Wow. Impressive career, English accent, good-looking—this guy seemed to have it all.
They walked into the terminal, and she smiled at the sight. Typical Jackson Hole: wooden beams, Western-patterned couches, a huge fireplace. It was homey and understated. She had to admit, she’d missed this feeling.
“Would you be interested in accompanying me to dinner tonight?” James asked as they walked past the security gates and toward baggage claim.
“Ah, no.”
His lips tightened.
“Not that I don’t want to,” she added hastily, “but my brother is picking me up here and I need to get home to my family tonight. Maybe later in the week?”
“A quick jaunt to your home would be no trouble.” He smiled again, but then his brow furrowed. “Are there any suitable restaurants nearby?”
“No.” She laughed at the idea. Last she could remember, there was a bar, an Arctic Circle, and an imitation Mexican restaurant in her tiny town. “I’ll come into Jackson. It won’t be a problem for me to drive.”
“Jolly good.” They arrived at baggage claim—everything was close together in the small airport—and stopped next to the carousel. “It’s a date.”
Harley returned his smile, but suddenly a scent wafted over her that turned her insides mushy—twenty percent lime, fifty percent musk, twenty percent vanilla, ten percent salt, and a hundred percent all man. She froze, closing her eyes and praying she was hallucinating. How could she still remember that scent and the percentages she’d assigned to each part of his perfect smell? Was she making it up? He couldn’t be here, could he?
A large palm flattened against her lower back, and tingles rushed out from the spot where that hand touched her. Her thin silk shirt wasn’t any match for the sensation. No, oh, no! Not Crew. She opened her eyes and tilted her head back. Those blue eyes focused on her face, making her knees go weak. Why was she such a wimp when it came to this cowboy? A cowboy she should never, ever want, not if she used her real brain instead of her hormonal one.
“Crew,” she murmured.
“Harley.” His eyes swept over her face. “I’ve missed you.”
Why was he here? She was going to cuss Ryker good and long for the substitution.
Harley shook her head as she took in the rest of him—cowboy hat with just a hint of golden curls peeking out; the perfect amount of trimmed facial hair; the blue eyes that drew you in; the tanned, beautifully proportioned face; and oh, those lips that were full enough you knew they’d be luscious to taste. Every girl in the high school had been in love with Crew or her brother Ryker at one point or the other. Harley had stayed strong and focused on her Jane Austen novels, studying, and making plans of escaping their small town and finding the real man of her dreams, a world traveler who could discuss everything with her. Not some cowboy who had no aspirations beyond riding horses, bucking hay bales, and finding a little wife who’d cook and clean for him.
When she didn’t respond, his eyes flickered to James, who was watching him with disdain.
“It’s a date?” Crew asked, his generous mouth tightening and a muscle working in his jaw. Ooh, that perfect jaw. She wanted to touch the short hair and see if it was rough or soft. Stop, brain! Actually, her brain wasn’t the problem at the moment.
“Yes, James has invited me out for dinner,” Harley said primly.
“Hmm.” Crew looked down at her with disapproval, but his good manners must have won out as he stuck his hand toward James. “Crew Harrison.”
James narrowed his eyes at Crew’s hand, but then he glanced at Harley and gave Crew’s hand a quick shake. “James Dartmouth … pleasure.”
“Good to meet you,” Crew said.
The silence stretched awkwardly.
“Oh! There’s my suitcases!” Harley shouted.
Several people turned to look at her.
Crew chuckled and reached out, easily plucking her two polka-dot pink suitcases—both well over the weight limit—off the rotating belt. He inclined his chin to James, stacked the suitcases so he could pull them with one hand, put that darn tempting hand back on Harley’s lower back, and directed her toward the door.
“Bye,” Harley said over her shoulder to James.
“I will be in touch with you soon, Miss Redland,” James responded.
Harley waved, then allowed Crew to direct her back outside, where a silver four-door truck waited by the curb.
