A Real Cowboy Never Walks Away (Wyoming Rebels Book 4)

by Stephanie Rowe

  Her smile dropped off her face, and for a moment, he saw the same vulnerability he'd seen when he first arrived.

  He'd almost forgotten about it, because she'd been efficient, cheerful, and determined. But now, he could almost see her energy level fading, and her shoulders beginning to slump. For the second time since he'd met her, a raw need to protect her surged through him, and he leaned forward. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing." She lifted her chin, and set spoons on each plate. "I love Rogue Valley. Everyone is super nice to me." She added the last as if it were a surprise, a gift that she treasured, her face softening in wonder. He also noticed that she didn't say why she'd moved there.

  Something tightened inside him at her vulnerability, at the evidence that she'd had a rough go of it at some point, and maybe still did. It pissed him off that she'd had to deal with shit. He liked her. She was so real. She didn't hide any of her emotions from him, and it was surreal. She was just treating him like a regular person, not a superstar, not a piece of shit scumbag.

  "Enjoy!" She managed a tired smile as she slid his dessert plate across the table to him. “The berries are local. I made the pie this morning."

  The pie looked incredible, and he wanted to wolf it down, but he was more interested in her than eating. He studied her, noting her growing weariness. It was almost two in the morning, and the last group had left only a half hour ago. It had taken only a short while to clean up the place, but he was well aware that they'd used up pretty much everything she'd prepped in the kitchen. "What time do you open today?"

  She scooped up a forkful of pie and ice cream. "Six." She took a big bite and closed her eyes. "This is pure heaven. Blueberry is my favorite."

  The expression on her face was such pure joy, he forgot what they were talking about. He wasn't used to women who ate dessert in front of him, or who even bothered to notice what they were eating, because they were too busy managing some agenda. He could almost taste the dessert, simply by the expression on Lissa's face. He cleared his throat, trying to focus. "Six in the evening?"

  She opened her eyes. "No, six in the morning. Breakfast is my main business, but I stay open for lunch several days a week. Dinner just on special occasions, like fair week."

  He stared at her. "You open in four hours?"

  "Yep."

  "You doing that all week?"

  "You bet." She frowned, nodding at his uneaten dessert. "You don't eat pie?"

  "I eat pie." He jammed his spoon in the pie and scooped up a sizeable mound. He shoved it in his mouth, then paused when the tart berries exploded on his tongue. "Son of a bitch. This is fantastic." Not just fantastic. "Best thing I've tasted in years." Maybe ever.

  She grinned, her face beaming at his compliment. "Thank you. I love pies. It's my specialty." She took another bite and sighed with delight. "I wish I had more time to bake them, but pies don't pay the bills."

  "Yeah, bills are a drag." He looked around the café, noting that beneath the pristine cleanliness and fresh flowers were hints of tight finances, like the vinyl seat cushions that had strategically placed duct tape on them, and the faint yellowing of the paint on the walls. He could easily write her a check big enough to fix all her money problems, but he had a feeling she'd never take it. There was a sense of pride and independence about Lissa, and he respected that.

  "I can't believe how many pies we went through tonight. I thought I made enough for three days, but I'll have to make more today, or see if Chase can bring some by." She wrinkled her nose. "It's good to have lots of business, but not so easy to keep up, you know?"

  "Yeah, I know." He returned his gaze to hers. "How are you going to make it through this week? You won't get any sleep tonight, and the fair is a week long." He was well used to a life of constant action, but even he managed to get a couple hours a night when he was on tour.

  She shrugged. "I'll be fine. Katie handles the afternoon prep by herself, so I can run upstairs and nap..." She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, right. She eloped." She sighed and licked the spoon. "I don't suppose you want a job for the week, do you? You were pretty handy tonight."

  "A job? Here?" He was too surprised to formulate an answer. He earned over a hundred million dollars a year, and this year was shaping up to be even more lucrative. The thought of working in a café was so far outside the realm of his life...except it had been the best night he'd had in a long time.

