Her frown deepened with each step and new rock kick, but Dylan finally realized where the stepping and kicking were leading. To the creek. Jordan led him off the road and down the winding path that took them right to the banks. And thankfully to some shade trees since it was hotter than hell right now.
It was a pretty spot with wildflowers and the sounds of the water washing over the rocks. It was also the place where during the throes of foreplay, Jordan had kicked the gearshift and his truck had gone into the water.
“Did you bring me here for s-e-x?” he joked.
Jordan didn’t deny it, but since she was still frowning, he was getting some mixed signals here. “This has nothing to do with that Jordan-Dylan bingo game,” she grumbled.
Now he was even more confused, and he took hold of her arm to turn her so they were facing each other. “I’m going to need a few more details to make sense of this. Is this about sex?”
“I wish. Sex is easy. Well, it is with you anyway.”
Most men would have taken that as a compliment, but it smacked a little too close to home in the man-whore department.
“Marriage is what got us into trouble,” she went on. “I didn’t feel trapped, really trapped, until then.”
Yeah, he’d gotten that. “And that’s why we won’t give in to Adele’s demand. We can maybe work out something with Karlee so that we’re all big parts of Corbin’s life.”
Jordan nodded, then huffed. “Damn it, you sonofabitch. I’m in love with you again.”
That was not a huge shift in the conversation, but it was also the most unromantic declaration of love he’d ever gotten. Sadly, it wasn’t the least, either.
However, it was by far the most important one of his life.
Dylan lifted his shoulder, and because he wanted to touch her, he pushed her hair from her face. “Damn, shit and hellfire, I’m in love with you, too.”
She groaned. Moaned. Groaned again. “But this wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to feel like this again.”
“I totally get that.” And because he wanted to kiss her, Dylan did that, too.
It only caused her to curse him even more until she finally slipped into the heat—and into his arms.
“Did Adele have a deadline for us getting married?” Dylan asked.
Jordan pulled back, stared at him. “No.”
“How about a legal marriage? Or would one of the hippie, barefoot by the creek ceremonies do?”
More staring. “Adele didn’t say.”
“Then, there’s our loophole, our fix.” And because he wanted to keep kissing her, Dylan moved her back against a tree. He was pretty sure he’d had sex with her against this very tree several times. Equally sure that he was about to add one more sex notch to this patch of bark.
Jordan was out of breath when she eased back from the next kiss. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I ask you to marry me. Or you can ask me. Then, when and if we get around to it, we can come back here to the creek and have that hippie ceremony. No legal commitment. No rings. No talked-out agreements for which way we’ll put the toilet paper on the bathroom holder.”
Jordan gave her another of those long stares while her breath gusted against his mouth. “No toilet paper rules,” she mumbled. It was surprising that she picked that out of the perks he’d just spelled out for her. “How would we do it?”
He was hoping they weren’t talking TP placement right now. “We can say ‘I do’ to each other and consummate the marriage right here. A free spirit like Adele can’t argue with that.”
Yet another long stare, followed by a nod. Then a slow smile. “It does feel less...stifling without the rules.”
Good. Then he was making progress. He didn’t especially want to hurry this along... Okay, he did. And Jordan seemed to be of a like mind about that, too.
She groped his hard-on.
“All right,” she said.
At least he thought that’s what she said. It was suddenly difficult to hear now that the blood had rushed to that hard part of him.
“Let’s take care of the consummation first, and then you can propose,” she clarified.
By some miracle, Dylan heard that part just fine. And nothing could have made him happier. Sex. Then marriage. Not the order his mom would care much for, but it was the right way for Jordan and him.
“Just remember, this has nothing to do with the bingo game,” Jordan said as she dragged him into a scorcher of a kiss.
Nope, it didn’t have diddly to do with the game. But Dylan figured in the next thirty minutes or so, he could manage to tick off all the right boxes.
