Loving A Cowboy

by Anne Carrole

  She started toward the door. He followed. Their pretty waitress was just setting down the drinks at the table. As he passed, he pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and slapped it in her hand.

  “This is for the drinks,” he said and grabbed the shot glass resting on the table. The Lagavulin whiskey he’d ordered slid smoothly down his throat. He’d need it tonight.

  Two long steps brought him right behind Libby, who hadn’t broken stride. The crowd parted to let them through. He couldn’t miss the lingering male glances that followed her. No doubt she had some boyfriend waiting in the wings. Some suit from one of those eastern schools she’d attended. Because that would please her father.

  As she reached the exit, he swung out his arm and pushed open the door, nearly knocking aside the couple entering. He begged their pardon before stepping out behind her. The summer night air felt warm after the air-conditioning. She moved into the golden glow of two lamps guarding the club’s doorway. The light shimmered around her like a backlight to an angelic statue. His head said he wasn’t ready to do this, but the pounding in his chest said he had to.

  Chapter 2

  Libby stepped between two pickups parked out front and wondered how she could say what she had to say. She’d never been comfortable with confrontation, though Chance seemed born to confront. And maybe that had been the attraction back then. Chance had been the fighter—she had been the one who wanted someone to fight for her.

  Clear of the back fender and facing an ever expanding sea of vehicles, more pouring into the lot with each step, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

  “Where do you want to do this?” she asked. Her nerves were jumping at the prospect, but she was a big girl now, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to duck and run. Hadn’t she’d come to clear the air and gain his agreement?

  “My truck.”

  An image of another time, another “this” they’d done in Chance’s old beat-up Ford pickup, burst into her thoughts, crackling through her mind with vivid intensity. So vivid she could almost feel his body pressing on hers, his gentle touch, his—

  “This way.”

  He strode off ahead of her, his long, lean cowboy silhouette a dark object against the gray night sky. She followed, breathing deeply to slow down her runaway pulse.

  The black Ford F-150 he stopped at was a beauty—sleek, polished, and expensive. Clearly top of the line. It spoke volumes when compared to his old dented red one. Volumes about how far he had come. He yanked open the passenger door and stood, gesturing for her to enter.

  “I won’t bite,” he said.

  Heat rushed up her back as she thought about the veracity of that statement given some of their more passionate moments, but a glance at his tensed jaw and rigid expression pushed those thoughts, gratefully, from her mind.

  She slid onto the butterscotch leather seats. He closed her door and circled to the other side, slipping behind the wheel into the driver’s spot. New-car smell permeated the air. The interior of the extended cab was as well appointed as her father’s top-of-the-line Lincoln. Wood-grain dashboard, built-in GPS screen, more dials and buttons than a private jet. She took a shallow breath and waited for him to speak, because she didn’t know how to begin. How to say what she had to say. How to ask what she had to ask. How to fix what seemed more and more unfixable with every passing minute.

  Chance was staring straight ahead as if the side of the building doused in soft yellow light from the overhead parking lamp was more interesting than anything she might have to say.

  “What are you doing here, Libby?” he said with a growl akin to a panther and producing a similar chill.

  “I live in Cheyenne, in case you forgot.”

  “I didn’t forget. That’s why I haven’t been here the last few years. But I honestly thought you were still at school back East.”

  “I finished up my MBA and came home this May. For good.” She shifted so she could see his face, get a better bead on his emotions, but his stoic expression revealed nothing.

  He snorted and slid back in the seat. “So you’re living with dear old Dad.”

  It was painful to admit, but she should be beyond caring what he thought.

  “I’m working for Brennan Motors.” Her father had begged her to step in and help with one of his three car dealerships. She’d resisted as long as she could, but with the job market the way it was, she’d had no choice. She was starting on Monday.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “I don’t know. Why doesn’t it?” she said, irritated, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She needed to just ask him. Get it over with.

  “Hell, Libby, you ever make a decision on your own?”

  She was about to make the biggest decision of her life. And she couldn’t refute that her father was a big part of it. But just because her father approved this time didn’t mean it wasn’t her decision.

  Chance continued to look straight ahead as if looking at her might turn him into stone or something. Not that he wasn’t as cold and hard as one already.

  He hadn’t been like that back then. He’d been tough, a bit rough around the edges, but surprisingly tender and supportive. With him she’d felt they could take on the world. When she’d found out all he’d been through, she’d ached to make it better. Thought she could. Thought their love could conquer anything. Then reality hit.

  “My father is part of my life.” A part Chance never could accept. “But I didn’t come to talk about him.”

  “What the hell did you want to talk about? How you walked out on me, on us? ’Cause that’s something I sure would like to hear about.” He stole a quick glance in her direction and then returned to staring at the wall.

  Libby hoped she wasn’t shaking as hard on the outside as she was on the inside. Sitting next to him, she could see the tensed muscles of his outstretched arm, tan and sculpted, as his large fingers grasped the wheel in a white-knuckled grip. His stubbled jaw was set, and she caught the subtle movement of grinding teeth. Her sidelong glance traveled down to his muscular thighs, used to hugging a bucking horse with enough strength to last eight tension-filled seconds. She’d been so familiar with his body once…she’d felt his weight and strength in her dreams, vibrant and real. Now, it was a stranger’s body. Hard, muscular, solid, and foreign.

