True-Blue Cowboy

by Sara Richardson

  Damn. He turned and headed for the glass doors Everly had disappeared through. When they came back in, he’d make sure she had a smile on her face just to show Ty he hadn’t lost his touch.

  Mateo slipped outside onto a small stone patio lit by globe lights strung overhead. Everly stood on the other side, staring at the faint outline of towering mountain peaks barely visible in the darkness.

  Uh…what was he supposed to say? He wasn’t good at the talking stuff. Much better at the entertaining, flirting, dancing. Fucking. He was awesome at that. Even had the testimonials to prove it. But talking to a woman who was obviously experiencing some strong emotions? That’d never been his strength.

  “Mind if I join you?” He sauntered over into uncharted territory.

  Everly turned to look at him. Uh-oh, were those tears in her eyes? He tried not to panic.

  “You don’t have to stay, Mateo.” She turned back to the mountains. “I know I’m a terrible date. You should go in and have fun with everyone else.”

  Tempting, but then he’d have a lot of explaining to do. “I wouldn’t feel right about it.” He sidled up next to her. “I prefer to make sure my date is having a good time.” Which he wouldn’t be able to do until they got past this talking stuff. “Based on your dislike of engagement parties, I’m guessing you had a bad breakup?”

  A humorless laugh slipped out. “You could say that.”

  “What happened?” Mateo turned to face her so she’d know he was listening. He might be out of practice, but he had grown up with three sisters. He could listen to a woman talk about her emotions.

  Everly looked at him for a moment, as though deciding what to say. Finally, she sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  “I have some time.” It wasn’t like she was in a hurry to get back to the party. Which meant he couldn’t go back either. “Go ahead. Lay it on me. Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”

  She shot him a doubting frown. “Okay. I found out my fiancé—who I’d dated for six years, by the way—tampered with evidence to win a trial for our firm.”

  “Your firm?”

  “Law firm,” she clarified. “Andrew paid off a doctor to change the results of a rape kit so the client, who just happens to be a star NFL player, wouldn’t be convicted.” She seemed to lock her jaw, but her lips still trembled. “He implicated me in the plot. Used my email to send messages to the doctor, and even though I had nothing to do with it, I got disbarred.”

  Whoa. So much about that sentence was fucked up, but he couldn’t get past the biggest shock. “You’re a lawyer?” Everly Brooks—hot farmer chick—was a lawyer?

  “I was a lawyer,” she corrected. “Back in San Francisco.” Her face had paled. “Thankfully the doctor came forward and Andrew went to prison. After that…I couldn’t do it anymore. I mean, I totally trusted him. I almost married a man who was trying to exonerate a rapist.” Everly flattened her hand against her stomach as though the words made her sick.

  They made him sick, too. There was a special place in hell for assholes like that. “Can’t you fight it? Seems to me you shouldn’t be punished if you didn’t know.”

  She shrugged. “I could petition to have my license reinstated. But I moved here almost three years ago and left that life behind.”

  The revelation struck a nerve. Didn’t sound so different from what he’d done. Minus the lawyer and getting disbarred thing. “You walked away from everything?”

  “My job, my parents, my friends, my life.” She counted it all off on her fingers. “I wanted to start over. Thought I could leave everything ugly behind and it wouldn’t be part of my life anymore.” Her eyes closed. “Obviously that didn’t work.”

  Mateo studied her. The soft glow above their heads cast her in a different light. Before standing here, he wouldn’t have said she was beautiful. Pretty, sure. Though she seemed hell-bent on hiding it behind straw hats and overalls and timidity. But her face stirred something in him. He could relate to that lost expression more than anyone would know. “I might be able to help you with that. Leaving the ugly behind.”

  Her eyes narrowed. Yeah, she didn’t believe him. She saw what everyone else saw—what he wanted everyone to see. The life of the party. The laid-back cowboy. “Believe it or not, I have some experience with leaving ugly things behind.” He’d buried a betrayal in his past so deep, even his closest friends didn’t know about it.

  “What did you have to leave behind?”

