Your'e Still the One

by Debbi Rawlins

  And the old-timers were probably trying their damndest to figure out why the hell Matt Gunderson had come back.

  The house itself was fairly dark. There was some light inside, a couple of lamps maybe, the timed night-lights that followed the stairs. But the porch, it was black.

  And Wallace’s SUV was nowhere to be seen.

  The yellow-bellied prick had left.

  * * *

  “WHAT’S THAT?” TRACE HAD entered the kitchen through the mudroom, sniffing the air and glancing around in search of the casserole Rachel had pulled out of the oven twenty minutes ago. “Smells like that cheesy chicken lasagna thing.”

  Right, except he wasn’t getting his paws on it. “Why are you here and not helping corral the horses? It isn’t even noon.”

  He frowned at the cooktop she’d just cleaned, opened one oven and then checked inside the other. “Where is it?”

  Rachel shouldered him out of the way so she could get into the pantry. “It’s not for you...therefore, you don’t need to know.”

  He’d already pulled off his work gloves and stuffed them in his back jeans’ pocket, and she knew darn well he’d try to filch a taste if he found it. “Boy, somebody’s grouchy.”

  Not really, just in a hurry, but she could’ve been nicer. “Do you want lunch?”

  “The casserole?” he asked, with a hopeful look.

  “No.” She sighed, accepting it was pointless to keep mum about her plan. “I made it for Nikki and Matt.”

  “They coming over?”

  “I’m taking it to them.”

  “At the Lone Wolf?”

  “Yes.” She was prepared for him to call her crazy, but she’d never personally had a run-in with Mr. Gunderson.

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think? I’m being neighborly.” Okay, there was more to the gesture. She wanted to see Matt again, but that was her own business.

  “I should go with you. Give me a minute to change my shirt.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head when he opened his mouth to object. “I’m just dropping off the casserole. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “I know.” He raked a hand through his hair, shrugging. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Matt again.”

  For being one of those effortlessly charming guys, Trace was a bad liar. Eyeing him, she pulled foil out of the drawer. “You’re trying to weasel out of giving the new guests riding lessons.”

  “Wrong.” He turned on the sink faucet to wash his hands. “For your information I already pawned that off on Josh.”

  “Thanks,” she said with enough sarcasm to get his full attention. That he could look pleased with himself blew her mind. “I really need Cole in my face for pulling away one of his wranglers to entertain guests.”

  “He won’t be upset. Don’t get so jumpy.” Frowning at her, Trace dried his hands. “Is it because of Matt?”

  “Of course not.” She busied herself with checking the semi- cooled casserole sitting under a dish towel on the kitchen table.

  Trace stared at it and shook his head. “I know you had a crush on him back in the day....”

  Her first impulse was denial. She paused. “You did not.”

  “Yep, we all did.”

  “Huh, really.” She chuckled. “I thought I was being so sly. Anyway, that was a long time ago, and he’s with Nikki now.”

  “They’re just friends.”

  “Right.” She’d spent an hour in bed last night analyzing Matt’s assertion they weren’t a couple. She believed him, yet there was a strong connection between them she couldn’t put her finger on.

  “He’s not sleeping with her, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

  “Nothing is bothering me.” She yanked a piece of foil from the roll a bit too enthusiastically. “How do you know he’s not?”

  “Can’t explain it. I just do. If you asked Cole, he’d tell you the same thing.”

  “Jeez, I’m not asking Cole.” She glanced toward the door to the dining room. Too late to worry about someone eavesdropping. “And don’t you say anything.” She exhaled. “About anything.”

  Grinning, Trace held up his hands. “Got it.”

  She felt a smile tug at her lips. He really was a good brother and a friend. When he wasn’t being annoying. “I’ll make another cheesy chicken casserole for you.”

  “Damn right you will.”

  “But I’m still going to the Lone Wolf by myself,” she added, and noting his resigned nod, finally understood his motive for wanting to accompany her. “You want to see Nikki.”