  She gritted her teeth and girded for the truth. He deserved an answer. If only she had one he’d accept.

  “I was young, Chance,” she said.

  “You were of legal age. Old enough to make your own decision. But I guess this was just some stunt, on your part, to get to your father. I was just the poker you used to provoke him.”

  “No, it wasn’t like that.” At least, she’d never intended it to be. “I did want him to take me seriously. To respect me as an adult. But I also wanted to be your wife. To love you and be loved by you. And then I got scared.”

  He would never believe how difficult it had been to walk away from him—the fact she had negated any justification she might provide. There may be two sides to this story, but she knew he didn’t really want to hear hers. Still, she needed to try.

  “We were too young to know what we were getting into. It was for the best, for both of us.”

  He turned toward her then, his eyes shining in the lamplight. She wished she could crawl under the seat and hide from the storm brewing in those eyes. But she needed to face him. She needed to hear his truth, even if it wasn’t hers.

  “Well, your daddy made it crystal clear what was best for you, Libby.” His voice held even and steady as he talked, making it all the more unnerving. “And it surely wasn’t being married to a poor cowboy. I was out trying to make money, hoping you were waiting for me to come and claim you when I had some, even though you ignored my phone calls. Then I reached in the PO Box one day and pulled out that envelope.”

  “He would have destroyed you, Chance.”

  “You’re trying to say you left me for my own good?” He barked out t
he words like a lone dog ready to fight the world. And that was probably what he felt like. Her heart pinched. “Is telling yourself that how you sleep at night? Truth was, Libby, you just didn’t believe in me. Didn’t believe I could take care of you. Didn’t believe I’d make something of myself, that I could handle your old man.”

  “He’d have had you up before a judge before the break of day. He would have found something for them to charge you with, and lord knows it wouldn’t have taken much.”

  “He’s nothing but a big fish in a little pond. Cheyenne, maybe Wyoming, but that’s as far as his reach goes.” His face may have been tinged the color of fire, but there was no emotion in voice. “It was me you didn’t trust.”

  She’d never seen him look so hard, so unyielding. She shook her head. Felt the burn of tears as her eyes filled. “No, it was me I didn’t trust. I didn’t trust myself, Chance.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “What you already know. I was weak. I was scared.” She felt tears wet her cheek despite her struggle. She’d never forgive herself for the pain she’d caused him. And knowing he’d never forgive her was something she could hardly bear.

  He continued to stare at her in the dim glow of the meager light. She was counting on the shadows to keep her emotional state hidden.

  “Are you crying?” he asked finally, his voice suddenly lower, deeper.

  She shook her head and turned toward the window.

  “Libby, look at me.”

  Still staring out the window, she shook her head again. How could she ask him now? And yet, how could she move on with her life if she didn’t? There was Ben to consider. Besides, it was clear whatever feelings Chance once had for her were gone. Replaced by anger and bitterness. Worse thing was, she couldn’t blame him. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she tried to hold back the sobs.

  “I’m angry, Libby. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let go of it. But…”

  She felt his warm hand on her shoulder. And then those strong arms of his were pulling her close. Placing her head on his chest, she buried her nose in his soft cotton shirt and breathed him in. Musky aftershave, fresh laundry, and Chance. If only he could forgive her. He held her tighter as his chin rested on her head. She gave up the struggle and let the tears fall.

  Chapter 3

  Chance felt completely undone. His fury had unraveled like a single strand of thread holding together the fabric of his life as he waited for her sobs to subside, waited for her to lift her head, stare at him with those upending blue eyes of hers that seemed to arrow straight to his heart.

  “Why didn’t you call? Talk to me? Warn me?” He’d always wondered what had changed to make her give up on their dreams. On him.

  “I couldn’t face you after what I’d done,” she mumbled against his dampened shirt, her breath dancing over the fabric to warm his skin. “I knew you wouldn’t forgive me. I couldn’t forgive myself.”

  “You walked.” A simple truth, but holding her warm body close to his, breathing in her essence, it no longer seemed reason enough.

  When she finally looked up at him, wide eyed and with tear-stained cheeks, his heart turned over—a heart he would have sworn just a few minutes ago wouldn’t have felt anything for her tears. He tightened the mental grip on his feelings. She hadn’t wanted him enough to fight for him, for them. He had to remember that.

  But there were those eyes, delicate blue eyes, brimming with feelings he couldn’t ignore. Nor could he ignore those quivering lips of hers, full and inviting and tugging at his senses. A taste of Libby would only cause misery. He wasn’t a masochist. But he was a man.

  “Libby.” He raised her chin with his finger and rubbed a thumb over the soft rise of her moist cheek. He hesitated just a second to give her an opportunity to resist, and then he dipped his head.