  “See, that’s rule number one.” Mateo eased a step closer. “You don’t talk about it. Talking about the past makes you dwell on it. And dwelling on the past makes you miss out on the party.”

  She shot him an amused smile. “What’s rule number two?”

  “When there’s a live band playing, you dance. Nothing makes you forget the shitty parts of life like dancing.”

  “I don’t know how to dance.”

  He gaped at her, letting his expression speak for itself.

  Everly raised her shoulders defensively. “I’ve danced at weddings and stuff. But I don’t know how to dance to country songs. That wasn’t exactly big back in San Francisco.”

  “Lucky for you, I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it.” On the circuit, he’d spent his fair share of time in country music bars all over the good ol’ U.S. of A., and he’d learned real quick women like a man who can dance.

  Mateo walked back to the door and propped it open so they could hear the music. “Let’s Go to Vegas.” Yeah, he could work with that. “We’ll start with the two-step. It’s pretty simple. All you have to do is follow my lead.” He slipped his hand onto her waist, curving his fingers around her hip, and clasped her right hand into his left.

  Everly’s shoulders went rigid, and she leaned back as though trying to keep space between them. But space didn’t work when you were dancing the two-step.

  “Rule number one for dancing.” Mateo guided her body closer to his, not so they were touching, but so that she could at least feel his movements. “Relax.”

  “You have a lot of rules,” Everly muttered. If you asked him, she sounded a little breathless. Of course, he wasn’t much better off. The feel of her body under his fingertips had his heart drumming.

  “Trust me.” He tightened his grip on her. “The only thing you need to know right now is quick, quick, slow, slow.”

  “Quick, quick, slow, slow,” she repeated, inching closer. Her eyes were focused on his.

  “On the first step, I move my left foot forward and yours goes back.” He demonstrated, his hip grazing hers. “Then I move my right forward and your right goes back.” He completed the step, keeping his hand firm on her hip to show her how to move.

  “Got it.” Her face had flushed.

  “Then we do the whole thing again, just slower.” He turned her and did it again, holding the steps a beat longer.

  “That’s it?” Everly gazed up at him with a smirk. “That’s not so hard.”

  “It’ll go a lot faster when you’re actually moving with the music. Think you’re ready for that?”

  “Oh, I’m ready.”

  Grinning, he waited for the beat then launched into the dance, holding her against him, breathing in the scent of cinnamon and something sweet. “Quick, quick, slow, slow,” he murmured, whirling her around before doing it again.

  Everly clung to him, laughing as he danced her across the patio. He watched her face while they moved, watched it come alive with a happiness that brightened her eyes and electrified him with the desire to give her more.

  * * *

  Mateo was right—dancing did have some kind of magical power. Everly couldn’t stop laughing as her whirled her and spun her and dipped her low. She was breathless and warm—so very warm against his body. Even the chill of the fall night couldn’t touch her.

  “Quick, quick, slow, slow,” he murmured against her hair, keeping their movements perfectly aligned with the music. God, that rhythm. It wrapped her up, took her away, made her lightheaded and giddy. Had sh
e ever been giddy?

  The music ended abruptly, and Mateo pulled her even closer before dipping her grandly, his strong arm supporting her back. His forehead glistened and those magic eyes of his flashed with sparks of mischief. He was exotic and playful, so different from any man she’d ever met.

  “Not bad for your first two-step,” he said, raising her back up. The second his hands fell away, disappointment washed over her. Don’t stop touching me. It had been too long since she’d been touched. Held. And it felt so good that she could’ve danced with him all night. But the band must’ve been taking five. The only sounds coming from inside the party were laughter and chatter.

  “You want another drink?” Mateo asked, rolling up his shirtsleeves. His forearms were as rock-solid as the rest of him.

  “I’m fine. Good.” She was good. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she couldn’t stop smiling.

  “We could get some food.” Mateo moved away from her and headed for the door, but going in would break the spell.

  “Wait.” Her heart refused to settle.

  He turned, one corner of his mouth lifted in a sexy smirk.

