several wonderful hours spent in Sawyer’s room the night before, she’d staggered drowsily to her own bed and crashed into blissful sleep. But when she woke up forty minutes late and caught a glimpse of the time, any remaining bliss wore off in a hurry.

  She was frantic as she scurried around the kitchen while Marc got dressed, shoving coffee filters into his lunch box instead of back into the cabinet where they belonged.

  Sawyer shot her a guilty glance from the end of the counter, where he was waiting for caffeine and trying to stifle his yawns. He’d also slept later than usual today, but he wasn’t the one who had to get a kid to school, a dog to the vet and a newspaper reporter to the senior center. As part of the centennial week, the paper was interviewing the oldest living citizen in Cupid’s Bow, but on her bad days, Miss June confused easily, and Becca wanted to be there to help make sure the interview went smoothly. She wished she could assign that chore to Sawyer—maybe he might be interested in working for a paper someday. It could be a nice steady job that allowed him to settle in one place. But Miss June got flustered around strangers.

  Maybe he’d be willing to help with something else; delegating had been his idea, after all. “I hate to ask this of you, but—”

  “Sweetheart, after last night, you could ask for one of my kidneys. Or my truck.” He cocked his head to the side, considering. “Okay, maybe not the truck. Seriously, just tell me what you need.”

  “Can you take Trouble to the vet for me this morning?” she asked, as Marc’s footsteps thumped down the staircase. He was moving fast, well aware from her half-dozen reminders that they were running late. She bit her lip. “And maybe take Marc to his piano lesson this afternoon? I’ve got the debate tonight and—”

  “Done.”

  “Thank you.” If Marc hadn’t been barreling into the room, she would have kissed Sawyer to show her gratitude. “I wish I could...”

  “I know.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  BECCA DIDN’T NEED a town poll or a recap in the local paper to gauge how she did in the debate; she had Olive Truitt in the front row. The more fiercely the tiny woman glared at her, the better Becca knew she was doing.

  When Becca had first declared her intention to run, the mayor’s wife had been all sweetness and light to her—saying that it was great to have a woman in the race, claiming that she admired Becca’s gumption. But as it became clear that Becca had a real chance—thus jeopardizing Olive’s standing as First Lady of Cupid’s Bow—the woman’s demeanor had changed. She and her two friends, Helen and Sissy, gossiped about Becca whenever they thought they could get away with it, not getting caught in outright lies, but certainly distorting the truth beyond recognition. Sierra had privately nicknamed Helen and Sissy “Hateful and Spiteful.”

  Sierra was also in the front row and her discreet thumbs-up signs throughout also let Becca know that she was doing well.

  When Becca had arrived at the town hall two hours ago, Olive had cornered her by the watercooler. “I understand you hosted a poker game at your house. Very hospitable.” Then she’d paused, a calculating gleam in her silver-gray eyes. “Although...one wonders if gambling is setting a good example for your son. Wouldn’t want him to grow up with the same reckless disregard for money as his father.”

  Becca had been too furious to respond; the only words that had leaped to mind would make her look crass or volatile, and she refused to hand Olive that ammunition. So she’d clenched her jaw and saved her replies for the debate itself. Now, listening to Mayor Truitt give his closing remarks before she took her turn, she supposed she was lucky he hadn’t brought up the Johnston history with money, trying to smear her by association to Colin. She figured the only reason he hadn’t was because he and Colin had done a number of business deals together, deals that Truitt had made substantial money on. The good mayor probably didn’t want to remind voters of his own association with the shady real estate broker.

  The debate had barely concluded when Becca’s phone buzzed with a text—from Sierra. YOU WERE AWESOME! Apparently her friend thought it would be undignified to tackle hug Becca and squeal her congratulations where other people could overhear, but the string of emojis that popped up on Becca’s phone made Sierra’s feelings clear.

  Becca spent a few minutes shaking hands and thanking supporters, but the debate had been the draining conclusion to an already long day. She couldn’t wait to get home. On the drive to her house, she felt a twinge of regret that Sawyer hadn’t been there tonight. He’d volunteered to stay with Marc, and it wasn’t as if he had any stake in local politics, anyway. Still, she could just imagine the expression on his face if he’d been there, the pride shining in his hazel eyes. The unspoken but unmistakable way to go, sweetheart.