* * * * *
Look for USA TODAY bestselling author
Delores Fossen’s THE LAST RODEO,
A WRANGLER’S CREEK novel.
And don’t miss the previous books in the
WRANGLER’S CREEK series:
THOSE TEXAS NIGHTS
NO GETTING OVER A COWBOY
BRANDED AS TROUBLE
TEXAS-SIZED TROUBLE
Available now wherever HQN Books are sold!
COWBOY HEARTBREAKER
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER ONE
“WEDDINGS SUCK,” RYDER CROWLEY grumbled under his breath as he took a long drink of his beer.
He obviously hadn’t said his complaint quietly enough, though, because the woman standing next to him, Allie Devlin, poked his arm with her elbow. “I have more reasons to say that than you do. Five yards of reasons.”
Allie fanned her hand over his “Texas tuxedo”—jeans, jacket, Stetson and boots. Then she fanned that same hand over the “five yards” of bridesmaid’s dress she was wearing. The color was what Ryder would call turtle-snot green, and it puffed out in all directions because of the thick gobs of netting that were everywhere, even on the sleeves.
Ryder drank more of his beer and made a sound to indicate she was right, but the dress only confirmed that weddings did indeed suck on several levels. He wasn’t a fan of the clashing odors of the too-rich food, the flowers and the sweat being generated in the barn by the wedding guests who were boot scootin’ on the makeshift dance floor.
His attitude about weddings was likely heavily influenced by the fact that he didn’t consider himself the marrying sort. Of course, he hadn’t considered the groom that, either, but there was Curt Mercer, part one of his best friend posse, working up a sweat dancing with his bride, Savannah O’Neil, who he had met on one of the online dating sites.
After the reception, Curt and Savannah would be moving to her family’s cattle ranch two hundred and forty-five miles away in Abilene. Then, in about six months, they’d be having a baby that they’d yet to tell their folks about.
Ryder was happy for them and had never seen two people more in love, but he figured he was still allowed to feel the...loss.
Silently feel it anyway.
There was no chance in hell he’d ever let Curt know, but Ryder would miss not being able to call him at any time, any day for any reason. He’d miss their spur-of-the-moment fishing trips. And just hanging out when it was Curt, Allie, him and part four of the “Crab Posse,” Ryder’s twin sister, Bree, who was on the dance floor, too, with a groomsman.
They’d come up with the word crab using the first initials of their names. They’d been kids, only seven or eight, and had thought it pretty darn clever. By the time they learned it wasn’t just a dish served at the seafood restaurant but also a nasty STD, the name had already stuck.
Still did.
It was selfish, yes, to feel that loss, but the four of them had been best friends since preschool, and it was hard to let go of nearly twenty-seven years. You couldn’t jus
t replace a first-part best friend.
His second-part best friend, Allie, gave him another nudge with her elbow—which was suddenly a lot sharper and more poky than he remembered. “Your date’s flirting with Dylan Granger. Nothing can go wrong with that.”
Ryder automatically smiled at the line the posse often threw around. “Nothing can go wrong with that”—something doled out with both sarcasm and assurance. It was used just slightly more often than their other tossed-around line—“Easy Cheesy cures all.”
Easy Cheesy was the brand of canned string cheese they preferred, and the line, too, was often said with sarcasm and assurance. However, it had proved to be their comfort food of choice and gotten them through elementary school and the rough teen years. So, maybe it did cure all.
“Did you hear me?” Allie asked. “Your date. Dylan Granger.”
He’d heard her just fine, and Ryder followed Allie’s gaze to the cleared-out area by the tack room, where he did indeed see his date, Mindy Franklin, eyeballing Dylan as if he were on the dessert menu. A lot of women eyed Dylan that way, though, since he was rich, good-looking and a Granger.
In their hometown of Wrangler’s Creek, Texas, the Grangers were practically royalty, and until three days ago, Curt had worked for Dylan and his family as one of their top hands. Ryder worked at the ranch, too, and Allie was their large-animal vet. Bree was the horse trainer, so even when it came to work, the Crab Posse had been inseparable.