  “You haven’t told me rule number three yet,” Everly murmured. It was all she could manage with the way her heart pounded. Crazy how alive it made her feel.

  Mateo glanced at her, his gaze darker than it had been minutes before. “I’m not sure you’re ready for rule number three.”

  She marched over to him, not stopping until the tips of her ballet flats touched his boots. “Try me.” She stared into his eyes, a smile still tugging on her lips. “I need the full three-step program.” Especially since something told her the third rule involved more physical contact than his hand on her hip. She needed more. More energy, more color, more passion, more courage. Those parts of her had been crushed, but they were still there in pieces. When Mateo touched her, somehow she could feel them coming back together, strengthening to raise her up. Darla was right. She needed this—to feel something again, something exhilarating and carnal. And uncomplicated. Mateo wouldn’t love her, which meant he couldn’t hurt her either.

  “Rule number three”—Mateo’s intense stare lowered to her mouth—“can’t be explained. It has to be shown.”

  Everly slid her hands up his broad shoulders. “Then show me.” All of it. “Make me feel something.” The words came out in a whispered plea.

  Eyes steady on hers, Mateo brushed his palm against her jaw and gently tilted up her head, guiding her lips to his. The light touch of his mouth made her knees tremble. Energy expanded through her—bright and scorching. Mateo teased her with small kisses, slight scrapes of his mouth against hers. Her breath hitched painfully under her ribs, dislodging the months of loneliness that had made her heart feel so heavy.

  He pulled away too soon, gazing at her as though wondering what she thought.

  “I haven’t quite got it yet,” she murmured, stunned by the power of her body’s response to him. “More.” She ached for more.

  Without hesitating, Mateo wrapped her up in his arms and pressed her in close enough that she could feel the hard bulge at his crotch. His mouth was more commanding this time, almost urgent. God, he was soft and hard at the same time. And his tongue…it wound around hers, seeking, exploring, igniting something deep within her. A moan trembled in her throat.

  Mateo backed her up until he had her pinned against the brick wall, and she couldn’t stop her hands, couldn’t hold them still. She reached around and grabbed his perfect ass, urging him to grind against her.

  “Fuck, Everly,” he growled out as he kissed her jaw. “You taste like cinnamon.”

  “I bake a lot,” she gasped, letting her head rest against the bricks. Mateo moved his hot mouth down her neck, licking and nibbling until her thighs were pressed tightly together, quivering like they’d forgotten how to behave. Good grief, she was out of practice…

  Mateo traced his lips up to her ear. “You want to go somewhere else?”

  “Yes.” Lordy, she sounded pathetic. Desperate. But seriously. Where had Mateo been all her life? He could make her laugh and pant and dance and grab his ass. There was no telling what else he could make her do.

  “They have rooms to rent in the lodge.” He gazed into her eyes.

  Yes. A room. A bed. Anticipation gripped her throat. “Let’s go.” She broke away from him and went for the door, but it flew open.

  Three women came stumbling onto the patio in a giggling huddle. They were young, so pretty and made up that even Everly did a double take.

  “Oh, hi, Mateo,” the one with the long blond hair purred.

  “Hey, Chrissy.” Mateo shot her the same grin he’d been using on Everly all night.

  It didn’t matter. This was Mateo Torres. She knew his reputation. Like Darla had said, he provided uncomplicated fun. To a lot of women.

  The blonde gave him a perfect sex-kitten glance. “I didn’t know you were here tonight. I would’ve saved you a dance.”

  “I’m here with Everly,” Mateo said, not glancing at her. “Her friend set us up.”

  The unnecessary explanation recoiled through her. Her friend set us up. Right. Because he wouldn’t be here with someone like her by choice. Seriously. Look at those women. They were gorgeous, dressed to seduce, the kind of women Mateo preferred. And she was simply on a pity date. “It was a blind date,” she informed them, with a cold look directed at Mateo. “He had no choice in the matter.”

  He winced. “That’s not what I—”

  “You go on a date with someone you don’t even know before calling me?” The blonde gave him a pout. “You know I’m always available for you, Mateo. It’s been a while.”