  He’d meant just to brush those lips, touch them with his own. A drop, a sip. But like the taste of a long-denied treat, it wasn’t enough. And she responded, hugging him with all she had. His restraint crumbled, and he gathered her to him, tugging her body over the console until they were chest to chest. He cupped her jean-clad bottom in one palm while he ran his other hand under the swell of her breast. She was rounder and firmer than he remembered, the curves of a woman replacing the lean lines of a girl.

  Her lips parted in invitation. His tongue entered. He increased the suction, teasing her tongue into his. She tasted like beer and smelled like roses, a heady combination for any red-blooded cowboy. This was Libby. His Libby.

  Running his thumb over the fabric covering her nipple, he felt it peak, and his own body responded with a rush of blood, hardening him. Too long. Too long since he’d felt such need, such desire. Too long since he’d had Libby.

  He ran his hand up her firm back and pressed his lips across her jawbone, down her throat, tasting right behind her ear, which he knew had once been a vulnerable spot. By the way she tried to crawl further into his lap and the small mews that purred from her throat, he figured it still was.

  He licked her neck and then brought his mouth back to hers and deepened the kiss. He was like a man who’d found an oasis again after searching blindly in the desert. He couldn’t get enough.

  Libby. The young girl who, for a brief moment in his life, had believed in him, had made him a far better person than he had ever been before. Had been the first person to love him—and one of many who had abandoned him.

  Abandoned. Walked away.

  The words slit into him with the bite of a jagged-edged knife. Instinctively he recoiled, broke the kiss. The gasping of breaths said they both had been fully in that moment. But, he reminded himself as he struggled to rein in his response, a moment was about the length of Libby’s ability to commit—a few kisses, maybe even a roll in bed. But afterward, he’d be lucky if she waved good-bye on her way out the door.

  This had been a bad idea.

  He moved his head, trying to shake some sense back into it, and looked at her from under the brim of his hat. Her chest was heaving, and her lips and cheeks glowed bright pink under the splayed light of the parking lot.

  Could she still have feelings for him? After walking away? And even if she did, could he ever trust her again? Trust her to care?

  But damn, at that moment he wanted to trust her. He wanted her to have feelings for him again. He wanted her.

  “Libby—”

  “Chance, I—”

  “Guess that passion between us is still there. But we both know that’s not enough.” He forced a smile he sure didn’t feel and hoped she’d argue the point. Just knowing she felt something, anything, for him…

  “I need to talk to you.” The words were whispered, barely audible, but it still caused hope to jump into his heart.

  He couldn’t take a chance on getting hurt again. If he hadn’t had rodeo, he would have surely cashed in his chips when she’d walked out on him. But he was a survivor. Had to be one all his sorry life. And he’d learned what chances to take and what ones to let go. Like when to give up on a ride and when to stick in there for the whole eight seconds. When to accept a re-ride and when not to.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and stared out the windshield. “The divorce. The lawyer said he couldn’t find you to serve the court summons, so it was published in the Cheyenne newspapers, but you never responded.”

  “I never saw it. I was on the circuit. Trying to earn enough money to buy us a home so I could get you back.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “When you didn’t respond in the time allotted, the divorce was granted by default.”

  “Well, your father’s lawyer found me fast enough to send me the divorce decree. It was waiting for me in my PO Box.” And the knowledge had just about killed him.

  She shifted in her seat, her foot shaking. “Our lawyer thought, just to be on the safe side, you could sign an affidavit that you accept the divorce decree. Daddy’s afraid you might get it in your head to protest the divorce, though I know you wouldn�
��t, by saying they didn’t make enough effort to find you. You see, I’m getting engaged in a few weeks, when he finishes his training with his company and moves to Gillette. The affidavit would just make things nice and clean.”

  Chance heard the words, felt their impact, and almost stopped breathing. Libby was getting married. To another guy. And she wanted things cleaned up. That’s why she was here. Not because she cared about him. Not because she felt bad about how she had treated him. Nothing to do with Chance. Everything to do with the guy she was going to marry.

  Fool. Stupid idiot. Glutton for punishment. When would he learn where Libby was concerned?

  “You want this cleaned up. That’s why you’re here?”

  “My father’s lawyers are going to be contacting you, but I thought since you were in Cheyenne, if I talked to you—”

  “Get out of the truck, Libby.” And he meant it. He’d wondered why she’d come to the bar to open old sores. Now he knew.

  She stared at him as if she didn’t believe him. “Chance, I just want to—”

  “Our lawyers can handle this.” He reached over her, felt the heat from her body as he pulled the passenger door handle down. The door sprang open. “Out. Now. Before I say things we’ll both regret.” His heart was pounding hard in his chest, pushing adrenaline through his veins like when he was sitting on a bronc just before the gate opened.

  She scrambled down. When she touched ground, he started the engine. He had to get out of there. Calm down. Think. Not feel.

  She stood looking at him with a pained expression on her face and tears glistening in her eyes. Her crying wouldn’t touch him again.

  She closed the door, and he threw the truck into reverse, turned the wheel, jammed the gear into first, and whipped the pickup toward the exit, gravel flying. Checking the rearview mirror, he saw her dark silhouette framed in the dim light, standing there with her hands on her hips. As if she was mad at him.