  Becca had wonderful friends—and greatly appreciated their support—but encouragement from Sawyer lifted her in a way that was different than when Sierra or Hadley verbally high-fived her. He liked to tease her about global domination, but sometimes the way he smiled at her did make her feel empowered enough to take over the world. Becca Johnston, benevolent tyrant.

  She pulled into her driveway with a faint smile, ready for pajamas and pie and a stolen kiss or two.

  The porch light wasn’t on—despite the timer that was supposed to ensure she never had to climb the steps in the dark—and her eye was automatically drawn to the only light shining from the house, the bathroom window in the attic. Sawyer hadn’t bothered to lower the blinds, and she could see just enough to know that he was shirtless and kneeling, partially out of view. Curious to find out what he was doing, she went inside. The downstairs was completely quiet; up above, she heard a shriek of laughter from Marc and the answering rumble of Sawyer’s low voice. A high-pitched bark followed.

  By the time Becca got to the top of the spiral staircase, she could also hear splashing sounds. The door to the attic apartment stood wide open and she went in to find Sawyer and her son giving Trouble a bath. From what Becca could tell, there was as much water on the floor as in the tub and the two guys were almost as wet as the puppy. Laughter burbled up inside her, and Sawyer whipped his head around, his expression guilty.

  “You’re home already!” He didn’t sound particularly happy about that. “How’d it go?”

  Hearing Becca’s voice, Trouble lunged suddenly, trying to make a break from the tub. Water surged over the side as Sawyer tried to calm the puppy.

  He glanced from the puddles on the tile back to Becca. “I, uh... You know I’ll clean all this up, right?”

  “Clean does seem to be the goal here,” she said, biting back another laugh when the dog gave a full body shake, spraying Sawyer and Marc with droplets.

  “Trouble rolled on somethin’ dead,” Marc announced, with a little boy’s fascination for the gross. “She smelled worse than a skunk. Now she’ll smell l
ike shampoo.”

  “A definite improvement,” Becca agreed. “You, however, are going to smell like wet dog. You’d better scoot down for a quick shower before bed.”

  His face fell. “Aww. But we aren’t done!”

  “I’ll finish up,” Sawyer said. “You listen to your mama. Okay?”

  Marc nodded. “Yes, sir. Good night.”

  “Night, buddy.” Sawyer gave her son a smile full of so much affection that tears pricked her eyes.

  Years ago, Becca had thought she was on the path to a fairy-tale ending and had instead stumbled into divorce and scandal. She’d told herself that she was too wise now to make the same mistake again. But the sexiest man she knew was giving her dog a bath and looking at her kid with love. It created the illusion of family. Of happily-ever-after.

  She followed her son downstairs, trying to keep her tears in check. There was no ever-after with a man like Sawyer. He’d walked away from his own family and didn’t seem interested in putting down roots anywhere.

  As a grown-up, she didn’t think the most fantastical thing about fairy tales were the enchanted slippers or magic wands; it was that the charming princes were so ready and willing to commit. In real life, they all too often had one foot out the door.

  * * *

  BECCA’S BIG FESTIVAL challenge Wednesday afternoon was relocating three dozen fourth graders. They’d been scheduled to sing after the community theater performed a historic reenactment, but Becca deemed the ancient risers the kids stood on unsafe. The elementary school music teacher had twice requested that the collapsible stage be replaced, because the supports were starting to give way. So far, she’d been denied due to budgetary reasons, but after hearing how the metal creaked as the kids filed into place, Becca was already planning a fund-raiser to get new risers.

  Meanwhile, she moved a cooking demonstration out of the gazebo to give the kids a place to perform, then headed off to find ice water and a portable fan for Marianne Schubert, who was having hot flashes in the arts and crafts tent. Once that was accomplished, she joined Lyndsay Whittmeyer and the boys, who were watching a glassblowing demonstration. Sawyer would be swinging by to pick up Marc and take him to his riding lesson.