  "I can't pay much, but the tips are yours, even if I wait the tables." She looked at him hopefully, waiting.

  She had flour on her forehead. Her hair was tumbling down around her shoulders, tangled, and matted after all night in a ponytail. Her shirt was covered in flour, and it was damp from washing dishes. Her eyes were tired, so much more tired than she was willing to admit. She looked rumpled, exhausted, and enticing as hell.

  He realized he wanted to say yes. He wanted to immerse himself in this little café, and experience a life he'd never had, in which he was judged only by who he was in this moment. Basic, gritty, and raw, a week of not enough sleep or money, of scrambling to keep up, of being so busy he didn't have time to think about all the shit that haunted him so ruthlessly. A week where the only person he had to deal with was a woman who wanted nothing from him except help in her kitchen, a woman who made him feel like he could make a difference for her. He'd felt dead for months. Years. Hell, his whole damned life. But one evening at the Wildflower Café, and he felt like his heart was beating again. The colors seemed brighter. His head felt clearer.

  But he had obligations this week. Appearances. Concerts. Radio shows. Tension settled in his muscles again as he thought of the week ahead, of all his responsibilities, and a heavy weight seemed to press down upon him. The thought of walking out of the café and going back to his life made darkness close in on him, a crushing, relentless vise around his chest.

  Lissa's eyes widened. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah. Fine." A lie. The same lie he always gave, though not many people ever asked that question, unless his crappy mood could adversely affect their wallets. The amount of shit he'd taken from his label for the last year to write new material was ridiculous, and he hadn't written a damned word. He hated every song that his team brought to him, and he hated every word he wrote.

  Hell, he despised all his old songs too. Every word, every note, every melody felt like a meaningless, arid wasteland of lies. He was tired of singing words that didn't matter, of performing in front of a crowd that wanted a piece of him. He was tired of the pressure to deliver. He'd been tired every minute of every day for a long time...until tonight.

  Tonight had flown by, and he'd loved every second of being in that kitchen, of anticipating the next moment that Lissa would pop in and grin at him. He was even amused by the two times he'd pretended to be Bo and barked like a dog. Barking like a dog? Unreal. And amazing.

  But he couldn't spend the week in the Wildflower Café flipping burgers, binging on late night desserts, and falling under the spell of a woman who reminded him of the wildflowers she'd named the café after: beautiful, untamed, strong, and free.

  He had obligations, responsibilities, and duties. Besides, how long could he hang out here before someone recognized him? Before she'd realize superstar Travis Turner was in her kitchen? What then? Everything would change. This oasis would be gone. She'd look at him differently, and then it would be ruined. He had to accept that it had been one night, one amazing night, and that was it. He sighed, meeting her gaze. "I wish I could help you out this week, but I can't."

  Her face fell, and his gut turned over. But she didn't argue at all. "That's fine." She sat back, and shrugged nonchalantly. "It was a random idea. I'll find someone. I appreciate tonight, though."

  Damn. He didn't like that flicker of embarrassment on her face for asking him. He leaned forward. "I meant it when I said I wished I could." His voice was rougher than he'd intended, more intimate than he'd planned, filled with more longing than he'd meant to share.

  Her gaze snapped to his, and f
or a moment, electricity seemed to leap between them. Heat poured through him, a deep, carnal fire of possession and need. He leaned across the table, and brushed his finger along her jaw. Her skin was as soft as a newborn foal, fragile and tender.

  Her cheeks turned red, and she sucked in her breath...but she didn't pull away.

  His entire body went into overdrive, and need poured through him, a raw lust that hit him hard and mercilessly, gripping him ruthlessly. It had been building all night, ignited each time she'd flashed him one of her smiles, or brushed against him as she grabbed a plate of food, or even simply said his name. Now that it was just them, in a moment where nothing was calling for his attention, the sheer force of his need for her seemed to take over.