  “I sure wouldn’t mind.” He reached into the ceramic cookie jar and stuck a chocolate chip cookie in his mouth while he pulled on a glove.

  Nice trick. Rachel would have to remember that the next time she wanted to end a conversation. Though she was quite willing to let the matter drop. Too many thoughts about Matt were spinning inside her head. Their short time alone in the kitchen last night had proven they still had chemistry. If Nikki wasn’t an obstacle, Rachel had to seriously consider how she should respond to the renewed attraction.

  This wasn’t Dallas. Having more than a twenty-minute public conversation with Matt would be enough to grease the Blackfoot Falls rumor mill. Then there was her 24/7 responsibility for the Sundance guests. That alone restricted her personal activities.

  If she decided to go for it, but wasn’t careful, she might as well take out an ad in the Salina Gazette that she wanted to sleep with Matt Gunderson.

  * * *

  THE GUNDERSON HOUSE remained well kept though not as pristine as she remembered. But since the economy had tanked, that was true of most of the ranches, including the Sundance. And yet the beige trim around the windows looked as if the paint had been touched up last summer and the shutters might’ve recently been replaced. The red door was the only thing different from ten years ago. After Matt had left, she hadn’t come near the Lone Wolf.

  She parked her mom’s compact alongside Matt’s truck under the bare elm on the side of the house. Wallace’s Escalade was nowhere in sight but that didn’t mean he wasn’t home. The SUV was new and pricey, and he might’ve parked it in one of the storage buildings around the property. Or maybe someone else had taken it out. She’d heard in town that he rarely drove anymore and when he did go out one of his guys accompanied him.

  As much as she disliked the man, she still felt bad about his circumstances. He’d lost his wife three years ago, and that had to be hard on him. After her father had succumbed to cancer the whole family had suffered, but Rachel remembered too well how long it had taken her mom to rejoin the living.

  She climbed out and went around to the passenger side to get the casserole. Two men working with a black stallion in the corral lifted their hands in greeting. She didn’t recognize either of them, but she waved back, thinking how she’d known practically everyone when she was a kid. But going off to college had changed many things, most of them for the better, though some adjustments weren’t coming so easily.

  Snow that had been shoveled off the stone walkway and pushed to the side flanked her steps to the front door. The area was fairly clear, even in the shade, because there hadn’t been a significant snowfall in a couple of weeks. It’d been a very weird winter, yet the weather hadn’t hurt reservations at the Sundance. The guests kept coming, and if it weren’t for Jamie’s help, Rachel would have no life at all.

  Standing at the door, balancing the casserole in one arm, she fluffed out the sides of her hair, then cleared her throat while she used the brass knocker.

  Within seconds, Matt opened the door.

  He wore jeans and an unbuttoned black shirt. The moment he saw her a smile curved his mouth.

  “Hi.” She tried so hard not to look at his chest.

  “Come in.” He stepped back, holding the door open wide.

  She scraped off her boots, glancing around the foyer and up the staircase as she crossed the threshold. “I can only stay a minute.”

  “Nikki’s in he
r room and Wallace hasn’t come home since last night.” Matt closed the door. “I just made coffee. You want some?”

  “Um, sure, if it’s no trouble.” Her gaze went to the strip of smooth skin where his shirt hung open.

  “Sorry. I just got out of the shower,” he murmured, glancing down, as if suddenly aware of his semi-clothed state.

  “Here,” she said, pushing the covered casserole at him, even though his fingers had gone to the first button.

  Forced to abandon it, he accepted the dish. “What’s this?”

  “Dinner. Or lunch. Whatever. I made it this morning.” She purposely avoided looking below his chin. Vaguely she realized he’d shaved. He looked more like her old Matt. Not his chest, though. Wow. “You’ll just have to heat it.”

  “Thanks. Take off your jacket and come to the kitchen.”