  “I’ve been busy,” he said, having the decency to look uncomfortable. “Out of town a lot.”

  “Well, now that you’re back in town, call me sometime.” Blondie ran a hand up his arm. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Uh. Right. Sure.” His hand gripped the back of his neck like he’d suddenly gotten too hot.

  Funny, because Everly’s whole body had frozen. So much for the hot ache of desire. A pity date was one thing, but she drew the line at pity sex.

  With a little wave, the trio headed back into the party, taking the trail of Chanel No. 5 with them.

  Silence pounded in Everly’s ears. See? This was exactly why she didn’t go out. Why she didn’t dance. Dwelling on the past was far less humiliating than becoming someone’s charity project. She’d agreed to get a hotel room with him, for God’s sake! All because he felt bad for her? No. She’d prove she wasn’t that desperate.

  “Sorry about that.” Mateo’s eyes still wouldn’t meet hers. “They hang out at the Tumble Inn a lot.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. Shockingly, Mateo the badass bronc rider could look seriously awkward and guilty when he wanted to.

  Except he had nothing to feel guilty about. In fact, she was glad they’d been interrupted. For a brief few moments, when she’d confessed her deepest hurts to him, she’d thought she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes, like he understood something about those wounds. But she’d been seriously mistaken. He’d only been fulfilling a promise to her friend.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Everly slipped past him. “You don’t owe me an explanation. I know Darla talked you into this.” She stepped inside, but peered back over her shoulder. “Thanks, Mateo. Your three-step program was a huge help. But I think I’ll get a ride home with someone else tonight.”

  Chapter Two

  Everly had to admit, when she’d marched her Jimmy Choo shoes out of the Ivy League halls of Stanford University with her law degree in hand five years ago, this wasn’t quite what she’d pictured for her future.

  Dried mud caked her red rubber boots—and her jeans, for that matter. From the feel of it, she even had a smear of mud on her cheek. But it was hard to complain too much with that view staring her in the face.

  From anywhere on the small farm she leased, she could see some of the tallest mountains in
Colorado. They stretched out on all sides, surrounding the valley of Topaz Falls, sealing it into its own beautiful haven. Back in San Francisco, she’d never really noticed the sky. But here that royal blue sea above the mountain peaks stunned her every single time. Being covered in mud was a small price to pay for living in a place she loved and finally following her passion.

  Though she was starting to feel less and less passionate about waterfowl.

  Reaching up, she swiped the mud off her face and stomped across the pen that housed the resident chickens and ducks.

  Ducks. Why had she wanted ducks anyway? Sure, their eggs were rich and made her cakes and scones extra fluffy, but had she known what kind of trouble Walter would cause her, she would’ve left his cute, fuzzy little duckling ass at the feed store last year instead of paying three dollars for him. Now she understood why he’d been marked down in the half-price sale.

  “You were so adorable when you were a baby,” she muttered as she eased toward the harebrained mallard who’d cornered a squawking hen against the fence. It seemed that Walter was in one of his lusty moods again and Henrietta—who was supposed to be his mate—had wedged herself behind the coop to hide from him. Everly got it. A woman could only take so much.

  “I don’t have time for this,” she informed the duck, moving slowly toward him so she wouldn’t set off a foot chase. At seven o’clock on the nose, she had to open the café and serve breakfast to her regulars, which gave her, she glanced at her watch, fifteen minutes to get Walter into lockdown so he couldn’t put the moves on any more of her innocent fowl.

  “You can’t mate with a chicken, you dope. You have to stick to your own kind.” She made a stealthy grab for Walter, but the most recent object of his affection chose that moment to bolt away in a wing-flapping whorl of chaos. Feathers flew as Walter tore after Dixie 1 (one of the three “Dixie Chicks” she’d picked up in the same sale as Walter).

  Everly started after him, but the mud slurped her boot and held her foot in a rut. The rest of her body pitched forward, landing her face-first into the muck. “I’m adding a special to the menu,” she called, mopping the slop off of her face. “Duck confit!”