  What was it about her that affected him like that? He had sworn off women for a long time, a long, long time. Pretty much his entire life, actually, but something about Lissa McIntyre shattered all his rules.

  Her gaze flicked to his mouth, and another surge of heat rushed through him. She glanced back up at his face, and her cheeks turned even redder.

  He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her more than he'd wanted to do anything for a very long time. He knew the moment she realized what he wanted to do. She froze for a moment, her eyes wide...not with fear, but with the same longing that was gripping him so tightly. Anticipation leapt through him, and he tightened his fingers on her jaw. He started to lean forward—

  She started to lean forward, then she suddenly jerked back. "I should go." She stood up quickly, nearly tripping on a chair in her effort to get away from him.

  Travis swore and dropped his hand. "Sorry." He hadn't meant to cross that line. Shit.

  "It's fine." She ducked her head, avoiding eye contact as she grabbed their plates. "So, thanks again for the help. I really appreciate it." She managed a brief smile. "I'll just wash these, and I'll be all set, so you can hit the road." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and practically bolted into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the café, as the kitchen door shut behind her.

  What the hell had just happened?

  He could take the opening she'd just given him, and walk away before things got complicated. He probably should. He didn't need complicated, and he really didn't need a woman.

  But he needed something. An anchor, a salvation, or an angel. Whatever it was, without it, he knew the darkness inside him was going to win. He'd thought there was no way out. He'd thought that he had no escape. But he did. And her name was Lissa McIntyre.

  He didn't know what exactly he needed from her, but he knew that walking out with her being afraid of him was not it.

  So, he ignored her request for him to leave, strode across the café, and followed her into the kitchen.

  Chapter 4

  Lissa's hands were shaking so badly she barely got the dishes to the sink without dropping them. She set them down a little too hard, and then gripped the metal edge, bowing her head as she fought for composure.

  She'd almost kissed Travis. She really had. What was wrong with her? She knew better. She couldn't take that risk. She had too much to lose—

  "Lissa?" Travis's deep voice rolled through her, sending chills down her spine.

  She scrunched her eyes shut and didn't turn around. "What?"

  He didn't say anything, but his cowboy boots thudded as he walked across the kitchen toward her. She tensed, her heart hammering almost uncontrollably as he neared her. He leaned against the counter right next to her, so close she could feel the heat from his body...but he didn't try to touch her.

  After a moment, she opened her eyes to peek at him. He was leaning against the counter, his hands resting by his hips, as he stared at the wall on the opposite side of the kitchen. His shoulders were tense, and his jaw was set. Heavy five-o-clock shadow was visible on his jaw, and she had a sudden urge to trace her fingers over it. How long had it been since she'd touched a man intimately? Almost nine years.

  No man had tempted her. She'd shut herself down so completely that she hadn't even been tempted...until tonight. Until Travis. Until she'd spent an entire evening in close proximity with him, basking in his smiles, waiting for his rare chuckles, teaming up with him to handle the café.

  She hadn't been prepared for him to want to kiss her, and she'd been even less prepared to handle her own desire to kiss him back. And even now, even with distance and sanity trying to reign, she was still drawn to him, her entire soul crying out for one kiss, one touch, one hug to fill the aching loneliness in her soul, to sustain her.

  "I didn't mean to scare you," he said, still not looking at her.

  Her heart turned over at the regret in his voice. "You didn't scare me. I just...panicked."

  He turned his head to look at her then, his blue eyes steely as they studied her. "If you weren't scared, why did you panic?"

  There was no judgment in his question, just curiosity, and her embarrassment faded before it even took hold. She sighed. "I wasn't scared of you," she said. "Just the concept of kissing a man. Of wanting to kiss a man."

  One eyebrow quirked. "Are you a nun?"

  She couldn't help but laugh. "No, I'm not." She began to relax again, his casual demeanor putting her at ease. She picked up her dessert plate and started to wash it. "I just...I don't get involved with men. Dating is..." She bit her lip, not sure how to articulate it.

