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

by Stephanie Rowe

  She touched the back of his hand gently, just barely, but it stopped him dead. "No." Her voice was soft. "What I saw was a man who had come to rescue me. I saw hope that tonight wasn't going to be lost." She sighed. "Honestly, Travis, I felt so stupid at the fair today when I found out you were Travis Turner, but when I walked in there tonight, it didn't matter. It was just you."

  He ducked his head at the sudden tightness in his chest. What the hell was it with her? Why did she make him feel? Why did she make him want to sneak in her back door and chop cucumbers for her?

  "But you are Travis Turner," she continued, still touching the back of his hand. "It doesn't make sense for you to be in my kitchen." Her voice broke. "Until last night, I hadn't kissed a man in a very, very long time. It meant something to me, but I felt like a naïve fool when I found out you were a celebrity who probably has a dozen women in every city."

  "A dozen women?" Bile rose in his throat, and suddenly, he didn't want the pie anymore. He tossed the spoon back on his plate, the dessert uneaten. "Is that what you think?" He was so tired of people who judged him based on his music, his bank account, and his celebrity. Lissa had been a respite last night, and to think she was like the others, judging him based on his public persona, stripped all the magic from the night, from the moment, from the memories. "Forget it."

  He shoved back his chair to leave, then noticed the stricken expression on her face. The hurt. The betrayal. Guilt rushed through him, and he sank back into his seat. "I didn't plan on lying to you about who I was. I'm sorry."

  She searched his face, as if she could find truth in his eyes, not his words. "Tell me why you were here last night. Tell me why you came back tonight. I need to know the truth. Was it to amuse yourself? To slum with the working class? To hide from an ex-girlfriend? To—" She cut herself off, waiting.

  He swore under his breath. He didn't want to answer. He didn't want to tell her the truth. It was too personal. Too brutal. Too...everything. But at the same time, he couldn't bear the look of betrayal in her eyes. He knew about betrayal, and it cut deep and mercilessly, the wounds going deeper with every day that passed.

  He knew that Lissa had given him her real self. She was strong, courageous, and somehow, he'd made her vulnerable.

  After taking away her shields, he owed her the truth...or at least some of it. "I needed to escape."

  "Escape what?" Their pies sat uneaten, the ice cream starting to melt.

  "I—" Shit. He ran his hand through his hair. "When I walked in last night, I was going to get takeout and sleep in my truck. I couldn't deal with facing anyone, either as Travis Stockton or Travis Turner. But then...you smiled at me. That one smile, so full of warmth and exhaustion." He picked up his spoon, turning it over in his hands restlessly. "You made me forget my problems. All I wanted was to fix yours." He looked at her. "Last night was an oasis for me, Lissa. I had a rough time today, and the only place I wanted to be tonight was here. I wanted to be in your kitchen, I wanted to help you out, and..." He swore under his breath. "I wanted to be with you. You're the only one who has been real with me, and I needed that tonight."

  She searched his face, saying nothing, but he could feel her wanting to believe him, to understand.

  "Listen." He leaned forward. "I haven't written a new song in over a year. My performances suck. Music used to be my escape, my respite, but it's gone now. It's just...it's just like a brutal treadmill that has no soul anymore." The moment he said it, he realized that he'd finally articulated the problem. "Music has lost its meaning for me," he said. "It used to be what held me together, and now, it just slips through my fingers. Every night I go on stage, and it's a lie. It's like my heart no longer beats...until I walked in here last night. Until I met you. Until I stood there sweating over your grill for four hours." He paused. "Until I kissed you."

  He stopped, unsure if he'd said too much. He hadn't meant to, but once he'd started talking, the words had kept coming. It felt almost like the days when he'd been writing music, when the words had flowed so freely, when the pain had sought release through his words.

  Lissa silently picked up her spoon and scooped up a bite of pie. She ate it, still silent, still watching him. Waiting?

  "What?" he asked. "What else do you want to hear?" He wanted to strip the wariness out of her eyes. "I would never fuck you over," he said. "Ever. I swear it."

