The Cowboy Takes a Bride

by Lori Wilde

  “Becca had a way of making you feel more alive than you’d ever felt in your life,” he went on, “but it came with the danger of a downed power line. She was moody and driven. The only person I’ve ever known who was more driven than my wife was your father.” He flicked a gaze over her. “And you. I know you had your issues with Dutch, but like it or not, Mariah, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  Mariah drew herself up. “I’m nothing like my father.”

  “You’re exactly like him. Same dogged pigheadedness. Same need to believe in something bigger than yourself.”

  “And you’re not?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t used to be. Not until, well, Dutch was my lifeline after Becca’s death, and without him and cutting horses”—Joe shrugged—“I don’t know where I’d be.”

  “You’re healing.”

  “I miss Becca,” he murmured.

  Mariah’s hopeful heart frosted over. She tried not to feel jealous. How petty was that? Feeling jealous over a dead woman. “I can’t imagine.”

  He stopped pacing, exhaled. “But I know it’s time to let go.”

  Mariah held her breath.

  “I want to move on.”

  “That’s . . .” She trailed off. Anything she said could easily be misconstrued. She didn’t know what to say, so she just let the word lie there, exposed and orphaned.

  “I loved Becca, but my wife was far from perfect. I think that you think she was perfect.”

  “I haven’t made any assumptions.”

  “The town has already done it for you. They’ve canonized Becca because she died young and beautiful and in tragic fashion.”

  “It does make a good sad tale.”

  “She was pregnant when she died,” he blurted.

  Mariah brought her palm to her mouth. “Oh Joe, no!”

  “I lost not only my wife, but the unborn child I didn’t even know she was carrying.”

  “How did she die?” Mariah came right out and asked it. There was no easy way.

  “You haven’t heard from the town grapevine?”

  “I want to hear it from you. Things get embellished when they’re passed around.”

  He drew in a breath so heavy his rib cage shuddered. “She died in a barrel racing accident. Championship-quality barrel racer. She was on her way to winning top honors.” He paused.

  Mariah waited, understanding that he needed time to tell this story in his own way.

  “It’s the main thing we had in common. Love of rodeo. We were on the road much of the year. Going from town to town, rodeo to rodeo. Most of the time she was in one place, I was in another.”

  “I know how the circuit works,” Mariah said.

  She thought of all the places they’d lived in when she was a child. How she’d always felt displaced. The odd kid out. To make up for her displacement, she tried to excel at everything—school, sports, social clubs. She was always wearing masks. Putting on the costume of whatever group she was affiliated with. Doing whatever she could to fit in. No, not just to fit in, but to be the best at whatever she tried, even if she didn’t enjoy it.

  “It was an exciting life, an interesting life, but after a while, I wanted more.” Joe rubbed a hand over his thigh.

  “More?”

  “I felt . . . insubstantial. After you win a few tournaments, get several brass belt buckles, what else is there to prove? The glory fades pretty quickly.”

  Mariah thought of Dutch. Cutting horses had not only been in his blood, they’d been his drug. It sounded like the same had been true of Becca. But what about Joe? On the surface, he seemed to be as consumed by cutting horses as her father had been. But on deeper inspection, was there much more to the man? Hope lurched, staggered, then picked up momentum.

  “I wanted to settle down. Buy a ranch, start a family. But Becca was younger. She wasn’t ready.” He stared down at his hands. “I don’t think she would ever have been ready. Becca’s life force couldn’t be contained. Then I got injured, bought Green Ridge from my parents, but Becca wasn’t happy with that.”

  “Joe, you don’t have to say any more. I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk about her. There’s no—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “You’re right. I haven’t spoken about her to anyone since it happened. Not even to Ila. When she comes over, we just drink and tell each other jokes and cry.”

  “What is your situation with Ila?”

  “She’s my oldest friend.”

  “Have you two ever . . . um . . . hooked up?”

  “No!” he said. “She’s like a sister, hell, a brother, to me.”

  “Does Ila know that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think Ila’s in love with you, Joe.”

  “Nah.” He shook his head. Denial. “She’s not.”

  “Are you sure she’s not just been biding her time, waiting for your grief to abate? Waiting for you to notice her?”

  He looked startled. “I don’t feel that way about Ila. She’s just a good buddy.”

  “But Ila feels that way about you.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “The look on Ila’s face whenever she’s watching you and she knows that you’re not looking.”

  “Crap.” He blew out his breath, looked unsettled. “I had no idea.”

  “You have to tell her that you’re not interested. You can’t keep stringing her along.”

  “I didn’t even know I was stringing her along. Shit, Mariah.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Really?”

  She nodded. “That’s why she’s so rude to me.”

  “Because she knows you and I . . .” He let his words trail off, not defining what was going on between them.

  You and I what? What were they? Mariah’s mind spun, but she said nothing.

  “Anyway,” Joe said. “After Becca died we learned she was six weeks’ pregnant.” His voice cracked and he blinked rapidly.

  Mariah’s heart constricted. “Oh, Joe. You lost two loved ones that day.”