  "Dating is what?"

  She glanced at him. "So much to lose," she said softly, "and so little to gain."

  His eyebrows went up, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. There was so much understanding in his eyes, and pain, pain that seemed to wrench her own heart. "I know what you mean," he said quietly.

  "Really?"

  "Really." He picked up another plate and moved beside her to wash it. His arm bumped hers, and electricity seemed to leap through her. "I don't date either."

  She would have thought she'd be relieved at his confession, but instead, she just felt regret, and a penetrating loneliness. She didn't want to date him, or anyone, but a part of her wanted him to pursue her, to force her out of her self-imposed exile, to convince her it would be safe to open her heart again. She wanted him to fight for her, to force his way through her demons, so she could feel again, and breathe, and live more than what she was living. "If you don't date," she said, concentrating on the dish she'd now washed too many times, "why did you almost kiss me?"

  For a long moment, he said nothing. He just finished washing his plate and dried it off. It wasn't until he put it away that he turned to face her. "Because you gave me a gift tonight," he said.

  She frowned. "A gift? What are you talking about?"

  He ran his hand through his hair, shifting restlessly. "Tonight was the best night I've had in a long time," he finally said, his blue eyes intent on hers.

  Warmth tightened her chest. "It was?"

  "Yeah." He moved closer, and slid his hand around hers. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "I needed tonight to restore my faith in humanity. I needed to meet you, to see that there was someone in this world who is a good person, someone worth believing in."

  Her heart turned over, and her throat tightened. "I'm not—"

  He pressed his finger to her lips. "You are. I needed to meet you tonight." He slid his hand along her jaw and around the back of her neck, his fingers weaving through her hair. "Thank you." His gaze flicked to her mouth, and her heart started hammering again.

  Was he going to try to kiss her again? She knew she wasn't going to pull away this time. He was electric, awakening so much inside her that was terrifying, and exhilarating. Just one kiss. Just one—

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she closed her eyes, drinking in the sensation of his lips against her skin. It was tender and soft, but it also sent heat streaking through her. He pulled back, his face inches from hers. "You need a ride home?" he asked.

  She shook her head. "I live upstairs."

  "Okay." For a long moment, he didn't move.


  Kiss me, Travis. Just kiss me. She didn't back away from his gaze, trying to let him know that she wouldn't push him away this time. Yes, yes, yes, she didn't date, and she couldn't get involved, but her entire soul was crying out for one kiss from him, from this man who, in one evening, had made her feel like she mattered. He was the one who'd given her the gift, not the other way around.

  "You're in town for the fair? Just for a week?" The question slipped out before she could stop it. If he wasn't local and wasn't going to stay, then there was no chance that tonight would lead to anything. It would simply be in this moment, which meant it couldn't hurt her, or threaten that which mattered to her. If he was in her life only for this moment, then it made it safe to feel, to care, to respond, because as soon as he left, she could go back to her life. "Then you're leaving again?"

  "Yeah." He offered no more information, and she didn't ask.

  Asking was too personal. It took the moment and made it about more than this connection, more than the camaraderie they'd shared tonight. She didn't want more. She just wanted this.

  Silence fell between them, and they both went still, his hand still in her hair at the back of her neck.

  Finally, he dropped his hand and stepped back. "I should go."

  She wanted to cry out in denial, beg him to come back, to kiss her, to touch her, to draw her into the magic of his energy. But his face was wary, and his brow was furrowed, so she said nothing. But he didn't turn away, and neither did she.

  Inside, her soul cried out for his touch, for him, for more. She hadn't met a man she felt this comfortable with in ages. She'd been alone and isolated for so long that she'd forgotten what it felt like to be touched. Once Travis walked out, she knew she'd go back to her life, to her isolation, to her focus on supporting herself and her daughter. There wouldn't be another chance to remember what it felt like to be held.