  She started to shuck off the bulky down number while following him so he wouldn’t have a chance to button up before she got another look. Yes, she was acting like a twelve-year-old. But it was February, and when would she likely see his naked chest again?

  Of course there was a gigantically obvious answer. One that had her blushing by the time he set the casserole on the stainless steel stove and turned to look at her.

  She pretended her arm was caught in the sleeve and twisted away to free herself.

  “Need help?”

  “I think I have it.”

  Ignoring her, he came around and easily slipped the jacket away from her body. If he knew she’d been faking, trying to cover her embarrassment, he didn’t let on. He simply tossed the jacket on a kitchen chair, then brought his attention back to her, running his gaze down the front of the simple green turtleneck she’d tucked into her jeans.

  “Nice job of filling out,” he said, grinning as he leaned back, either for a better look or to duck a slap.

  Rachel relaxed and eyed his chest. “I was thinking the same thing about you.” This time she checked him out without a qualm, and noticed two scars that started between his rib cage, angling down until they disappeared behind the shirt.

  Apparently they made him self-conscious. He pulled the front of his shirt together and started buttoning. “Yeah, I’ve been beat up some. Damn bulls...ornery sons of bitches.” He gave her a crooked smile. “I need a new job.”

  Strange thing for him to say, even if he were joking. According to Trace, Matt was at the top of the heap and bull riders were a different breed of cowboy. They rode until they couldn’t. “You’re okay though, right?”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s nothing. Just ugly.”

  “I didn’t mean the scars.” She touched his hand, and he froze, leaving the last two buttons unfastened. “Which aren’t ugly.” She traced one of the marks with her thumb, only the part that was exposed, feeling him recoil, seeing the ridges of muscle in his belly tense.

  “Rachel,” he murmured, his voice a low uneven rasp. “What are you doing?”

  She wondered how far the scar went, but she didn’t dare reach inside his shirt. Fighting an urge to soothe the marred flesh with kisses, she lifted her gaze to his. “Tell me the truth, Matthew, are you all right?”

  “Yes, I swear.”

  Neither of them looked away. “Isn’t the Houston rodeo in February or March?” she asked, and finally remembered to lower her hand. She didn’t want to—his skin was warm and smooth.... And she could smell the pine soap he’d used. “Trace said you’ve done well there for five consecutive years.”

  “What’s your point?” He seemed tense, and she regretted being responsible.

  “Why are you here and not there?”

  Matt moved back and finished buttoning his shirt. “I can’t make you believe me. But I’m fine. I only pulled out because I have business here. I’m still riding in the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo later. It’s a benefit for kids.”

  “I do believe you. I do...it’s just that...” She sighed. “I looked you up on Google this morning. There’s a ton of stuff about you online. I couldn’t even make a dent—”

  Exhaling loudly, he moved to the sophisticated silver coffee station that seemed out of place.

  “What? It’s not as if I read your diary.”

  A black mug already sat on the counter, and he took out another one from an upper oak cabinet. “Google, Yahoo, Twitter, all of that stuff boggles my mind. I’m happy just to make sense of my smartphone.”

  “It’s huge and time-consuming, I’ll admit. But I love social networking.”

  “Not me. I’m a simple cowboy.” He poured her coffee, then got cream out of the fridge. “Either I win or lose—why anyone would care about all the other crap, I don’t understand.”

  She’d read a few blogs about his early career he probably would rather see disappear, but nothing really awful so far. Now his reaction made her more curious. She could ask him.... No, the set of his jaw made it clear that might not go well.

  Instead she spooned sugar from the canister into her coffee. “What kills me is that the whole time I was in school you were riding in rodeos all around Dallas and I didn’t know.”

  His hand stilled. He didn’t look up but seemed undecided whether or not to pour cream in his mug. “Would you have come to see me?”

  “Of course I would have.”

  Matt set down the cream. He turned around, leaned back against the blue-pearl granite counter and locked his gaze with hers. “Really?” he asked quietly. “Even after the way I left you?”