  “Here’s the kicker,” he said in a husky tone. “She had a pregnancy kit in her purse. As if she knew she was pregnant, but she didn’t want to take the test until after the rodeo. She knew it would be her last chance to win. Knew that a pregnancy would sideline her for a long time. So she waited. If she’d just taken the test first, I know she wouldn’t have ridden. I’d still have her. We’d have a baby by now.”

  The anguish on his face broke her heart into two pieces. Realization clawed at her. The man wasn’t ready to love again.

  He might never be.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When you’re scared, there’s only one cure; cowboy up.

  —Dutch Callahan

  So that’s my sad story,” Joe said. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Any long-term relationships in your past? Boyfriends, lovers, husbands?”

  “No husbands. I haven’t had many boyfriends. I’m not the most gorgeous woman in the world and I do work a lot.”

  “There are all kinds of beauty, Mariah. Sure, some women might be supermodel-gorgeous, but you know what? They intimidate guys. I know. I was married to one.”

  “Yeah,” she mumbled.

  “But when I look at you, I see so much more than just a pretty face. I see the kindness in those brown eyes. I see warmth and compassion in your smile.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to stop her.

  “You are pretty. And I bet there were a lot of guys just waiting to date you.”

  “There were a few guys,” she admitted. “But I didn’t want to get serious with any of them. I was so focused on my career. I was young and not really thinking about anything except making a mark for myself in the wedding planning business. I always wanted my own business someday.”

  “And now you’ve got it.”

  “Not hardly.” She grimaced. “I’ve booked one wedding and I’m doing that for free.”

>   “You have to start somewhere.”

  “I’ve made a start,” she echoed.

  “So tell me about Chicago.”

  She pushed the round, wire-frame glasses up on her nose. He liked when she wore her glasses. It made her less intimidating, more approachable. A tattered, beat-up guy like him needed a woman who was a bit myopic.

  While he was staring at her, she snagged the right corner of her bottom lip up between her teeth. He liked that too. The vulnerable, girlish gesture unleashed the protective guardian in him. He leaned toward her because the closer he got, the more stable she made him feel.

  Her delightful smell addled his brain and it was all he could do not to sidle even closer.

  “You loved your job. Didn’t you?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah.” She breathed.

  The wistful note in her voice muscled up his chest. She missed Chicago. Missed her home. Missed her career. She didn’t belong here. He knew it. She knew it, and yet here she was trying to make the best of the situation. He admired that about her. Adaptability.

  “What did you love about it?” he asked.

  “Making the fantasy real. Making people’s dream come true. If only for a day.”

  “So what happened with the dream job?”

  Mariah’s face colored. “I made a huge mistake.”

  “What kind of mistake?”

  She waved a hand. She had such pretty hands—long and slender, competent and strong. Joe had never thought of hands as sexy before, but Mariah’s hands turned him on. Hell, everything about her turned him on. That was the problem.

  It’s just sex. And she reminds you a little of Becca.

  Physically, maybe a little. She was petite and blond, agile and compact, but there the resemblance ended. He wasn’t projecting his feelings for his dead wife on her.

  Was he?

  It was a confounding thought.

  “Hey,” he said. “You don’t get away with that. I opened up to you, it’s time you opened up to me.”

  “And tell you about my greatest failure?”

  “We all fail.”

  “I don’t. Not usually.” She bit her bottom lip again. “But it’s because I’m always wondering what people think of me. How I’m perceived, and I act accordingly. It’s worked well for me until, well . . . it didn’t.”

  Joe waited for her to elaborate. When she didn’t speak, he feared the iceberg was never going to thaw. Did she realize how she held herself apart from others, a little aloof, unobtainable in her perfection?

  If only he could get her to talk. Discover who she really was beneath that smooth veneer. Find out the nature of the heart beating within her. But did he really want to do that? If she told him about herself, it would increase the bond between them. A bond that scared him. She had so much potential to hurt him. Wouldn’t it be better to leave the mask in place? Let things lie? Keep these feelings light and high?

  “I’m listening,” he prodded.

  She shrugged. “I have trouble opening up.”

  “Trust issues,” Joe said. “I suppose you can lay those at Dutch’s feet.”

  “I can and I have, but you know what? I understand now that I can’t blame everything on Dutch. He did what he did. I am who I am. This is the way my life happened. I can’t change any of it. So I’ve decided I’m going to accept it and let it go and move forward.”

  Joe leaned back, but kept his hand on hers. “You’ve made a lot of progress since you got to Jubilee.”

  “I have?” she said, sounding both surprised and pleased. She drew her knees to her chest. She looked so vulnerable in those pink pajamas, her hair mussed, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

  “So you shouldn’t have any problem telling me what happened. You’re safe here.”

  Safe? What was he doing? What was he saying? Did he really want to offer her safety? Was he actually taking that step?

  Hey, you just spilled your guts to her about Becca.

  Yes, and he had no idea why he’d done so.

  The movie. It was that sappy movie. Becca used to tease him for being sentimental. He’d been the romantic in the family. Not his wife.