“Mindy’s trying hard, but Dylan won’t hook up with your date,” Allie commented. “It’d be violating one of those man rules. But it’ll cause some talk about you not being able to keep a handle on your sweet things.”
He didn’t want a handle on Mindy, but he supposed it should bother him to have his date openly flirt with someone else. Mindy had moved on from eyelash batting to making sure her right boob bumped against Dylan’s arm. However, Ryder couldn’t even muster up a grunt of disapproval.
“I wish Dylan would put the moves on her. I’m not in the right mood to take Mindy home. Or have sex with her,” Ryder added in a grumble.
He really did need to work on his grumbling skills because Allie heard that, too, and she cut him a glance, complete with a raised, questioning eyebrow. “Really? You don’t want sex?”
Like Mindy’s flirting with Dylan, Allie’s skepticism was a reasonable reaction. Ryder didn’t have Dylan’s name or money, but he didn’t have trouble getting female company when he wanted it. Most folks thought all he did was want it, though, and with mandatory short-term relationship limits to boot, and that was how both Dylan and he had earned the labels of cowboy heartbreakers.
“Really,” Ryder verified.
“Careful, you’ll ruin your reputation,” she drawled, “and folks will think my prudish influence finally rubbed off on you.”
Well, maybe it had. Allie certainly didn’t have his “quick to bed ’em, just as quick to leave ’em” reputation.
Just the opposite.
She might not know that her nickname was Dr. Good Girl, but it fit her to a T. It was one of the reasons she was so easy and comfortable to be around, despite the fact that she was damn attractive. The issues that could have sprung up with him being a man and her a woman had never surfaced. But Allie never expected, or wanted, more than friendship from him, and sometimes, like now, a friend was exactly what Ryder needed.
Allie grabbed him another bottle of beer from a waiter who was wearing cowboy clothes that had never been meant for a real cowboy. Good Lord. The guy had on skinny jeans. She also took a glass of white wine for herself and, still sighing, they sank down at the nearest table and watched Curt.
“Life as we know it will never be the same,” Allie said, obviously not good at mumbling, either, because he heard her just fine. It expressed exactly what he was feeling. “At least he’s happy. That’s what I keep telling myself. Curt is happy, and Savannah’s a great woman.”
That was true, but it didn’t ease the heavy weight around his heart or the guilt he was feeling because of that heaviness. Ryder immediately tried to change his expression when the Brooks and Dunn song finished and Bree strolled toward them. His twin also grabbed herself a beer and plopped down on the other side of Ryder. She was wearing the same ugly dress as Allie.
“Weddings suck,” Bree complained.
Allie and Ryder exchanged a glance, one of those quick silent conversations that often passed between them. When Bree got in on the shared glance, Ryder knew they were all pretty much feeling that same loss.
“I was going to see if I could coax Dylan out of here for some fooling around,” Bree went on. “You know, just to blow off some steam, but it appears your date is trying to give him an eye exam and see how many times she can brush her boobs against his chest.”
They were indeed doing some deep eyeball gazing and more boob brushing. Again, it was nothing that interested Ryder. However, the man coming toward them—Curt—was of interest, and Ryder immediately tried to put on a happier face. Ryder figured Allie and Bree were doing the same thing.
“Did somebody crap in that wine and beer?” Curt asked, the corner of his mouth hitching with a smile. He took hold of a chair, spun it around and sat, plopping his arms on the chair back.
“We were just talking about how happy you are,” Allie provided. As usual, it was the right thing to say. No use dwelling on that whole business of life changing as they knew it.
Curt’s smile wavered a bit. Yeah, he was happy, but Ryder knew for Curt to keep hold of that beautiful woman who was responsible for that happiness, he’d need to move and start the life together that both the bride and groom wanted.