“Did he seriously just say Miss Redland?” Crew muttered under his breath.
Harley stiffened. “He’s English and obviously has proper manners.”
“Sounds like a loser who would bore you stiff,” Crew said.
Harley’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll have you know he’s a successful artist and very interesting to me. You have no clue what’s boring to me or not.”
“Apparently.” Crew shook his head and lifted her suitcases and carry-on into the back seat. She reached for the passenger door handle, but he was quick, flicking it open.
Harley started to climb into the monstrosity that was his very nice and new truck, but was interrupted in her progress by Crew wrapping his hands around her waist to assist her. Harley’s entire body was on fire from his simple touch. There was no logical explanation for her body’s reaction to him, and it ticked her off that she couldn’t be in better control of herself. “I don’t need any help,” she shot at him, trying to pull free and succeeding in stumbling against the leather seat and ungracefully plopping down.
“Yeah,” Crew drawled. “I can see that.” He smirked at her and shut the door.
Harley rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, remembering why she couldn’t stand to be around this man no matter what he did to her insides, and her outsides. He strode around the front of the truck, all swagger and confidence. Sheesh, the man should be a cowboy model or the poster boy for Cowboys R Us. But she was not interested in cowboys.
Crew climbed up into the truck and flashed his signature grin her way. A small sigh escaped her lips, but she steeled her spine and repeated in her mind, No cowboys, no cowboys. She was meant to explore the world, starting with England in three months, and Crew would think leaving Wyoming was insanity. Not that she’d ever ask him to leave for her.
They pulled away from the curb just as a sleek red Mercedes raced around them. James gave them a haughty salute from the driver’s seat. Now that was a man she could pursue—educated, going somewhere, and yes for the English accent. No hick drawl going on with that man.
“How’d you meet that yahoo?” Crew asked, glaring at the Mercedes’s taillights like he’d just run over his dog.
“On the plane,” Harley muttered.
Crew harrumphed, but then seemed to quickly dismiss any thoughts of James as he glanced over at her. “You look good, Harley. Real good.”
She flushed from his compliment. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Crew Cut.”
He laughed at the old nickname. “Thanks, Harley Snarly.”
“I was only Snarly because you’d never pretend to be Mr. Darcy.”
They pulled onto the old highway and headed south. Crew shook his head with a little chuckle. “I was an idiot.”
Harley’s eyes widened. So he’d grown out of his idiocy?
“When you left for college, I … read a little bit of Pride and Prejudice.”
“What? Why?” Harley stared at him, wanting to pull that cowboy hat off and run her fingers through his golden locks.
He shrugged, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I wanted to be ready to play Mr. Darcy if you ever came back home.”
Harley gripped the leather seat underneath her legs. Crew had read Jane Austen? But he said he only read a little bit. You couldn’t just read parts; you had to drink in the whole thing to understand the beauty of the prose and the way Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy fell in love and the prejudices they had to both overcome. It was so beautiful.
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I’m not just playing about Mr. Darcy an
ymore.” Everyone from their hometown was focused on what they called her “Jane Austen obsession.” She didn’t want to offend them by explaining she was meant for more than this beautiful valley could offer. Only her family knew the real truth of her wanderlust.
Crew grinned. “So you’re done with your Mr. Darcy and the English accent obsession?”
“I didn’t say that. Now it’s no longer for play. I’m going to marry a proper Englishman someday and we’ll be happy and so in love.” She tried to look out the window at the lush, green mountains, but somehow she kept finding her gaze straying back to Crew’s jawline. She liked clean-shaven men, right? Maybe if she repeated it fifty times she wouldn’t forget when she looked at Crew. Clean-shaven, no cowboys, no country drawl.
His brow wrinkled. “I don’t see you being happy in a cold English manor.”
“It won’t be cold, because we’ll have love,” she insisted. When Crew didn’t respond, she grasped for a different topic. “Why did you read some of Pride and Prejudice? Really. The truth, Crew.”