  Lissa put her spoon down, the metal clattering on her plate. "Your voice is beautiful," she said finally. "When I heard you singing today, it felt as though you were reaching inside me and touching all the parts of me I've kept shut down for so long."

  He blinked, startled by her change in topic, after he'd basically bared his soul to her. "What?"

  She folded her arms on the table, leaning forward on her elbows. "Last night, when you were sitting at the bar and I was rushing around, every time you thanked me for a glass of water or said anything, I felt like all the chaos disappeared. The world seemed to go still. All I wanted to do was sit down next to you and have you talk to me for the rest of the night. It didn't matter what you said. I just wanted to sit there and feel the way your voice wrapped around me, like a beautiful sunrise. You have a voice that touches souls, Travis, and I'm so sorry you've lost your connection and joy with it."

  Something inside him tightened, and he had to look away for a moment. He'd never heard anyone describe his voice that way, and it hurt. It hurt because he wanted to be that guy, and he knew he wasn't. But he also knew that she'd meant it. Maybe she was the only one on the entire planet who saw him that way, but that didn't change the fact that she had.

  "Travis." She slipped her fingers through his, drawing his attention back to her. "I'm sorry that I judged you today. I just... Sometimes, I feel like I'm running on fumes, and I'm so afraid of making that one mistake that will cause everything to crash down around me. I got scared that I'd made that mistake."

  He turned his hand over, tightening his grip on her hand. "So, basically, we're both completely screwed up. Is that what we're saying?"

  She smiled, a tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I guess so."

  He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. "Still soft."

  She looked down at their joined hands. "It feels weird to hold hands."

  "Good weird, or creepy weird?"

  Her smile widened ever so slightly. "A little of both."

  "You want me to let go?"

  "Not really."

  That was enough for him. He took her hand in both of his and turned it over. He began to trace the lines of her hand, noting the calluses on her palm, and the wrinkles from washing dishes. Her hand showed her toughness, but at the same time, it was so petite and delicate. He cupped his hands around hers, dwarfing it between his palms. "I want to kiss you again."

  She laughed softly. "I think we should skip that tonight."

  He didn't like that answer. "Why?"

  Her smile faded. "Because you're leaving town in a few days. Because I can't afford to remember how good it feels to be held by a man. I need to keep my life the way it is, and even if this thing between us is temporary, which it would have to be, I can't do anything that will make it too hard for me to live my life after it's over."

  Her words made sense, but he didn't like them. He didn't like the deep weariness in her voice, the strangled courage in her eyes. "If your life isn't enough, you deserve more."

  "It's more than enough." She kept watching their entwined hands. "It's full of amazing blessings." Her gaze flicked to his. "Like this moment."

  "Like this moment," he agreed. He raised their entwined hands to his lips and kissed each knuckle. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to sit right there and never move. "How do we make this moment last forever when it's over?"

  "I don't know," she whispered. "I wish I did."

  "Me, too."

  "Maybe write a song about it?" she suggested.

  His sense of peace vanished immediately, and the familiar vise clamped around his chest. Panic star
ted to build, creeping down his spine. He swore and pulled back, gripping the edge of the table as he fought off the rising stress.

  She frowned, watching him astutely. "You weren't exaggerating," she said softly.

  "I told you. I can't write anymore." God, he felt stupid. Weak. Pathetic. "Listen, I should go—"

  Her gaze suddenly flicked past him to the street, and her face paled.

  Warning bells exploded in his head, and he swung around immediately. Several cowboys were loitering outside her store, but one of them was peering through the glass, looking right at her.

  Travis narrowed his eyes. "You know them?"

  Lissa didn't answer, and Travis turned around to look at her. Her face was stricken, and she looked like she was going to pass out. All his muscles tensed, and wariness prickled down his spine. "Who is he?"

  "I—" She swallowed, and stood up. "I need to talk to him."

  Travis rose to his feet. "I don't think that's a good idea."

  "I know it's not, but he won't go away unless I talk to him." She put her hand on his arm, staying him, her dark brown eyes searching his. "Can I ask another favor?"

  "Anything. Name it. You got it."

  "Don't leave, okay? Please."