“You’re the first of the Crab Posse to knock someone up or get knocked up,” Bree contributed. “My wedding gift to you is a year’s supply of condoms along with video instructions on how to use them.”
As usual, it was the wrong thing to say. Bree had a knack for that. But it made them chuckle anyway. For a few seconds. And then the sad faces returned.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake. Cheer up,” Curt said. “And if you need a visual to help, just take a look in the corner to your right.”
Both Allie and Ryder did look, and he spotted the current mayor, Fred Billings, and his secretary, a large breasted woman half his age. They weren’t touching, but the sparks were practically flying off them and would be flying even further if Fred’s wife, Lucy, spotted it.
“Nothing can go wrong with that,” Curt added with a laugh. Like the previous chuckle, his laugh quickly settled, and he turned back to them. He obviously still saw some of the gloominess in their expressions.
“I’ll be back for holidays,” Curt assured them. He paused. “Hey, remember that time we all got sick when we tried my uncle Buck’s moonshine that I’d pinched from his truck?”
It’d been nearly two decades since that’d happened, and Ryder still felt his stomach lurch from the godawful memory. Judging from the shudders and head shakes from Allie and Bree, they were having a similar reaction.
“We puked, puked and puked some more,” Curt added. He flicked the puffball sleeve of Allie’s dress. “That’s the same color as the puke.”
For such a sorry-ass memory, it made them all smile, and they were the Crab Posse again. Ryder had a boatload of memories that were a whole lot better than that one, but it was definitely in the top one hundred for most memorable.
“Green’s Savannah’s favorite color so please don’t mention that puke-dress reference,” Curt whispered, glancing over his shoulder to make sure his bride hadn’t heard. She hadn’t. Savannah was chatting with some wedding guests.
Curt gathered his breath. “I’m gonna miss you guys, but we’ll always be blood brothers and sister. Well, Ryder, Bree and I will be.” He winked at Allie. “You were too chicken to cut yourself, or you would have been our blood sister, too.”
“I wasn’t chicken,” Allie readil
y admitted. “I just didn’t want to be Ryder’s sister.”
She froze, the glass of wine stopping less than an inch from her mouth, and she got a “deer in the headlights” look before she chuckled. “All right, I was chicken. Call me overly cautious about sepsis and gangrene, but I didn’t like the idea of cutting myself with a pocketknife that you’d used to gut fish and clean your fingernails. Nothing could go wrong with that.”
Allie chuckled at that part, too, but Ryder didn’t. Allie hadn’t said that she didn’t want to be their sister, just not his. Curt noticed it, too, and he volleyed some long, confused glances between both of them.
“You two aren’t—” Curt started, then stopped “—crossing lines, are you?”
“No,” Allie and Ryder said in unison, but Allie dodged his gaze. She stared down into her wine as if it held the secrets of the universe.
What the devil was going on?
Ryder tried to look at her face, to see what was in her eyes, but before he could manage that, Savannah came to the table.
“There you are,” Savannah said. She slid her hand around the back of Curt’s neck and kissed him before she studied the three of them. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something?”
“Nary a thing,” Curt said at the same time that Ryder said, “Nope,” and at the same time that Allie said, “No.” Bree added, “Does a chicken crap diamonds?”
The four variations of the quick denial—including Bree’s oddball one—all added up to making it sound like malarkey. Which it was. Ryder had been on the verge of finding out what Allie had meant and then giving Curt some grief over suggesting that line-crossing thing. He’d never crossed anything with Allie and had no plans to start.
Hell, he mentally repeated that.
Now the notion of crossing lines and starting stuff best not started was in his head. Not that he would do anything about it. Nope, no, nary a thing, and a chicken wouldn’t be crapping diamonds. Even if Ryder had been so inclined, he would have to nix the idea because Allie was still his best friend. He could always get a lover, but best friends were in short supply.
Lone Star Blues Page 26