He lifted one broad shoulder. My, oh my, those things had grown since high school. “For you,” he said simply.
“But why?” she asked again.
“So if you ever came home I could be what you wanted.”
Harley shrunk back against the opposite doorframe at his bold statement. She cared for Crew, a lot, but he could never be what she wanted. A man who was born to rodeo and climb mountains didn’t turn into a man who trotted the globe, seeking education and adventure. How to explain that without hurting him?
All she could tell him was, “I’m sorry, Crew.”
He glanced over at her, and his blue eyes looked so sad she wished things could be different. Then those eyes got a wicked glint in them. He patted her thigh and grinned. “Don’t be sorry, Harley. I’m just getting started.”
She looked down at his large hand on her leg, delicious tremors running up her spine at his simple touch. “Started at what?”
“My wooing of said lady.”
Harley couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. “That wasn’t an English accent; that was Jack Sparrow.”
Crew grinned and his cheek crinkled irresistibly. “You’re here now, love. Savvy?” He threw in a little more Jack Sparrow. “I’ll change your mind about cowboys.”
“Not possible, and I’m only here for … my dad, you know?”
His expression sobered. “I know. I’m awful sorry about all of this, Harley.”
She nodded her thanks. “Can you please tell me what’s going on? My mom didn’t give me anything.”
Crew started talking about the cancer, the prognosis, and the different ideas they’d had for treatment, not that her dad would try any of them. She listened to the rumble of his voice and was grateful for her friend. If only she could convince him that was all they were ever going to be.
Chapter Three
Crew snuck another glance at Harley as they pulled into her parents’ driveway. They’d chatted comfortably throughout the drive, and he was reminded all over again why he’d always loved her. She was funny, smart, and caring. If only she wasn’t caught up in her stupid Mr. Darcy quest. Curse that girls’ camp she went to every summer where they made their Jane Austen Pact; Harley’d seemed to come home more convinced every year that she had to marry an imitation Mr. Darcy. Crew shuddered. Darcy had been a pompous stiff. Harley would never be happy with someone like that. She was passionate, fun, and brilliant.
Crew couldn’t be something he wasn’t, but he could be the man who loved Harley. And someday, somehow, he’d get her to see how much he loved her and see him as more than a dumb cowboy with no aspirations in life.
He scowled as he thought of the stuffy suit with the English accent back at the airport. What dumb kind of luck was it that she walked off the airplane with that loser? He brushed it off. It didn’t matter. She was here now and this was his chance to get her to see him, to see them together. He’d been praying for this chance for a long time. Nerves assaulted his stomach. He might need some more prayers.
He pushed the button to kill the motor and looked over at her. She was staring at her house. It was a nice two-story farm-style house—not as nice as his house, but construction was his industry.
“Harley?” he asked.
She turned toward him, her dark eyes bright. “I don’t know if I can do this, Crew.”
His heart rate sped up a notch. Do this? Be with him? The fact that she was considering it was the best news he could’ve hoped for. “We’ll just take it slow, sweetheart.” He reached over and put his hand on top of hers where it rested on the console. Dang that console. He wanted to pull her into his arms.
She nodded hesitantly, turning her palm over and linking their fingers. “You’ll stay by me?”
“Of course I will.” Happiness rushed through him. She wanted him? This was amazing. All thanks to Ryker asking him to pick Harley up from the airport. He said a quick prayer of gratitude to the Lord too. Were all his dreams of Harley finally loving him in return about to come true?
“Thanks, Crew. You’ve always been there for me.” She wiped away a tear with her free hand.
Crew wanted to crawl over the console and take her in his arms. He’d show her exactly how he was going to be there for her.
“I just love …” She paused and sniffled, and Crew’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Could she truly love him as much as he loved her? “… him so much.”