  Travis looked past her to the window, where the cowboy was waiting, watching them both with a dark scowl. "Yeah, I'll stay." Hell, yeah, he was staying.

  Chapter 9

  "Thanks." Lissa flashed Travis a distracted smile, even as she started walking toward the door to unlock it. She pulled her shoulders back, but her tension was obvious.

  Lissa, his weary, adorable, genuine Lissa, was afraid of the man at her door, which meant he'd hurt her in the past, or was there to hurt her now. Fucking piece of shit. Anger roiled through Travis, and his fists bunched as he narrowed his eyes.

  The bastard wasn't going to hurt her tonight. Not with him there.

  He was always aware of his role as Travis Turner, the celebrity who had to watch his reputation at all moments, but Lissa had awakened something in him, something primal and male, something that thundered through him, like a violent summer storm amassing on a hot summer night, swirling and angry, ready to destroy, possess, and consume.

  Right now, he didn't care about his reputation. He didn't give a shit if he broke rules. All he knew was the one woman on this entire earth who'd been real with him, was walking toward a man with the power to hurt her, and Travis was her only defense.

  No one had been around to defend him when he was little, and he had the scars to prove it. There was no chance in hell he was walking away from this situation, no matter how ugly it got.

  He was used to ugly. He was born into ugly, and it had haunted him his entire life, even after he left town. If this thing got ugly, it would be like coming home to the world he knew. The world he hated, but the world he knew.

  Travis walked into the middle of the café, faced the door, and folded his arms over his chest. Waiting. Ready. Visible. As Lissa reached for the lock to open it, a familiar darkness settled over Travis, the darkness that had gotten him thrown in jail as a youth, the darkness that kept him hammering on his punching bag for hours at a time, the darkness that had been a legacy from his father, the darkness that made him a threat to anyone who came too close.

  The darkness that stalked him every second of his life.

  He'd never defeated it, but he'd managed to suppress it...until now.

  Until Lissa McIntyre had awakened it, and the man at her door had unleashed it.

  Country music superstar Travis Turner couldn't afford for this to get ugly.

  Piece-of-shit wrong-side-of-the-tracks Travis Stockton was hoping it would, because right now, he felt more alive than he had in a long time. He wasn't going to lie. It felt good to care again.

  Damn good.

  Nine years.

  It had been almost nine years since Lissa had seen the man standing at her window.

  Nine years since he'd betrayed her so badly that she'd almost never recovered.

  It had been so long that she'd stopped thinking that someday he'd show up again. She'd rebuilt herself, her world, and her future. She'd shut him out of her heart, tried to glue the shattered pieces of her soul back together...and now he was back.

  Lissa had a sudden instinct to fix her hair, to brush the flour off her shirt, to somehow make herself look so amazing that he'd regret, for even a split second, walking out on her, but it was too late. Too late for everything when it came to Rand Stevens.

  She paused with her hand on the door handle and took a deep breath, so aware of Travis standing behind her, so glad he was there.

  Why was Rand here? After all this time? Why... A sudden thought struck her. Dear God, what if he'd come for Bridgette? Fear knifed through her, and for a split second, she couldn't breathe. Her legs seemed to give out, and her fingers slipped off the door handle—

  "Hey." Travis caught her, his strong arms sliding around her waist. "I got you."

  Lissa closed her eyes and leaned back against his chest, gripping his forearms as she fought to breathe, but no air would come.

  Travis leaned his head against hers, his cheek resting against hers. "It's okay, Lissa. I won't leave. I'm staying right here. I've got your back, okay?"

  She squeezed her eyes shut, listening to his whispered words. His voice was deep and gentle, encircling her like a protective shield. His arms tightened around her, wrapping intimately around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, a solid, impenetrable wall of muscle. Panic swirled through her, and she started to shake. "I can't do this," she whispered.

  "I'll make him leave." Travis's voice was short and clipped, laced with a dark, barely contained violence that sent chills rippling down her spine.

  She froze, startled by the change in him, by the deadly rage pouring through him. Gone was the man who'd touched her face so gently. In its place was a predator ready to strike. She twisted in his arms to look at him. Her stomach lurched when she saw the darkness in his eyes, the hard set to his jaw. He looked like a man ready to destroy anyone who got in his way.