  6

  RACHEL STARED BACK AT HIM. She seemed to be giving the question serious thought, which he appreciated. “Yes,” she said finally. “I would’ve gone to see you ride.”

  He wished she’d been more plain. Watching him ride wasn’t the same as letting him know she was in the audience, or making an attempt to get in touch with him. He could ask. But damn, she’d been careful with her answer and that might be all he would get. It was probably more than he deserved.

  She smiled. “It sure would’ve pissed me off if I couldn’t get past those buckle bunnies throwing you their panties and phone numbers.”

  “Those women are nuts,” he muttered, and turned back to fix his coffee. Had he already dumped in sugar or not?

  “Are you blushing?” Rachel pulled his arm so he’d look at her.

  “No.”

  “Yes, you are.” She laughed, then squeezed his biceps. “Whoa, you filled out there, too.”

  He’d automatically flexed. “Try staying on a two-thousand-pound bull whose mission is to buck you off and pulverize you.”

  “Shoot, I missed my calling.” She refused to move her hand, and as much as he liked her touching him, liked her standing so close he could see the tiny gold flecks of humor in her green eyes, in a few seconds it was gonna be awkward.

  She smelled as sweet as honeysuckle and her lips were the color of ripe summer berries. And this was the second time since she’d taken off her jacket that she was making him hard. Hard enough that if she glanced down she wouldn’t miss his cock bucking his fly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her hand trailing away with a reluctance that did nothing to settle him down. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, but I think it’s adorable that you can still blush after all the female attention you get.”

  He moved back, held up his hands, as if he had nothing to hide. “I’m not embarrassed.”

  She blinked, and though she never actually looked at his fly, he knew the exact moment she became aware of his arousal. Her lips parted slightly, her lashes fluttered, and it seemed to take every bit of her willpower to keep her gaze on his face.

  “Um, yeah. Okay.” Color climbed her neck and filled her cheeks. “How about this warm weather we’re having?” she said, unable to finish without laughing. “You’re a horrible person.”

  Matt smiled. “A second ago I was adorable.”

  “I lied.”

  Catching her wrist, he stopped her from moving away and cupped her warm cheek. “You saw the best in me, Rachel. Always. No matter what anyone e
lse said.”

  “I missed you so much,” she whispered. “You broke my heart.” Instantly, regret entered her eyes, and he could see she wanted to call back the words.

  Selfishly he wished she could. He hadn’t known for sure how she’d reacted to his leaving, but he’d made up great excuses in his head. “You were still young,” he said, offering up his favorite. It was also true, but he’d left without facing her and that act of cowardice still nagged at him.

  “I was.” She shrugged and broke away to pick up her coffee. “Sweet sixteen, a time for puppy love and broken hearts. Back then, anyway. Nowadays? Seems sixteen is the new thirty.”

  “Times and women have changed, that is for damn sure.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Her lips were curved in the impish smile that once meant he’d end up tongue-tied, privately cursing himself for being a fool.

  She’d always loved teasing him, and yeah, when he was a teenager she’d made him blush, which had royally pissed him off. But he’d been powerless to keep away from her. She had the kind of personality, the charismatic pull that drew people in. Her generous spirit made them want to stay. It wouldn’t surprise him if it was Rachel who’d left a string of broken hearts.

  He picked up his coffee and gestured at the kitchen table. They needed to sit down, at least he did. His body was finally getting a clue that he and Rachel weren’t headed to happy hour. Didn’t mean he was willing to test his cock’s sketchy memory.

  Taking her mug with her, she was first to sit, which allowed him to choose the chair across from her. Their knees might touch but that wouldn’t get him in trouble. The sudden confusion on her face? Different story. Yeah, maybe he owed her more of an explanation, but this wasn’t the time. Not with Nikki upstairs and Wallace likely to show up at any minute.

  Rachel sipped from the mug, watching him over the rim, her eyebrows puckered in thought. “I should go,” she said finally, and pushed back from the table. “This isn’t a good time.”