Him? Wait. What? Hadn’t she been about to profess her love to Crew? Who was “him”? She’d said she wasn’t playing at the Jane Austen Pact anymore. Had she already found someone? His stomach got queasy. “You do?” he managed weakly.
She squeezed his hand, then pulled hers free. “Of course I do. He’s my daddy.”
The air whooshed out of Crew. Her dad. Oh, man. Crew was a selfish jerk. He’d been so caught up in his dreams of Harley loving him he’d dismissed what she was going through. But he had to admit it burst his bubble to realize she hadn’t been talking about the two of them at all, not even for a second. He forced himself not to overthink it. She was here for her dad. Crew was the one who’d gotten his hopes ratcheted up so quickly.
“Wait there,” he said.
He jumped down from his truck and hurried around, opening her door. She stepped onto the running board and he wrapped his hands around her trim waist and lifted her down. When her feet were on the ground, he knew he should release her, but he couldn’t do it. She smelled so good—like vanilla ice cream—and she looked even better. She glanced up at him with those big brown eyes framed with dark lashes. Her skin was smooth and naturally tan and her hair seemed to have a mind of its own with those dark curls framing her face and trailing down her back. His eyes dipped to her wide, straight lips, definitely one of her many assets and so beautiful in their uniqueness. A lot of the older people said they were Julia Roberts’s lips, but Crew knew they were all Harley.
“Crew?” she asked.
“Yeah?” His voice went all husky.
She tried to back up, but she had nowhere to go, so she bumped into the side of his truck. “You’re acting really weird.”
Crew’s hands dropped away. He kept thinking they were having romantic moments and she thought he was acting weird. “I’ll get your suitcases.” He stepped back.
“Thanks.” She didn’t walk away, though he’d thought she would.
He lifted her two huge suitcases and her smaller carry-on down from the back seat, then shut the truck door. “You okay?” he asked.
She started to nod but then shook her head quickly, fidgeting with her purse strap. “I just don’t know if I can face this. My daddy’s one of the strongest men I know, and to see him dying …” She blinked and looked away from Crew.
He released the suitcases and gathered her close. For the first time since he’d seen her today, he didn’t have any romantic intentions. He just wanted to be there for her, comfort her. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured against her hai
r, the soft curls tickling his nose.
“Will it?” Harley sort of glared up at him, and he remembered how much she hated empty platitudes and how much he loved her feistiness.
Crew gave her a gentle smile. He would protect her and stand by her side, even through something as horrible as this. “Okay, you’re right, it’s going to suck, but we’ll get through it.”
She pulled back from his embrace much sooner than he wanted her to, and straightened her shoulders. Grabbing her smaller suitcase, she said, “Time to face the bookie.”
Crew chuckled. It was one of her dad’s sayings, and it always made him laugh because he didn’t think Clint Redland had ever gambled.
Harley plunged ahead of him toward the porch. Crew picked up her huge suitcases and followed. He’d follow this woman anywhere. Too bad she didn’t want him to.
Harley paused on the front porch, staring through the sidelights of the front door. She couldn’t see much past the entryway and wide staircase, but she hated how scared she was to go inside. If someone had told her two days ago that she’d be terrified to walk into her childhood home, she would’ve had a good laugh at them.
Crew stood quietly by her side. She appreciated his support, even if he did stir her up in ways she didn’t want to think about, would never allow herself to think about. When he’d held on to her waist after he lifted her down from the truck and stared at her with those beautifully blue eyes, she wanted to swoon. Yet Crew wasn’t hers and never would be.
She glanced up at him. He was a lot bigger than she remembered, and more handsome, but the way her body had always reacted to him was the same and—she needed to tamp it down now.
Crew slowly pressed the door handle down and swung the door open. “Life’s easier if you just put one foot in front of the other.”
Harley tried to smile up at him, but tears were clouding her vision. It was one of her daddy’s sayings—he had about a million—but this one in particular he’d say when she was worried or scared to face the unknown.
Seeking Mr. Debonair Page 2