  Mariah wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself. In all honesty, they were finally getting to know each other, dig deeper beyond the surface attraction, and that set his heart thumping hard. Did he really want to take that step? He could turn the television back on, change the subject, make an excuse and go check on the horses.

  “It was at the wedding of one of the wealthiest old money families in Chicago,” she said. “Everyone who’s anyone was there.”

  “Oprah?”

  Mariah nodded.

  Joe whistled. “I’m impressed.”

  “Lots of heavy hitters. Tension like you wouldn’t believe. My boss, who I’ve never seen frazzled, was high-wire tense. But for some weird reason I was totally calm. I’d spent my life preparing for an event like this. I wasn’t going to screw up.”

  “I don’t like the way this is going.”

  “I was in charge of the wedding reception. It was at the aquarium. Pretty venue, but a logistical nightmare of wedding reception planning,” she continued.

  “Sounds nice.”

  “It was. No money was spared. We’re talking a quarter of a million dollars here.”

  Joe whistled.

  “Pocket change to these people.”

  “So what happened?” he repeated.

  “Everything was going smoothly until Mayor Krimpholder cornered me behind a tank filled with clown fish. It’s weird the things you remember. He pushed his hand up the hem of my dress and cupped my ass, and all I could think about was the clown fish.”

  “I wish I’d been there,” Joe said. “I’d have decked him.”

  “I did deck him.” Mariah smiled sweetly.

  Joe hooted.

  “I think it was the first time in my life I ever acted on pure instinct. Usually, I evaluate everything I do, decide whether it’s the right move or not. But there I was staring at a clown fish, this fifty-something-year-old, married man’s hand on my butt cheek, and it just hit me what a cliché I would be if I allowed this to happen.”

  Joe growled low in his throat, fisted his hands on his thighs.

  “Here I’d been working eighty hours a week to put on this wedding. I put up with a load of crap from the client, but hey, that was okay. It’s my job to please. I take pride in the fact that whatever I do, I do it well. And then, here’s this man, who has a daughter close to my age, fumbling inside my panties, breathing garlic from the canapés on the back of my neck, and I just snapped.”

  Joe laughed. “Okay, it’s not funny, but I am so in love with the image of you smacking this dude that I can’t help it.”

  Love.

  Had he actually said the word “love”? Joe swallowed, watched Mariah’s face. But she was accomplished at hiding her emotions. He saw nothing more than the flick of her eyelashes.

  “I slapped him and told him to keep his hands to himself. You’d think people would be on my side. But no, that’s not how it went down. He put a hand to his cheek and hollered out that I’d assaulted him because he’d dared to complain about the quality of the service.”

  “Asshole.”

  “You can say that twice and not be wrong. My boss, who I thought would back me up, just threw me to the wolves. She fired me on the spot and then blackballed me in Chicago. I couldn’t get a job with any wedding planning firms in the area.”

  “That is so wrong.”

  “It happened. I took a job waiting tables at a four-star restaurant in downtown. Then one evening the wealthy old money clients whose daughter’s wedding reception I’d wrecked came into the restaurant for dinner. The next day, I lost that job too. After that, I couldn’t get a job scooping cat litter at a pet store.”

  “Bullshit,” Joe exclaimed.

  “Yes, but I was expected to be a good girl. Tolerate the groping. Smile and go about my business. My boss actually told me
that was the reason why I was paid such a high salary. It was my job to please the clients and I should have just made a joke of the mayor fondling me. When she said that, I felt like a prostitute.”

  He realized now why she hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Not because she wasn’t ready to open up to him, but simply because she hadn’t wanted to relive the painful memory. He felt guilty for pushing her. “You’re out of there now. You’re here and you’ve started your own business, and by gum, if anyone tries to lay a hand on you, I’ll do to them what I did to Lee Turpin. You were with the wrong people, Mariah. You didn’t belong in Chicago.”

  “I thought I did,” she whispered. “I needed to belong somewhere.”

  “Inheriting Dutch’s cabin saved you.”

  “It was the answer to my prayers,” she admitted. “Except it was nothing that I would ever have expected. And I’d much rather have Dutch alive. I wish I could turn back time, build a relationship with him.”

  “We all have regrets,” he said. “I suppose all we can do is try to do better in the future.”

  He could see the reflection of the flickering firelight in her eyes. Knew she suffered just as he suffered. It was a different kind of pain, but hurt was hurt and loss was loss. They could make each other feel better if they weren’t so damn scared of getting hurt again.

  “C’mon,” he said, and tugged her into his arms.

  They sat there for the longest time, snuggled up on the couch together, listening to the rain drum and the wood in the fireplace snap and crack.

  “I wear a mask,” she said after a long while.

  That puzzled him. “What?”

  “I put on whatever face I think people want to see. It’s how I’ve managed to survive in the world.”

  “We all do that from time to time. Fake it till you make it.”

  “But with me, it’s more than that. I want to try to explain it to you so you can understand why I treated Dutch the way I did when I was fourteen and he came to my high school to see me.”

  Joe understood that it wasn’t him she needed to convince. He let her talk, reaching out to gently stroke the silky strands of her hair. He liked that she was confiding in him. Trusting him. It was a big step for them both.