  She should be scared, but she wasn't. Somehow, she knew she was safe from that anger, protected from that rage. He'd never use it against her...but he would use it to protect her. This man she barely knew had somehow assigned himself the role of her protector, and she knew he wouldn't back down, no matter what.

  The tightness around her chest eased, and she reached up to lay a hand on his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

  His gaze flicked to hers, and his eyes narrowed as he studied her face. "Who is he?" he asked.

  She lifted her chin. "No one who matters," she said fiercely, determinedly.

  Rand thudded his fist against the glass, making her jump. "Lissa!" His harsh shout raked down her spine, and she closed her eyes again, focusing solely on the feel of Travis against her. She'd spent the last nine years developing her own reservoir of strength, and she'd thought she'd succeeded, but right now, she felt lost, shuttled back to who she'd been back then. Afraid. Alone. Rejected. Desperate. Ashamed. Shunned.

  Travis tightened his grip on her. "I'll talk to him."

  She wanted to step away and let Travis deal with this, to let him chase away the darkness that haunted her, but she knew Rand would simply come back another time, when she was alone. He would hunt her down until she faced him. "No." She stayed Travis with a hand to his arm. "I have to do this."

  She pulled herself out of his arms and swung around to the door. She flipped the deadbolt and pulled the door open, bringing her face to face with the man who had been everything to her once, and then nothing.

  The stench of alcohol hit her first, and she knew he'd been drinking.

  He was taller and broader than he had been when she'd last seen him. His cowboy hat was tipped back, revealing a hard jaw, high cheekbones, and the same piercing green eyes he'd always had. A few scars decorated his face now, and his heavily muscled frame gave him the aura of an unstoppable opponent. She could tell h
e was insanely strong, even more than before, and there was no mistaking the expensive watch on his wrist. Bull riding had been good to him. He'd left as a scrawny eighteen-year-old with big dreams, and he'd turned into a man, strong, dangerous, and hardened. She took a deep breath. "Rand."

  His gaze raked over her, the blatantly sexual inspection making nausea churn in her belly.

  She folded her arms over her chest and stood taller.

  "So," he drawled, the faintest slur in his voice. "Ran into some guys tonight who said they had a hot waitress named Lissa. Thought I'd check it out." His smile faded, and he met her gaze. "Turns out, it's you."

  She lifted her chin. "Yes, it is."

  He stepped forward, his gaze raking over her body a second time, as if he wanted to assess every inch of her. "It's been a long time, Lis."

  Her skin crawled at his use of her old nickname. "Yes, it has. The café is closed, though, so I don't have time to visit. It was good to see you." She stepped back, out of the doorway, so she could close it, but he jammed his foot in the door.

  "What? No hug?" He swayed slightly, his slurred voice becoming more belligerent.

  She stiffened, her heart starting to pound. "The store is closed. I'm tired. You've been drinking. You need to leave."

  "That's how you treat the man you almost married? Let me in." His face darkened, and he moved closer, his hand going to the door above her head, as if he was going to grab it and force it open.

  Travis grabbed the door first, his body brushing against her back as he moved up behind her. "The lady said she was closed."

  Rand's gaze snapped to Travis, and sudden tension rose fast and hard as the two men stared at each other. "Who the fuck are you?"

  "Name's Stockton. Travis Stockton."

  Rand's eyes narrowed. "You the brother of Zane Stockton, the bull rider? One of those Stocktons?"

  "Yeah," Travis replied, his voice deceptively mild. "He's the nice one, though."

  Lissa had met Zane enough times to know what Travis meant. Zane rode a Harley, had plenty of tattoos, and walked around with a massive chip on his shoulder, ready to fight anyone...except when his wife was with him. The way he looked at her was enough to make any woman sigh with longing. It was pure adoration, protection, and admiration. She had a feeling that Zane's days on the bull riding tour hadn't brought out his nurturing side, so for Travis to claim Zane was nicer than him was a thinly veiled warning to Rand to back off.